Not mentioning the reference

I may be missing something, but no one I've read so far has mentioned the obvious when talking about the new release Nick & Norah's Infinite Playlist; i.e., that the title is a reference to the characters played by William Powell and Myrna Loy in the Thin Man series of films in the 1930s, based on the novel by Dashiell Hammett.

Given that by all accounts (and The Knowledge really can't comment on this) it isn't actually any good, maybe critics are trying to avoid sullying the original by making the reference. But it seems to me a key part of what the newer film is trying to; take the easy, casual, (dare I say it) cool nature associated with Hammett's tale and transplant it. The Thin Man (1934) was influential, not so much in showing us a happily married, gently sparring, couple for the first time in movies, but for showing a couple so intellectually, emotionally and sexually on the same level. And the sex is the key thing here; given that this was made around the time of the Hay's code, makes the subtext of Powell's and Loy's attraction even more impressive.

Slumdog Millionaire

The Knowledge has been to see Slumdog Millionaire and believes the film deserves all the plaudits it's getting. It combines the verve and colour of Bollywood with the serious intent of neo-realism, although, as always with Danny Boyle, the more appropriate expression is hyper-realism. Without wishing to get into a habit of hyperbole or glib catchphrases, one of the best ways I can think of describing the effect is Satyajit Ray on acid; it has the same humanity, the same unblinkingness at character and situations, but instead of contemplation and reflection, there is constant movement. In that respect it has the same energy as early Godard.

The main thing about the film is just how much sheer fun it is. This might seem strange considering that the subject matter includes the blinding of children to make them more effective beggars, prostitution and the rise of Indian gangsterism. But more than any film I can think of recently, there are no longeurs and no sense of boredom. It has your attention all the time you are watching it.

John Landis

Director John Landis is reportedly suing Michael Jackson for not receiving his share of profits for the Thriller music video. You couldn't avoid this video during the 1980s; it was truly ubiquitous and so I can well believe it's still making money somewhere.

The surprise is that Landis has always come across in interviews as one of the most laid back men in the world, so he must have been pretty annoyed to take this action. He's also a reasonably underated director these days. Once upon a time The Blues Brothers (1980) would have been named as one of my top three favourite films and although it's nowhere near this status any more, there are still scenes I would happily watch again. An American Werewolf in London (1981) and Trading Places (1983) are two of the best films of the 1980s, while National Lampoon's Animal House (1978) and Three Amigos (1986) are perfectly fine comedies.

The rot set in later on, so that by the time we got to Beverly Hills Cop III (1994) and (even worse) Blues Brothers 2000 (1998) the taste in the mouth had well and truly gone sour.

Anticipation

There are some films you just can't wait to see.

The Rules

Film critic Roger Ebert from the Chicago Sun Times is always worth reading, although I don’t go to the site as often as I might. But his rules for wannabe film critics may prove to be essential.

Last Scenes

This is partially following on from another post which asks for memorable scenes from otherwise poor films. Crocodile Dundee (1986) is actually not bad at all, although it hasn't dated very well. What it does have is one of my favourite movie endings.

What is it about the sequence? Part of it is the score, the effectiveness of the insistent didgeridoo beat which sets the mood and pace of the scene combined with the occasional lift in the melody. I love the way that Linda Kozlowski's character takes off her shoes as she's running towards the subway through New York streets. Then there is the ludicrousness of the way her confession of love for Mick Dundee (Paul Hogan) has to be conveyed through a crowd on the subway by a Jamaican and an Italian builder, which is funny and somehow true at the same time. Finally there is Dundee climbing over the people on the platform and the way they help carry him towards Kozlowski. Yes, it's all very movie, but I can't help liking it for all that.

The Other Forde

The title of the post is wrong on a number of levels. There is just to start with, the extra ‘e’, although part of me enjoys the mischievousness of it. More of a problem is that, as much of a fan as I am of his work, Walter Forde’s career simply doesn’t compare to that of John Ford; his films aren’t as good and as a director he couldn’t be described as an auteur. There are no overriding themes, so sense of him building a picture of the British nation in the same way that John Forde did for America.

So what is there to be said? His 1932 Rome Express is the basis, the blueprint, for many of the films set on trains that followed; it's a fast moving comic thriller that compares well with and influenced Hitchcock’s The Lady Vanishes six years later (as an aside Sydney Gilliat wrote the scenario for the former and was co-screenwriter on the latter). Meanwhile Rome Express is, in my view, a superior work to Von Sternberg’s Shanghai Express made with Marlene Dietrich in the same year and exploring similar themes. The Ghost Train (1931) set a standard for British comedies, the storyline of a group of people trapped in a remote location and confronted with what at first glance seems to be a problem of the supernatural (Forde himself remade it ten years later). Then there is Saloon Bar, unknown, unheralded, but perhaps one of the finest murder mysteries of the 1940s.

Forde's was an art of the interior; he was at his best showing a group of people inside, in the confines of the train carriage, the station waiting room and the pub. The limitations of such settings stretched his imagination and stimulated his creativity, while a free reign was often disastrous (I hesitate, but try to watch Land Without Music (1936))

The Knowledge will write in more detail on Saloon Bar (1940), which is perhaps Forde's best work, at a later date. But all of it is worth seeing.