Written by Hannah McCarthy

Sitting down to a bit of New Year’s telly, I started to watch one of my mum’s favourite films, Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, and realised to my surprise that I’d never actually seen it before. I remembered some dancing and brightly coloured shirts, but that was about it. Watching it all the way through for the first time, I was slightly shocked at what I saw.

I’m not much of a feminist. I’ve been fortunate enough to have been born in an era where I’ve yet to encounter many obstacles because of my gender. Then again, as a woman, I recognise patriarchal authority when I see it, and Seven Brides for Seven Brothers stirred some feminist instincts that must have been buried somewhere deep inside me. Who knew?

In a nutshell, the film tells the story of seven brothers who live in the woods out of town, and when one day the oldest brother brings home a wife, the other six decide they want one too. While the film appears to espouse values of gender equality and of treating women with respect, the story doesn’t necessarily follow suit. Admittedly the film was made in 1954, but watching it I got frustrated at its failed attempts to break the women out of traditional roles. Here is my rant, bare with me.

At the beginning of the film the oldest brother, Adam (Howard Keel), comes to town to trade and find a wife. He is swiftly rebuked by the vicar’s wife for treating women as goods to trade. So far, so good. But then he wanders into an inn and is served food by a beautiful young woman who immediately falls in love with him. Easy as pie. Adam takes said woman, Milly (Jane Powell), back to his cabin in the woods, where Adam’s brothers greet her with a degree of suspicion and curiosity. But pretty soon they’ve worked out that she’s there to cook and clean for them.

Milly is having none of it and storms upstairs to her room. Her girl power is for the moment reinstated. Adam, frustrated at not being able to take his new wife to bed, as one is supposed to, sings her a beautiful love song after which all is forgiven. All women are clearly suckers for romantic ditties. After this breakthrough, Milly realises that her role is in fact to cook and clean, and change the younger brothers from ignorant woodsmen into eligible young men.

It’s credit to Milly that she tries to educate the brothers to respect women, but all the while she’s busy giving their cabin ‘a woman’s touch’. The brothers eventually meet some nice town girls, who seem enchanted with these young rural men, but the girls already have suitors and the brothers become depressed. Adam, who’s stupid enough to use a story based on the Rape of the Sabine Women as a motivational tale, encourages his brothers to go out and take what’s rightfully theirs. So begins a horrifying sequence in which the six brothers kidnap the young women and haul them back to their cabin, all the while being pursued by the girls’ fuming families. Cleverly, or barbarically, the brothers block the pursuers’ path by using the girls’ screams to cause an avalanche.

Of course Milly is furious when six terrified young girls arrive on her doorstep, and orders the brothers out of the house. But abduction is a crime soon forgotten, and the girls develop Stockholm syndrome, pining after the banished brothers. After Milly gives birth to a baby girl, Adam soon learns the error of his ways and tells his brothers they must take the girls back to their families. But whaddyaknow, the girls don’t want to go back.

So begins another kidnapping scene, in which the younger brothers try to force the girls back to town. Amid all the hoo-ha the townsfolk arrive, the avalanche having finally cleared. Fighting ensues, naturally; but soft, the cry of a baby is heard sending terror into the hearts of the fathers who worry the baby might belong to one of their unwed daughters. When asked to whom the baby belongs, in an inspired stroke of genius all the girls cry “Me!” knowing that they’ll have to get married if they’ve had a baby out of wedlock.

The film ends on a multiple marriage scene, proving that no amount of violence, abduction or idiocy can keep a girl from her man. These young women were destined to be wives and that’s what they’ve become. Fair enough those were different times, but the brothers don’t seem to have learnt any lessons by the end. In between all the (very fine) dancing and singing, we see seven women plucked from their urban lives to be country wives. Happy ending? You decide.

For a director as venerable as Martin Scorsese, arguably the greatest living filmmaker, pinpointing one of his cinematic masterpieces as his best will always be essentially impossible.

Having covered such a wide range of genres over his career, there will never be a definitive consensus, however his 1990 film GoodFellas presents possibly the most compelling case to be considered Scorsese’s best. None of his other films have been as successful in blending his rich thematic subtexts and technical mastery with wildly entertaining plots and characters in what is quite simply the greatest gangster film ever made.

GoodFellas tells the story of Henry Hill’s (Ray Liotta) life from his humble beginnings in an Italian neighbourhood in ’50s New York, to his rise through the ranks of the mafia, and finally to his absolute capitulation. He is mentored by Jimmy Conway (Robert De Niro) and partnered by Tommy De Vito (Joe Pesci), and along with his wife Karen (Lorraine Bracco) and head of the ‘family’ Paulie Cicero (Paul Sorvino), when he goes down, he takes everyone down with him. No other film has quite encapsulated the classic rise-and-fall story, and Scorsese revels in manipulating the audience’s emotions, taking them from reverence for the gangster lifestyle to repugnance.

The overall performance of the cast is first class. Liotta has never bettered his turn as Henry Hill; he quite simply lives and breathes his character, and the makeup effects deserve special commendation for making the older Henry look so convincingly ravaged. De Niro is, as always, fantastic, oscillating from warmth to menace with breathtaking ease, but the true standout performance is Pesci, whose psychopathic performance won him an Oscar for Best Supporting Actor.

It’s a testament to GoodFellas quality that its run time, just under two and a half hours, feels over too soon. The pacing is a huge technical achievement – it never slows for lengthy, dialogue-driven scenes like those in The Godfather, and it never resorts to the hyperbolic violence seen in Scarface. It has also aged significantly better than its rivals for the gangster film crown.

GoodFellas stakes a great claim to have the greatest Scorsese soundtrack of all his film, even surpassing Bernard Herrmann’s classic score for Taxi Driver. It has everything from Tony Bennett to the Rolling Stones, and from Aretha Franklin to Sid Vicious. The music perfectly captures the essence of the eras covered in the film, going from the idyllic ‘Little Italy’ in the ’50s to the drug-soaked late ’70s. Scorsese ticks off every piece of gangster iconography you can think of – the classic cars, the guns, the suits, the food – and yet does so with such verve and energy that it makes it all seem fresh. Not bad for someone who describes his relationship to ‘the life’ as love-hate.

At the beginning of his final monologue in the courtroom, Henry states that he had it all, and the same is true for GoodFellas. As a technical achievement, it’s unparalleled. As a gangster film, it’s unlikely ever to be surpassed. It’s brutal and funny, alluring and repulsive, a stunning vision of what Scorsese has called ‘the America dream gone completely mad and twisted.’ At the end of the day, if you don’t enjoy GoodFellas, ‘in the fuckin’ oven you’re gonna go head first!’

Written by Matthew Clough

Long time readers of the site will have seen this before as I’m reposting my love letter to Stephen Volk’s Ghostwatch on the occasion of Hallowe’en. A year shy of its twentieth anniversary it remains a landmark of paranormal drama and has just been reissued on DVD at a ridiculously low price.

Things have changed since the initial (and only) BBC broadcast. Reality TV has infected almost every aspect of television and Most Haunted and the recent Paranormal Activity films simply would not exist without it. Familiarity with the presenters may have made he suspension of disbelief a little difficult initially but nineteen years on there is no such problem.

Ghostwatch joins The War Game, Orson Welles’ Hallowe’en broadcast of War of the Worlds, and the US TV programmes Special Bulletin and Without Warning as moments in broadcast history which signalled a shift in what was possible, and it’s still a damn scary yarn.

If you have a copy, or can find one in the shops today I implore you to watch along with the Ghostwatch: Behind the Curtains National Seance (details here), that way – you wont be watching alone. And if you’re still in the mood for a scare I can recommend Volk’s The Awakening which he wrote with director Nick Murphy – my review is here and it’s out in cinemas on the 11th of November.

Here’s my Hallowe’en Video Vault for Ghostwatch.

On the 31st of October 1992 at 9:30 in the evening, as the BBC logo was spinning and the Announcer began to introduce Ghostwatch I was not watching, I was out somewhere, missing out on one of the scariest TV programmes ever broadcast.

It is seventeen years since the only terrestrial airing and it still has the power to convince and terrify. It can be set alongside Nigel Kneale’s Stone Tape and Barry Hines’ Threads as a singular event, a controversial landmark of Television broadcasting that was deemed so effective that it was banned from being shown again.

In the internet age, where iPlayer, iTunes and torrents mean that most tv programmes are readily available and easy to acquire, yet Ghostwatch wasn’t available, via a repeat or video release, for ten long years. The backlash against the programme was such that many believed it a deliberate attempt to scare seven shades of suburbia out of the general populace, and as it was linked to the sad suicide of an individual, the BBC complied and hid it from view until the 2002 BFI DVD release.

I was lucky not to have to wait this long however, as seventeen years ago this Halloween my video was turning, recording the moment, and the next morning I sat down to write an essay for school and put Ghostwatch on in the background. I wrote nothing for the next 90 minutes.

Ghostwatch, in many ways, was my perfect television programme. I became fascinated with the Enfield Poltergeist, a clear inspiration for the show, through the book This House is Haunted and poured over Harry Price’s tales of Borley Rectory; poltergeists and the domestic terror they inspired invaded my mind and not until Ghostwatch did I realise that I was not alone. The show touched a national nerve and set pulses racing long into the night.

Remember of course that the X Files hadn’t yet captured the global consciousness, the dubious stage of Most Haunted and the recent, Alan Partridge inspired, Ghost Hunting with the Happy Mondays was a long way off and TV productions regarding ghosts were limited to the occasional Arthur C. Clarke’s Mysterious World, but Ghostwatch changed that.

Taking the incredible success of the micro budget scare fest Paranormal Activity as a recent example of taking the clichéd pitch of a haunted house movie to a new level of effective terror through its manner of telling the story, Ghostwatch used the “˜modern idiom’ of the outside broadcast and the live program to draw the audience in, scare their faces off and leave them wondering “˜Was it real?’. The spate of horror films using the internet and documentary style footage in the early part of the 21st century, coupled with the rise of Reality TV, show how far ahead Ghostwatch really was. The directors of The Blair Witch Project both saw Ghostwatch before embarking on their film, and other films such as The Last Broadcast experimented with documentary techniques to nail their audiences to their seats in fear. Derren Brown’s recent Seance was, in part, inspired by the 1992 BBC Screen One production.

Part of what made the broadcast so effective was the use of ‘real life’ presenters, populating the programme with familiar faces and concepts such as a bank of phone desks to receive viewer’s calls (via the standard BBC number, which if you called played a message telling you it was just a TV play) gave the production a level of authenticity that belied its fictional nature. Sarah Greene was well known to the public and, controversially, to children as a host of many BBC programmes and it was her ambiguous fate that was to whip up a small frenzy of moral panic in the aftermath. Red Dwarf’s Craig Charles was on hand to ape and mock, usefully mirroring the audience’s skepticism, however it was the involvement of eminent TV personality Michael Parkinson (pre-knighthood) who fronted the programme, that gave Ghostwatch its authoritative foundation.

Ostensibly a live broadcast, similar now to Most Haunted and the like, from a house in North London that was allegedly haunted by an unseen spook, the investigation centred on the household consisting of the mother, Pamela, and her two daughters Susan and Kimmy. At first they appear as a family under siege and much of the early part of the programme deals with their experiences thus far. Tales of benign activity such as bent spoons and clocks stopping, familiar staples of poltergeist manifestations, gave way to scratches appearing on the elder daughter’s face and we hear incredible thumps coming from the walls. The programme cuts back and forth between Sarah Greene in the house and Parky in the studio discussing the events with a para-psychologist. Everything was done exactly as if it was a genuine investigation into the paranormal. It is a little twee, and at times fairly pedestrian, but don’t be fooled – this is simply the build up for an outstanding climax.

The writer Stephen Volk used the fundamental live programming vocabulary, such as the use of phone calls from the public, pre recorded interviews (with obscured faces) and outside broadcast to create a complete world in which the Early family allowed TV cameras into their home to try and document their poltergeist. It carefully lays traps (the incredulous American scientist, the young teenage daughter seeking attention, the phone calls making fun of the programme) for the unwary viewer, many of them convinced it was really happening, and slowly the atmosphere of expectation and dread intensified. Through scratched writing in a school book, the wailing of cats trapped in the walls, some eerie phone calls and the frantic activity taking place in such a small, and familiar, location the tension builds.

