Assault on Precinct 13 (1976)

L.A.’S DEADLIEST STREET GANG JUST DECLARED WAR ON THE COPS

John Carpenter. Genuinely one of the most influential genre filmmakers to come out of the 1970s, the originator of the framework of some of the most lasting genres going. And yet, he’s still often overlooked or dismissed as a low-rent director, someone who only churns out cheap exploitation films. He said it best himself when he said, “In France, I’m an auteur; in Germany, a filmmaker; in Britain; a genre film director; and, in the USA, a bum.” Certainly he was a man who was nothing if not aware of where he stood in the pantheon of rising cinema talent. Nevertheless, in his early days, he was a talent to watch and managed to produce very popular films, which remain popular to this day. After his 1974 feature debut, he was approached by investors and given carte blanche to make whatever he wanted as his follow up. He had an idea…

The street gangs of Los Angeles unite to declare war on the police after a raid kills several gang members. Meanwhile, an apparently random killing of an ice-cream vendor and a little girl prompts the girl’s father to kill the man responsible. He is then chased to Precinct 9, a police station that is being relocated and all but abandoned. Only a handful of people are still there, with Lieutenant Ethan Bishop (Austin Stoker) overseeing the move. Minutes before the arrival of the father, a bus transporting three prisoners, one of whom is death row inmate Napoleon Wilson (Darwin Joston), had stopped to find medical assistance for one of the prisoners. Suddenly, the precinct is under siege from a series of violent attacks.

Just a note before we begin. You will notice that in the above synopsis, I refer to the station as Precinct 9, not 13 as the title would suggest. The title discrepancy was an oversight by the distributors who didn’t like Carpenter’s title choices (The Anderson Alamo and The Siege) and changed it to something they felt had a more ominous tone. Anyway, on with things.

Carpenter has long put himself forward as a big fan of Howard Hawks, the early Hollywood director and one of the first to be regarded as an auteur by French critics. Indeed, he is clearly influenced a lot by the old style of movie making in general. His character names often reflect characters from older films, or the people that played them; he will allude to the work of Hitchcock and, of course, Hawks; he even maintains that all his films should be shot in 35mm Panavision (aspect ratio of 2.35:1 to be exact), which is an old fashioned look, but one that feels big and offers a lot of space within the frame. However, it’s Hawks that is his main influence. So much so, that when he was offered the chance to make whatever he wanted as his next film, he decided to make a western like much of Hawks’ work. Unfortunately, he knew he couldn’t do it on the low budget he would have to work with, so he made some changes. He would set his film in the present day, essentially making a modern day remake of the Hawks-directed John Wayne classic Rio Bravo, about a sheriff and two deputies holding off a mob trying to get to the man in their jail. Carpenter made the changes to make things more contemporary, so his sheriff became a lieutenant, his mob became street gangs, and his deputies became a secretary and a criminal. Carpenter’s mode of working is clearly not dissimilar to the rather simple practicality of James Cameron, who made comparable decisions in his making of The Terminator some eight years later.

Westerns were not the only influence in the making of Assault on Precinct 13. Another one comes from an even more influential horror film from 1968 – Night of the Living Dead. The parallel of the ‘siege’ story is obvious, but Carpenter makes more direct lifts than just in general concept. As with many of Carpenter’s films, the bad guys here are borderline zombies. They move in silence, kill without emotion, never speaking, never stopping. They have such a relentless, menacing quality about them that it’s a little unnerving. When the young girl’s father shoots his daughter’s killer in the chest, it takes him a moment or two to realise he’s actually been hit and then hits the ground. The father, after arriving at the precinct looking for help, becomes this film’s Barbra, spending the rest of the film in a catatonic stupor, unable to get over the trauma of what’s happened. That his daughter is killed at all could be something of a nod to Romero’s classic, wherein one of the most notorious plot points revolved around the gruesome death of a little girl.

These various influences and budgetary requirements actually give the film a strange patchwork quality, though not always in a good way. The actual events seem to be built from a series of coincidences and accidents that happen to converge on a single location, rather than on anything concrete. There are two plotlines that could bring the gangs to the doors of Precinct 9: one is the vendetta they have against the police; the other is their desire to kill the man who killed one of them. Really, either one of these would be perfectly acceptable on their own, which could lead you to question why they would both be included. Frankly, this is a little disconcerting on some level. If we were to assume that the first story we see - the gangs coming together for revenge after a police raid brings their numbers down - is the primary one, and is enough kick off the whole siege, why involve a story about a child being killed? There’s still a degree of shock to seeing it (yes, you do see it) since a child being killed onscreen is still not something you see very often. Of course, the story does need something that would direct the gang’s attention towards this specific police station and not a more populated one. However, if that’s the case, do we really need the stuff about a police raid taking out gang members and their subsequent quest for payback? Couldn’t it just have stayed as them trying to get at someone who witnessed them killing someone? They both have effective emotive qualities (fear, intimidation, horror, shock), but are they both necessary?

The characters themselves are somewhat thin, with little real attention given to why we would care about them in the first place. The only person we can genuinely feel for is the catatonic father, but that’s only because we’ve seen him with his daughter, and saw his reaction to her death. Everyone else is rather under-developed. Even the man in charge, Bishop, seems a little too panicky for the leader of those inside. He and Wilson trade lines in a manner that’s akin to actual, if strained conversation, but it’s all a little flat. Honestly, it would have been more successful if they had no dialogue whatsoever. That said, there’s one character that I really quite like – Leigh. Apparently, Laurie Zimmer really hated her performance in this film, although Carpenter thought otherwise. Although I can see why Zimmer would feel bad about it (she is occasionally so sedate that she almost seems stoned), but I’m inclined to agree with Carpenter. He loves his badass anti-heroes, which is where Napoleon Wilson is meant to come in. However, he’s a little smug and distant for it to work. Leigh, however, really is the calm centre of the storm. She comes across as much more capable and resilient, mostly because she seems so unperturbed by what’s going on. At one point, she gets shot in the arm, and takes it with barely a flinch. She then spends the remainder of the film doing everything with one hand (possibly an allusion to Clint Eastwood in For a Few Dollars More), including striking a match for Wilson, and never complains once. It’s her that exudes the real toughness that made Rio Bravo’s John T. Chance so damn awesome, since he was a character created as a reaction against High Noon’s Will Kane, who spent that film whining about how no one would help him. Chance didn’t want or ask for help, and neither does Leigh.

