“…with very few exceptions, a piece of film – or a film – cannot come to life
without the help of music of some kind.”
Bernard Herrmann.
Bookshelves are for storing books and other things on. But really, only books
and dust. That is the whole of the law.
Right now, I see 96 Blu-ray cases on bookshelves in this office alone.
And that’s 96 too many. There would have been a hundred cases, but I removed
four the other night. Those I shifted to their proper home somewhere else. This
is a technical term.
Yes, I avail myself of a streaming service, but there aren’t entire
diamond fields of gems there I’d watch. I check what’s on offer periodically,
and discover something new that holds my interest. Fortunately, there’s no
massive archive of new must-see movies clogging my pop-cultural arteries.
Nothing to binge, and no time to binge it in. How lucky I am, on that score.
Also, when I watch a movie out of a packet rather than thanks to packet
switching…only I know how obsessed I am with that movie. There’s no wad of data
in a streaming service server to note my unholy devotion to the cinema of this
director, that actor, or a particular screenwriter.
Everything’s digital eventually. Except the weather, and they’ll soon find
a way around that.
Here I sit, staring at piles of films, and the odd TV series, saying to
myself…
How the fuck did I let this
happen?
As ever, there are categories to rattle through. Films I’ve already
seen. Lower priority. So what’s higher? Films I’ve already seen, but with
special features and extras that I haven’t tackled yet. This category is
daunting if the movie has three audio commentaries. That turns one movie into
four viewings, not all of which will be informative.
For audio commentaries, hire people who hate your movie. They will talk
non-stop. Film historians in love with the film need a klaxon under their arses
to remind themselves that they are supposed to be talking about the film and
not drooling through part-open lips.
Films I haven’t seen. They are top of the list. Watch those first.
Unless a shorter movie fits the time more snugly. I’ve altered my alarm clock
to provide that extra time. Watching movies before the dawn allows me to watch
movies before the dawn.
Lost somewhere in the stacks are the TV shows. I’ll squeeze them in
here, there, depending on length of an episode and how much time I have before
the winter sun crawls from beneath the unforgiving horizon.
Directors who provide commentary for the blind should also be removed
from the studio. If you are going to name the actor who walks across the floor
from left to right, and little else, you needn’t bother showing up for the
recording session.
No, I needn’t name names. Those, you’ll discover for yourselves. If you
pursue the lost cause of physical media, that is. Once these movies are beamed
into your brains directly, you’ll have the chance to be utterly riveted by the
non-bonus non-special lack-of-features and the uninformative directorial audio
snooze-along. Presumably at the bat of a cyber-eyelid.
I’ve decided to do my best to tackle a movie per day, come rain or more
rain or some sunshine. Will I be successful in my quest? Not if I squeeze two
movies in each day. I’ll be ahead of the game. That’s unlikely. Life intrudes,
of course.
And some of these films have special features of a length I can only
describe as morally reprehensible.
Will I be through the piles of movies by the end of April? This allows
for a few days off here and there, or extra extra extra movie extras on selected
discs. I don’t know. There’s the shaky business of buying more movies in to
watch. And of catching more films on the streaming service.
What have I tackled recently? I delved into the depths of submarine
movies. Many of these are of World War 2 vintage, and if you played a drinking
game involving submarine clichés, why, you’d be sloshed within the first twenty
minutes of each film.
I can say this with confidence. Once you dive, dive, dive into the world of the submarine movie, at the
distance of a thousand paces, you will know an orchestral score conducted by
Muir Mathieson even with your eyes closed and sealed by tape.
Knock back a shot for recognising Muir Mathieson’s conducting style.
Then knock back another for seeing his name in the credits. Take a shot if the
movie stars Bernard Lee, Richard Attenborough, or John Mills. Throw an
additional shot back if all three are in the picture.
For any black and white movie set in World War 2, throw a slug of booze
to the back of your throat if the actor Sam Kydd puts in an appearance. Add
another if he’s uncredited. I’m tempted to add a shot for a credited or
uncredited Walter Gotell, but we must preserve at least some portion of the
liver.
If the movie features a submarine, take a shot for a scene involving depth
charges, submariners looking up during the attack, a pipe springing a leak, and
a cheeky Cockney mouthing off witticisms. Drink a whole bottle if John Mills,
Richard Attenborough, and Bernard Lee are German submariners. I jest. Add a
shot if Sam Kydd is in there. Two if uncredited.