As the programme goes on it emerges that something is very wrong in the house, glimpses of a ghoulish figure are seen and a sense of real panic kicks in as the activity in the house takes a tangible, nasty turn. All the time we are looking for, as the resident psychologist has it, ‘faces in the fire’, some of the sightings of the ghost are so quick the video I had became worn with the amount of pausing it endured. The use of diegetic sound is perfect, as the walls rumble with thick, heavy thuds and the scratching of starving cats emanate from the floorboards smash through the portentous silences, and the screams, when they come, provide no relief.

There is a sublime moment when, after a volley of violent activity occurs and the genuinely unsettling events really start to unfold, the live feed to the house is cut, leaving the studio and the viewer watching static. After a moment it reappears and all appears fine, though there is no way to contact the house. The girls are all sitting and playing a board game, nothing untoward seems to have happened and yet the subsequent discovery by the psychologist in the studio sends a chill down your spine as we realise all is not well in the house.

Pipes, Mother Seddons, Raymond Tonstall. All names of entities that would seem tremendously clichéd if written into a film script, however the magic of Ghostwatch being set in the real world gave these names and figures menace, and we believed in them and their dark history. Ghostwatch used the conventions of live TV against its audience; programs of the era were often live, and bought a sense of excitement and expectation with it that today we take for granted. As the activity in the house turned darker and the programme ended on a sinister note the reality that the audience was so comfortable with had collapsed; the loss of control was immediate and the resulting backlash was inevitable. When people realised that they had been fooled the reaction was so extreme that it has took 10 years for Ghostwatch became safe to release.

Ghostwatch has been documented as one of television’s greatest hoaxes, but his is to misunderstand it. Hoax implies that it was a deliberate attempt to fool people, Ghostwatch never tried, it didn’t have to. The intrusion of cameras and crew into people’s houses was frequent in the late 80s and by the early 90s it was not anything special, but never before had it captured something so horrifying and the control associated with television was lost.

It is all about audience sympathy and involvement. The key to Ghostwatch was the use of the everyday. It could have been anybody’s house, anyone’s next door neighbours; it meant that it could be happening to you. Hysteria is so much more effective if it hits people directly and singularly, it’s a very isolating experience to be scared by yourself, and Ghostwatch’s strength came from the fact that for those 90 minutes you were watching helplessly as this house was overrun with something real and horrifying.

In the years following a group of my friends and I would crowd around the television and let it scare us all over again. We knew it backwards, we laughed in anticipation of Kevin Tripp’s phone call (the cheese and pickle sandwich? Come on”¦), we watched intently when the camera panned around the bedroom catching the briefest of glimpses of Pipes. Though we knew it was fiction we enjoyed losing ourselves in the programme, and despite the apparent paradox seeing Ghostwatch again and again always felt as if it  was live, and always exciting. We would put on the video, sit back and enjoy until one of us would see something half hidden in the background, or reflected in a mirror and the fear and excitement would come flooding back. It was a unique experience for us to see something that bore repeated viewings and managed to maintain a real sense of terror from images and obscured moments that could easily have been missed first time around.

While writing this Video Vault I watched Ghostwatch again, and though I knew it word for word there were moments when the feelings of unease and fear resurfaced. Scenes I had watched literally hundreds of times came back on and a chill went through me – after all this time. It takes great power to do something like this and though it has dated there has been nothing like it since. It is a truly inspired piece of television.

Nineteen years have dulled its effect slightly. The profusion of live TV and reality shows have resulted in an inbuilt cynicism for what we watch, and if Ghostwatch was to be realised today it would a harder task to convince the audience of its true, fictional status. In his book Dark Corners the writer Stephen Volk produced something of a sequel to the programme in his short story 31/10 and it is a fascinating read. Personally I’ve very much looking forward to the fan-created retrospective documentary Behind the Curtains which you can follow on their YouTube page.

Ghostwatch was an important part of my past. It was the first time a TV programme physically shook me, and I was so enamoured with it that for a long time I couldn’t see the, admittedly few, shortcomings. Now I can enjoy it as a true original, a programme so accomplished in execution and so effective in its purpose that it remains a Halloween classic which has never been bettered. As time wore on the acting got more ropey, the video tape was deteriorating, but for 90 minutes our programme was on, nothing on television before or since gave us this thrill.

Happy Halloween.

Today’s Video Vault has Hayley Stovold showing off the neighbourhood.

Although it was first released in 1989, The ‘Burbs is still as exciting and watchable as ever. Over two decades later, the film still confronts current issues, albeit slightly dramatised.

A black comedy/thriller, The ‘Burbs is set in a small suburban town, Hinkley Hills, and follows suburbanite Ray Petersen as he and his friends investigate the strange, new next door neighbours. Ray (Tom Hanks) starts to hear weird noises from The Klopeks’ house at night and, seeing as they never appear in the daytime, begins to investigate. Ray and his trusted friends start to believe they might be up to something untoward – cue 102 minutes of adventure that takes place simply in a cul-de-sac.

The cast line-up goes a long way in helping to make this movie so special. Tom Hanks is his usual self, bringing a healthy mix of sarcasm and charisma to the screen. His chemistry with on-screen wife Carrie Fisher is brilliant and they play a realistic, agitated married couple. She is pre-occupied with getting away from the suburbs for a holiday; he is completely enthralled and focused on what’s happening in his own backyard.

Bruce Dern plays the eccentric Lt. Mark Rumsfield, who is constantly dressed in his army gear and spends his days trying to keep his lawn pristine and safe from dog poop. Rick Ducommon is Ray’s slightly chubby best friend Art and Corey Feldman (The Goonies) is ‘rock wannabe’ Ricky Butler. The casting is so good because it is so awkwardly realistic. If I were to open my front door right now and look outside, I would see very similar characters trundling along with their daily lives. Taking out the rubbish, walking the dog or mowing the lawn – mundane daily chores are all covered throughout the movie. The mixture of personalities is just pure entertainment too. Ray is sensible but easily led astray, Art is simple, Mark is slightly mad and Ricky is just, well, Ricky.

There’s a good mix of light and shade during the film, with the Klopeks creating most of the shade. The family is quite spooky and made up of a doctor, a grumpy uncle and a pale, buck-toothed teen.

The movie is not only brilliant because of the cast but also because it manages to be highly entertaining despite its limited setting. The most adventurous shot in the movie involves Ray and Dr Werner Klopek (Henry Gibson) battling it out in a moving ambulance while their helpless neighbours watch on in disbelief. There are also some major action shots, including one of the last scenes where Ray and Art accidentally blow up a house. The majority of the film takes place within the cul-de-sac, on the street and in backyards. The scene inside the Klopek house is a rare insight into the strange neighbours. Despite the repetitive setting, the film has a way of making you want to join in with the conspiracies and uncover the truth.

The reason I love The ‘Burbs is not only because it makes me chuckle, it’s because it tackles so many endless themes. Normality, territorial threats, suspicion, paranoia and friendship are all explored. While there have been other movies based on suburban life (American Beauty, Neighbors, Moving) none of them do it as well. Joe Dante’s The ‘Burbs is laced with intricacy, humour and is slightly spooky – so for me it pushes all the right buttons.

Follo Hayley on Twitter here: @hayleystovold

Reviewing this box set when it is out in stores and in all probability snapped up by eager Star Wars fans seems a little unnecessary. The promise of a shiny high def transfer and the long awaited deleted scenes from the Original Trilogy conspire to tempt you to part with your cash once more, to enjoy the long time ago all over again.

But there’s a problem. A wave of negative reaction to some of the changes made by Lucas for this box set became clear a few weeks prior to the release as rumours of some important scenes ruined by needless additions and more handy work by the CG Replacement Bureau. Then video clips were uploaded to confirm the changes and boycotts were threatened and those unhappy with the Special Editions and 2004 DVD ‘improvements’ found new voice and dusted off their VHS copies and chided those who had their pre-orders booked.

So, who’s right? Are the changes too much for those who loved the originals, or is the HD transfer and wealth of extras enough to make the purchase worthwhile? As with many things, both are right, from a certain point of view.

We’ve already looked back over the films this past week in our Video Vault series, so if you’re looking to find out more about Episodes I to VI then click here to read them; there is an assumption that you’re not going in totally blind here. If you’ve never seen the films at all and can spare the cash then this box set is an instant recommendation – just make sure you watch them in the order they were made, don’t be tempted to start your journey to the dark side and out again with The Phantom Menace.

The more pertinent question is perhaps asked of those who already own the DVD set (and probably the VHS copies as well): Do I need to buy this set too?

The HD transfer is most obvious in Episodes IV to VI, and what I found strange were the additions for the 1997 Special Editions and how they showed their age. The advancement of computer technology is so rapid and is  noticeable when some of the visual effects which impressed in the late nineties now look very out of place. The additions to Mos Eisley are not as polished as the 1977 footage, with some very messy compositing of the newer elements over the old and some problems with the focus in certain shots. It surprised me as the original footage looks incredibly sharp for the most part, occasionally there is a very muddy shot in between the crystal clear original footage which itself isn’t completely free from problems.

Looking on the positive side there are moments when I saw things I had never seen before, and I’ve watched these films a lot. In truth I’ve never seen the sparks that fly off the colliding lightsabers in the duel between Vader and Kenobi. At first it looks a little like CGI sweat and it may have always been in there but this was new to me. Obi-Wan Kenobi’s new scream to scare off the Sandpeople is a strange addition to those of us who have known the original but isn’t a huge offence overall. It was a genuine thrill to see the detail and the dirt of the first film in particular, not least in contrast to the clinical green-screenery of the prequels; the forests on the moon of Endor look lush and verdant and the ice planet of Hoth is so sharp you could shave a Wookie with it. The occasional transfer quirks aside this is the most beautiful version of the films we’ve seen and when I first saw the discs at the Big Screen event I was sold.

The additions will irk some, and infuriate others. I’m sure a lot of people may not even notice the newly CGI Yoda in The Phantom Menace or question Vader’s new, and controversial, cry of ‘Noooooooo.’ just before he saves Luke from the Emperor’s final attack, but you’ll know which applies to you. In all honesty the films remain some of the most exciting science fiction films we have and they have never looked better. I’d question the need to buy this new set if you already have the DVDs and aren’t too fussed about the HD, but as we’ll see there is a reason to keep your old copies around even if you do.

The menu system on the main discs are simple and won’t blow your mind but they are a vast improvement over those found on the three discs of extras which invite you to select a film, then a location (Tattooine, Hoth, Bespin etc) and then to select a category (interviews, deleted scenes etc) and then a further click to play them. It’s not fun to navigate this menu every time you want to see a particular special feature. The interviews to introduce each film’s extras are short and drawn from cast and crew and are a nice addition. The deleted scenes are a lot of fun, with the early scenes of Luke and Biggs on Tattooine being the most substantial. The scene with Han and a female companion in the Cantina is here, as is an extended scene in the land speeder with Luke and C3PO searching for R2D2 and while most of these have been seen before on various multimedia releases it’s good to have them all in one place.

What I alluded to earlier about keeping the DVDs handy is one of the more puzzling elements of this collection as the deleted scenes for the Prequel Trilogy do not include those found on the DVD releases. This is a strange omission and a real shame, nice though it is to see a brief cameo by Dominic West as a Naboo guard pushing over a defeated Battle Droid there were some substantial scenes excised from the original cut that would have fitted alongside the new scenes perfectly. Maybe there’s a definitive box set coming our way – maybe when the 3D version are put out…

When I was a kid the only way you could have Star Wars in your own home was as part of the documentaries made and televised at the time of release of the Original Trilogy films. These are included on the final disc of extras and proved a highlight for me as I was hit by a wave of nostalgia. Also included, and perhaps the most intriguing extra, on the disc was The Masters – a discussion of the making of The Empire Strikes Back with the late Irvin Kershner proving a wonderful guide through the difficult second movie.

So in the end I was won over by the new transfer and the decent, if limited, set of extras. If you have the DVDs and are annoyed at the constant tinkering by Lucas then be warned – this won’t light your saber. If you’re a fan and want to see Star Wars in the best way possible then the choice is clear. The galaxy far, far away has never looked better.

