Sicario 2: Day of the Soldado [2018]

When Day of the Soldado was announced I had much the same response as I often do to sequels and prequels: scepticism. This felt, if not quite as pointless as Solo, fairly superfluous, especially when the announcement made clear that the film would be following the least-interesting part of Sicario [2015], Benecio del Toro’s “Medelin” , a lawyer-turned-assassin, the “sicario” of the title. I described Sicario as a film with a hole in its centre because it was about the War on Drugs ™ without ever really addressing that war – its supply lines, its soldiers, its victims – in the way, say, Traffic [2000] was. This is what I’m starting to think of as a narrative of refusal, which treats its central topic as such a given, such a well-known quantity, that any direct exploration is redundant and hence refused. In Sicario, Alejandro is a pure cypher: the film makes no attempt to humanise him or his story – in fact, that’s a big part of its representational strategies, showing the dehumanising effect of the WoD. Even the notional protagonist, Kate Mercer [Emily Blunt], is the thinnest possible sketch, a woman about whom we know almost nothing. What concerned me most about a sequel was that it would be redundant, but a close second was that the sequel would become enraptured with its subjects and destroy the beautiful emptiness of the original. Instead, I think Day of the Soldado doubles down on the amorphous narrative, the cypher-like characters, the inscrutability of the story environment – the things which made Sicario interesting.   Continue reading

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X-Films: Confessions of a Radical Film Maker [2008]

Alex Cox came to my attention when I picked up Alex Cox’s Film 101, which is a compilation of his lecture notes from a guest course he taught. His introduction to film was very idiosyncratic, representing his own experience as an independent film-maker. He venerated directors like Dennis Hopper – whose life as a director was news to me. His vision was based on practical experience, and was a very entertaining read. He seemed like the perfect companion when navigating the deep waters of pure film theory. When I saw Confessions at a junk store during my book crawl in Christchurch it was a very easy purchase. Continue reading

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Annhilation [2018]

It’s entirely possible to take Annihilation on its own terms, as a creative effort separate and distinct from both the novel of the same name and of Andrei Tarkovsky’s masterpiece Stalker. Standing alone in a field of its own creation, it’s a nuts-and-bolts bit of, what? Landscape horror? A team of “investigators” who are given nothing to investigate by an arbitrarily dangerous landscape, heading to some destination for some purpose, with no really specific objective or purpose apparent. I think in this scope you’re left with an experiential film, to be savoured moment to moment, like Blair Witch with a budget large enough to include jump scares and horrific beasties. Unfortunately for Annihilation it exists in a world with both the novel and Stalker, and once you know that it’s pretty hard to like it.

TLDR: If you thought Annihilation was a good film, but haven’t seen Stalker, stop what you’re doing and go rent it from somewhere. It is essential cinema, definitely in my pantheon of films that everyone should see, along with the likes of Metropolis, Man with a Movie Camera, Casablanca, La Antenna, The Dark Knight, The Treasure of the Sierra Madre, Gattaca… It is the perfect form of the film it sets out to be.

Spoilers after the jump for Stalker and both versions of Annihilation. Continue reading

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Winning at Ultimate with a Pick-up Team

Over the decade or so I’ve been playing ultimate at tournaments I’ve played on a pretty big variety of teams, from teams which drilled set plays and called lines to teams that didn’t exist a few days before the tournament. Honestly, the latter is more my speed – I’m not an elite athlete and never will be. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t done alright, and my first real experience with winning was only a few years ago at a tournament in the north of England, Fishbowl. It taught me a lot of lessons about how teams win.

Fishbowl that year was about 20 teams, and I responded to a university club team’s open call for some pick-ups. I rocked up to find 4 club members, 2 local pick ups, a French club player and moi, for a grand total of 8 players for a two-day tournament. There was a basic competence at throwing, cutting, etc, but no “A-Tour” players on the team. We were seeded 20th, and that was the smart money. Before the first game we all sat down on the grass and chatted about what we liked to do, what our strengths were, and we developed a plan: first look was a break-throw from me to the front-ish of the stack, second look an open-side cut from the back. Reset at the first sign of trouble: no heroics. I never hucked the disc, there were no layout bids, I don’t recall even any dramatic hand-blocks. Some people might call that “boring”, I called it “winning” and we finished just outside the top 8 having mangled some teams who left the field looking decidedly confused. Without a doubt, the most successful tournament team I’ve played for so far, and I’ll probably never manage such a big gainer again.

The big lesson that Fishbowl taught me was that teamwork wins team sports. It’s a simple lesson, but one which I think is far far too infrequently considered by teams and coaches. Coaches just love to drill basically individual skills, and beyond a certain skill point elite players all think they’re like Muhammed Ali and none of the rules apply to them. As much as I get a kick out of super-stars doing super-heroics, Fishbowl proved to me that a commitment to fundamentals can take a team of nobodies and terrify anybody.

