15 March 2018

Highlander vs Ladyhawke

This past weekend I was able to compare two mid-80s fantasy films, one of which I'd never seen and one that I'd not viewed since its cinematic release. The former was Russell Mulcahy's 1986 trans-Atlantic immortality shtick Highlander, which was screening in the main theatre at the Embassy, and the latter was Richard Donner's 1985 fantasy romance Ladyhawke, which I bought years ago on DVD in the UK and finally got around to opening and rewatching on Sunday.

Many big films passed me by in the 1980s, and I never caught up with Highlander or its many sequels on TV either. Many Gen-X movie-watchers are still fond of Mulcahy's film, and there was a strong Friday night turnout for the screening. Finally, this was my chance to see what all the fuss was about - after all, the Embassy is known for its canny scheduling of vintage crowd-pleasers, like last year's screening of the bonkers Flash Gordon, which attracted a 'lively' post-work audience bent on whooping at scenes they recognised.

With a suitably hokey premise of immortal warriors duelling throughout the centuries and the striking Scottish scenery as a counterpoint to the opening, grimy New York setting, Highlander is an exercise in high camp dressed up as a blockbuster. In the American scenes it's shot in fast-edited music video style, with the odd flourish of a grandiose crane shot in the opening wrestling match scene and a God's eye-view shot of a hospital ward, aping a famous Taxi Driver shot. There's plenty of fire sprinkler action to facilitate the mandatory 80s neon reflections, and the fast cutting breaks the action scenes into dozens of often nonsensical shots. In Scotland there's some fine set-dressing as the stunning Eilean Donan Castle serves as the hall of Clan MacLeod, and the spectacular vistas of the highland mountains and glens, little known to Hollywood audiences, give the film a rare scenic beauty. This is not matched, sadly, by its script.

While sporadically impressive to look at, Highlander is also hamstrung by its weak lead actor, with Christopher Lambert failing to summon much charisma as the undying Connor. At least his Scottish accent is a fair attempt for a Quebecois. It's far from convincing, certainly, but it's probably not actually offensive to Scots. It's just a pity that the blank performance Lambert offers isn't counterbalanced by any evident physical prowess in the combat scenes (and a lot can be forgiven in such cases: see Tony Jaa and Gina Carano, for example). As a rule, a film like Highlander lives or dies on the quality of its fight scenes, and due to a combination of lacklustre choreography, nakedly overdubbed sound effects, comically late exploding rocks and excessive editing all the fights bar the admittedly visually appealing finale are curiously unexciting.

Of course Highlander also features Sean Connery in Scotland playing a Spanish-Egyptian something-or-other, not sounding a jot different to the way Sean Connery normally sounds. I love the fact that the film credits a Spanish dialogue coach for Connery, when he clearly can't be arsed and is just using the film money to extend his mansion in Marbella. But despite slumming it, Connery at least looks like he's enjoying himself - well, it's certainly no stretch for him, is it? There's also creditable support from the surprisingly age-appropriate female foil, expert metallurgist Brenda (Roxanne Hart) and the unhinged scenery-chewing villain The Kurgan (Clancy Brown), who is afforded his very own definite article.

The one major advantage Highlander has is its rock soundtrack by Queen, and in Freddie Mercury they found possibly the only person over-the-top enough to channel the lunatic excess of the film with sincerity. This musical partnership with Queen afforded some genuinely memorable songs, including Mercury's A Kind of Magic (although in a version with fewer hooks than the single version, or indeed the Live Aid one) and Brian May's genuinely wistful Who Wants to Live Forever.


By rewatching Ladyhawke, on the other hand, I was running a risk of spoiling a fond childhood memory of a film that while perhaps not as gob-smackingly fantastic as Labyrinth or Back to the Future, was certainly untainted by any negative connotations. And it featured that safest of mid-80s bets, a lead performance by Matthew Broderick (Ferris Bueller's Day Off, WarGames, Biloxi Blues). Watching it a second time as an adult, I can appreciate that it's solid, mid-range fantasy fare, with a few features that enable it to punch above its weight and justify its presence.

