Mission: Imposspielberg Vol. 10 - Horses and Presidents

After a 3 year gap, Spielberg turned to an adaptation of a play about a horse. At the time, this was one of the rare occasions where I was not interested in seeing a Spielberg film at the cinema and War Horse remains a film I find it hard to care about.  After a recent re-watch, I still think there are good things about the film (for example, nobody stages a war scene like Spielberg), but a lot of ‘meh’ and overwrought sentiment and a hideous John Williams score signposting every emotion.

I’ll start with the negatives.  The film’s non-equine protagonist, Albert (Jeremy Irvine) is terrible.  Doe-eyed, insufferably optimistic, and with a horrible Devon accent, 20 minutes into the film you’re practically screaming at him to get laid.  He also vanishes out of the film for a good while, replaced initially by Tom Hiddleston’s army captain, who at least injects some charisma, then a nondescript group of German soldiers, and then a nondescript French family, and then some more Germans.  This is a strange move, Spielberg ditching his human protagonist and instead relying on the audience buying into successive characters’ mystical obsession with a horse.

The film’s climax, which reunites boy with horse, ties everything together a little too neatly, as the French farmer, having bought the horse for his beloved grandchild, bizarrely returns it to Albert. After War Of The Worlds and Minority Report both erring on the side of saccharine, War Horse fits into the pejorative category of a ‘Spielberg Ending’.

On the positive side it’s a technically amazing film, featuring some incredible cinematography courtesy of regular Spielberg collaborator (and full-on artist) Janusz Kaminski.  It also benefits from a largely brilliant cast, including Emily Watson and Peter Mullan as Albert’s parents, David Thewlis, Hiddleston, Benedict Cumberbatch, and Toby Kebbell who manages one of the few non-awful Geordie accents produced by a non-Geordie.  The familiar faces make the horse’s odyssey easier to follow.  The Somme scenes are incredible, Spielberg wisely refusing to make German soldiers outright bad guys as he does with his WW2-set films.  It’s not a criticism to say that War Horse has heart and is unashamedly sentimental; this is deliberate and the film fully commits to it, it’s just that while the world has become more cynical over time, Spielberg seems horribly naïve when he rose-tints the past.

Released the same year and envisioned as the first in a trilogy (with Peter Jackson taking over the reins of the follows ups), The Adventures Of Tintin: The Secret Of The Unicorn is, for me, everything that the fourth Indiana Jones film should have been.  I’m not 100% sure how much ‘directing’ is involved in directing a cartoon and the third film running, I was questioning Spielberg’s choices.  Having been a fan of Herge’s comics as a kid, I had my worries that it would be ruined, but these turned out to be unfounded, as Spielberg delivered probably his most outright enjoyable film of his late phase.

Tintin himself (a motion capture an voice performance by Jamie Bell) isn’t perfect.  Too clean and too innocent, he would be an insufferable goody-two-shoes were it not for Spielberg and Bell fully committing to the character and the OTT nature of the story without so much as a wink to the camera.  I don’t think characters look particularly brilliant, falling uncomfortably with feet in both photo-real and comically unreal.  While Herge sold it time and again, it’s also hard to believe on film that a slender character (who looks about 14 years old), could carry out such amazing feats (and knock out a burly sailor with one punch).  Simon Pegg and Nick Frost’s Thompson Twins are just the right side of incredibly annoying, but only just.

Despite that, Tintin is a very enjoyable film, never more so than when it follows Tintin’s dog Snowy.  Immune to the effects Mo-Cap has on human characters, Snowy allows Spielberg to have some real fun, with small pockets of suspense, wonderful grace notes and flourishes which give the film energy and a caper-ish quality.  In fact, the whole medium gives Spielberg fantastic license to up the ante on impossible set pieces and impressive long takes, none more so than Captain Haddock’s alcohol-induced ancestral flashbacks and the wonderfully ridiculous tank-bike-bird chase.

Andy Serkis’ Captain Haddock could easily have been a John Candy-like blundering irritant but he is given an arc, a story, and some genuine emotional heft.  Spielberg keeps the pace high throughout, the action suitably OTT and is faithful to the spirit of the comics.  So yeah, everything Crystal Skull should have been.

Since Schindler’s List, one theme Spielberg has returned to time and again is a moral man in immoral times.  Amistad, Bridge Of Spies and The Post all tell tales of men trying to do the right thing in the face of the powers of the time.  Lincoln continues this theme, telling the story of the passing of the 13^th Amendment, which precipitated the abolition of slavery in America. 

Here, despite the title, Spielberg does not opt for standard biopic fare, showing Abe’s youth, struggles, formative political years, elections etc.  Instead we join him in his mid-50s amid the Civil War and the film charts his dilemma: push legislation through that will forever end slavery but prolong the war, or seek peace with the Confederate states end the war and save thousands of lives, meaning slavery will continue.

When it comes to actors, there are two categories: Daniel Day Lewis, and everyone else.  Only clocking up 6 acting credits since the year 2000, he is picky about his projects and never less than brilliant.  Here, he makes Abe Lincoln a magnetic character: tall and deliberate, moving uneasily, and speaking calmly in a high register.  The rare occasions where he is given cause to raise his voice are devastating, including his “clothed in immense power!” speech, preceded by a frustrated, authoritative open hand hitting a table.  He is the epitome of grace, dignity, and confidence in his actions.  The one moment where he is forced to make his moral choice, push for the amendment or meet with the Confederate delegation to discuss peace terms, is the moment which stays with you, such is your faith in him.