Especially since then, I’ve got a set of guidelines that I deploy when I find myself the senior member on a team of unfamiliar players. At nationals over the weekend I had a chat with one of my alumni from the Mashugenah school of How to Play Good who lamented that our basically scratch team at a previous tournament had more structure, cohesion, and success, than their drilled and training team of the present day. So, my arrogance having overtaken my humble acknowledgement that I’m a mediocre talent, here are the things I do to win Ultimate with pick-up teams. Continue reading

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A Murder of Quality [1964] and Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy [1974]

I wasn’t really aware of John le Carré until the film Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy [2011] came out. I enjoyed the film quite a lot, even though on reflection, not much actually happens. I picked up the novel in the UK and read it pretty voraciously, then looked around at some of his other works, especially The Spy who Came in From the Cold [1963], and eventually watching the Alec Guinness version of Tinker [1979], which I liked rather less than the film for a number of reasons.

One review in particular of the film stuck in my imagination – fired it even – which was from Mark Kermode, who argued that it wasn’t a film about spies. Instead, he saw it as a film about a group of men negotiating who could be trusted, about navigating their personal relationships, about exploring their personalities. At the time I thought cripes! That’s just what spies are about! His non-genre review was as absurd to me as if I said “well, it’s not a whodunit, because it’s about this detective who goes around interviewing people connected with a murder, reviewing the physical evidence and figuring out who the murderer was”. The Le Carré version of spies is the deepest into the Wilderness of Mirrors, the world where everything may well be a lie, and you can’t even trust yourself. His novels are dominated by that theme, so much so that in their definitive study of the genre Cawelti and Rosenberg argue that his work is a “corrective to Fleming’s extravagant fantasies” [157], and previous masters of the humanist tradition of espionage, notably Graham Greene, acknowledged le Carré as the master of the genre.

A Murder of Quality is Le Carré’s second novel, and it shows his spymaster, George Smiley, solving an almost pure classical Fair Play detective story, albeit one much simpler than anything Christie would have bothered with. I found it fascinating, and want to point out a couple of interesting but spoilerific features below the cut.

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The Once and Future James Bond

James Bond was an important character to me when I was young. My first memory of Bond is watching Thunderball at my Grandparents’ farm, I was around 7 or 8. I watched it within a few days of watching Chuck Norris in Delta Force, which had been the coolest thing I’d ever seen. I picked up all of Ian Fleming’s novels in well-used 1960s Pan editions at second-hand bookstores and church book fairs; I had the complete set by the time we moved back to Wellington in ’95, the year the best James Bond film came out, GoldenEye. A few years later my flat devoted one sleep-deprived weekend to watching, in order, all the films up to Tomorrow Never Dies. There is no cooler phrase in English than “Bond, James Bond”. There is no more deeply-entrenched idea of English masculinity. Bond is the Ur-Hero of the English twentieth century. Continue reading

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The Thousand Dollar Tan Line [2014]

Veronica Mars should need only the scantest introduction. A complex show that navigated between teen drama and more-than-averagely-tough hard-boiled detection, usually managing to juggle two separate episodic mysteries as well as a season-long arc. Aside from anything else, Veronica Mars is a masterclass on the importance of narrative structure, at least in the first season. It only survived three seasons, only to be brought back from the dead by a kickstarter-funded movie. The Thousand Dollar Tan Line is thus the third incarnation, and I believe it was intended to be the first in a series of novel tie-ins. It’s a lot for a debut novel to live up to, especially since Veronica Mars has grown up and now exists in the same story space as many other fine detectives (VI Warshawski and Kinsey Millhone being the two most famous), whereas teen Mars really only had Nancy Drew as a point of comparison. Veronica Mars outshone her by offering up a series of far more affecting and deep personal stories, by having far more complex and original plots, by including a blistering critique of the semi-invisible class system in the US, and by maintaining the usual noir concepts of societal corruption and individual weakness. Damn, but that show was good.

As a piece of literature, The Thousand Dollar Tan Line is written in a pleasant and easily-digestible way – it’s middle-of-the-road clear prose; just as the style of the TV show was fairly lightweight and straightforward. I think there may be a gendered angle on that fairly bland narrative approach – male detective fiction often tries to mimic Hammett’s terse and muscular style, conveying the hard edges of the world through hard prose. This can take a number of forms, from Chandler’s bitter similes to Ellroy’s extreme truncation to “Reacher said nothing”. While it’s no bad thing for a work to be an easy read, just as the show was an easy watch, it does make the novel less memorable, less distinctive, and less impressive than I hoped it would be. We’re not going to remember this book because of its construction.

Noir often works by showing a tough situation and bad events only to reveal that they’re ultimately motivated by even worse things in the past – and Veronica Mars foregrounded this duality right from the first scenes of the show, balancing Veronica’s own traumatic past against the tough situations she encounters in the present. Perhaps there’s nothing quite so dark as the child murderer in Hammett’s The Dain Curse, or the bleak secrets underpinning the murders in Ellroy’s White Jazz, but the show was never afraid of pulling back that curtain for a glimpse of the horror which makes the world of Noir unbearable to those who aren’t hard-boiled. The biggest “flaw” in The Thousand Dollar Tan Line is that there isn’t anything like that complex doubling. The crimes that occur are fairly much just what they appear to be, and they’re lily-white by the standards of other hard-boiled detectives: it’s a plot that would have been palatable to the Detection Club.

The net result of this is a fairly conventional tale, fairly conventionally told, about a protagonist who has shed most of her distinctive features. It’s a light, fun, and easy read whose greatest asset is seeing the continuing lives of characters that we care about. That’s a fairly slight reason for something like this to exist: it was well worth the $ and time I spent on it, but I really hoped for more.

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