First up, director Richard Donner is a sure bet for a well-helmed film project. The man with The Omen, Superman 1 & 2, The Goonies, Lethal Weapon, The Lost Boys and Scrooged to his name is not one to be trifled with.

Secondly, the Vittorio Storaro cinematography and locations are superb, with its winter shoot in Italy affording some stunning vistas, with Broderick stumbling through a snowy mountain valley being a particularly memorable scene. The whole sunrise-and-sunset motif also permitted some lovely camerawork at dawn and dusk and creative light effects to demonstrate the whole lycanthropic romance aspect. The tumbledown castles featured apparently belonged to the family of renowned Italian director Luchino Visconti (Il Gattopardo, Death in Venice), and are a thoroughly convincing counterpart to Highlander's polystyrene set for the showdown between The Kurgan and Ramirez. With Storaro in charge Ladyhawke emerges with the dignified visual presence of a much more respectable film. (I caught an excellent photo exhibition of his film work at the Robert Capa Photography Centre in Budapest last year; Storaro's credits include three Oscars, Apocalypse Now, 1900, Reds and The Last Emperor).

Ladyhawke's acting is clearly superior to 'the Scottish film'. Broderick, in a role originally envisaged for Dustin Hoffman or Sean Penn, is engaging in the role of fast-talking pickpocket Philippe the Mouse, and without being particularly showy about it, knits together what could be a difficult story in which the two other protagonists, the knightly Captain Etienne (Rutger Hauer) and the regal beauty Isabeau d'Anjou (the then 26-year-old Michelle Pfeiffer), spend almost no screen time interacting. (He's a wolf during the day; she's a hawk during the night: it's a complicated relationship). Hauer is a treat in a role originally offered to Kurt Russell - imperious and implacable, yet displaying a touching vulnerability as he battles an evil curse. Pfeiffer is stunning as the titular avian, bringing an old-school Hollywood royalty glamour to what could easily have evolved into B-grade schlock in lesser hands. And Leo McKern also adds a dash of English eccentricity as the unruly monk Imperius.

I have to admit though that my favourite performance in this film is always that of English actor John Wood as the tortured, malevolent antagonist, the Bishop of Aquila. His declamation is positively Shakespearean, and he finds pleasing nuances in even the simplest of dialogue. His denouement in Ladyhawke is also the very definition of a grand finale. Wood, of course, had only recently performed in another film with Broderick, when he appeared as the elusive and fatalistic Prof Falken in 1983's WarGames; before Ladyhawke he had just shot Woody Allen's lovely The Purple Rose of Cairo.

The film also contains what I think is the very first film soundtrack that grabbed my attention as a youth. Alan Parsons' synth-pop orchestral score is both stirring and evocative, capturing the heroism of the tale while also being strongly evocative of its mid-80s era. The Philharmonia Orchestra really fills the opening theme out beautifully - seen here with Storario's expert credits sequence:

So overall, while Highlander undeniably offers a certain appeal of kitsch excess, following a second viewing 33 years after the first, in my humble opinion Ladyhawke is still a more enduring slice of film entertainment. 

10 March 2018

Life on the ocean wave

Health Quality & Safety Commission dragon-boating team 'Commission Impossible' (which I named) in race 1 and 2 of today's regatta in Wellington harbour. 

14 February 2018

A profound ideological shift to a radical new sharing economy

I went to see this excellent documentary last night at VUW, and while it's not as glitzy as Al Gore's An Inconvenient Truth, this feature-length illustrated lecture by economist Jeremy Rifkin does explain what the low-carbon Internet-of-things economy and society of the next three generations will actually look like. He's advised national and regional governments that are already well advanced along this route, like Germany, Rotterdam-Den Haag, Luxembourg, and parts of China. While the environmental risks of our current fossil fuel economy are frightening, Rifkin shows how we can secure a sustainable environment while retaining plenty of employment for we foolish humans. 

