War of the Worlds (2005 vs.1953)

I’ve just watched the DVD of Steven Spielberg’s version of War of the Worlds, back-to-back with the 1953 original. I like Spielberg’s version and so I’m not going to wax nostalgically about how much better the original was. Spielberg managed to make an old and well-worn story fresh and scary again which is quite an achievement. The original was a fine movie for its time. The DVD version is particularly good looking, the colour and the detail are great, in fact so good that you can clearly see the wires holding up the alien ships, but this didn’t distract from my enjoyment. More distracting was some of the dated dialogue. A great inclusion on the original DVD is the complete Mercury Theatre radio show narrated by Orson Welles in 1938. Its easy to imagine how this show could have caused panic on its first broadcast, as, if you missed the first few minutes, there was little to give it away as anything but real.

Jarhead

Jarhead is the next stage in the evolution of the war movie. As such the Marines depicted here make even the most drugged-out characters of Apocalypse Now, Platoon, Full Metal Jacket and all the other Vietnam classics look like well balanced, model citizens. The Jarheads are trained past the point of obsession and bored beyond belief. The movie is entirely about the detail of the Marine’s daily lives and not at all about the politics or even the mechanics of the war. Like the Marines have to, the movie accepts that they are there and gets on with telling the story. It’s an exceptionally honest portrayal and anyone who has had any involvement with the military will recognise much of the madness involved. There are some funny moments and moments of madness and the bleakest despair. Jake Gyllenhaal is terrific and Sam Mendes has been one of my favourite directors since American Beauty. The scenes among the burning oil wells are surreal and must stand out as one of Cinema’s most vivid depictions of hell on earth.

James Bond - 007

Movie Greats on Foxtel has been running a Bond retrospective, screening all twenty movies in the franchise on consecutive nights. My hard disk recorder has been working overtime. These are hugely entertaining movies, many of which I have never seen before or perhaps have forgotten. In any event I’ve been having a great time with them. Sure, the plots are often ludicrous and very similar, but then if you’re following the plot of a Bond movie, you are surely missing the point. Enjoyment of these movies lies in observing the details and style, such as Pierce Brosnan adjusting his tie while engaged in a violent tank chase through St Petersburg or Sean Connery enjoying a Martini with a twist of lemon, shaken not stirred, and made with Vodka, of course. 007 is entertaining right from the opening credits, which traditionally feature a slightly psychedelic presentation of a mixture of guns and scantily clad girls.

I suspect that the answer to which Bond is one’s favourite is a function of the era in which you grew up. Sean Connery has always been the purists’ choice, and I must admit looking back objectively now he did carry off the role with the most panache. Roger Moore was always my favourite, having come to know Bond in the seventies and eighties. He is still the most fun and epitomised the elegant, gentlemanly side of 007. Then there is the question, perhaps even more perplexing, of a favourite Bond Girl. My vote would have to go for Carole Bouquet from For Your Eyes Only, but there are so many. One of the most amusing parts of watching these movies now is spotting all the source material for Austin Powers. Its also interesting to note how the stakes have got higher over the years. I couldn’t imagine Sean Connery’s Bond jumping off a cliff to catch up with an aeroplane as Pierce Brosnan does in Goldeneye. Roll on the new Bond and long live 007. After having seen Daniel Craig in Munich, I am quite optimistic that the legacy may be in good, steady hands.

Munich

Steven Spielberg routinely turns out masterpieces and this is no exception. It has been a long time since I have been held as spellbound by a movie as I was by Munich. On one level, it is an exceptionally well made and unflinchingly realistic thriller and on another, a dramatic piece that raises disturbing and crucial moral questions. This is no slick band of assassins, but a group of ordinary men brought together to tackle the very messy business of killing people. They make mistakes and suffer crises of conscience. The bomb maker is particularly inept and responsible for some of the most suspenseful passages of the movie. Only Steve, the chilling South African, played very convincingly by Daniel Craig, seems to take pleasure in his work. I’m looking forward to the new Bond now that I have seen Daniel Craig in action here. Steve’s involvement in the group raises interesting questions around the level of cooperation between Israel and the Apartheid regime at the time. In fact the film touches on a range of fascinating themes enough for probably another dozen movies. The most intriguing is the mysterious French family that helps to find the location of the team’s victims, headed by “Papa” a former resistance fighter, played with wonderful gravitas by Michael Lonsdale. Eric Bana and Geoffrey Rush are terrific. What excellent actors Australia produces!

The Forgotten

I really like Julianne Moore. She was at her best in The Hours and Far From Heaven. She has terrific range – compare her role in The Hours to that in Boogie Nights. But here, she is let down by a weak plot. It starts out most intriguingly and sets up a fascinating mystery, but the denouement is so fantastical and far-fetched that it left me completely flat and unmoved. Screenwriters would do well to bear in mind Steven Covey’s principle of “Start with the end in mind”. It is one thing to set up a terrific mystery, quite another to end it in a surprising and satisfactory manner. See for example how M. Night Shayamalan gets it exactly right in The Sixth Sense and then gets it horribly wrong in The Village. The Forgotten is a pleasant way of passing a few hours, but holds little by way of suspense or substance.