A long time ago, in a living room far, far away (well, Elgin), I remember sitting down to watch Star Wars for the very first time. Now, twenty-odd years, a full franchise and hundreds of pounds worth of merchandise later, I am sitting down to watch it again in anticipation of the saga’s encroaching release on Blu-ray.

The problem with Star Wars, however – and there’s a sentence I never thought I’d type – is that it doesn’t feel like a movie. It feels like so much more than that. A childhood spent mimicking the sound of a YT-1300 light freighter (not) making the jump to lightspeed; the rush of endorphins that dutifully follows the recitation of the series’ theme music, a deep conviction that Han Solo shot first, and a general aversion to any religion which doesn’t grant you Force powers and a complimentary lightsaber. It’s a part of who I am.

And it all started here: in garish yellow print before a jaw-dropping pan through space, right into the centre of a heated exchange between an asthmatic masked invalid and a princess of dubious nobility. Right in the centre of the action are two droids – the heart and mouth of a franchise that is taking its first gasps of life. R2D2 (Kenny Baker) and C3PO (Anthony Daniels) – or The Simpsons’ gay droids from Star Wars – are given a message meant for Alec Guinness (Alec Guinness) and carted off to the nearby planet of Tatooine, where they are quickly captured by a gang of intergalactic hoodlums and sold to a young farm-boy (Mark Hamill) and his Aunt and Uncle.

When Darth Vader (David Prowse) and Darth Vader’s voice (James Earl Jones) realise that precious information has been leaked, he sends his gleaming white Stormtroopers in search of the escaped droids. R2D2, determined to complete the mission set him by Princess Leia (Carrie Fisher) and deliver the plans to Mr. Guinness, leads Luke Skywalker and C3PO away from the farm moments before his relatives are searched and killed by Stormtroopers. United in the desert, Alec Guinness tells Luke that he once knew his father, having fought with him in the Clone Wars (you had to be there…or maybe you didn’t) as Jedi Knights.

With nowhere else to go, Luke accompanies Alec, along with chauffeurs Han Solo (Harrison Ford) and Chewbacca (Peter Mayhew) to the planet Alderaan aboard Han’s ship, the Millennium Falcon. Finding the planet in ruin, literally, they encounter a fighter ship nearby and inadvertently follow it into range of a giant, moonlike structure’s tractor-beam. Captured by this Death Star, Luke and Han discover that the princess is being held captive and is to be executed. Setting out to save her while Alec Guinness disables the space-station’s tractor-beam, they run afoul of a group of Stormtroopers and are forced to make an immediate escape. Fleeing aboard the Falcon, minus Alec Guiness who was killed in battle with Darth Vader, our heroes are followed back to a rebel base on Yavin IV, where they are forced to stand up to the Death Star before it can attack, and destroy Vader’s Empire once and for all.

As if you didn’t know. Star Wars, and this original film in particular, has punctured public awareness and dominated pop culture like no other. Phrases like “May The Force be with you”, “These are not the droids you’re looking for” and “The regional governors now have direct control over their territories” (OK, maybe not so much) have become common-place, almost independent of their source. While Trekkies hid in their basements, practising their Vulcan nerve pinches and sharpening their home-made bat’leths, the masses embraced Star Wars completely, as the droids left their mark on the Hollywood walk of fame and Jedi even became a practised religion in its own right.

A beautifully organic high-concept that kicks the traditional fairy-tale into orbit, George Lucas created a film that speaks to people of all ages, helping to form the blockbuster concept and inspiring a generation of filmmakers to pick up the mantle. The film’s legacy is incredible, not only making way for another five instalments but sowing the seeds for Pixar (through Industrial Light and Magic) to later reap, patenting a lived-in future to be fervently mimicked by everyone from Ridley Scott and James Cameron to Joss Whedon, as well as instigating  innumerable other stylistic and technological innovations without which modern cinema couldn’t conceivably exist.

While there may be naysayers who claim Star Wars to be derivative, poorly written and over-blown (and who may, dare I say, even have a point), there is no denying that Star Wars is much more than the sum of its parts. Taking characters from The Hidden Fortress (1958), scenes from The Dam Busters (1955) and elements of the setting from Dune, Lucas has nevertheless worked his influences into something endlessly compelling, beautifully realised and utterly timeless; something that has inevitable gone on to pay its own dividends in terms of homages (take a bow, Robot Chicken and Family Guy). Star Wars may just be a kids movie, a Saturday morning matinee in the vein of Flash Gordon, but it’s so rewatchable, so entertaining and so completely majesterial that that is of no consequence whatsoever.

Laying foundations that will be built upon (and…well, the opposite of built upon) by its two sequels and three prequels, Star Wars has continued to represent the very best in sound design, special effects and blockbuster filmmaking, overcoming its flaws with an inherent quality that is perhaps best evidenced in John Williams’ continued loyalty to the  franchise. Say what you will about clunky dialogue (who wouldn’t have a bad feeling about this?!), infantile comic relief (BUT SIR! C3PO remains my favourite character) and Lucas’ incessant tinkering that accompanies every re-release (OK, I’ve got nothing), but only a crazy person could find fault in a film which has brought us Williams’ titanic ‘Main Title’ and iconic score (‘The Imperial March’ didn’t come until later, the unmatched ‘Dual of the Fates’ until even later still).

But, whatever Star Wars means to cinema, however much money it made George Lucas (at last count: lots) and regardless of how thankful James Cameron is that he was spared a career as a truck driver, I will always remember Star Wars as that little film that blew my mind. For years all I wanted was to be a Jedi, a Corellian spice smuggler, or, Hell, a Jawa if I flunked school. I loved Star Wars like I’d never loved a film before, and continue to love it to this day. Seriously, just ask my lightspeed impression, it’s very convincing.

@popcornaddict

While I now, of course, appreciate the full genius of Hayao Miyazaki and Studio Ghibli – I’m only human – it wasn’t exactly love at first sight.

Having caught Spirited Away as a teenager, complete with pig parents and a rather spiritless American voice-over, I was clearly ill-equipped to take it in – distracted as I was by Pixar and their at that time peerless pixels. All that changed, however, when I discovered Howl and his absolutely enchanting moving castle.

For those of you who, like a younger me,  haven’t discovered Studio Ghibli yet (there’s always one), Howl’s Moving Castle follows the various misadventures of Sophie (Chieko Baishō/Emily Mortimer), a beautiful 18 year-old hat-maker with confidence issues. Unintentionally attracting the attention of Howl (Takuya Kimura/Christian Bale), Sophie invokes the jealous wrath of the Witch of the Waste (Akihiro Miwa/Lauren Bacall), who curses the young haberdasher with the body of an old woman. Magically prevented from speaking of her condition, Sophie abandons the shop and runs away.

Encountering a sentient scarecrow quickly dubbed Turnip Head (Yō Ōizumi/Crispin Freeman), the two soon find themselves in the shadow of Howl’s mysterious castle. Befriending the castle’s power source, a quick witted fire demon named Calcifer (Tatsuya Gashūin/Billy Crystal) who is able to see through the witch’s curse, Sophie successfully barters her freedom for that of Calcifer’s, requiring her to break the spell tying the demon to the castle. Assuming the role of cleaning lady, Sophie learns that Howl is being forced to participate in a war between her own world and its neighbour by the royal courts magician, Sulliman, who desires Howl’s heart for her own nefarious means.

Adapted from Diana Wynne Jones’ book of the same name, Howl’s Moving Castle isn’t your average children’s movie. In part a quasi-reaction to America’s war on Iraq, Miyazaki’s take on the narrative favours pacifism as motivation over the author’s own thematics and view of Howl as somewhat of a womaniser. It is a complex tale, not only propagating anti-war sentiments as well as discussion of destiny, duty and death, but a plot that takes in everything from witchcraft to time travel. It is resoundingly Ghibli, however, and as I have come to appreciate that means boundless creativity and a visual flair beyond even the reach of Pixar or Golden Age Disney.

What I love about Howl is its wild abandon, telling its tale with unwavering verve and vivacious characterisation. The similarities to 2007′s Mr. Magorium’s Wonder Emporium (another film I have all the time in the world for) are undeniable; from the multi-destination door-knob to the whispers of a possible bewitched bequest the echoes are many. However, what is most striking is how wonderless the Emporium comes off in comparison,  its bouncy-ball room paling in comparison to Miyazaki’s trademark depth and dimensions. Howl’s Moving Castle is utterly enthralling, the result far more fulfilling and – it must be said – far less trite.

While I have since fallen in love with Princess Mononoke, Ponyo and – with hindsight – Spirited Away too, only one thing continues to irk me with respect to Ghibli’s finest: the diabolical dubbing. Spared the annoyance with Arrietty, I fail to see the attraction of a Gillian Anderson voiced forest spirit, a Christian Bale voiced anything or, worst of all, Billy Crystal’s Calcifer. There is something wonderfully endearing about the original voice work, the enthusiastic exclamations of the Japanese voice cast adding something entirely authentic to the film. I’m sorry to say that this playfulness is somewhat lost in translation, though the stunning visuals and inspired storytelling of course compensate duly for the sound of Liam Neeson’s voice.

Don’t listen to the naysayers claiming Howl to be a weak link in the Ghibli canon, it is anything but. Spoilt by a succession of exceptional films, such people are keen to overlook the brilliance of a film Miyazaki was never himself supposed to direct. Majestic, compelling and an absolute delight, Howl is little short of a genuine masterpiece.

Arrietty is out now.

To celebrate the release of Studio Ghibli’s latest film, Arrietty, in UK cinemas we’re taking a look back at some of the studio’s classic with a Video Vault series.

Patrick Gamble takes a look back at the 1988 war film written and directed by Isao Takahata, Grave of the Fireflies. Check back over the next week for more in this series.

Grave of the Fireflies appears as somewhat of an anomaly when rummaging through the Ghibli back catalogue. Whilst the franchise’s other serious features such as Princess Mononoke and Nausicca   have tackled adult themes, they have done so through subtle symbolism, softened against a fantasy backdrop. Grave of the Fireflies, however, is so emotionally charged that its raw and unflinching approach in its portrayal of warfare demands it be taken seriously.

Re-visiting this beguiling tragedy for the Video Vault has brought back memories of just how heart-breaking this poignant tale of two siblings fighting against severe adversity is a gentle reminder of exactly the reasons it’s remained unwatched for so many years.

A huge success in Japan when originally released, Grave of the Fireflies was originally planned as a double bill with My Neighbour Totoro outside of Japan. Isao Takahata’s adaptation of Akiyuki Nosaka’s novel was deemed to be a more conventional and educational film which, would help Totoro’s unusual style resonate with a western audience. In hindsight it seems like a bizarre coupling, with each sharing little in common with the other, both in narrative and atmosphere. Whilst Totoro is the studio’s embodiment of childhood wonder, Grave of the Fireflies is an unrelentingly upsetting portrayal of wartime misery and loss – certainly not perfect bedfellows.

The film opens in a Japanese train station, full of aggravated business men rushing towards their destination. Sat resting against one of the stations stone pillars is Seita, a skin and bones wreck of a boy who seems only moments away from death. There are many others like him, with commuters having to weave in-between these seemingly decaying young men. It becomes apparent from the outset that Seita’s situation is not a unique one and whilst his experiences may represent one childhood viewpoint of the horrors of war, his story is just one of many.

He soon dies and we are transported to the stories origins. However, the red tinge of the screen which occurs at this moment, and the way the frame floats upwards would imply that in fact we are not going back through time but instead taking a more linear, chronological journey, reliving the events which pass through Seita’s spirit as he departs this world.

The world we’re presented with once we join Seita and his sister Sadako may look like a dystopian future but in fact is the once beautiful Japanese landscape of Kobe, ravaged by war and destruction. As Napalm bombs fall from the sky like fireflies fluttering in the night sky our two young protagonists soon find themselves alone and uncared for in this now unrecognisable world. Their mother has just fallen to the most recent aerial assault and their father is away with the navy. Calm long shots allow us to wallowing in the pairs grief whilst at the same time allowing the desolately bleak surroundings to express the tragedy which surround them.

These now orphaned siblings leave Kobe to live with their aunt, and whilst the central enemy remains the attacking American forces, their new host represents a whole new evil. Perfectly displaying all the negative traits which accompany such devastating times, their Aunt is divisive in portraying how war can drive families apart. Their stay with this overly controlling matriarch doesn’t last long and the two soon find their fending for themselves again.