He’s ably supported by a remarkable cast, including David Strathairn, Sally Field, Joseph Gordon-Levitt, James Spader, Jackie Earl Haley, Jared Harris, and a powerhouse Tommy Lee Jones as Thaddeus Stevens.  Casting recognisable faces across the board is a wise move (Oliver Stone did as much in the labyrinthine JFK) as it helps the audience follow difficult subject matter, and Lincoln is certainly not the easiest film to follow.  Unless you take a close interest in the mechanics of the American legislative process (in 1865), this is very dry material. 

The dialogue appears authentic, Aaron Sorkin this is not, with politicians hurling insults at one another in congress before making shady deals in back offices.  While the outcome is a good one, it’s not the most engaging or cinematic journey to get there, essentially amounting to politicians doing deals with and coercing one another, manipulating the media, and trying every dirty trick to push forward their agenda.  This is drama with conversations, not chases.  While, like Schindler, the character of Lincoln is probably somewhat whitewashed, Spielberg does well to keep him from being a saint.  For him, the end justifies the means, and the means include threats and lying to Congress. 

In a beautiful moment, Spielberg’s trademark ‘God Light’ floods into Lincoln’s chambers as he entertains his child, not betraying any nerves about the outcome of the final vote.  Spielberg shows relative visual restraint through, letting Kaminski’s luscious cinematography do the talking.

The main fault I had with Lincoln himself was that he spoke entirely in speeches and parables (it’s joked about at one point), and this becomes wearing by the end.  It’s also not really necessary to show that he died shortly after the result.  For me, a more fitting ending would have been seeing him walk away from his servant in that stooped gait of his, cutting back to the look of admiration on the servant’s face, but I suppose killing your main character by default stops this from being a ‘Spielberg Ending’.  That can only be a good thing these days.

Gig Review: Jamie Lenman, Newcastle Academy, 01/02/18

I was gutted when Jamie Lenman’s former band, Reuben, broke up.  Brilliant, endlessly inventive, but unfortunately not successful enough to sustain themselves, they called it a day after 3 studio albums.  Lenman apparently, to quote his own lyrics, “got a real job in the office.”

He returned in 2012 with ambitious double album Muscle Memory; a patchy mix of aggressive, abrasive songs, showcasing the scream heard in Reuben’s heavier moments, and gentler, folk-y tunes.  The heavy stuff neglected the melodic flourishes that made Reuben so special and the folk album did little for me.  Jump to 2017 and out of nowhere he returns with the stunning Devolver album, which is a riff-driven juggernaut where it needs to be, gentle in places, and unafraid to dabble in bold new sounds. And that about brings us up to date.

I realise how infrequently I visit the Academy these days as I walk into the sparsely populated upstairs venue.  A quick look at the listings shows why: at least half of the acts are tribute bands, and one of the upcoming original bands is the Insane Clown Posse.  There is still barely anyone in when opening band Loa Loa start playing.  The singer is wearing a Sonic Youth t-shirt, and this tells you everything you need to know about them.  He sings in that gobby, tuneless manner that Britpop singers used to use, and I remember almost nothing else about them.

The place is filling up nicely when Gender Roles come on stage.  Looking like an in-their-prime Nirvana (tiny, bleached-haired guitarist, tall bassist, and energetic drummer with lank hair), they sound not unlike Seattle circa 1991, with moments of Dinosaur Jr., Mudhoney, and indeed Nirvana themselves.  They make an impressive noise and over the course of a 30 minute set, I’m sold.

It’s clear that there are some serious, hardcore Reuben fans in the venue, which has now filled out but nowhere near to capacity.  This doesn’t deter many from indulging in a moshpit as soon as Lenman walks on with the palm-muted staccato guitar that opens ‘Hardbeat’ playing over the PA.  Band-wise, it’s just Lenman and drummer Dan Kavanagh.  Both are dressed in white shirts and trousers, Lenman sporting the same faux-vintage hairstyle-moustache combo from his album cover.   He looks like one of the bartenders in those insufferable ‘shabby chic’ bars who call themselves mixologists but are actually just cunts.  I don’t like this kind of gimmickry, especially from a songwriter as good as Lenman, but if it helps him get noticed then fair play to him.

He starts the rhythmic, almost whispered verse to ‘Hardbeat’ and the place goes wild, adding flourishes with his guitar as the song builds.  It’s akin to an upbeat Nine Inch Nails song, eventually reaching a drum break, at which point Lenman joins Kavanagh on a 2^nd drumkit, adding fills galore before taking over the beat which Kavanagh takes his guitar to end the song.  Technically, we have a drum solo in the first song, but the whole thing is done with such charm and enjoyment, they get away with it.

‘Hell In A Fast Car’ follows, with its killer riffs and infectious chorus, and then – yes! – Reuben’s ‘A Kick In The Mouth’.  He dips into Muscle Memory for a brutal ‘One Of My Eyes Is A Clock’ and later ‘Tiny Lives’ but the set is mostly derived from the excellent Devolver.  ‘Waterloo Teeth’, ‘All Of England Is A City’, and a funky ‘I Don’t Know Anything’ are all aired before Reuben classic ‘Every Time A Teenager Listens To Drum And Bass A Rock Star Dies’ and an epic ‘Mississippi’ close the first set.

Lenman is in good form between songs, his banter ranging from genuine appreciation to mock arrogance, and all is supremely good humour.  The man is a fine singer and a human riff machine, but for the latter part of the show he returns to the stage alone to reel off renditions of ‘Devolver’, ‘It’s Hard To Be A Gentleman’, a wonderful ‘Bodypopping’ and ‘Pretty Please’ before signing off with a tongue in cheek ‘Let’s Stop Hanging Out’ to send the crowd away.

Lenman is one of England’s finest songwriters, a fantastic performer, and has a small but extremely dedicated army of fans.  We all leave thoroughly entertained by both nostalgia and a selection of sublime new songs.  He’s back, and you should take notice.