The overall feeling of Assault on Precinct 13 is that there is definitely something in there. In much the same way that Carpenter’s Halloween became the blueprint for slasher films from then on, Assault on Precinct 13 became something of a blueprint for many police actioners. The thing that holds the film back from being what you know it clearly wants to be is that it seems to have been developed little beyond that initial blueprint. With more rounded characters and motivations, the action and tension could sustain itself better. As it is, this film has to occasionally leave the building in order to find something to do, padding things out a little until the action can kick back in again. There was eventually a remake in 2005, with a considerably bigger budget and more high profile cast. Though it did well, I personally didn’t care for it, mainly because they went too far the other way and overdeveloped. Certainly, it shows that they were wise enough to recognise the faults of the original and tried to address them, but they attached so many levels and twists to it that it inadvertently wandered into every cop movie cliché going, making it quite unsatisfying. The action scenes were great, and the acting was generally of a better standard, but it was just too clunky for me.

Before I finish up, I would be remiss if I did not mention the soundtrack. Carpenter does many of his own soundtracks, and this is no exception. It’s typical Carpenter, which is to say dark, synthy and awesome. The recurring baseline is a thing of greatness and the electronic hum adds to the mood very well. In fact, if any of you have played the video game Manhunt, you’ll find that the soundtrack to Assault on Precinct 13 was likely a very heavy inspiration, as well as the grim cinematography. Seriously, those of you who have played it, go and watch the initial attack on the station and tell me it’s not like playing the game again.

Assault on Precinct 13 is a decent action thriller, which did go on to become the basic blueprint for all such action flicks. It’s a highly influential film, and deserves respect for that, but it rarely rises above being the basic blueprint, serving only as the bare bones of what could have been a much more tense and thrilling actioner. That said, Carpenter knows his way around the story and makes what use he can of the limited budget, and Laurie Zimmer’s almost non-existent performance weirdly serves to make her a fine addition to Carpenter’s list of badass heroes. One to watch and appreciate for its influence.

The Assassination of Richard Nixon (2004)

THE MAD STORY OF A TRUE MAN

Everyone, at some point in their lives, has experienced a sense of the world being against them. No matter what they do, things just seem to be against them, circumstances never in their favour. It’s not fair. Worse still, everyone around seems to be unaffected by this, or at least unsurprised by this lack of fairness in the world. Things are meant to be different, people are meant to be different. How can you be the only one to feel like this? You’ve tried to be decent, hard-working, honest, but you just can’t seem to catch a break. Things have to change. Something must be done. Someone must be responsible. Such is the worldview of perennial loser Samuel Bicke, who decides that his suffering must end and the system must change.

In 1974, Samuel Bicke (Sean Penn) is a lonely and ineffectual salesman who feels wronged by his family, friends, employers and the world in general. He believes he stands for truth, honesty and integrity, so he regularly loses his job rather than lie to his customers. His plans for success are hindered by this sensibility. Pushed closer to the edge, he begins to associate both his failings, and society’s, with President Richard Nixon, who represents all things dishonest. As such, he decides that things must change and that he must therefore kill Nixon.

Almost to make the point of such a universal perception of the world being against you, when the original idea for the story was conceived, it was genuinely begun as a work of fiction. However, over the course of researching the period and story, the writers discovered that something very similar had actually occurred in the early 1970s. A failed businessman, Samuel Jospeh Byck, stormed a Delta Air Lines flight and, gun in hand, tried to get the pilots to get the plane in the air and crash it into the White House… eerily prophetic, right? His attempt failed and the airport police killed him on the plane, although he had already claimed some lives himself. And things didn’t stop at a deranged man attempting to hijack a plane for the world’s most dramatic Presidential assassination. Byck had made several attempts to start a business, all of which failed. As time went on, his marriage became strained, he began to suffer from depression and he also began to harbour conspiratorial theories that the government was secretly trying to oppress the poor and underprivileged. He made his attempts to be heard in some way, by trying to join the Black Panthers, whom he believed shared his outrage at the system; by protesting outside the White House, sometimes dressed as Santa Claus; and sent recorded messages to various public figures, explaining his motives to people he thought would understand. Frankly, if Niels Mueller and Kevin Kennedy had ignored this stuff in their writing, it would have been very foolish.

As it is, they recognised the weight of this story and tailored the idea to reflect Byck more directly. Of course, certain modifications were made for the purposes of a cleaner film. They concentrated more on his personal life, attempting to give a stronger sense of his motivations by focusing on the inadequacies and flaws. They show the awkward ineptitude of his working life, his inability to recognise that his marriage is pretty much over, his strained interactions with other people in day-to-day life. The most significant part of Samuel Bicke’s life in the film is his belief that the reason he fails so consistently is not because he is himself a failure, but that he is simply too honest in a dishonest world. As far as he is concerned, the world is meant to operate on truth and integrity, that the honest people will thrive and the dishonest will perish. Essentially, he bought into the whole idea of the American Dream. The only problem is that world simply doesn’t work like that. Things aren’t fair, things aren’t equal. He looks around and sees racism, sexism, war, lies, dishonesty. How can an honest person get ahead in this kind of system?

Of course, Bicke ignores the reality of his own personality and his own situation. For all of his espousal of being honest and true, he is as big a liar as anyone. The people at his newest job think he’s a happily married man, even though he’s been separated for almost two years. His soon to be ex-wife believes he is doing well in his new job, and can maintain support money for the kids. He likes to think that the reason he keeps quitting his jobs is because he refuses to lie to the customer (certainly an admirable quality), but the fact is that he is just a bad and ineffectual salesman. Considering how meagre an impression he makes on people and how poor he is at effective communication, this is a man of extreme arrogance. It’s one thing to look at the world around you and want to change it for the better, but when your reasons are built on a severe sense of delusion, it’s not going to get you far. His sense of how the world works is so skewed that when he applies for a loan, the fact that he was “honest” in filling out the form means that it’s as good as done. He honestly can’t see that, to the loan officer, he comes across as untrustworthy, unreliable and a little bit too intense. He also has the most bizarre idea for the Black Panthers, which he tries to pitch them directly:

Samuel Bicke: I wanna throw an idea at you… Zebras.

Harold Mann: Zebras?

Samuel Bicke: Zebras. You see, they're black, and they’re white. The Black

Panthers become The Zebras, and membership will double.

To him, it makes perfect sense, it’s flawless. However, it’s a clear signpost that he has a fundamental misunderstanding about how things work in the world, believing that his struggle with the system is no different than that of your average oppressed black man of the early 70s.