Whilst their new makeshift home in a bomb shelter leads to some heart warming scenes of childhood innocence, things soon start to turn ugly when Setsuko’s initially minor seeming illness begins to escalate and Seita realises he’s in well over his head. Yet, instead of swallowing his pride and returning to his aunts Seita begins to forage for food for his malnourished sister. However, as her health deteriorates Seita’s morals slide and he finds himself stealing from farmers and scavenging homes during air raids. Her death is a certainty but doesn’t prevent it from becoming perhaps one of the most heart breaking moments of cinema ever etched onto the screen.

It is this unrelentingly compassionate relationship between the film’s two leads that undoubtedly carries the film. Its emotionally involving story conveys a deeply naturalistic partnership that becomes impossible to not be drawn towards. From the beautiful scenes in the bomb shelter when the pair use fireflies to light up their otherwise depressingly dark surroundings, to the heart breaking moment Setsuko buries the dead insects in a mass grave that evokes a deeply upsetting memory for Seita of the similar disposal of his mother’s body. There’s something incredibly celestial and mystical about these scenes, which culminate in the film’s closing montage of Setsuko playing around the bomb shelter. This touching epitaph allows the audience a much needed moment to grieve for these characters that they’ve grown so personally attached to.

Grave of the Fireflies is perhaps the most human cartoon you’ll ever see. This devastating depiction of war through a child’s eyes is as powerful as any anti-war film and forced many into rethinking how they approached animation. Indeed, Grave of the Fireflies is not just an animated war film that would be a disservice to its powerful message, it is in fact a war film, that just so happens to be animated. Grave of the Fireflies manages to capture the pure innocence of childhood wonder whilst simultaneously overwhelming us with deeply moving and involving adult themes.

Perhaps not the epitome of what a Ghibli film is typically purported to be, Grave of the Fireflies manages to transcend the studio’s already excellent benchmark of filmmaking and singlehandedly showed how important a medium animation can be for storytelling. If this film doesn’t move you to tears then perhaps it’s time to reassess your ability to feel compassion because as animation goes Grave of the Fireflies has the emotional force of a thousand Bambi’s.

Building on their years of work in sfx when part of the computer division of LucasFilm, and their subsequent incarnation as a pioneering hardware company with an animation department that produced computer-animated commercials for other companies, Pixar’s Toy Story was their first feature-length film and the first in a three-picture $26 million deal with Walt Disney Feature Animation. Prior to Disney’s confirmation that they would distribute Toy Story as a major release during the 1995 holiday season, owner Steve Jobs (who purchased the company from George Lucas in in 1986) considered selling the company as it was losing money, even after selling off the hardware division and dramatically scaling back the number of employees. The world’s first entirely CGI-animated feature went on to gross over $360 million U.S. world-wide, and literally changed the course of feature-film animation, announcing the arrival of a truly innovative force not just in animation but in American cinema.

In 1995-96, I was working as the UK label manager for French soundtrack imprint Milan Records. We licenced score albums from most of the major studios, including Disney, which is how I came to be on the mailing list for taste-maker screenings of their animated features. These were always held on Sunday mornings at the Leicester Square Odeon, and were usually a few months ahead of UK theatrical release dates. These screenings were full of industry and media people (and the occasional footballer and his family), the idea being to get good word of mouth circulating amongst the cognoscenti with children before their films opened, and Disney always gave out a cool bit of promo swag for the kids as well. My oldest son was around 3 at the time, and I had managed to secure two double passes for these screenings, which I usually invited my son’s best friend from nursery and her dad to come to with us. My memory might be playing tricks with me, but I think Toy Story was the first of these Sunday screenings that we had tickets for.

I recall an excited buzz in the cinema that Sunday morning as the film had already opened to great acclaim and success in North America. This was however before the days of the web and the world of chatter, promotional onslaught and finely tuned anticipation that we live in now, so I really had no expectations (I hadn’t see any clips or a trailer) other than a fun Sunday morning outing with my boy. Within five minutes of the screening beginning, I was enraptured by the story of Woody and Buzz and the other toys in a way that I could not have imagined I would have been viewing a ‘children’s’ film under the auspices of Disney. Not only was it stunning to look at, but the script was genuinely witty and knowing and possessed of real heart, and didn’t talk down to children (it was the first animated film to be nominated for a Best Screenplay Academy Award – Adapted or Original). As a parent who hated all things twee and PC (from Barney to the painfully naff offerings of most children’s entertainers), it was fantastic to be able to watch something with my son that I enjoyed every bit as much as he did – and probably even more.

As we filed out of the cinema afterwards, that all too rare communal sense of real joy was in the air; we adults knew we had just witnessed something extraordinary, and there was much grinning and head shaking all around. The film that started it all is the lowest grossing of Pixar’s 11 feature films to date (with Toy Story 3 at the top of their table, and all animated features ever, having grossed in excess of $1 billion world-wide), and while I look forward to every new release (I took my friends’ seven year old Theo to see Toy Story 3 last year), it’s impossible to re-capture that real sense of cinematic magic I experienced on a Sunday morning in Leicester Square some 15 years ago.

My overriding memory of Finding Nemo is one of uncontrollable laughter. As Dory endeavours to communicate with a resident whale, I put my need for oxygen on hold and proceeded to crack up, guffaw and generally LOL hysterically. While I adore all of Pixar’s movies (yes, even Cars), and might hold Wall-E as the height of the studio’s creativity, Up as their most emotional release and Toy Story as the studio’s biggest technical achievement; only one of their movies might be described a personal favourite. The fifth of their releases hasn’t yet gathered any dust on my shelf – the incomparable Finding Nemo.

Telling the story of the ocean’s least funny clown fish, Finding Nemo pits overprotective father Marlin (Albert Brooks) against the big wide aquatic world as he sets about rescuing his ever-slightly-impaired son, Nemo (Alexander Gould), from marauding fish-nappers. Having lost his wife and the rest of his fish-lings to a peckish barracuda, Marlin must leave his anemone-encased comfort zone in order find and rescue Nemo.

Unintentionally enlisting the help of the ever-forgetful Dory (Ellen DeGeneres), an odd-couple road boat-trip springs from tragedy as the two fish set aside their differences and learn to work together as a team. Held prisoner in an Australian dentist’s surgery, Nemo begins his own adventure as he befriends his fellow inmates and puts his own escape plan into action.

Hot off the heels of Toy Story, A Bug’s Life, Monsters Inc. and Toy Story 2, Finding Nemo’s sitting as a buddy movie might seem far from innovative. However, while Finding Nemo boasts the traditional rescue attempts and familiar central relationship, it juggles such conventional tropes with a layered narrative that also allows for a well-handled opening tragedy and exuberant Great Escape style sub-plot. Although the studio have consistently proved masters of storytelling, it is their fifth feature that proves the most fulfilling and endearing as the ocean coughs up some of the most memorable characters in the Pixar canon.

While their previous outputs could largely be reduced to single conflicts (old against new or subordination against royalty), Finding Nemo has almost as many themes as it does characters. Is the glass half full or half empty? What does it mean to be a good parent? What are the benefits of teamwork? Just how do you speak whale? Luckily, this depth does not conspire to invoke unflattering comparisons to condescending after school specials, but instead gives proceedings a substance that might have so easily been neglected- you have seen Shark Tale, right?

The reason that Finding Nemo doesn’t have to fall back on dated pop culture references or nauseating family values is it’s smorgasbord of endlessly entertaining characters. From Bruce the vegetarian shark to Deb, a fish who believes her own reflection to be a silent sister called Flo, Finding Nemo is so bristling with gags and colourful supporting players to humour its sponsors or stringent parents. Even the smaller roles benefit from inspired casting and a bubbly script. Eric Bana can’t have more than two lines as shark lacky Anchor, Geoffrey Rush absolutely owns his small screentime and Dame Edna Everage of all people is cast as the aforementioned Bruce, yet it never feels like DreamWorks-esque stunt casting. It just works beautifully.

Of all the characters, however, it is Dory who makes the most lasting impression, ironic as it may be. Boasting a memory more suited to your average goldfish, this surrogate child of sorts has complete control over your emotions from beginning to end. Voiced by Ellen DeGeneres in a fit of extraordinary foresight, the character is arguably the best marriage of voice acting and animation committed to film, besting even Robin William’s acclaimed genie for canniness. As her memory slowly improves, and P. Sherman’s Sydney address cements itself in her mind, any threat to her progression and newfound independence pull any heart string left intact following the film’s opening massacre. Whether confessing to her fish-free diet, attempting to speak whale or monologuing her fear of regression, Dory, to me at least, epitomises the collective power and joy of computer animation like no other.

It is not just in characterisation that Finding Nemo excels however, the studio’s first underwater feature continues Pixar’s tendency for innovation and boundary pushing. While Toy Story illustrated the potential for computer animation even at feature length, A Bug’s Life generated hundreds of individual characters and Monster’s Inc. rendered one of the most realistic (and furry) of all its characters, Finding Nemo is reliably breathtaking – though it is easy to overlook the challenges that faced the movie’s filmmakers. A director’s commentary later it is clear that the finished product was no small feat, the difficulties invisible under a truly beautiful gloss.  The film’s lighting in particular is incredible, the way the sunlight dances across the sea bed or plays of a plastic bag completely – yet unobtrusively – impressive.

Above all, however, my favourite thing about Finding Nemo is how excellently it balances the adult and child-friendly humour. In my opinion, Finding Nemo is the polar opposite of something like Up, which is often cited as many adults’ favourite Pixar movie, largely as a result of the heart-breaking opening montage. I have always found Up (my least favourite of the studio’s features) relatively uneven in this respect, the talking Dog’s squirrel obsession jarring with the deliciously mature opening sequence and moving thematics. In Finding Nemo, however, there is a far reduced distinction between humours, each joke simply hilarious without being aimed at anyone in particular. Of course parents will sympathise with Marlin in respects that no child could reasonably fathom, but the film has a timeless and ageless quality that sells it completely.

Overall, then, Finding Nemo is the Pixar movie to rule all Pixar movies. Layered, consistently hysterical and absolutely spectacular to behold, the movie hits about every note you could ask of a kids movie, leaving you in a state of elation that will never fully leave you. With HeyUGuys offering you the chance to vote for your favourite Pixar character, I ask you to vote for Dory, for Marlin, for Nemo; I ask you to vote for Finding Nemo, the studio’s greatest animation to date.

In 1981 Raiders of The Lost Ark was released and like many young boys Eric Zala, Chris Strompolos and Jayson Lamb saw the film and were enraptured by it.

Like many kids Chris wanted to be Indiana Jones, to have his own adventure, to fight nazis, hunt for treasure and get the girl. He therefore decided that he would remake the whole film shot-for-shot and that he would play the starring role of Indy. Chris discussed this with his friend Eric who agreed to help and realising they could not achieve the necessary special effects themselves they got another friend, Jayson, involved in the project.

Together, over the next seven years, the three boys, with the help of almost 100 others, made the greatest fan film ever made, Raiders Of The Lost Ark: The Adaptation. When the boys started they were just 11-12 years old and when they finished they were adults. Having finished they screened the film to family and friends and got on with their lives.

Once the boys had decided that they were going to remake Raiders shot for shot they hit their first problem. No video rental copy was yet available for the film so they therefore began collecting anything they could find to help construct a shot-by-shot storyboard. They collected books, artwork, magazine articles and ingeniously even snuck a cassette recorder into the cinema and recorded an audio version of the entire film. Eric then drew out precise and quite incredible storyboards that allowed them to then shoot the whole film shot for shot with little deviation from the original. He also designed costumes for the film which they began making, including turning school uniforms into nazi uniforms.

Although they didn’t keep track of the budget of their film the three agree that it probably cost them roughly $5000 to make over the course of the seven years. Not bad when compared to the $28 million the original Raiders cost. The boys made everything they could and what they couldn’t they asked for for their Birthday and Christmas presents. In parts of the film where they were unable to replicate certain props and scenery their ingenuity is outstanding and often quite amusing. Their replacement for the monkey is a particular highlight.

One of the delights of the film though is seeing them actually accurately replicate things from the original that you just can’t believe they would have been able to. Particularly startling is the stunts that the boys manage to replicate which help recapture one of the greatest elements of the original, practical effects and stunts which felt genuinely dangerous adding real tension to the action sequences. This helped make the Indiana Jones films such exciting action/adventure films and was noticeably lacking from the recent Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, much to the film’s detriment.

