Tag Archives: discussion

Undiscovered Cinema: Missing Pieces


Most of the time the depressing aspects of the film industry escape our attention. We are happy to simply be entertained and not think about the hard work behind the scenes, the promising projects that wither and die before a general release. If you really love films or you write about them, the downsides are clearer. You will see and fall for films the general public (or perhaps the suits responsible for getting it to them) don’t appreciate.

My point is that once in a while you have to say something and make a stand, however small, against the prevailing culture. History is written by people who challenged the status quo, refusing to accept that “it’s just the way things are”. Missing Pieces is a fantastic film, with a startling story cutting close to the core of a whole range of emotional truths. It is modern and gripping, clever and well executed. And even if others aren’t as enthused by it as me, the quality is evident and it deserves a general release, which it doesn’t currently have.

In a world where the fourth Pirates of the Caribbean film and The Hangover: Part II are breaking box office records despite their overwhelming lack of orginality, genuinely original creations that are works of art as well as good filmmaking, slip through the cracks. My Missing Pieces review is below and can also be found here at Flickering Myth: http://flickeringmyth.blogspot.com/2011/06/movie-review-missing-pieces-2011.html

Read on if you’ve got two minutes spare and support it however you can. This film deserves to be discussed.

Originality is what I always strive for in a review. Why read my specific review if it’s just a regurgitation of what a more learned critic said? I always feel unsatisfied if there’s not something, a line of description or paragraph of praise, which feels like my signature. Sometimes though all you can do is record your reaction. A film might be so atrociously bad that all you can do is spend an hour pouring hateful words over it. Or it might be so amazingly and astoundingly good that you just gush in delight about it inadequately.

Missing Pieces is just such a hidden gem that reduces me to strings of clichés. It nails originality on the head. I was literally “blown away” and completely surprised by the way this film personally resonated with me. It is the most enjoyable and emotionally satisfying movie I have seen this year. I cannot remember the last time I identified so deeply with characters or felt so absorbed in a drama. At over two hours long it is not short but I did not want it to end.

It’s the story of David, played by Mark Boone Junior (Batman Begins), who has been in a car accident. His injuries from the crash left his mind all mixed up, as if someone had taken a puzzle box and shaken it until all the pieces are jumbled. We never really see the fragmentation of their relationship, meaning that we see things almost entirely from David’s perspective, but the love of his life leaves him. Played by Melora Walters (Magnolia/Cold Mountain/The Butterfly Effect) Delia appears now and then to collect her stuff, angrily shouting that she wants the real David back. This leaves him confused and hurting, determined to try every trick in the book (and more) to win her back.

Clearly David’s mental state has been altered. In one striking but baffling scene he calmly smashes some cargo in an empty children’s play area. In others he watches the comings and goings of two of his young neighbours. But this he does because of loneliness, not brain damage.

I don’t really want to spoil the key element of Missing Pieces as I found it such a joy to watch completely uninformed. SKIP THIS PARAGRAPH if you wish to avoid it, although I suspect Missing Pieces will not lose much of its power from what I am going to say, as its plot is impossible to summarise. David becomes gripped by a self help tape and is inspired by the artwork of his departed girlfriend. He concocts a strange and deluded plan to win Delia back; kidnap the boy and girl he watches and make them fall in love. He believes if he observes true love he can learn the intricacies of successful romance.

There is a teasingly sinister undertone running throughout the distorted narrative, which heightens the suspense and pulls you to the edge of your seat. Missing Pieces plays out in the wrong order; you’re not sure if plot strands are taking place before or after the central ordeal. Newcomers Daniel Hassel and Taylor Engel, as Daylen and Maggie, are superb, together and apart, as a young boy and girl with troubled families, on an odd journey from suspicion through friendship to love. They form an instant connection, vividly realised through the chemistry of the actors, but they never would have met but for being thrown together by a normally harrowing experience.

Missing Pieces is influenced by a myriad of modern movies and directors but pulls together ideas from numerous genres to tell a completely fresh story. There are strong echoes of Memento, which Boone Junior also starred in, along with components of modern horror, Paul Thomas Anderson, romantic comedies and the indie scene. It addresses themes of love, loss, sadness and happiness. It touches on far too many issues to mention but it always has something true to say. It captures a little of the human condition and the universal desire for purpose, meaning and intimacy. Most of all I was struck by its message of reaching out and ignoring the limitations of social convention to say how you feel before it’s too late.

Perhaps such a message warms the hearts of young people more easily. And what makes Missing Pieces even more remarkable is the youthful team behind it. It is the brainchild of Kenton Bartlett who decided to make a movie when his carefree student life suddenly ended. A 30 minute Making Of feature is enlightening, entertaining and moving, as Kenton struggles through the unexpected scale of the challenge. It’s evident the film went through multiple edits to become a staggering, coherent final product.

Words don’t do Missing Pieces justice. Discovering new talented filmmakers and musicians (the film also has wonderful songs/score) like those behind Missing Pieces is the most fulfilling part of writing about movies. Its unknown actors and crew deserve to do this for a living. And we deserve to see their novel and ambitious ideas realised.

Missing Pieces is still seeking distribution. It is high quality stuff and there’s no reason why it should be kept from a wider audience. Get the word out and find the missing piece in your collection of favourite films: www.FindYourMissingPieces.com

Black Shorts for the Edinburgh Fringe – Play Submission 2: The Debate


The Debate

Two men sit across from one another at a small table. They both have coffees. A’s is untouched, B regularly sips from his.

A: How would you do it?
B: Pills probably.
A: Yeah?
B: Yeah.
A: I can definitely see the appeal of pills.
B: I mean in a way it could be awful…
A: (interrupting) But they’re always to hand.
B: Yeah exactly.
A: I know what you mean though don’t want it to go wrong.
B: No.
A: Looks really amateurish if it does.
B: Yeah you wouldn’t want all the questions, the officials, the procedures etc.
A: Absolute nightmare.
B: Yeah right, worse than things were already.
A: Mmm.
B: Actually like you say pills are a bit dodgy and low key. I always imagined I’d go out with a big bang, something spectacular like.
A: How do you mean?
B: Well I’ve often pictured it, you know sketched it in daydreams.
A: Go on.
B: There are these cliffs at the coast near where I live. You can drive right to the edge almost to park your car.
A: Yeah. Are we talking Beachy Head-esque?
B: Not really. Isn’t like I have a loved one to jump hand in hand with.
A: Nah me neither.
B: Yeah.
A: So?
B: So?
A: What would you do?
B: Well I’d still take a good load of pills. Then I’d tape the locks down inside my car, in case some survival instinct kicks in if I land up in the water.
A: Mmm.
B: Then depending on where I manage to park, either drive off the edge or just let the handbrake off. Ideally I should accelerate I suppose for added impact and in case some good natured passerby attempts to stop me. But then I’m not sure what the pills would have done to me by then…
A: It’s certainly dramatic.
B: Yeah and a reasonable fail safe.
A: What about people below?
B: Yeah there is that. I guess I could do it at a time of night when there’d be no one about, have a quick check first.
A: And definitely nothing could stop the car?
B: Nah. There’s a rope at the most between you and a rocky fall.
A: There’s still a chance you could end up trapped and awaiting rescue with horrific injuries and no escape.
B:  I don’t think anything’s full proof though.
A: No I guess not, certainly not 100%.
B: And the pills would hopefully take me beyond rescue.
A: Yeah.
B: And like you say, it’s dramatic. I don’t see the point unless it’s more thrilling than the monotony of life.
A: Of course there’s a point, escaping that day after day pain.
B: How would you rather do it?
A: I’d rather a gun. Classic roof of the mouth. But fat chance of getting hold of one.
B: I wouldn’t know how to go about that.
A: Yeah exactly.
B: I’d be scared of just mutilating my face too. Isn’t like I know how to use a weapon properly.
A: Oh it’s pretty easy I think.
B: You reckon?
A: From what I’ve researched I think I could do it. Over in a flash.
B: Oh right…
(A lengthy pause)
A: Do you think that we all discover the same truth? Or something similar?
B: Sorry?
A: I mean, do you think that no matter what the personal reasons, everyone that decides to do it uncovers some sort of universal fact? Like a kind of enlightenment. That it’s all pointless.
B: Umm…I guess it’s possible. Certainly they must all reach roughly the same conclusion about the world.
A: They?
(Another long pause)
A: Has something always defined your life?
B: That’s quite a vague question.
A: I don’t know how to express what I mean.
B: That’s alright. The most worthwhile things are difficult to articulate.
A: Yeah I agree.
B: So give it a try.
A: Well for me…well I guess that truth I was talking about is for me that everyone has a particular conflict that defines them. For me it’s always been a conflict between a desire to make a mark, make a difference, leave some sort of permanent bettering legacy behind and an overwhelming fear of being alone. I don’t think everyone’s conflict is the same, but I think everyone has one. And I think that those of us who decide to escape that conflict have seen the one truth there is.
B: Which is?
A: Life is an insurmountable challenge. You can’t reconcile that conflict, you must choose between one or the other.
B: Which did you choose?
A: What do you mean?
B: Did you choose to make a mark or to avoid loneliness?
A: I chose nothingness.
B: Because you couldn’t succeed in either?
A: I think so yeah. It’s better than the panic.
(A pause)
B: Don’t you have friends?
A: Of course, technically.
B: What do you mean “technically”?
A: Well they are acquaintances. I disagree with that old saying that you can choose your friends but not your family. I was always just lumped together with people; my “friends” were as determined as my relatives.
B: Well determinism is a whole different debate.
A: Is it? Most things are connected, probably underpinned by that.
B: To an extent. But I’ve had the illness I told you about all my life, and it didn’t stop me achieving certain things. I was limited but not beaten by it.
A: Mmm.  
(Another pause)
A: Thank you for agreeing to meet me.
B: It’s no problem, I find it interesting.
A: Interesting?
B: Yeah people won’t discuss this sort of thing openly, sometime it’s more difficult with people you know.
A: Yeah. Why do you think that is?
B: I’m not sure, too uncomfortable I suppose. People let their guard down online.
A: I know what you mean. But normally it’s…it’s just…
B: Sexual?
A: Yeah.
B: Yeah you delve through a lot of scum for something resembling conversation. It’s not really a good place to search for it.
A: But it’s the only place.
B: Exactly.
A: What about a date?
(B nearly chokes on his coffee)
B: What?
A: Would you rather do it at a particular time of year?
B: Oh! Well I don’t know…I guess it’s more about when you feel you’ve had enough.
A: Yeah.
B: Do you have a favourite date for it then?
A: The 6th of September.
B: That’s soon.
A: I know.
(Short pause)
B: How come?
A: What?
B: Why then?
A: It used to be the date we’d usually go back to school.
B: Were you unhappy at school?
A: Not especially.
B: Ok.
A: I don’t really know why. I don’t tend to get things done unless they have to be, by a certain date.
B: Yeah I get that. It’s impossible to motivate myself sometimes.
A: Yeah same.
B: And I completely understand what you mean about life being this whole, this unconquerable and insurmountable thing. There are so many things I want to do but the reality is I won’t even manage half of them. Even books I want to read, they just sit there on this imaginary checklist. It’s not just about time…
A: Yeah you want to do it but it’s like you don’t have the energy reserves.
B: Yeah or not even energy, just the will to do it sometimes.
A: Perhaps it’s because you understand the futility of it all underneath.
B: Maybe…maybe yeah…(checks his watch) Blimey I better be going I guess!
A: Oh right ok…Somewhere you need to be?
B: Yes meeting with a student.
A: Ah.
B: This was really interesting as I said. I talk about ideas in my work all the time but this sort of blunt; stripped down conversation…it’s intellectually refreshing!
A: Intellectually?
B: These things are usually off limits I suppose, for “civilized” conversation, but they’re facts of life like anything else.
A: Intellectual facts right?
B: I’d love to meet again. Are you free at the same time on the 10th? I have to say I’d never have thought a meeting with someone from online could be so rewarding. You tend to think it’s all just superficial, all fake on there.
A: That’s after the 6th.
(A pause)
B: Wait…you’re not…you’re not actually serious about…about all this?
A: (hesitates) Course not… (forced laugh) Course not, course not, God no!
B: You’re alright then?
A: I’m alright?
B: Ok for the 10th? Here again?
A: Yes, yeah why not.
B: (standing to leave. Puts some cash on the table) My shout!
A: Right.
B: (walking away to exit, calls back) Till the 10th then!
A: Yeah.

Manchester United can beat Barcelona at Wembley: And it would just be the beginning


The title is theirs. Carlo Ancelotti did his best to fire up the Chelsea players, repeatedly calling it their cup final, but the Red Devils proved too strong at Old Trafford. The Theatre of Dreams has been a fortress of consistency in a curiously unpredictable season. Often it’s appeared as though no one wanted the league enough but ultimately United’s experienced desire was superior, and it was at its lustful best against Chelsea.

It seems as though we might be witnessing a time of real change in football, particularly in the Premiership. Every team in the league is capable of taking points from the top sides. The notion of a traditional top four is crumbling and the ways in which clubs are preserving their success are evolving too. The era of the successful big money signing appears to have past. Of course there are exceptions, with Manchester City the latest to flash the cash, but the big teams doing well this season were not dependent on new signings or even one standout performer. Arsenal may have once again fallen at the crucial stage of the race, but they were United’s primary challengers for most of the campaign. Their squad has grown gradually over the years.

And so has Manchester United’s. Since the departure of Ronaldo to Real Madrid Sir Alex Ferguson has continued to ignore the calls from fans, myself included, for more expensive replacements. Instead he has focused on improving the players he already has by carefully managing their experience of important fixtures, as well as bringing in some future investments (with some paying off early, such as Javier Hernandez). The failures of other teams have proved his strategy right. He has also once again settled on a different tactical vision for his side. Nowhere is this more evident than in the Champions League.

United have not conceded a goal away from home in the competition. They have done this by mastering a drilled and disciplined style of play. In many ways this is at odds with the entertaining, attacking tradition of the club. But Ferguson has been wise enough to recognise that the strengths of his team have changed. In 2008 when they defeated Chelsea in the final, United were a team boasting the sparkle and individual talent of Berbatov, Rooney, Tevez and Ronaldo. These days United have become a highly efficient and effective collective unit. Their starting eleven appears inferior in terms of talent, but they are no longer dependent on stars to succeed.

Having said this they will still need the key players in their unit, particularly Rooney, to be at their best if they are to beat Barcelona at Wembley. This is because the Catalans have the collective mentality of the current United side, as well as happening to have a team bursting with world class footballers. Ferguson insists he knows where his team went wrong in the final of 2009 against the Spaniards. He has been able to rotate his squad with extreme flexibility to get what he wants from a game, with whoever comes in doing what is required of them. But against Barcelona nothing less than his best combination of midfielders will do.

For it was in midfield that United lost the 2009 final. They can take some comfort from the fact that Yaya Toure, who scored the goal that ended United’s treble hopes in the FA Cup semi with Man City, will no longer be an immovable object at Barcelona’s core. It was he that overpowered Carrick and co so fatally. But nowadays the likes of Javier Mascherano are there to provide a defensive screen from which Iniesta and Xavi can create for the devastating abilities of Villa and Messi up front. Somehow United’s players will have to get a grip on possession.

Carrick has been unfairly derided in the past. He is a world class passer of the ball who can provide both a defensive shield and attacking platform. In recent weeks his resurgent form has added vital impetus to a tough run in. But there will still be question marks over whether or not he will perform for the big occasion and whether he will once again be outmuscled. He seems likely to start though given his involvement lately, so Ferguson must decide who to play alongside him and in what formation.

With the main worry being a lack of possession it’s likely we’ll see a three man central midfield, with Rooney leading the line alone. This robs United’s prize asset of much of his threat and his deadly combination with Javier Hernandez. It will also put him under pressure that might lead to frustration, which is a dangerous cocktail for his volatile temperament. Against Chelsea a two fingered salute to the Blues fans was a sharp reminder that the striker is way off the level of maturity required for a captaincy, of England or his club.

Darren Fletcher could be the missing link, as he missed the final two years ago through suspension. He would add the grit that was so evidently missing that night. But this time around its fitness that will be a problem for the Scot. Giggs has been majestic in some vital fixtures this campaign but mediocre in others. Anderson and Scholes seem unlikely to feature, but Ji-Sung Park, especially after his man of the match display against Chelsea, might be chosen to be a busy thorn in Barcelona’s side. It’s interesting and baffling that Dimitar Berbatov, the team’s main source of goals in the league and an undoubtedly dazzling player, is not being seriously considered by any commentators for a starting place. Ferguson does not trust him for the big fixtures and Rooney plays better with Hernandez ahead of him. The Bulgarian’s future will be one to watch in the summer, despite being top scorer.

It’s a one off game at Wembley. Ferguson will have learnt genuine lessons from two years ago and the togetherness of his new team will be a challenge for Barcelona, just as their undeniable quality will be a challenge for United. The tantalising thing for United fans is that if they are successful here, in theory such a young squad should only improve with experience, without the need for drastic and expensive imports.

Doctor Who: Series 6: Episode 1 – The Impossible Astronaut


I was blown away by last night’s opener to the new series. It has once again confirmed my belief that Steven Moffat is an absolute, scientifically certified genius. He joins the handful of men whose lives I would like to steal, perhaps via some sort of wickedly clever sci-fi device, that of course, damn him, only he could probably dream up.

I was always a fan of Russell T. Davies and both Eccleston’s and Tennant’s Doctors, but for me there’s no doubt that Davies was always playing things safe now. Moffat has grabbed the nation’s beloved Timelord by the lapels and thrown him headlong into a series of interlinked stories, that are simultaneously the same and completely new. By taking risks Moffat has shown just how masterfully clever, funny, scary and gripping Doctor Who can be. People really ought to see that this is Television at its best, and writing at its best. If they don’t they are dullards with tame imaginations and bland dreams. When they blew out birthday candles as a child they probably wished that the trains would run on time. I’m sticking my neck out here.

But I’m being so uncharacteristically passionate and assured of myself for good reason: The Impossible Astronaut was an impossibly confident and swaggering opening to any series in the world. It wasn’t trying to please or conforming to any tried and tested formula. It was the realisation of playful ideas and desires formed in Moffat’s marvellous head. As several commentators have remarked, this is probably how Moffat always wished Doctor Who should be. He loved it but he knew it could be better. With all of time and space to play with, