Uncut Gems / The Lighthouse / Birds of Prey / Parasite

PROLOGUE

This blog post may, at some points, come off like the right-wing reactionary ramblings of a Dominic Cummings / Steve Bannon type. I have posited similar thoughts in previous film reviews, but my arguments are – by my own admittance – all over the fucking shop. At the very least, I hope some of what I have to say is food for thought. Even if you wish to throw that food straight in the fucking bin.

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Film critics are the fucking worst. And yes, I appreciate the irony in that statement. But seriously, there's a particular brand of cine-elitism that rears its ugly head around awards season – specifically in those writing for The Guardian and The Observer – that leaves a very sour taste in the mouth (I quite like Peter Bradshaw, but by Christ his Incredible Hulk review is obnoxious). The unfortunate thing is, film – like any media – is entirely subjective. No audience member should be made to feel 'wrong' for liking a film, or even worse, wrong for hating a film they have been told is objectively good. Especially by sneering pricks (they’re always men) who – even if they don't intend to – come off as if they know better. It's a demeaning and unsettling trait that makes even a seasoned film enthusiast feel devalued in the opinions they might have on the latest so-called 'good' film ('good' = cool, hip, clever, woke).

Take Uncut Gems, for instance. This film set me off thinking about how audiences and critics often work in symbiosis to foist an opinion on the world (i.e. social media) that a film is amazing by virtue of its indie credentials, when actually it's not a million miles away from the latest Michael Bay or Roland Emmerich blockbuster (which of course is objectively 'bad' cinema according to the critics, therefore said 'hip' audience won't watch it, therefore they have no yardstick of comparison to other films that are relentless, stressful experiences that can leave an audience gasping for breath by design). Adam Sandler's standout against-type performance aside, this film about a jeweller making horrifically bad life choices at breakneck pace for two hours solid is, at its core, a middling action film minus the action. It employs lightning-fast editing, a truly awful synth score, toilet humour and a palpable tension that permeates every inch of the frame. It could essentially be Bad Boys For Life, if there were more guns involved.

It's as if directors Josh and Benny Safdie have stumbled upon a formula whereby they can make films not entirely dissimilar to The Boondock Saints - a film widely regarded at the time as a college-boy Tarantino knock-off (which it absolutely is), a straight-to-video quickie that paled in comparison to the films that clearly influenced writer/director Troy Duffy. Uncut Gems plays out like a Poundland Goodfellas (Scorsese exec-produced, wouldn't you know) - all of the energy with none of the sophistication. It blinds you with its hyper-kineticism, but take a peek under the surface and it's just as silly as, say, Pain & Gain. And there really is nothing wrong with that; just don't paint it out to be something groundbreaking, when it absolutely fucking isn't.

Don't even get me started on the aforementioned appalling synth score; not just the score itself, but where and when it's deployed (I really am turning into my dad when even the composer's alias - Oneohtrix Point Never - gets my blood boiling for being so excruciatingly, ball-breakingly millennial). However, in a Nathan Barley-esque twist, the art house audience takeaway on the sub-Vangelis, acceptable-in-the-80s wankery seems to be 'it is knowingly contrary, therefore it must be genius'. Self-consciously hip to an almost aggressive extent, the Safdies know the flat whiters will lap it up and declare such bleeding-edge choices as masterful.

There was even an article written recently about the tech involved to keep the camera focused on Sandler, without the need for him to hit marks – as if this was somehow unique to this film, the Safdie Brothers breaking new ground for other directors to build upon. Turns out the Light Ranger 2 has been around since 2014 and was used on The Greatest Showman, without anyone batting a fucking eyelid. But wow, the Safdies used it?! Better tell those hipster cinéastes on #filmtwitter! Who cares if Zendaya’s trapeze work was impeccably shot with it; come back to me when Robert Eggers whips it out for his next uncomfortable viewing experience. THEN I'll be interested.

Which brings me on to The Lighthouse. And hey, credit where credit is due; it's a singular film of visual and sonic magnitude. Overwhelmingly so, if seen on a big screen. That said, it's so ruthlessly bleak and void of redemption or catharsis, you'll probably never want to see it again. Now is the ‘repeat viewing factor’ a mark of quality in a film? I honestly don't know. I remember thinking Irréversible was excellent, but I wouldn't throw it on as a Sunday afternoon time-killer. On the other hand, American Psycho is a film littered with irredeemable wankers, though it's arguably a modern classic that rewards repeat viewings (and the soundtrack is *chef's kiss*).