In the 14 years following their hometown première the story of these three boys who remade a whole film in their teens became legendary, especially amongst film students, and VHS copies of the film were traded, illegally sold or rented and passed around campuses. In 2003 one such copy of the film was in the hands of director Eli Roth. Eli Roth was a friend of Aint It Cool founder Harry Knowles who, every year to celebrate his birthday, programmes 24 hours of films at the Alamo Drafthouse in Austin which he calls Butt-Numb-A-Thon (BNAT). Eli Roth was in attendance at the 2003 BNAT and handed Harry a copy of the tape which Harry gave to fellow organiser Tim League. He then put the tape on the side in preparation to play it if they ended up ahead of schedule. Luckily this happened and the film played on the screen to 200 film fans who went nuts, cheering throughout. News of the screening spread and Eric, Chris and Jayson were invited to show the film at the Alamo as a special event with a Q&A. They agreed and the film played to a packed audience who gave them a four minute standing ovation.

If you haven’t seen Raiders of the Lost Ark: The Adaptation it is perhaps hard to understand why this film provokes such a response but this film is the crazy dream of three children, it is the story of three boys growing up, it is a film filled with originality and imagination, and importantly it is a film that shot for shot remakes a damn good film. One of the greatest joys of the film is that this is the story of these three boys growing up. When they first set out, for instance, Chris was unable to grow the necessary stubble and used vaseline and ash to get the required look but by the end of filming he was sporting genuine stubble.

One of the best moments in the film is when the scene where Indy and Marion kiss is replicated, which when viewed with the knowledge that this was Chris’ (then 13) first kiss ever is a pretty magical moment. This kind of moment is exactly what this film is all about. The film is not simply a remake of Raiders but it is also a documentary/home movie of the three boys’ teenage lives, their friendship and the story of them growing up.

Shortly after the Alamo screening and a high profile Variety piece, Hollywood producer Scott Rudin bought the rights to the boys story and plans to make a fictionalised film of their story. Daniel Clowes was attached to write and direct but there seems to have been little movement on the film since this announcement.

Potentially more exciting is the news that that Eric, Chris and Jayson are working on a documentary about the film and that they have over 40 hours outtakes to use. Apparently they are unfortunately faced with “legal hurdles” in getting their Adaptation released which is incredibly sad to hear, especially considering that Spielberg has seen the film and loved it.

It would be an incredible shame if the film remained unseen by the majority of people due to its slightly tricky position as an unauthorised remake. Hopefully soon these legal issues will be resolved and the film can be released, perhaps with an accompanying documentary. Until then the film is occasionally screened with the proceeds going to charity and if you ever get the chance you should rush to one of these rare chances to see this incredible film.

Images via The Raider Net.

We’ve raided the lost ark, escaped from a temple of doom and even embarked on what now transpires to be the penultimate crusade. Now we consider the final (for the time being at least) entry in the Indy canon, Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull.

*****

1957. After he helps a group of Russians who are pre-occupied with “psychic warfare” break into a secure military facility in Nevada and locate, then make off with an alien artifact, Indy’s loyalties are questioned. The FBI debrief him, after which he ventures to Peru, to try to track down the eponymous skull, which is believed by the Russians to hold the key to accessing vast resources of alien knowledge and power.

***

Looking back on this film, which is of course altogether more recent that any of the other films in the series, is a problematic and at times almost painful experience. It is difficult to overstate the precious place the Indiana Jones films hold in my affections, affection which has doubtless come through clearly in the course of my articles on the previous films.

It would not be an exaggeration to say that the Indiana Jones films are as important to me as the original Star Wars films are to any devoted fan of that series and so it was with almost breathless anticipation that I sat down in a darkened auditorium to enjoy my first big screen Indy experience in almost two decades.

Two hours later I staggered out into the world outside, shell-shocked but not in a good way. Something had gone very badly wrong but it took a considerable amount of time before I was able to unravel precisely what it was. The frustration was that for all but the last few minutes, Crystal Skulls had me. When Indy is dragged out of the boot of a car in the first few minutes and thrown to the ground, only to arise in silhouette and put his fedora on, I smiled and smiled. I was then thrown into an exhilarating set piece as Indy clambers over crates, swings into jeeps, punches evil Russians and even gets a ride on a rocket sled. It was everything Indy should be and they even put in a shot of the Ark, with the Ark theme from Raiders thrown in for good measure.

After that excellent opening, the globe trotting sets in and we get a good solid dose of dark and cobweb ridden catacombs, trap doors, Indy back in his leather jacket, a motorcycle chase, quicksand, Shia LaBeouf swinging through the trees like Tarzan, giant flesh-eating ants, waterfalls, booby traps, sword fights, fist fights and John Hurt acting bonkers. As with the best entries in the series, the set pieces are pretty organic, flowing smoothly and feeling like a natural part of the flow of the narrative. Harrison Ford is clearly getting a bit too old for this, but he doesn’t seem to be noticeably struggling to the same extent as, say, Sly Stallone in The Expendables. The script is sadly a little weak, certainly in comparison to the high water mark of Raiders and Last Crusade and in particular there is very little in the way of memorable quotes, save perhaps for Indy’s “not as easy as it used to be” at the outset.

The overarching problem here, however, is not the script, nor Harrison Ford’s age. It is the story and more to the point, the MacGuffin. Considering how long it took to put together a new story for Indy (18 years) it is inconceivable that no-one could have come up with a better idea than the skulls of inter-dimensional aliens. Indy’s throwaway line of “they’re archaeologists” when finding their stash of artifacts from across human civilization and history rings hollow and Ford seems to struggle to find a way to make it sound meaningful. The reality is that Indiana Jones is not and never has been about science fiction. Of course there are fantasy elements to the films, but they are rooted in Earth’s mythology, religion and history, not those from other worlds.

I can stand the CGI gophers at the beginning. It is preposterous that Indy could survive a nuclear blast inside a fridge, but it was kind of funny. It didn’t quite sit right with me watching Shia swing through the trees, but the films have built up so much good will with me that I was prepared to let it slide. What I could not and still cannot forgive, was the undermining, nay, the betrayal of the fundamental essence of the Indiana Jones films. To have to listen to John Hurt say that they have gone to “the space between space”, as Indy watches a flying saucer take off was more than I could bear and I still feel angry when I think about it.

In all honesty, it is not a bad film. Crystal Skulls is full of excitement, laughter, great set-pieces and top-drawer special effects. It is well acted and if the rest of the Indy films did not exist it would perhaps be rightly hailed as an excellent action-adventure film. I’m inclined to lay the blame with George Lucas, as I understand he had final say on the script and story, but no-one forced Harrison Ford and Steven Spielberg to make the film. It didn’t have to be an Indy film, it could have been a globe-trotting sci-fi adventure based around a different character and left Indiana Jones safely within his proper parameters. Or they could have gone with a different story, as I understand Frank Darabont’s pass at the script was excellent, but ultimately rejected by Lucas.

It is therefore not quite an out and out violation of some of the most cherished film memories of my childhood, but it is a serious mis-step for the series and if another Indy film is made they simply must get back to Indy’s true essence, or else suffer the ire and indignation of myself and many others whose enjoyment of the series has now been at the very least a little blunted.

*****

I hope you have enjoyed this trip back into the Indiana Jones films. Please feel free to share your own thoughts on the films, your favourite scenes and quotes and your memories of meeting Indy for the first time in the comments section below.

We’ve traveled with Indy through Peru, Cairo, Nepal, Shanghai and India. After finding the Ark and surviving the Temple of Doom, it was time for his Last Crusade (until the next one).

*****

It is 1938 and Indiana Jones finally retrieves the Cross of Francisco De Coronado, which he had first come across in a cave in Utah in 1912 while on a boy scout expedition. When handing the cross over to Marcus Brody, Dr Jones finds out that a gentleman by the name of Walter Donovan wants to enlist his help in finding the Holy Grail, the cup used by Christ at the Last Supper and in which his blood was purportedly spilled at the crucifixion.

Donovan says that his team are getting close but that their last project leader has vanished. Indy says that they have the wrong Dr Jones and would be better off recruiting his father, Henry Jones Snr, who is believed to be the world’s leading authority on Grail lore. It turns out that they did and it is he who is missing. Indy sets off to rescue his father, find the Grail and once more save the day.

***

To describe the prologue to Last Crusade as a bravura piece of film-making would be a gross understatement. We are introduced to Indy as a teenage boy, played by River Phoenix, catching a group of men in the act of “recovering” an ancient cross that Indy maintains belongs in a museum. He grabs the cross and makes his way onto a train, across the top of which he battles with the group of men. Along the way, he falls into a crate of snakes (fear of snakes, check), cracks a whip to ward off a lion (bullwhip, check), does it wrong and catches his chin (scar on chin, check), before making his escape with the cross and getting back to his father, whose voice we briefly hear, but whose face we do not yet see.

The mercenaries catch up with Indy and take the cross, with the leader of the group placing his fedora on Indy’s head, telling him that just because he lost doesn’t mean that he has to like it. We then leap forward to 1938, to find a grown up Indy once again retrieving the Cross, dispatching a whole boat full of rogues in the process, as well as blowing the boat sky high. It is, as is so often the case with films in this series, scintillating, joyous stuff. It is just so much fun finding out how Indy came to be the man we have known him to be over the previous two films. The swift pacing, light-hearted tone, but nonetheless the sense of genuine peril all conspire to grab our attention and the film doesn’t let go until everyone rides off into the sunset and the curtain falls.

After the dark turn of Temple of Doom, this was a deliberate and welcome return to a lighter tone. The MacGuffin was again a strong one, with the Grail grabbing the attention of all those seeking eternal youth. As with both previous films, the set pieces are very strong and much more in the vein of Raiders, a more organic element of a fleet-footed and smooth-running story. Aside from the prologue, we have the search for the knight’s tomb in Venice and the ensuing boat chase. There is the rescue of Henry Jones Snr and the motorcycle chase, as well as a later aerial dogfight with Nazi aeroplanes. After all of that we have a tank/jeep/horseback battle in the desert, before finally finding ourselves within grasping distance of the Grail, separated only by three booby traps every bit as fiendish as those found in the prologue of Raiders.

If anything, Last Crusade is even more incident packed than Raiders and for most fans of the series, all that really helps to separate them in terms of quality is which one you happen to have seen more recently. The script is excellent this time round, dropping in more of the pithy one liners so fondly remembered from Raiders (“I didn’t know you could fly a plane”, “Fly, yes. Land, no”) and giving us a belter of a character in Indy’s dad. Played perfectly by Sean Connery, there was clearly more of Spielberg’s James Bond wish-fulfillment at work in the casting. The tension between Indy and his father is palpable and convincingly explained and resolved. Despite Connery’s considerable experience of globe-trotting plots, combative henchmen and insouciant cool as Bond, he superbly plays a wry, intelligent academic, seemingly out of his depth but possessing great inventiveness in a tight spot. Though initially seeming to disapprove of Indy and even disappointed in him, by the climax we find Indy reaching for the Grail before it tumbles into an abyss, saying he can reach it, but needing to give his father his hand. Henry Snr simply says, “Indiana, let it go”. It is a moment of great tenderness, affection and emotional impact.

Harrison Ford is of course immaculate again as Indy, throwing himself again into the adventure and coming up with ever more industrious ways of negotiating peril, including a literal leap of faith. Spielberg’s direction is assured and light, letting the momentum of the narrative and script move the film along in a busy, but never hurried or cluttered way. Denholm Elliott gets involved a bit more this time around as Marcus Brody and although she is not as memorable as either Karen Allen’s Marion Ravenwood or Kate Capshaw’s Willie Scott, Alison Doody is convincing and effective (though duplicitous) as Dr Elsa Schneider.

As alluded to above, though relatively few argue for the supremacy of Temple of Doom among the series, votes are much more evenly matched between Raiders and Crusade. Raiders of course earns marks for originality, whilst Crusade has the twin benefits of that icon-building prologue and the master-stroke of casting Sean Connery.

The good news is that this is a win-win for us. It doesn’t matter which is the better film, as they are both fantastic, hugely enjoyable films. The difficulty is that Last Crusade ends on such an obviously series-closing note (father and son reunited, heroes ride off into the sunset) that a further visit to Indy and co, nearly 20 years later, was always in danger of feeling like an unnecessary add-on rather, than a natural progression of the series.

But more on the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull tomorrow. For now, find a copy of Last Crusade and watch it, remembering and enjoying once again all that it has to offer.

Having looked at the series-launching and genre-defining Raiders of the Lost Ark,yesterday, it is now time to “go a little darker” and consider 1984′s Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, which re-united Steven Spielberg as director, Harrison Ford as the man with the hat and George Lucas once again coming up with the story.

*****

The year is 1935, one year before the events of Raiders of the Lost Ark. Indiana Jones has to bail out of a pilot-less, fuel-less aeroplane, accompanied by a nightclub singer (Willie Scott) and a young Chinese boy (Short-Round). They find themselves in a remote Indian village, from which all of the children have been snatched, along with a Sankara stone, believed by the villagers to be vital to their survival. The children and stone are believed to have been taken to the nearby Pankot Palace where the ancient Thuggee cult is believed to be arising once again. Indy, Willie and Short-Round agree to travel to the palace, to see whether they can find the children and return them and the sacred stone to their rightful place.

***

In many ways intentionally mirroring Lucas’s approach with his Star Wars sequel, The Empire Strikes Back, Spielberg wanted to shift to a slightly darker tone for his next Indy adventure. While Temple of Doom is nowhere near as accomplished a film as Raiders, or as successful a sequel as The Empire Strikes Back, it certainly succeeded in achieving a darker tone. Munching on chilled monkey brains, eyeball soup, human sacrifice, child abduction and slavery, removing a man’s heart while he is still alive, whipping child labourers. It is indeed a heady mix of adult themes, seemingly starkly at odds with the romping tone of its action-adventure predecessor.

The role the film (along with Gremlins) played in the birth of the PG-13 certificate in the US is well documented and need not be dwelt on here, what is noteworthy however is the tone of regret that Spielberg expressed in later years, sensing that within the parameters of the type of film series Indiana Jones represents, he had gone too far. Certainly the assorted themes listed above represent a real jolt after the overall tone of Raiders. For sure, the pit of snakes and face-melting Nazis in the first film are hardly light-hearted, however the overall feel of the first film was more on the jaunty side and Temple of Doom tries but ultimately struggles to inject much in the way of humour or levity amidst the gloomier elements. This is in part down to the script, which while perfectly serviceable in moving Indy along through his adventure, lacks the snappy one-liners and enduring memorability of the best entries in the franchise.

What the film emphatically does not lack, however, is expert pacing and peerless set pieces. We find Indy in the opening scene in Shanghai, dressed in a tux (surely yet more of Spielberg’s “Indy as James Bond” wish fulfillment) and before you can blink he’s been drugged, he’s chasing the antidote, making an escape, getting embroiled in a car chase, bailing out of an aeroplane in an inflatable dinghy and negotiating whitewater rapids. As with Raiders, cumbersome exposition is kept to a minimum and much of it is done on the hoof, with Indy, Willie and Short-Round quickly making their way into the bowels of Pankot palace and confronting the re-emerging Thuggee cult.

On the subject of set-pieces, the mine cart chase sequence and the finale on the rope bridge are as well-crafted and thrilling as anything the series has produced, unfortunately a few good set pieces to do not make an excellent, or even a well-crafted film. There is a regrettably disjointed feel to a lot of it, with many sequences not feeling like part of the narrative flow in the organic way achieved with Raiders (and indeed Last Crusade a few years later). It should be borne in mind in this context that the mine cart sequence was originally intended for the finale of Raiders but in the end found its way into Temple of Doom. Perhaps the fact that the set-piece pre-dated the story and script contributed to the disjointedness?

Ultimately, Harrison Ford remains believably world-weary but principled and adventurous as Indy, with Short-Round an excellent and amusing side-kick. Kate Capshaw proved herself thoroughly game as Willie, suffering all manner of creepy-crawlies and having to be taught how to scream her guts out for the many occasions on which it was called for. As noted above, the script falls a little short, but the MacGuffin is an excellent one, shifting the action away from Biblical artifacts, but maintaining good consistency with the series with occult themes, booby traps and perilous predicaments from which Indy must extricate himself, armed with only his wits and a bullwhip. In the vein of Superman 3 and Spider-man 3, Harrison Ford gets to play an evil version of Indy, but it does not last long enough to carry much weight.

Were it not for the series entries either side of it, Temple of Doom would most likely be better regarded. As noted, it contains some sensational set pieces and the shift to a darker tone is only notable by its contrast to what preceded and followed it. Being a worse film than Raiders of the Lost Ark is no bad thing, since most films are and it still stands head and shoulders above Romancing the Stone, National Treasure, King Solomon’s Mines and a myriad of other pale imitators.

It is far from Spielberg’s best work, but as many have noted, Spielberg a little off his game is still better than the best that most other directors could ever aspire to. It remains a very good, though not excellent film and though some do still hail it as the best of the series, if you own them all it is likely to remain the least watched of the collection.

Check back tomorrow for the family affair that is The Last Crusade.

]]> http://www.heyuguys.co.uk/2011/01/18/video-vault-indiana-jones-and-the-temple-of-doom/feed/ 0 http://www.heyuguys.co.uk/2011/01/17/video-vault-raiders-of-the-lost-ark/ http://www.heyuguys.co.uk/2011/01/17/video-vault-raiders-of-the-lost-ark/#comments Mon, 17 Jan 2011 14:00:46 +0000 Dave Roper http://www.heyuguys.co.uk/?p=64428

With Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull finally taking its bow on UK terrestrial television, care of a New Years’ Day screening on BBC1, it feels like a convenient juncture at which to take a look back at the series as a whole.

I make no apologies for being a dyed in the wool fan of The Man with the Hat but as you will hopefully see over the course of the next week my appreciation for the films is well-founded, with some of director Steven Spielberg’s very best work finding its place amidst the series.

First off, let’s go back to 1981/1936 for the series opener, Raiders of the Lost Ark.

*****

The year is 1936 and Indiana Jones, professor of archaeology, obtainer of rare antiquities and all-round adventurer is recruited by the US government to find the Ark of the Covenant before the Nazis do. It is feared that if the Nazis lay their hands on the Ark, they will wield its power and become an unstoppable force.

***

The origins of Indiana Jones are now relatively well-known. Director Steven Spielberg was a fan of the James Bond franchise and the cliff-hanger adventure series of his childhood. George Lucas had a dog named Indiana, the idea of an adventuring archaeologist and eventually it all came together. Lucas came up with the story, Lawrence Kasdan (The Empire Strikes Back, Body Heat, Silverado) wrote the script, Spielberg took up the directing reins and an icon, a legend, was born.

Spielberg starts us off with a breath-taking prologue that holds up 30 years later as a masterclass in how to build an action-packed set-piece. From the booby-traps, to the giant spiders, to the closing door, the giant boulder and a grisly end for the duplicitous Alfred Molina it is cinematic perfection and we are only a few minutes in. There is a phenomenal economy to the introduction of characters, setting the scene and establishing the tone for the adventures to follow. We are quickly whisked back to Jones’ university in the US for some important but commendably brief exposition on Ark lore before the adventure proper then kicks into high gear.

From there, it is off to Nepal, then Cairo, then a Nazi island base in the Mediterranean, by aeroplane, on horseback, in a truck and by submarine. There is scarcely a moment to catch your breath, yet it is always clear precisely what is happening and although the plot is nothing if not propulsive, there is always time for character beats. Indiana hooks up with an old flame (Marion Ravenwood) in Nepal, who comes along for the ride. Their relationship always feels genuine and there is a true sense of their history together which comes through in the eminently quotable but never cliched dialogue. Likewise the villain of the piece, Belloq, is no two-dimensional caricature. He has his motivations and his back-story and always feels fully-fleshed.

As Indiana Jones, Harrison Ford has surely (with the possible exception of Han Solo) never been better cast. He inhabits the role perfectly, making Jones feel like a real person and grounding the more fantastic elements of the film with a matter-of-fact approach and as he admits in one memorable line, a tendency to make it up as he goes along. He manages to play Jones as weary but not dreary (“it’s not the years, it’s the mileage”), brave but not reckless and industrious and inventive without feeling unrealistically so.

If Ford is the heart of Indiana Jones, then director Steven Spielberg is undoubtedly the brains, assembling  set piece after memorable set piece, yet with a seamless continuity such that the film never feels disjointed. There is never that jolt you sometimes get in lesser films, where the director wants to insert another action sequence but does not know how to fit it organically into the film. Think of the scene in the Well of Souls, when Indy and Marion Ravenwood are locked in with thousands of snakes and their torches going out. As they make their escape, we move straight into Indy’s fight with the German pugilist while Marion is locked in an aeroplane that is about to explode, before moving straight onto the truck/horse chase, including Indy climbing over the bonnet of the truck, sliding underneath it as it drives along and climbing back on at the rear. It is simply breath-taking, sensational stuff.

So many of the film’s set pieces have become iconic, that it seems churlish not to give them a mention. There is the afore-mentioned booby-trap laden prologue, the fight in the Nepalese bar, the chase and fight in the Cairo market, including Indy hilariously shooting a scimitar-wielding Arab who was clearly expecting a more drawn-out battle (Harrison Ford actually suggested that abrupt conclusion to the scene since he could not face filming a long fight sequence, suffering as he was at the hands of “tummy trouble” from the local food). There is the Well of Souls imprisonment and escape, the truck chase and finally the climax, as the Ark is opened.

What is most intriguing and in retrospect so daring about the conclusion is how it departs from conventional wisdom as to the proper ending of a film. There is no drawn out fight between protagonist and foe, no battle of wits. Instead, Indy closes his eyes while God finishes off the baddies. After seeing Indy put through so much to get to the finale, it would be infuriating for him to have to take a back seat, were it not for how deftly the scene is handled and how exhilaratingly icky the come-uppance of the Nazis proves to be. Indy survives and good triumphs, but the Ark is dumped in a cavernous warehouse and the mysteries of what it contains remain secret.

The Indiana Jones series (as we will see over the next few days) went on to contain some mightily impressive films but Raiders remains the high water mark. It created an instant icon, contains the best set-pieces of the series, the best MacGuffin and although The Last Crusade pushes it pretty close, Raiders remains in my opinion the finest action adventure film yet committed to the screen. It is up there with Jaws, Schindler’s List, Jurassic Park and Minority Report amongst Spielberg’s very finest work and arguably has a higher rewatchability (my new word) factor than any of them.

I’ll be back tomorrow with my thoughts on Temple of Doom. In the meantime, feel free to share your thoughts below on Raiders of the Lost Ark.

With the Blu-ray release of the Alien Anthology on the 25th of October HeyUGuys are taking a look at the entire Alien and Predator series. From Facehuggers to trophy hunting Predators, from the iconic and classic to the dubious crossovers – this is your ultimate retrospective.

So remember, even if you ain’t got time to bleed, in the Video Vault no-one can hear you scream…

Here’s Steven Neish to complete the set…

After the criminal success of 2004′s Alien vs. Predator, a sequel was quickly announced and dragged kicking and acid-spitting through production.

Replacing Paul W. S. Anderson – whose child-friendly original compromised the individual franchises’ penchant for suspence in favour of impatient thrills – with the confidently titled Brothers Strause, 20th Century Fox set the stage for a crossover that might finally do justice to the phenomenon’s fan-fictionesque premise.

Indeed, the movie’s first trailer had a lot of promise. Relocating the action from Antarctica to small town America (continuity, schmontinuity) and replacing the lamentable ‘Whoever wins, we [the audience, it turns out] lose’ with the suitably self-referential ‘In space no-one can hear you scream, on Earth it wont matter’, the filmmakers teased a return to tension – with the aliens being used sparingly as opposed to being demystified centre-stage.

Featuring an increased gore quotient, a suitably sweaty Ripley-lite and an impressive spaceship crash, I felt my cynicism start to give way to genuine excitement. The studio’s release of the opening five minutes of the movie did little to sway my anticipation. Picking up where the first movie left off, the bloggosphere was treated to a ship-board skirmish, a face-hugger attack and a tantalising glimpse of the Predator home planet. The fact that the second fatality was that of a child promised a darker tone than that set by Anderson’s original.