In the film, they refer to a good salesman having “competitive spirit.” This is something Bicke most definitely does not have. He ultimately gets pushed too far and begins to take action towards changing the broken system, and uses something of a personal barometer in selecting both his target and his confessor. For the former, he chooses President Nixon, the incredibly unpopular politician who still managed to get elected twice. His boss describes Nixon as the best salesman in the country, selling the public on one thing, not delivering on that promise and then selling it all over again. Clearly, it’s not just Bicke that thinks he’s corruption incarnate. For the latter, Bicke looks to composer Leonard Bernstein, whom he believes is a man that will understand his struggle, his plight, his need for a world built on truth and honesty. Bicke records several taped messages about his motives, his plans to take down the system that seeks to subjugate the poor masses like himself. Shortly before Bicke makes his way to the fateful plane, he mails these recordings from the airport.

The character of Samuel Bicke is very well drawn, and played in typically excellent manner by Sean Penn. Penn has always been someone possessed of a simmering frustration in the world around him, and his constant protests and remonstrations make him the most suitable candidate for the role. Even if you often can’t say you like Bicke, you can sympathise and you absolutely understand how he comes to be as fractured and desperate as he is. As he approaches situations of confrontation, where he feels that something inherently unjust is occurring, he reacts with a blend of queasy discomfort and indignant rage.

However, I feel like there is a degree of incompleteness to the film. Although we do understand why his target is Nixon, because he just flat out tells us, more could have been done to underline these feelings. Nixon is really just an occasional background figure, shown on televisions in bars or Bicke’s workplace. There is never anything really done to make us believe that Bicke believes there to be a direct link between Nixon’s dishonesty and his own failing. Of course, these feelings would have been baseless, since Nixon wasn’t actually out to get this guy, but they don’t really have to make rational sense to us, we just have to think it makes sense to him. Bicke barely mentions him. And on the other side of things, the reasoning for Bicke to make his tapes for Leonard Bernstein feels a bit thin. He simply says that Bernstein writes honest music. Again, the reasons don’t really have to make sense to us, we only have to believe they make sense to him, and I don’t feel it. Honestly, it makes me feel a bit weird to be making these points, since these things actually happened. Also, the real life Byck was clearly not in a correct state of mind when he did these things, so his reasoning was clearly faulty in all sorts of ways. Nevertheless, I personally can’t get past the thin ground on which the film’s dramatic drive becomes based on. If it just felt firmer, if these points were made clearer, if just an extra ten minutes was given to the film to solidify these motives, I would have been more convinced.

Then again, I’ve been known to be too picky at times.

The Assassination of Richard Nixon is a fine drama, with an interesting character conveyed with great conviction by Sean Penn. However, the balance of things in the script and direction hinder what could have been something truly great. A little less information here, a bit more information there and the overall struggle would have been far more resonant and defined. It’s still a very good and interesting watch, but there is just a feeling that it could have been a little bit more.

The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford (2007)

BEYOND THE MYTH LIES AMERICA'S GREATEST BETRAYAL

They say you should never meet your heroes, because they can only disappoint you. Perhaps they won’t be how you thought they would be, too mean or cold; perhaps your own excitement over meeting them will get the better of you, and you’ll make a fool of yourself; or perhaps it simply won’t amount to the fantasy in your head, where they instantly recognise the deep spiritual connection between the two of you that you know is there. Indeed, many people set out to bring down those held in high esteem by others, saying that no one really needs a hero or an idol; whilst others will do anything to maintain their perception of their idols, regardless of how destructive. The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford looks at a point in history when a young man began as one and ended as another, murdering his hero for the sake of his own personal glory.

All his life, Robert Ford (Casey Affleck) idolised Jesse James (Brad Pitt), reading of his exploits and wanting to be just like him. However, when he and his brother Charley (Sam Rockwell) become part of the James gang for their last robbery, Robert starts to hate and fear his hero. Ford so desperately wants attention and glory that he decides to kill Jesse in his own home. Ford does become famous, but as a famous coward and betrayer.

I mentioned back when I talked about Amélie that the first time I saw The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford, I wasn’t entirely sure of what to make of it. Certainly, I could appreciate the incredible artistry and effort of the individual elements of the piece, but I wasn’t sure if it had really got to me any deeper than that. That sense of being unsure about it stayed with me until I realised that, after three days, I was still thinking about the film. Only I wasn’t thinking about whether or not I liked it. I was thinking about the power of the performances, the sublime music, the gorgeous cinematography, the scale of the vision, the depth and profundity of the story being told. Not only did I go on to conclude that I loved the film, but that I believed it was the best film of 2007 and one of my favourite films ever.

The film is adapted from the book by Ron Hansen, published in 1983, which presented a highly-detailed, though fictitious account of the meeting of Robert Ford and the notorious outlaw Jesse James and how their relationship grew and twisted into something that, in the eyes of history, turned James into a legend and Ford into a coward. The emphasis of the narrative was placed on a psychoanalytical consideration of their respective motives, their background and their personalities and how this eventually amounted to one of the most famous acts of betrayal in history. The script was written by Andrew Dominik, who also directed the film, making as much a mockery of the ‘difficult second film’ idea as Tarantino did with Pulp Fiction. Dominik maintains the slow pace of the book, almost like the whole story is one long funeral procession for a death that hasn’t yet happened but is as inevitable as night following day. The pacing and length (160 minutes long) will be a problem for some, and actually brought it close to being seriously re-edited by the studio, who didn’t care for the slowness and lack of action. Fortunately, Dominik won and his edit held out, although it was greatly reduced from the 240 minute long cut that premiered at the Venice Film Festival, and received widespread praise. Honestly, I’d happily sit through that cut, but I know that’s not for everyone.