However, as with Uncut Gems, The Lighthouse is a film that's been garlanded with effusive praise. If you don't see it, god help the FOMO you'll feel; if you don't like it, well... there's only one philistine in this independent cinema, and it ain't your friends chattering about which Willem Dafoe fart was the best. The plot is wafer-thin; a tale of two lighthouse keepers, going slowly mad on an isolated island, in black and white, in 1.33:1 aspect ratio (because of course, a mad unnecessary aspect ratio is cool as fuck in this day and age, especially if the uber-hip Little White Lies can crowbar in some justification for it). And… that's kind of it.

Okay, maybe I'm trying desperately to rationalise an argument by picking on a film that is, by my own acknowledgement, utterly beautiful to look at with sound design to die for. But beyond a few chin-stroking "what does it all mean" signs and signifiers, it's a theatrical two-hander picture book of a film; plenty of bone, but no real meat. Yet the critics, the taste makers, the chosen few who go to Cannes to decide what the clique are to deem 'good' for the next twelve months... our fate is in their hands. "Have you seen The Lighthouse?" - a question I've been asked half a dozen times in the last week. "Yes I have, but on a fundamental level I enjoyed Richard Jewell more, a solid film even most multiplexes have forgotten to show."

I mean, is it now a crime to be entertained by nuts and bolts cinema? Are you an idiot if you think Le Mans ’66 is great fun? So often it feels like those 'in the know' are speaking down to people who just want to enjoy a movie for a couple of hours. And I say this as a fan of Festen (incestuous child sexual abuse), Funny Games (a horrifically violent home invasion) and 2001: A Space Odyssey (an existential sci-fi about god knows fucking what). I think what I'm getting at is something that could well be a symptom of the times we live in, and how divided we've become as a species. Political issues are more partisan than ever, more often than not splitting us into (perceived) camps of educated and uneducated. It seems that cinema is not immune to the same problems when it comes to the kind of films that the intelligentsia wish to champion.

Which makes Birds of Prey: And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn a bit of an anomaly. (That fucking title alone... I mean FFS, please don't try any harder, for all our sakes.) Since the review embargo was lifted, all that's been seen on social media (or within my woke liberal bubble, at least) is praise for a film made by a woman, about women, that to my eyes is objectively shit. Now I know I've set my stall out to diss supposed ‘art’, but ‘art’ this film is not. It's not even approaching passable. It's bargain-basement wacky, barrel-scraping zany, routinely unfunny, dramatic tension-lacking bullshit (with a rather worrying approach to cocaine glorification). A colleague who’d also seen it (and liked it) asked me "What did you expect?' – as if the bar is now so low for comic book cinema, the desire to consume it overriding all barriers of quality control, that literally anything will fucking do. But hey, all credit to director Cathy Yan and writer Christina Hodson for making a film that social media feels it’s vital to support, purely by the virtue of them being female – it's quite an achievement to get a career-worst performance out of Ewan McGregor, a man who looks perpetually confused as to what accent he’s supposed to be doing, let alone what his villain’s piss-poor motivation is... bravo, ladies. Bravo.

Now forgive me for going full MAGA, but if a film has numerous elements that are quantifiably bad (or at the very least, not great - I'll be fair, this is but my opinion after all), why does it appear that much of the praise it's been getting is down to the gender of both those in front and behind the camera? If I've misinterpreted genuine love for the film, hey, I hold my hands up - I'm not a confident straight white male authority on these matters (okay I am, but I'm trying to add some levity here). However it feels like the rules have been rewritten in order to accommodate a film that's been anticipated for some time, and frankly isn't much cop.

It deliberately bounces around time in a way that feels laboured and contrived, as if they made the script up as they went along. It's so poorly written that a genuine, bona-fide superpower comes out of nowhere in the third act, purely to flatten some bad guys. In a world that is largely grounded in reality, the fact this happens is so tonally jarring it disengages you from the film entirely. Harley Quinn herself – despite a committed performance from Margot Robbie – is such a colossal alcohol-soaked socially reprehensible dick, it's all but impossible to empathise with her. And the titular 'Birds of Prey' - the secondary characters who make up the female do-gooder gathering - are so spectacularly underwritten you find yourself wondering if you even care if they succeed or not (oh yeah, the film is largely about the recovery of a stolen diamond - other shit happens, but it's all of such little dramatic consequence it doesn't bear repeating).

When it comes to delivering characters who are memorable, there's plenty of films that deliver the odd one, here and there (Alan Rickman made an entire career out of chewing the scenery of any film he got cast in), but with an ensemble cast it's vital you invest in all of them (John Carpenter’s The Thing is a great example of a film where every single character is rounded and three-dimensional, memorable beyond the end credits… and don't give me the whole "that's an all-male cast, how typical" spiel – some of my best friends are women). I couldn't give two fucks about any of the characters in Birds of Prey, yet it feels like I'm alone in my criticism; go take a look at the aggregate scores on Letterboxd and Rotten Tomatoes. Have I suddenly become Mr. Unwoke? Maybe not suddenly, but slowly, over time, so I didn't notice the effects...