While Aliens vs Predator: Requiem was darker than AvP, this was achieved not through adult subtext or the pursuit of nihilism but through unforgivably incompetent lighting and excessive splatter. Desensitised by Anderson’s overexposure of the aliens and reliance on bad CGI, audiences were left squinting by the Brothers Strause who, believe it or not, had originally made names for themselves as special effects artists. What had once been excused as a result of the trailer’s low resolution was quickly clear to be little more than clumsy workmanship.

Although littered with interesting or promising ideas, the (very) few redeeming features AvP:R has to offer are obscured in a shroud of darkness. A quick browse of the film’s promotional stills show xenomorphs and Predators rendered illegible by rain, shadow and – we’re about to get to this – painfully uninteresting subplots. Like its predecessor, what this crossover conceit promised in concept, it fumbled in execution.

You see, while the Alien franchise pits xenomorph(s) against the increasingly sinewy Sigourney Weaver and the first Predator movie inflicted Arnold Schwarzenegger upon a poor, unsuspecting trophy hunter, AvP:R opts for a ridiculously pitiful component: *insert excruciatingly dreadful teen soap opera here*.

Rather than centring on one particular hero or heroine, AvP:R wastes patience-testing swathes of screentime on a multitude of tired teenage dramas and embarrassingly warn stereotypes. What might have worked – and I controversially believe did work – for Freddy Vs. Jason, has no place in a franchise steeped in such mature legacy. Not to sound elitist but there is no room for stoners in either the Alien or Predator mythologies. Rather than Major Alan “Dutch” Schaefer we have a pizza delivery boy, instead of Ripley we have soon-to-be single-mother Kelly (and Newt wannabe Molly) O’Brian.

What follows the opening five minutes are an assortment of rehashed cult scenes and characters, the Strause brothers considerably more interested in inventive deaths than the lives that precede them. No character is permitted to take centre stage, instead a series of needless encounters eradicate all potential tension, resulting in a series of unrelatable characters stealing great swathes of screentime from the title’s promised men in suits hitting one another.

That one scene in particular spends entire minutes with one unsympathetic character as he tries (unsuccessfully I am delighted to report) to retrieve his keys from a drain just goes to show why experienced filmmakers will always hold my preference over newcomers and music video veterans – particularly when they are being entrusted with such cherished and cinematically important movie franchises. Ridiculously fast editing is no substitute to actual pacing.

What AvP:R had the potential and – for self-confessed fans of the source material, at least – responsibility to offer this still-birth of a franchise was a reprieve. Instead, as the self-fulfilling prophecy of a subtitle suggested, the movie delivers a coffin-nailing requiem. Although a threequiem was initially touted, three years and the news that both franchises are getting their individual shot of adrenaline all but rule out the possibility of another rematch.

The Brothers Strause, meanwhile, have apparently put the beliefs that their film “definitely led to a sequel” behind them and advanced their careers with the upcoming Skyline. From what I’ve seen Skyline is an exciting and enticing prospect, however, I have learnt my lesson and will reserve judgement until the similarly promising sci-fi is safely in theatres.

Effectively a live-action ‘celebrity’ deathmatch for the Platinum Dunes generation, AvP:R clearly angered enough of the right people to resurrect the two composite franchises. However, while all of the previous editions – might I take this opportunity to pledge my affection for Alien 3 and Predator 2 – were nothing if not watchable, AvP:R – with its daft predalien, schizophrenic editing (seriously, the fight scenes are even less comprehensible than in Transformers) and TV-commercial acting – manages to be so awful you  momentarily forget what brilliance came before.

While there are undoubtedly those that rank Requiem above its predecessor, I was more disappointed by this movie than I ever was with Anderson’s. Although gorier, AvP:R lacks the reverent mythology-expanding touches of the original ‘versus’ – instilling AvP with a lifeline to the earlier franchises sorely lacked by this unwarranted side-note. Supremacy would be a shallow victory for either film, however, as a great advertising campaign once said: Whoever wins, we lose.

With the Blu-ray release of the Alien Anthology on the 25th of October HeyUGuys are taking a look at the entire Alien and Predator series. From Facehuggers to trophy hunting Predators, from the iconic and classic to the dubious crossovers – this is your ultimate retrospective.

So remember, even if you ain’t got time to bleed, in the Video Vault no-one can hear you scream…

And so we delve into the dubious crossover arena – Whoever wins – Steven Neish loses…

What do the words ‘A Paul W. S. Anderson film’ mean to you?

Call me easily pleased but I’ve always enjoyed the director’s Resident Evil franchise. While this dubious declaration might suggest I enjoyed his Alien vs. Predator movie, I must first acknowledge that the Paul W. S. Anderson directed first and fourth instalments of Resident Evil are the two I had the hardest time enjoying. Also a videogame adaptation, AvP shares more than just its source material with the Milla Jovovich vehicle, it also shares many of Anderson’s directorial strengths and weaknesses.

Ever since the alien skull was first teased at the end of Predator 2, a small part of me has been awaiting this movie with bated breath. Trapped in development hell for years, Anderson finally brought it to cinemas – complete with a number of story elements straight from the 1989 comic that started it all. Arriving in 2004, Alien vs. Predator pits alien against Alien for the first time on the big screen.

The movie runs on the premise that Predators (or Predatoids as Anderson dubs them) have been visiting Earth for centuries; using a frozen Alien queen, a labyrinthine pyramid – straight out of The Mummy – and sacrificial human subjects to train fledgeling hunters. When his interests are sparked by anomalous heat signals, Charles Bishop Weyland puts together an expedition to an abandoned whaling station that just happens to share an Antarctic island with said extra-terrestrial hotspot.

Accompanying Weyland (a game Lance Henriksen reprises his role of Bishop, retrofitting character quirks from his android legacy) on his expedition are mountain climbing (A)lex Wood, snap-happy Graeme Miller and archaeologist Sebastian De Rosa. Separated from their comrades by some clockwork wall reconfigurement, the team are caught in the middle of a ritualistic skirmish – one made possible by some incongruous tampering with established continuity that sees the xenemorph gestation period shrink from days to mere minutes.

To show that I’m serious about giving this crossover a fair hearing I am willing to look past the infantile script, excellerated incubation periods and even the bumbling Scottish ‘comic’ relief. For all its flaws, I still paid to see Alien vs. Predator and I did not leave the cinema completely unentertained.

Tied into the Alien mythology through the involvement of Henriksen, and expanding both franchises with a mid feature flashback that is genuinely impressive, Alien vs. Predator does have its share of redeeming features. Among the positives are a few very nice franchise touches. The cryogenically frozen alien queen for example, and her subsequent surface level T-Rex attack – straight out of Jurassic Park, momentarily have the pulse pounding and the jaw dropped.

Furthermore, Miller’s short term victory against one face hugger – only for the camera to pull away and reveal a room-full – adds a nice touch of intentional humour to a film so plagued by laughter of the unattentional variety. Even the Predator’s tried and tested method of killing facehuggers – a small moment, I grant you – just adds an extra dimension to film which, as its sequel proved, could have been so throw-away.

What is so infuriating about Alien v. Predator is that it is just so…so…child friendly. For a franchise steeped in sexual symbolism and the male fear of pregnancy – and another so tied to gruesome trophy hunting – this crossover is distinctly lacking in adult content. Faced with aliens, imminent death and an incomprehensible Rubik’s pyramaid, it is jarring that nobody swears and nobody really bleeds – red that is. While this one limitation – and this one limitation alone – will be rectified in the sequel, we are left with a film that utilises subtlety in all of the wrong places – the creatures are desensitised to viewers through their overuse while the word ‘bitch’ stands awkwardly as the films worst language.

Also jarring is the poorly implemented mix of CGI and puppery. While either could have done a perfectly acceptable job, some of the computer generated scenes actually prove feature highlights, the rampant fluctuations from animatronics to special effects draw too much attention. When animated the aliens looks sleek and fast, proving that they can still be scary creations even when not steeped in darkness; when the xenemorphs are clearly just men in suits, however, any threat is lost and with no stakes the fight sequences hold little interest for audiences.

Ultimately, the film – which is undoubtedly a neutered and inferior addition to the two franchises that came before – manages to wriggle its way out of obsolescence with some nice additions to the extant mythology and a sense of fun and cool that keeps bums on seats while the men in suits thump each other onscreen. For what it is – a comic-book/video-game wouldn’t-it-be-cool adaptation – however, Alien vs. Predator certainly gets the job done. While too shallow for an Alien film and too watered-down for a Predator film, Alien vs. Predator is nevertheless the best AvP film you are ever likely to see.

So, what do the words ‘A Paul W. S. Anderson film’ mean to you? To me, the declaration promises a videogame adaptation that squanders exemplary source material in favour of cheap thrills and the biggest demographic; that critics and fans will uniformly deride it; and that at some point in the narrative there will be a holographic underground pyramid.

Like Resident Evil, however, Aliens vs. Predator somehow overcomes its many flaws to grant it watchability and a welcome place on my list of guilty pleasures.

With the Blu-ray release of the Alien Anthology on the 25th of October HeyUGuys are taking a look at the entire Alien and Predator series. From Facehuggers to trophy hunting Predators, from the iconic and classic to the dubious crossovers – this is your ultimate retrospective.

So remember, even if you ain’t got time to bleed, in the Video Vault no-one can hear you scream…

Dave Roper enters the vault, with a couple of days to kill.

We were all really hoping that Arnie would come back for a second crack at the Predator. He escaped the first one by jumping out of the way of an atomic blast (take that Indiana Jones, he doesn’t even need a fridge) and would surely have had a blast taking on a new Predator in a different setting.

Sadly it was not to be and after the opening credit tease of a camera rushing over the tree line of a jungle, we find ourselves instead in LA in the then-future of the late 1990′s. LA is being torn apart by drug wars between Jamaicans and Colombians, with the increasingly helpless and ineffective LAPD stuck in the middle, trying to prevent the city melting down into anarchy.

What looks initially like the bloody end to a stand-off turns out to be the handiwork of a Predator who, to quote the film’s excellent tagline, is in town with a few days to kill. All of this “skin them and hoist them up high” stuff is pretty familiar to us from the first film, but it takes the Predator’s attack on the Jamaicans as they are about to slice and dice the head of the Colombian gang to get the LAPD thinking that they might have something a little different on their hands.

This time around, we get Danny Glover instead of Arnie and although he does his best and is no doubt a finer actor than Arnie will ever be, he lacks the physicality that Arnie always brings to his best roles. It just does not seem credible that even with the benefit of a commandeered alien weapon, Glover would be able to square off against a seven foot tall Predator. Glover has often seemed to me to be slightly awkward in his fight scenes and unfortunately this carries through to this performance. This is not intended as a slight on Glover per se, rather an error in the casting.

Plot-wise, we’re on even simpler ground than the first film. The two gangs are fighting, the LAPD want them to stop, the Predator wants to kill lots of people. The most interesting addition is a team of federal agents who are intent on capturing the Predator in order to harness its impressive array of advanced alien technology. This climaxes in one of the film’s better sequences when the agents try to corner and capture the Predator in a meat-packing warehouse. It doesn’t end well.

Another of the film’s better sequences is the Predator’s attack on the above-mentioned Jamaican killing party. The Predator unleashes an array of weapons not seen before, such as a razor-wire net, a retractable spear and a very, very sharp frisbee. It’s all a lot of fun but despite a reveal at the end that shows how long the Predators have been visiting Earth, as well as a glimpse of the Predator’s trophy cabinet that shows a very distinctive alien skull, not much is done here to extend or deepen the Predator mythology, as most noticeably contrasted with Aliens.

So what are we left with? A few pretty exciting set-pieces, a lead actor who gives the role a fair crack but seems fundamentally miscast, some effectively gruesome death scenes and a bit of “I’ve a feeling they’ll be back” at the end. Somehow though, it doesn’t add up to a satisfying whole. Compared to the first film, watching the Predator scythe through some fairly faceless, meaningless characters has nowhere near the impact of seeing the deaths of a group of tight-knit commandos. It winds up being a film that fails to grab your attention, where you find yourself caring very little for the outcome, save for a bit of a cheer when Gary Busey gets his head cut off.