Obviously, the most important part of this film, the thing that the whole thing pivots on, is the characters and their relationship with one another. If they lacked the complexity that was required, then it would be impossible to take the complicated nature of their interactions seriously and the whole film would be for nought. In fact, they’re as much at war with themselves as with each other. There’s Jesse James, the famous outlaw and former Confederate guerrilla fighter whose national reputation was akin to that of Robin Hood. His exploits were told and retold, through word of mouth and the dime store books that many, including Robert Ford, read about obsessively. Jesse is more than aware of his image in the public consciousness, and feels a strain within him as trying to maintain that image. Yes, Jesse James is loved by most of America, and some beyond. However, he is a much darker individual, and not just because he is an unrepentant thief and murderer with no real claim to being anything like Robin Hood. Jesse is also a sadist and a bully, getting some enjoyment (and anguish) out of torturing those around him either physically or mentally. He has also grown increasingly more paranoid after years of being hunted by lawmen, to the point where begins to track down and murder his own gang members because he believes they will soon turn on him. Even then, there’s evidence of a conflict within him, a desire for a quiet life with his family, who remain the only ones of whom he is so fiercely protective. James is played by Brad Pitt, who gives a superb performance as this complex individual. Because Brad Pitt is Brad Pitt, he does have a distinctly magnetic quality to him. He can make even the most ridiculous and awkward things seem cool, as evidenced by his other great performance as Tyler Durden in Fight Club. This magnetism and charisma is exactly the kind of thing that rests at the heart of Jesse James. Most people like him on sight, because he is so handsome and cool. However, it’s when you get close to him that you see that he can be equally repellent. Most people have, at one time or another, had what they would call a “mean friend”. Someone who is mean, nasty, even cruel, but is such a force of personality that people can’t help but be drawn to them. This is Jesse James all over. His presence, his deeds, his manner, his look, everything seemingly geared towards being attractive and repellent with equal power.

Then there’s Robert Ford, a young man completely enamoured with the James gang, and Jesse in particular. Clearly, Ford was always a target for people stronger than him. The youngest of all his brothers and socially awkward, even though he likely tried to stand up for himself, his nerve was never as strong as theirs, and he remained the weak one by everyone else’s estimation. So apparently powerless is he that he looks elsewhere for some kind of escapism and inspiration. Naturally, he would come to idolise the man who became famous for bravery, cunning and strength – Jesse James. Obsessed with the man, reading all about his exploits and becoming an authority on the James gang, he found a great deal of pride in the many ways he and Jesse overlap, both in family and physical characteristics. Through these musings, and his own deep-seated need for people to respect and admire him, Ford comes to believe that he is destined for great things, and that it is intrinsically linked to Jesse James. When he finally does come to meet him, his obvious worship is constantly undermined by Jesse’s bullying nature, so he gradually comes to resent the man in whom he had placed so much personal stock. Even though he still finds himself drawn to the man, partly because of Jesse’s occasional acts of half-hearted kindness towards him, he still finds himself scared by him, and filled with a bitter anger and disdain. These feelings become so strong that he decides the best way to rid himself of his pain and the constant torture of Jesse’s presence, as well as gaining his much sought after glory, is to kill him. Casey Affleck plays Robert Ford, and is outstanding in the role. Affleck looks like someone who has never been entirely taken as seriously as he would like, no doubt in part because his older brother, Ben, is much more successful in almost every measure. However, Casey shows every twist, every ache, every humiliation, every resentment, everything that makes Robert Ford the bitterly tragic figure he is. You feel so damn sorry for him, even though it becomes clear that his journey will turn him into a murderer and a social pariah that even he had never thought possible. Make no mistake, in this film, in this role, Casey Affleck is unbeatable.

The relationship between James and Ford is so wonderfully played out, too. Despite the reality that Jesse James was a mass murderer and thief, and that Robert Ford killed him after apparently getting the okay from the police, the title of the film is the indication as to how the public received the news of the killing: James was immortalised; Ford was vilified. After so many years of wanting to be like James, or even be him completely, Ford comes to a sort of conclusion that the way you become a legend is to kill one. However, this misunderstanding of how these things work becomes his downfall. If it were, the man who killed Robert Ford would be a legend himself, but he is nothing more than a footnote in the history pages. It’s Jesse who understands the real meaning of legacy. As he mentions in a conversation with Robert’s brother Charley, suicide is something that has occurred to him more than once. However, this could diminish his stature in the eyes of the public, and he would hate to have gone through all this for nothing. Jesse knows that he must be killed by someone else in order to live on forever, and finds his perfect patsy in Robert Ford, the pitiful young man who worships the enigmatic outlaw. Much of what occurs between the two is a calculated play by James to subtly force Robert’s hand towards a gun. So literal is this that he actually presents Robert with a new gun, offering it as an apology for his abrupt and terse behaviour. Whether or not Robert really understands the significance of the gesture is slightly ambiguous, but Jesse is very clear-headed in his intentions: if he’s going to be killed, it’s going to be with a new gun, clean and shining with “extravagance”. Indeed, it can be very much said that Jesse James and Robert Ford effectively assassinate each other – one by bullet; one by character.

The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford is far from just a two-man show. The rest of cast is rounded out by fine actors, all giving damn good performances. Sam Rockwell’s Charley is someone who seems to feel some remorse for his brother’s social standing, and tries to bring him closer to his hero and the acceptance he so craves. However, since Jesse James is the last person Robert Ford should have been exposed to, Charley becomes wracked with guilt, and more subject to the superstitions that already guide him. Jeremy Renner plays Wood Hite, Jesse’s cousin, a mean-spirited swine who uses Jesse’s notoriety as a means to intimidate others, much like the inevitable lackey to the school bully. Paul Schneider is Dick Liddil, a promiscuous man, possessed of education and charm, but who has become incredibly arrogant by being the intelligent one amongst those that can’t even read. Garret Dillahunt is Ed Miller, a none-too-bright member of the James gang that Jesse easily tricks into giving away too much about plans to turn him in for a reward, setting Jesse on a path to remove the threat. There’s also smaller roles ably held by Ted Levine, Mary-Louise Parker and Zooey Deschanel.

The rest of the film is marked with some incredible work. Roger Deakins, who may, at the time of writing, be the best cinematographer alive, does amazing work in this film. Just watch the beautifully haunting train robbery sequence at the beginning. It’s downright ethereal. There is not a single shot in this film that you couldn’t hang on your wall, the work is so utterly striking and gorgeous. And the music, from Nick Cave and Warren Ellis, matches the visuals perfectly. It captures the sombre beauty, the eerie tone, and heightening this overall feel of an extended and unsettlingly tragic funeral in the making.

Whilst it requires some patience and attention from the viewer, The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford rewards those that give it greatly. It’s moody, it’s tragic, it’s elegiac. The script is wonderfully layered, the performances are perfect, the direction is downright masterful, and it is stunning to look at. I’m really not kidding when I say that this is one of my favourite films. You may not share that sentiment, but I sincerely ask you give it a try.

The Asphyx (1973)

IMMORTALITY... WHAT WOULD YOU SACRIFICE FOR IT?

Immortality has long been the goal for misguided movie scientists, death generally being the one ailment they’ve yet to successfully conquer. Such is the feverish drive of such a task that, regardless of how ethical that scientist may be in the beginning, they eventually become obsessed with stemming time’s dismal tide and halting death entirely. One tale of a scientist who more or less succeeded came in 1973, somewhat influenced by the Hammer Horror films, in the shape of a British gothic horror whereby that one scientist accidentally stumbled upon a way to stop death and bring everlasting life to the subject of his experiments.

Whilst experimenting with photographing the dying, Victorian scientist Sir Hugo Cunningham (Robert Stephens) discovers the secret of death: when someone dies, they are visited by a spirit - the Asphyx. After the death of his son, Hugo tries to find a way to capture the Asphyx and achieve immortality. With the help of his future son-in-law Giles (Robert Powell), Hugo succeeds in capturing his own Asphyx, but things become complicated when he wants to immortalise both his daughter Christina (Jane Lapotaire) and Giles.

I think I’m not alone in saying that the first time I saw The Asphyx, I came across it on television late one night, and watched it in a weird kind of stupor because I had no idea what it was beforehand. Considering the bulk of the film, the opening couple of minutes do sit rather strangely. The main story is set in the Victorian era, but the film opens on modern day London (modern day for the time, at least). Two cars have just crashed into each other, killing both of the drivers outright. The police have arrived to investigate the scene when one officer discovers the body of a man underneath the crash, seemingly having been caught in the middle of the two cars at the point of impact. He is therefore rather shocked to learn that man is still alive. From here, we flashback to the Victorian time where we will then spend the next hour and fifteen minutes. Over the course of the film, our protagonist, Hugo, will conduct macabre experiments with little notion as to an end game for his research, will cause a few fairly violent deaths by accident and make himself immortal… trust me, when you just happen upon a film like this late at night, you tend to remember it.

The original idea for the film came from Laurence and Christina Beers, with the script being written by Brian Comport, who penned only a few films, mostly horror, in a short five-year career. The central conceit rests on the already mentioned scientist finding a supernatural spirit that visits those about to die, and all by sheer accident. In fact, the bulk of the film rests on accidents, coincidences and oversights by the characters. Hugo’s initial discovery of something that hovers over people at the moment of death is by accident; his son’s death is an accident; his direct discovery of the Asphyx is an accident spawned from a coincidence; his own life is saved by a fortuitous accident. There’s very little in the way of real cause-and-effect logic going, instead with things leaning on a much more far-fetched sense of fatalism described simply as “God’s will.” Frankly, this really does let things down, since logic seems to have absolutely no place in this particular world. Granted, the story does require a fair amount of suspension of disbelief, but there’s most definitely a line that film crosses repeatedly, which just leads to a feeling of clumsiness in the whole endeavour. There’s also a character that arrives with a great sense of importance, but is quickly dispatched and never heard from again. I’m sorry, but that really is just bad writing.

The script is also rife with moments and explanations that seem like they should make some kind of sense, but simply don’t hold up. For example, Giles’ attempts to sabotage his own procedure are marked by inconsequential details, which just confuses more than anything else. Also, that Hugo is meant to be a respected scientist of sorts is somewhat countered by his rather shockingly inconsistent methods and oversights in experiments. He seems to forget such enormous things like a second person to help out. That’s really pretty big. His explanations are also very, very thin. He is able to contain the Asphyx by using his special light booster… powered by crystals… and water… what? This piece of equipment seems to be genuinely useless for anything other than the task it accidentally can do.

In fairness, there are other moments that handled a little bit better, but only a little. Hugo begins the film as a conscientious man, understanding and with the desire to use his power and influence responsibly and for the betterment of society. He offers to pay for his butler’s sister’s medical care, and took Giles in from the poor house when he was a boy. He also expresses great shock and disgust at the use of corporal punishment. These points, though presented in a very clumsy way, do offer evidence of the change in the man, so his progression is fairly convincing.

The direction is also something that does the film few favours. Whilst the setting looks really very nice and fairly gothic, the story itself is handled in too weak a fashion, and is marred by moments of clumsiness that may have been acceptable to some back then, but that’s still no excuse. One such example would be when a grief-stricken Hugo watches the film he shot of the short boating escapades that led to his son Clive’s death. As he watches, the film cuts and repositions to get a better look at what happened to Clive in a manner that would be impossible in the film’s reality. Is this a somewhat picky point? Perhaps, but it does speak to the overall lack of logical sense that the film is wrapped in.

The performances are something of a mixed bag. Most of them are of the typical clipped Englishness of period films, punctuated by very brief outbursts that are immediately followed by apology. The only people that really hang around long enough to give any kind of performance are Robert Stephens, Robert Powell and Jane Lapotaire. Lapotaire is so-so and a bit forgettable really. Powell spends most of the time being very stern-faced, but manages to pull something out of it every now and then. Stephens actually does rather well, though. It’s of a fairly campy nature, much the film itself, but you can see his frustration, his grief, his anger. You can see his transition from respectable man of society to death-obsessed mad scientist. The script and direction really do him few favours to help, but he holds it well.

The Asphyx is a fairly memorable and amusing film, with an intriguing idea at its core. However, the execution rather lets things down, with the script rife with superfluous characters, half-hearted pseudo-scientific explanations and more than its fair share of plot holes, and the direction is also really rather clumsy at times. Whilst hardly a classic of the genre, it remains a pretty interesting watch, and the performances from Stephens and Powell are actually quite good. It won’t exactly knock you back, but you’d be surprised at how it will likely stay with you.

The Asphalt Jungle (1950)

THE CITY UNDER THE CITY

There’s a collection of short stories by Raymond Chandler called The Simple Art of Murder, which is also the title of his essay on noir fiction. Amongst the short stories is one called Trouble is My Business, in which appears this quote: “The streets were dark with something more than night.” That sentence captures just the right kind of city-born oppression that is a big part of film noir. There’s always a sense that the city setting in most noirs are not just a setting, but another character, perhaps the most important one. Indeed, a common recurrence in these stories is that is a living, breathing, corruptive influence on everyone else and that the people that walk its streets are as rotten as the city itself. In 1950, John Huston brought to life a fine example of the kind of city that corrupts everyone that live there.