...effects so strong, that I'm even going to rail on Parasite. OMFG NO HE DIDN'T OMG I AM #SHOOK. Yes, you heard. The 2020 Academy Award winner for Best Picture. The first foreign language film to ever take home the statue. The social satire that everyone has to give five stars to, no matter what their closely-guarded personal opinion on it is (remember – never disagree out loud in the company of elitist film fans who know better than you). Maybe I’m so deep in my blog-based contrivances to further an argument I'm now struggling to remember the point of, I need to bring out the big guns just for the #LOLs. I mean, I'm not going to sit here and say Parasite is bad. Of course it's not. It's clever, scathing, funny, twisted and incredibly well-structured. But best film of the year? Of the fucking year? Diet woke break, girls. The spirit of Piers Morgan just won't leave me alone, will it...

The Academy, in all their recent years of desperately trying to appease those who haven't the good grace to be white (Get Out) or speak English as a first language (Roma); of making catastrophic errors of judgement when it comes to thinking "this will make us look like we care about black people" (Green Book); well, they finally realised they just couldn't get away with it any longer. So they went for broke and gave Parasite fucking everything they could (Best Picture, Best Director, Best Foreign Language Film, Best Original Screenplay). But it's so transparent. No surprise that there were no nominations for it in the Best Actor/Actress categories… I mean it’d be hard for the more elderly Academy members to choose, when those goddamn Koreans all look the same #AMIRITE??!!!!? And please, while I can appreciate the optics, I'm not taking anything away from director Bong Joon-ho's victory; this is a beef with the Academy and Hollywood in general.

People have commented Parasite winning Best Picture will open people's eyes to global cinema, to films with subtitles. Will it though…? Or will multiplexes panic, play it for a week, realise a mainstream audience isn't fucking interested, then wait until the inevitable Hollywood remake gets green-lit and put that on for a month instead? (I'm aware Joon-ho has said he won't allow a theatrical remake, but The Stone Roses said they'd never reform, didn't they.) The American film industry is currently monopolised by Disney – original filmmaking is thin on the ground, not when remakes (Disney's entire animated back catalogue) and proven franchises (Marvel) can be churned out on a production line every few months. Parasite is a good film, but it's lavish awards praise at the Oscars stinks of an industry panicking at the climate they have found themselves in, that they have perpetuated (not just Weinstein, but decades' worth of casting couch predecessors), hoping this will make amends. I guess time will tell, but the cynic in me sees an industry purely concerned with the bottom line; and hey, films cost a ton of money these days, I get it. But best film of the year? Of the fucking year? Hobbs & Shaw woz robbed.

But it's not about what we're allowed to enjoy these days; it's what we're MEANT to enjoy. "Parasite was better than 1917 and JoJo Rabbit" I was told by someone recently – an industry tastemaker, you might say – after proffering my opinion that Parasite was good, though hardly film of the year. I didn't even bother following up with the fact that I thought both of those films were more fundamentally enjoyable experiences than Parasite, because oh no, your opinion is of little value if you don't think Parasite is the best. Or maybe you're the hip fucker who thinks Uncut Gems should have been nominated. Go on, enjoy those cool points you just earned. You deserve them.

EPILOGUE

It was brought to my attention a while back that comedian Stewart Lee only listens to 'intellectual music'. His favourite band is Manchester post-punkers The Fall. I know a musician who played drums for The Fall, not too long before Mark E. Smith passed away. The band once got a drunken voicemail from him:

"I've got this song I want you to do. RAAH-RA-RAAAAH-RAA-RAAAH-RA-RAAAH - right, see you later."

They met up at rehearsal that evening, and Mark shut himself in a cupboard with a microphone, a pint and a bag of whizz. The band improvised what they felt was an approximation of what they'd heard on the voicemail, while Mark ranted inane warblings down the mic. Out of view, from inside a cupboard.

In case it needed pointing out, this was not an intellectual band (cue protestations of ageing musos across the fucking country). This was a band fronted by an aggressive drunk you'd avoid in a pub, off his tits on whizz, sat in a fucking cupboard. And have no doubt, Stewart Lee would absolutely justify this behaviour as testament to Mark E. Smith's genius. Now I love Stewart Lee. But don't ever let intellectuals tell you what to like or not like. What's good and what's not good. As screenwriter William Goldman once said, "Nobody knows anything". The same goes for anyone like me who ever told you ‘these films are good, and these films are bad’. They're the same idiots who think a whizz-addled cupboard-singing uber-jerk who sacked over 40 members of his own band is a genius.

Don't believe a word they say.

They’re the fucking worst.