Add a shot if Kay Walsh is the love-interest on the Home Front. Drink
in memory of the fallen if Richard Attenborough dies in the movie. Add a shot
if Bernard Lee dies in the movie. Throw back another shot if John Mills dies in
the movie. Add a shot if this death happens while engaged in lighting up a
cigarette. Bonus shot if two or three of these actors cop it in the same film.
Throw a shot in if the love-interest dies ashore and a terrible letter
is handed to the intensely happy sailor/airman/squaddie.
Drink a shot if any character stares at a picture of his girlfriend,
only to die shortly after. This applies to characters on all sides of the war.
In the interest of equality, we’ll add a photograph of a boyfriend. And for the
cruel bastards who make appalling movies, add a shot if a dog bites the dust in
a war film – photograph or not.
Add a shot for a marriage, birth, or a German character announcing that
the war is over after our heroes are captured. Throw in a shot for abject
cowardice, and a bonus drink for a chance at redemption in the final fifteen
minutes of the movie. An extra shot applies if this redemption leads to the
character’s death.
Drink a shot if anyone is described as salt of the earth or someone
we’d go to hell and back for.
Add a shot for an upper-class Captain, middle-class Number One, and
Scots, Irish, or Welsh engineer in the bowels of the ship. One shot for the
whole collection – don’t go overboard with the drinking, now.
I will apply these guidelines to the last David Attenborough movie I
watched…
That’s tricky. The last movie I watched was See How They Run, which features Richard Attenborough as a character, so all bets are off.
I’ve been asked by a member of the cast not to…y’know, give away the end of the
movie. It is a murder mystery in the style of an Agatha Christie book. Or, to
get picky about it, in the style of an Agatha Christie play.
Dahling.
You’ll find this word in the cinematic and TV output of English star
vehicles from the 1950s. And you’ll hear it out of the mouth of Dickie
Attenborough when he can’t put a name to a face. Richard Attenborough and
Sheila Sim appeared together in Christie’s play, The Mousetrap, and…
The year is 1953. London. What if a murder happened around the play? To
say more is to say too much. And I’ve been asked not to say anything about,
y’know, spoiling the movie. Is Richard Attenborough a murder suspect? Dahling…
This film spoofs detective stories set in country houses. It also has a
go at actors on the stage, and police work in the big city. For fans of Agatha
Christie, there are many sly and not-so-subtle references to her material. And
there are comments about Dahling Dickie Attenborough.
The movie relies, for the main part, on the concept of a game cast. In Saoirse Ronan’s
notebook-fixated police officer and Sam Rockwell’s inept driver of a detective,
the principal leads are certainly game. Luckily, the rest of the cast is as
game a cast as you’ll see outside a Wes Anderson movie. And Saoirse’s been in
more than one of those.
A stack of movies led me to group some of those films by category.
Suddenly, I was eyebrow-deep in submarine pictures, remembering Bernard
Herrmann’s comments about music in cinema with every Muir Mathieson presence in
those war-era films. (Mathieson and Herrmann both appeared in movies as
conductors. Some call it typecasting.)
From Muir Mathieson it was a short wander through the brass section to
the busy feet of John Mills, who spent more time in uniform than out of it
during World War 2. Mills in wartime movies wasn’t so much an everyman
character, more every bleedin’ leading
man in war movies.
He had to fight Richard Attenborough for bunk-space on many a nautical
film. Mills played so many ranks, in the rank and file, he’d have had to have moved
over to the Wehrmacht to keep varying his roles if it weren’t for the sheer
bloody number of allied wartime and post-war movies being made.
John Mills was knighted. Dickie Attenborough became a Lord. Sheila Sim
was Baroness to his Baron. Sam Kydd appeared as a bit-part actor in more movies
thank you could shake a stick at. Bernard Lee is one of a handful or so of
actors who worked on le Carré material as well as Ian Fleming’s stuff. (We must include Walter Gotell on that list.) Lee is remembered as James Bond’s boss, M.
Having just tackled I Was Monty’s
Double, I’m wondering how much to knock back. John Mills taps Sam Kydd on
the shoulder. Two shots, straight away. I was joking about knocking back a
bottle for John Mills in enemy uniform, but…ah, that would spoil the plot.
Shit, there’s Walter Gotell near the end of the film.
My advice is to drink responsibly, of course.
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