It's rumoured that we might be seeing Rifkin here in New Zealand later this year, potentially to advise the new government, which would be a tremendous opportunity. Have a look, and do share to your networks, because these sort of ideas travel best by word-of-mouth. (Be warned that it starts with our current grim environmental prospects laid on pretty thick to scare the living shit out of the switched-on Brooklyn millennials in the audience - but it does become a bit more positive after that...)

How to avoid the press gang

Scottish sailor John Nicol (1755-1825), seeking to make his way to Lincoln in around 1792 to enquire after his long-lost beloved Sarah, describes how he eluded the feared military press gangs seeking to forcibly enlist any able seamen they could lay their hands on:

'When we arrived at Gravesend a man-of-war's boat came on board to press any Englishmen there might be on board. William and I did not choose to trust our [legal] protections [letters from the British consul at Lisbon] now that we were in the river. So we stowed ourselves away amongst some bags of cotton where we were almost smothered but could hear every word that was said. The captain told the lieutenant he had no more hands than he saw, and they were all Portuguese. The lieutenant was not very particular, and left the brig without making much search.

When the boat left the vessel we crept from our hiding hole, and not long after a custom-house officer came on board. When we cast anchor, as I had a suit of long clothes in my chest that I had provided, should I have been so fortunate as have found Sarah at Port Jackson, to dash away with her a bit on shore, I put them on immediately and gave the custom-house officer half a guinea for the loan of his cocked hat and powdered wig. The long gilt-headed cane was included in the bargain.

I got a waterman to put me on shore. I am confident my own father, had he been alive, could not have known me with my cane in my hand, cocked hat and bushy wig. I inquired at the waterman the way to the inn where the coach set out from London; I at the same time knew as well as him. I passed for a passenger. At the inn I called for a pint of wine, pens and ink, and was busy writing any nonsense that came in my head until the coach set off. All these precautions were necessary. Had the waterman suspected me to be a sailor he would have informed the press-gang in one minute. The waiters at the inn would have done the same'.

- John Nicol, The Life and Adventures of John Nicol, Mariner, Edinburgh, 1822 (2000 edn.), p152-3.

05 February 2018

A Chickasaw County child

We were talking at work this morning about Bobbie Gentry, having arrived at her name as a contemporary to Dusty Springfield, and one who expertly covered Springfield's famed hit, Son of a Preacher Man, on her 1969 album Touch 'Em with Love. Naturally Gentry's spine-tingling classic Southern gothic track, Ode to Billie Joe, was mentioned, as it's the song that will always be foremost when people remember her. But it also brought to mind another superb Gentry track that harks back to her Mississippi youth - Papa, Woncha Let Me Go to Town With You?, a song from her first album in 1967, the one that was named after Ode to Billie Joe.

While Ode to Billie Joe closes the album as a tour de force of bravura songwriting, Papa... also on the album's Side B is a simpler, playful childhood reminiscence of a young Gentry pleading with her father not to leave her behind when he goes for his weekly journey to town. A girl isolated on her grandparents' Chickasaw County farm 16 miles outside of the shining lights and alluring shops of the nearest town clearly needed to pull out all the stops when it came to wheedling a ride:

There's a blue dress at Dindy's I'd give the world to see again
I need some hand lotion and some powder from the 5 and 10
Buy us some chocolate and I'll make you a pretty pie
If you don't let me go I'll just die...
It's not only the fine, nimble lyrics and the precise, folksy acoustic guitar that helps this track stand out - it's also the money Capitol Records very sensibly invested in employing a studio orchestra to augment it. In particular the horn section acts as a marvelous counterpoint to Gentry's voice, bookending her pleas with a stern paternal voice as she marshals all her best arguments to avoid another seven days trapped on the farm.

I've loved this track ever since hearing it on a fine Under The Influence compilation from 2004 by Beautiful South supremo Paul Heaton - although there the track was mislabeled as Chickasaw County Child, an entirely different track on the same album, which confused me for years. Here's a 24-year-old Gentry performing the song on her own BBC TV series in 1968.