It’s not a bad film, just a bit of a lazy one and in the end, a wasted opportunity to develop and build on the many considerable strengths of the first film. You can see the trailer below, which actually makes it look considerably more action-packed than it really is.

With the Blu-ray release of the Alien Anthology on the 25th of October HeyUGuys are taking a look at the entire Alien and Predator series. From Facehuggers to trophy hunting Predators, from the iconic and classic to the dubious crossovers – this is your ultimate retrospective.

So remember, even if you ain’t got time to bleed, in the Video Vault no-one can hear you scream…

Dave Roper hunts down Predator.

Although he had two “Conan” films and a handful of other bit parts under his belt beforehand, it was his iconic turn as an unstoppable cyborg in The Terminator that really put Arnold Schwarzenegger on the map. He followed up that career-making, career-defining role with Red Sonja, Commando and Raw Deal before hitting the South American jungle with a team of bad-ass special forces commandos for Predator.

At the time, it was absolutely perfect. An absurdly muscular man in an absurdly muscular role alongside a testosterone laden cast directed by John McTiernen, who would follow up this superb action film with perhaps the genre’s best, Die Hard.

Plot-wise, it’s straight-forward stuff. Arnie’s team of commandos are sent into the jungle under the guise of finding and rescuing a missing military team. In fact, their mission is to find and destroy a base of ill-defined guerrillas, all of which serves as a mere plot device to get the team into the jungle and into the sights of the Predator, an extra-terrestrial hunter who has turned up to bag itself some prey.

For their pre-CGI day, the Predator effects were ground-breaking and still hold up today. The Predator has a light-refracting cloaking system, making it all but invisible, which combined with enormous size, strength and, oh yes, a shoulder-mounted laser cannon, makes for a somewhat uneven match-up. Arnie and his team, including a former soldier turned CIA desk-jockey (Carl Weathers), a Native American (Sonny Landham), a tobacco-chewing man mountain (Jesse Ventura) who carries a mini-gun and an African-American who likes to dry-shave with a disposable razor (Bill Duke) soon realise what they are up against but despite their best efforts begin to be picked off one by one, until Arnie makes his last stand.

It’s thrilling stuff from beginning to end. We see Arnie’s team wade in on the guerrillas, who are demolished in pretty swift fashion amidst some of the finest one-liners of the 80′s (“you’re bleeding man”, “I ain’t got time to bleed” and a post-impaling, “Stick Around!”), we find another military team, dead, strung up and skinned and that’s before the Predator starts to attack the commandos. Old Painless (the afore-mentioned mini-gun) lays waste to a football-pitch sized tract of jungle, Apollo Creed himself, Carl Weathers loses an arm and then a lot more than that to a laser cannon and the Native American, who senses that something is out there long before anyone else does, eventually decides to stand his ground, bare-chested and machete-armed.

Arnie eventually decides to face the Predator by going native – smearing himself in war paint (well, mud), lighting a flaming torch and setting up falling logs as booby-traps. The pacing and narrative flow, with the men on a mission being picked off one by one before the leader finally engages the Predator in mano-a-mano combat is faultless and although it didn’t snag any Oscars for acting, directing or screenwriting, it would be a grave error to write this off as some sort of guilty pleasure.

It’s exciting, engaging and action-packed, is blessed with top-drawer effects, there is a thoroughly convincing camaraderie among the commandos and Arnie was nearing the height of his powers, which would peak with 1991′s Terminator 2. The rest of the team have a palpable and convicingly portrayed dislike and mistrust of Carl Weathers’ CIA office boy and although Arnie tends to act with all of the conviction and versatility of a tree trunk, you do believe that he is a top drawer special forces commando and that he genuinely cares about his team. As the scale of the threat facing them slowly becomes clear, there is no panic, no histrionics, just a steely determination among the team to do what is needed to survive.

The Predator itself, as well as being a well-rendered special effect, is a convincing character in its own right. The gutteral snarls, its sheer physicality in the fight with Arnie and that hideous face, so expertly crafted by Stan Winston, all contribute to a fleshed out foe rather than some sort of disembodied cipher. I remember discussing the Predator and the creature from the Alien films with school friends and we all agreed that as terrifying as the Alien is, the Predator was more menacing, more threatening and ultimately, cooler. Predator is one of those films that you can watch over and over. It never seems to get stale and even when you know what happens next, it still feels fresh and alive.

If you don’t already own it on DVD, shame on you. Get it, watch it, enjoy it, repeat. Until then, savour the trailer below. Best line? “This time, it picked the wrong man to hunt”. Quality.

With the Blu-ray release of the Alien Anthology on the 25th of October HeyUGuys are taking a look at the entire Alien and Predator series. From Facehuggers to trophy hunting Predators, from the iconic and classic to the dubious crossovers – this is your ultimate retrospective.

So remember, even if you ain’t got time to bleed, in the Video Vault no-one can hear you scream…

Andy Petrou sends in the clones.

Last, but by no means least, there was Alien: Resurrection. After the disappointment that was Alien 3, 20th Century Fox still couldn’t resist the urge to revive this beloved franchise and inject some life into it five years later. Ellen Ripley was coming back and she was coming back with a vengeance!

Bringing Ripley back from the dead was no mean feat though, so the studios turned their attention to Jean-Pierre Jeunet, one of France’s most esteemed directors, to champion the series to a hopefully formidable conclusion. Could the final film do the series justice and give us the mother of all send-offs? Would we see a return to the brilliance that was 1979′s Alien? Magic 8-ball says ‘outlook not so good’…

Whilst AR isn’t my favourite of the Alien series, I do remember seeing it at the cinema when I was at university back in 1997, because I’d never seen any of the previous films on the big screen I was mega-excited at the prospect of watching Ellen Ripley come back from the dead to kick the aliens’ evocative, extraterrestrial asses. The prospect of bringing Ripley back 200 years after she killed herself in Alien 3 seemed a bit ambitious at first, but I for one was pumped up and eager to see how this could be pulled off. I don’t recall there being that many films about cloning back in the 90s, or at least, I hadn’t seen that many at that time beyond Jurassic Park, but I loved the whole ‘space military clones Ripley from her DNA with Queen Alien still inside’ idea. I just wasn’t sure it could be pulled off…

Essentially Alien: Resurrection centers around an isolated military spacecraft carrying a panel of morally questionable scientists, whose sole, and mostly unclear, objective is to clone Ripley with remains of her DNA, in order to foolishly extract the Alien Queen within. Noticeably more dexterous and eerily powerful, Ripley, dubbed Number 8, is transformed with Alien-esque tendencies and her survival is now in the scientists hands. They unscrupulously proceed to sacrifice a group of mercenaries who have been brought on board by the money-driven crew of ‘The Betty’ spaceship, as the Alien Queen delivers her litter of soon-to-be human exterminators.The doomed unconscious victims become incubators for the Queen’s babies and thus a new race of Aliens are born!

Among ‘The Betty’ crew are actors Ron Perlman, Winona Ryder, and Jeunet’s long-time friend and collaborator, Dominique Pinon, which makes for an enjoyable on-screen ensemble. Once the aliens develop into fully-fledged annihilators, they begin tactically savaging each-other to the acidic death in order to escape from their containment hell. Once the death-fest kicks off, Winona Ryder’s character, Annalee Call, and Ripley ultimately strike up a bizarre bond and unite in their quest to guide the remaining crew to safety from the alien infested vessel.

Amidst the frantic rush to escape, Ripley comes face-to-face with her disfigured cloned siblings and we finally catch a much-needed glimpse into her humanity after the lukewarm build-up prior to this. Ripley’s moment when she destroys the cruelly discarded bodies is powerful and unforgettable. Her reactions, for a few minutes, are reminiscent of pre-cloned Ripley which we grew to know and love. The highlight of the film, for me, occurs with the ensuing underwater hunting sequences. How anyone can hold their breath for the duration of this aquatic alien hunt, I do not know, nor do I understand the physics of how guns work underwater, but visually it is absolutely amazing to watch.

Eventually Ripley slithers and writhes her way into the Queen’s lair in time to see her give birth to her second-generation, DNA mutated offspring. This disgusting, creamy, gross, slimy, inside-out-looking, raw beast of a poor SFX alien toddler thinks Ripley is it’s mother, which makes for some disturbing mother-baby bonding moments. The battle to survive is on though, so as the dwindling crew makes it’s way to their ship, hot on their heels is mutant Ripley Junior who searches for mum. The final showdown results in some intensely emotionally-conflicted and harrowing moments which bring the film to an ominously, subdued close.

Sigourney Weaver is a phenomenally versatile actress. I’ve adored her performances in virtually every movie of hers that I’ve seen, but I can’t help but feel that AR writer Joss Whedon butchered her trademark multi-dimensional character we grew to know and love. Cloned Ripley became distant, dark and cold, and her super-human strength and rapid reflex manoeuvres, for me, are just loathsome. Her one-liners such as, “I’m the monster’s mother” are far too macho and emotionless for my liking. This is not Ripley. This is Rambo with boobs. As far as I’m concerned, this new character Number 8 only looks like Ripley. The most interesting thing about Number 8′s character, however, was her inner conflict and struggle between her alien and human side. Body verses spirit. Add to that her disturbingly intertwined relationship and connection with the aliens featured, but ultimately her character was a gigantic disappointment for me.

Also featured in this film we have the extremely talented but much berated Winona Ryder. No-one can doubt her talents as an actress, but was she really needed for this role? The dynamics between Number 8 and Call is interesting because Ryder’s android shows more emotion than Weaver’s conflicted human/alien clone. I still can’t bring myself to call Number 8 Ripley. The confused compassion between these characters only serves to waste precious minutes as we fail to truly get to know some of the more interesting characters featured on-screen.

Ron Perlman is our loveable, wise-cracking rogue, who albeit is inappropriately funny and a complete chauvinistic pig at times, but you just can’t help but enjoy his sadly limited screen time. Perlman is no stranger when it comes to working with Jeunet, as two years earlier they collaborated in the eerily beautiful dystopian fantasy flick, ‘The City of Lost Children’. Whilst Perlman’s role in AR isn’t exactly ground-breaking, it was much-needed given the abundance of passable characters on offer. Brad Dourif, for me, is actually the most enticing character in the entire movie. The scene where he mirrors the alien’s movements in the containment unit make for edgy and uncomfortable viewing, not to mention the scene where he’s been cocooned but just manages to live long enough to bear witness to the birth of Ripley Junior. Fool. The film needed much more suspense and this was it’s ultimate failure. This is not a horror film but it had the potential to terrify so much more than it did. What worked in the first two movies was the mere suggestion or glimpse of an alien and the hairs on the back of your neck would immediately shoot up and that’s what made for pulse-pounding viewing.

Visually, Jeunet’s artistic contribution to AR is pleasing and he toys with the use of grotesque and sexual imagery. It’s by no means a match for his other critically-acclaimed works such as “Amelie”, “Delicatessen” and “The City of Lost Children”, but as a fan of his other movies, I think it’s evident that his contribution was restricted. Earlier in 2010, Jeunet attended ‘A Life in Pictures’ event at Bafta house and he expressed his initial excitement at the prospect of working with an American studio. However, his excitement soon turned to disappointment and frustration when it was clear he wouldn’t be able to work as freely as initially anticipated. This made for an unpleasant working experience on US soil and thus the AR project resulted in Jeunet’s decision to return to France where he could have free reign to work as he’d been used to. I can only imagine how much more chilling and surrealistic his vision for AR could have been had he been able to work true to his roots. Unfortunately, his directorial efforts were further hindered by the bland offerings of Joss Whedon’s script. More often than not it was muddled, the dialogue crass and the plot filled with many, many widely debated and disputed flaws.

All in all, Alien: Resurrection is a fantastically intriguing concept and perhaps more underrated than it deserves to be. It ambitiously addresses the deliberate lack of humanity and probes further into the conflict between reproduction and genetics. However, the series should have come full circle and delivered a far more thrill-seeking, suspense-filled, imaginative and spectacular showdown than it did. Whilst there are some, albeit fleeting, welcomed scenes reminiscent of the first two films, a weak script with an over-saturation of less than impressive looking aliens and forgettable acting, this film leaves much to be desired. You’ll either love it or hate it. Or make it a guilty pleasure at best. In my case, I think it’s a guilty pleasure.