Doc Riedenschneider (Sam Jaffe) is notorious crime brain. He’s just out of prison and has a plan for a million-dollar jewellery heist. To pull it off, he recruits Louis (Anthony Caruso), an expert safecracker; Gus (James Whitmore), a getaway driver; and Dix Handley (Sterling Hayden), a strong-arm man. However, the plan suffers a series of small accidents, compounded when the man financing the operation, corrupt lawyer Emmerich (Louis Calhern), plans a double-cross.

Like many noir films, The Asphalt Jungle was adapted from a hard-boiled crime novel, in this case by W.R. Burnett. Burnett enjoyed a great deal of success from the adaptations of his work, and was even able to make a successful run as a screenwriter. His stories were highly influential in developing some of the archetypes that helped define noir as a genre, dealing with widespread city corruption, the anti-hero, pessimism and a sense of fatalism in the world. The source novel for this film was published in 1949, which was picked up for adaptation almost immediately, thanks to his prior success and connections. The script was written by Ben Maddow and John Huston, with Huston set to direct. The script itself maintains the abject hopelessness of the source as it brings the different characters across, complete with the neuroses and flaws that become their downfall. Beyond the characters, it’s a wonderfully plotted piece, with a very simple plan becoming tainted and ruined by the various motivations at play. Riedenschneider merely wants to pull off the job and retire to Mexico, in the same way that Dix just wants to return to his Kentucky farm, but Emmerich wants to make off with all the jewels because he’s broke, now surviving on what esteem and fear he can. He strong-arms a bookie, Cobby, into fronting him the money for the job on his word, but the bookie is in dire straits himself, trying to hold off an imminent raid from a corrupt cop, who is himself trying to keep from being found out. And this is to say nothing of what happens when the job goes bad, with the necessity for alibis and calm heads becoming stronger. It is some very fine conflicts at play.

What’s also great is that this also marked one of the first films where the criminals were treated as sympathetic characters, which caused some level of controversy at the time. This had never really been considered before, with criminal action generally just being motivated by money or greed or just being bad. Here, influences are the same as those of regular people, like dreams of a simple life or the need to provide for a family. Amazingly, this hadn’t really been considered before in Hollywood films. This also rather marks the beginning of the heist movie sub-genre.

The dialogue itself is also very sharp, pointing out how corrupt the city is, and how well every character knows it. When Riedenchneider speaks to Cobby about his corrupt cop shadow, Cobby tries to assuage his fears, but Riedenschneider is having none of it, saying, “Experience has taught me never to trust a policeman. Just when you think one’s all right, he turns legit.” In this city, legitimacy is just another turn of dishonesty, since it remains the single most dangerous act a dishonest person can commit. There’s also a semi-recurring notion of the old meaning of left-handed, it being seen as sinister or dishonest. An early discussion about baseball holds a remark about a left-handed pitcher being untrustworthy, with a similar, more chilling sentiment expressed by Emmerich when playing cards with his sick wife, May:

May: When I think of all those awful people you come in contact

with - downright criminals - I get scared.

Emmerich: Oh, there’s nothing so different about them. After all, crime is only a… left-handed form of human endeavour.

Here, Emmerich shows that he holds little distinction between criminals and everyone else, with criminals simply using a way of getting things done that it doesn’t occur to others to use. That he no longer sees anything wrong with criminal enterprise shows just how far he’s fallen.

This film was the last of Huston’s noir films, and his direction is as strong here on anything here ever made. Many called The Asphalt Jungle a sort of docu-noir, and for good reason, given its focus on the individual details of planning the heist, the build up of different elements, the controlled tension of the heist itself, and the procedural manner with which it is investigated and broken down. Huston also maintains a far more naturalistic style over the film, rarely if ever resorting to the standard visuals tics of the genre. There is little in the way of expressionistic backdrops or tilted angles. Even the cinematography, provided by Harold Rosson, holds a less stylised sharpness typical of other noirs. It still retains the contrast of the light and dark, but does so in a much more naturalistic manner. There are other details scattered throughout that show the kind of quality visualisation in Huston’s direction. For example, there are only a few times when we actually see people out walking in the streets, and the place is always deserted of other people. I’ll be honest and say that I initially considered this to be somewhat off, since it removes from the sense of a living, working city, where you would expect people to be everywhere. The only people we ever see actually on the streets are cops and criminals… however, that’s exactly the point. This city is so dangerous (as attested by a chatty taxi driver) that regular folk don’t walk these streets. The only time we see these regular people is indoors, like Louis’ family or Dix’s lady friend, or in cars, like the taxi driver. These streets aren’t safe for normal people. And look how Huston establishes some sense of what drives these characters. Again, look at Louis, whose sole reason for doing what he does is to make money for his wife and child. Whenever he’s home, he always shares the frame with his wife, his baby or both. They’re never gone from his mind, so he’s never by himself in these shots. It’s a superb way underlining this.

A great move is also to have the film be almost completely free of musical underscore, which only exists at the beginning titles and the closing few minutes. The utter silence of the rest of the picture makes things very tense, and allows us to better hear the sirens as they approach the gang. The only other times music plays comes from either a radio or a jukebox, and lasts only so long.

Performances throughout are good, with Sterling Hayden suitably playing the former-farm boy who turned to crime in the big city, and now only wants to go home. The best work of the film comes from Sam Jaffe as Riedenschneider and Louis Calhern as Emmerich. Both Jaffe and Calhern capture the ‘seen it all’ cynicism of their roles, but project the faults of each brilliantly. There’s also some excellent work from Marc Lawrence as Cobby, Barry Kelley as Lt. Ditrich, and Brad Dexter as Bob Brannom. There’s also a notable shot from Marilyn Monroe in the minor role that really got her noticed properly.

What makes The Asphalt Jungle especially interesting is considering it within the period in which it was made. By 1950, the infamous House Un-American Activities Committee (HUAC) was nearly in full in swing, hunting suspected Communistic influences wherever they could find them, including within the highly influential recesses of Hollywood. Anyone found to have suspicious allegiances were questioned, blacklisted, some imprisoned, and some deported. The personnel of The Asphalt Jungle were actually directly affected by these witch-hunts, too. Sam Jaffe was blacklisted after the publication of the governments Red Channels list; Sterling Hayden, a former-Communist himself, was brought before HUAC to testify and did give names of other people to be investigated, which he regretted for the rest of his life; and writer Ben Maddow was blacklisted only about a month after the release of The Asphalt Jungle. Hayden and Huston would then go on to join the Committee for the First Amendment, a group of Hollywood professionals out to fight the targeting of their industry, alongside Humphrey Bogart, Lauren Bacall and Gene Kelly.

The whole HUAC period is one of my favourite topics concerning film industry history, because it’s so interesting to look at the films of the period and consider them as a reflection of the time. Look at The Asphalt Jungle, and its depiction of a broken and corrupted city, where everyone is paranoid that someone else will turn on them and there’s nothing that can be done about your inevitable fate. This is just one of many films that hold this up as an expression of the fear and paranoia felt in the country during the HUAC hearings. Should you happen to watch this film, keep in the back of your mind the fact that some of these people would have a very rough time of things shortly after the film was released. It really adds a whole new level to things.

The Asphalt Jungle is a classic of the crime genre, tense and sternly controlled, and its influence is still felt to this day. The script is wonderfully conceived, the direction is strong and very nicely detailed, and there are some really fine performances on show. It’s the beginnings of a lot of things, and a reaction to a great many things within Hollywood at the time. This makes it a very important and very rich film to watch. If you have any interest in film noir, or film in general, this is one you must watch.

Ask Father (1919)

Returning now to the early silent escapades of Harold Lloyd. By 1919, Lloyd was an established and popular star of the era, and still working with friend and producer Hal Roach. Two years since his last Lonesome Luke role, the character that made him a star, he was still working consistently, with the length of his films becoming longer as his creative talents, as well as the public’s desire for more, continued to grow. In Ask Father, Lloyd draws laughs from something as old fashioned as silent comedy itself – asking a would-be bride’s father for permission to marry.

A young man (Harold Lloyd) wants to ask a man (Wallace Howe) for his daughter’s hand in marriage. However, this man is a very important businessman, with a two-week waiting list for an appointment. Anyone without one is literally thrown back out. The young man must find a way into the office to ask his question without getting himself killed in the process.

The last time we looked at a Harold Lloyd film, Among Those Present, I mentioned that it was notable partly from the vaguely Chaplin-esque barbed satire of the upper classes. With Ask Father, there isn’t really any of that, resting on the more simple principle of a guy going to great pains to meet with his beloved’s father. There’s nothing really in the way of subplot, either. It’s a pretty straightforward shot.

Lloyd fully launches himself into the repeated pratfalls of the film. A repeated gag of him being launched back into the hallway develops something of a relationship with the office switchboard operator, played by the wonderful Bebe Daniels. Since she doesn’t want to see him hurt, she constantly throws down her cushion for him to land on. There is also a glimpse into the stunt work typical of the time. At one point, when Lloyd finds himself unceremoniously ejected from the building for the umpteenth time, he gets back in by simply climbing the wall. There are no visible safety precautions taken, either. He just looks up, grabs onto the brickwork and very quickly makes his way up and back inside. It’s rather impressive.

Alongside the dogged determination of Lloyd to complete his task, what’s also great are the measures the boss man takes not to be disturbed. Not only does he have a small army of office workers to keep people away from his office, he has built contraptions into his office should anyone get that far. There is a conveyor belt built into the floor, so all his assistant need do is open the door and the intruder will be ejected very quickly. This leads to a very funny moment when Lloyd tries to ask his question whilst keeping pace on the running belt, desperately trying to stay ahead of the hulking office worker waiting at the end. And that’s not all, since the boss man also has a trapdoor in front of his desk, giving unwanted visitors a more direct exit from the building. I swear this guy must have been the original model for Mr. Burns in The Simpsons. He even has his own much put-upon personal assistant, played by Harry ‘Snub’ Pollard, an Australian comedian who was not far away from having his own successful career at this point.

What is interesting to note from the film is a slight mean streak on show, which is something that actually does crop up in quite a lot of silent pictures. There’s a shorter office worker that I felt kind of bad for, since he does seem to get it a little more than the others. Further to this, as Lloyd becomes more frustrated in his attempts to see the boss man, he resorts to more crazy tactics to get past the many office workers in his way, including just punching them out, stealing two guns and blasting away at them, and dressing in full knight’s armour and beating them with a club. In fairness, they started it, but it’s a hell of a progression. Also, the ending of the film shows Lloyd to be a somewhat fickle character.

Still, Ask Father is very funny, with the conveyor belt bit and his brief time dressed as a knight offering moments of genuine laughter. Even though the film has no credited director, it’s got a great quick pace, lots of energy and is a nice showcase for Lloyd, Daniels and Harry Pollard. It’s really got a lot to offer in a pretty brisk 13 minutes.

Oh, and apologies for the use of a screenshot at the top there. Couldn't find either an individual cover or poster for the film itself.

Ash Wednesday (2002)

STAY ALIVE

Edward Burns grew up as part of an Irish-Catholic family from New York, and the second child of three. As such, his distinct New York sensibilities, his siblingness and his Catholic upbringing have very much figured themselves into his work. Prior to 2002, his films were all romantic comedies, which gave him some moderate, if not overwhelming success. Naturally, as his career grew, so did his ambitions. For his fifth film, Burns tried a different approach. He did away with the easy, albeit blunt romantic comedy stylings and took aim at something else. Still maintaining his focus on sibling relationships and an Irish-Catholic influence, he tried his hand at something darker, replete with atmosphere, tension and religious metaphor.

Hell’s Kitchen, Ash Wednesday, 1983. Rumours have begun to circulate that Francis Sullivan (Edward Burns)’s younger brother Sean (Elijah Wood) has been seen around the old neighbourhood, despite him being dead for three years. Believing him to still be alive, the people that wanted him dead in the first place start asking questions. The local mob boss also starts to feel the pressure, since he’s acting as protector over Francis… and Sean. As the weight slowly builds, Francis has to organise a way for Sean and his wife Grace (Rosario Dawson), who doesn’t know he’s still alive, to get out of the city before they all get killed.

I first saw Ash Wednesday not too long after it first came out on DVD. A friend and I were having a movie night, so we got some pizza and hit the rental place to see what we could find. Honestly, neither of us knew anything about the film, but it sounded intriguing enough to warrant the renting price, so we got that (and likely a couple of others) and headed off for our watching. I still remember it, because by the end of the night, both of us really liked the film. So much so, that we both became minor fans of Edward Burns, seeking out his other stuff to watch. Now, the rest of his work at the time was nothing like Ash Wednesday, but we liked them well enough. Today brings the first time I’ve really watched any of his stuff for a long while, during which time I’ve learned a few things. One of those things is that Ash Wednesday was a colossal flop, and I mean colossal. I have no idea what the budget was to begin with, but the distributors clearly were not hopeful for the film, giving it an incredibly weak run of one week at two theatres. Just two. The total cinematic box office for Ash Wednesday is less than $3,000. I have no idea as to whether or not the film made its money back on DVD sales or rentals, but to do so would have been a hell of an uphill struggle.

This must have been especially galling for Burns, since this was clearly a very big risk for him as a filmmaker. Since he had made his name from making romantic comedies of sorts, Ash Wednesday was an attempt by Burns to experiment, to try his hand at a new genre, to stretch beyond the limitations that he had worked himself into. It was a very ambitious project for the man, and the fact that it failed so spectacularly must have been a serious blow to his creative ego. In fact, we know that this is the case, since he has made five films since then, all of which return him to his romantic comedy roots. I have to say, I do respect this kind of risk-taking. It takes serious balls to ignore, even potentially alienate your existing fanbase to satisfy a personal creative venture. Sure, there’s the chance it could backfire horribly, but there’s also the chance that it could pay off and open up new doors for him. It’s a gamble that many others would simply have felt too much to follow through. However, much like the character he plays in the film, Edward Burns seems to be a bit of a gambler.

In this particular filmmaking gamble, Burns draws heavily on his religious upbringing as a source of thematic concern and allegory. Notions of guilt, sin, repentance and redemption flow freely through the piece. Francis was an enforcer for the mob, a role given to him by his father. Between this often messy work and his gambling problems, he offends the wrong people, who now want him killed as a message to others. However, the men that have been brought in for the job discuss the details in the bar where Francis’ brother Sean works. When Sean overhears their plans, he kills the would-be hitmen in the bathroom. Sean tells his priest, who tells Francis and the three get Sean out of town with the help of the local mob boss, Whitey. Three years later, the trouble resurfaces when Sean comes home to be with the wife he abandoned, though she believes him to be dead.

Yes, admittedly, it is a little unnecessarily convoluted. Honestly, the script is a mixed batch of good and bad. However, the themes do remain present and strong throughout, particularly the old Catholic standby - Guilt. Everyone in the film feels guilt for something, which is generally codified by the ash cross on various characters’ foreheads. Francis wears his as a sign of his guilt over his past deeds with the mob, as well as what his brother was forced to do for him. Grace wears hers because of the guilt she feels over the fact that she took solace in the arms of Francis after Sean’s disappearance. The priest, Father Mahoney, played his part in the deception, too. That Sean does not have a cross on his forehead just shows that he feels no guilt for what he did, simply acting in the best interests of his brother. It’s perhaps not exactly a subtle indicator, but it works very nicely, both in terms of dramatic signification and spatial legitimacy.

However, all of this genuinely interesting stuff is rather undercut by several aspects of the film that just let things down. Burns has completely dropped his old visual sensibility, opting for a new one of longer takes, canted angles and a grittier film texture shown by Russell Lee Fine’s cinematography. These would actually work well, if not for the fact that it all feels somewhat put on. It feels more like Burns trying to be Martin Scorsese, so there’s a sense of affectation, of pretence. It’s really something that runs through the film as a whole. So often, there’s the sense that Burns is consciously trying to make his own Mean Streets, but without the effortless artistry or the simmering power that Scorsese can draw out. There’s also a scene that is basically a flagrant lift from Raging Bull, with Sean asking Francis whether or not he had sex with Grace. Burns also mimics Scorsese’s eclectic musical influences, drawing from various periods to suit the film. Obviously, there’s nothing wrong with that in itself, but beside the other evidence, it’s difficult to see it any other way. Hell, several of the songs used in the film (Radar Love by Golden Earring, Catch Me Now I’m Falling by The Kinks, Let It Ride by Bachmann-Turner Overdrive) actually come from 1973, the year that Mean Streets was released. Add to this the parallels with Scorsese’s own concerns with religion and New York… even though Burns already uses these aspects regularly, you see how all of this mounts up, right? I admire the spirit of artistic experimentation, but it feels too much like Burns copied someone else’s homework.

The acting in the film is often rather off, mainly from the leading roles. Francis is meant to be a tough guy, but one struck through with deep regret and guilt. Burns carries off the former trait, but does less well with the latter. One of the reasons I like Burns as an actor is the deadpan sarcasm in his delivery, but it really gets in the way here. You should feel that all he wants to do is say he’s sorry, but can't. Instead, it’s more like ‘yeah, but what are you gonna do?’ He never plays it like it’s meant to be funny, and it never comes across that way, but the idea that he’s all torn up with guilt is lost. Both Elijah Wood and Rosario Dawson, two fine actors on their own, seem to be giving performances that seem stuck around Week Two of rehearsals. There’s a lack of conviction in their readings, with little real emotional development, so it seems like they’re just going through the motions. They’re in the right area, but they haven’t nearly gone far enough. I attribute this more to Burns’ direction, though. Others do better, with Oliver Platt and James Handy giving the best work in the film.

There is an issue with the editing, too. It feels blunt, often quite amateurish at times. One of the film’s few moments of action, a gunfight, sees one character hit in the arm. Perhaps there was no money for a squib pack or some sort of effect, but it’s been left to David Greenwald’s editing to construct the hit, and it looks a little shoddy. It reminds me of the gunfights you see in student films, with shots too static and a bad pace to them, so it's very unconvincing. Frankly, it’s a little ugly to look at. And some conversations that should be down to simple 'shot-counter shot' dynamics are cut too close to the beginning of lines, making the words feel like they’re being punched out rather than spoken. If this was an intentional effect, it doesn’t work. It breaks the cardinal rule of invisible editing: it draws attention to itself.

A note on the score from David Shire. It’s a simple piano piece that gets repeated at various points, with the occasional change here and there. Personally, I like it. It’s got a subtle atmosphere about it, which works well for the apprehension of the film. Saying that, I am aware that many people really dislike it, precisely because it’s a simple piano piece that gets repeated. It’s also very memorable, a sort of moody earworm. Again, I like it, but I know that I’m likely to be in a minority on a lot of this.

Whilst I can see the many flaws of Ash Wednesday, I still can’t say I dislike it. Whether or not I’m still holding on to the memory of a good night watching movies, and thus have more of a blinder on the faults as a result, I still rather like it. The faults are many and rather inexcusable, but the one thing that shines through for myself is the ambition behind the project. This is Burns trying to test his borders, find out if he can really offer the world more than just romantic comedy. I'd like to see more people give this one a try, just be aware that most people don’t care much for this film.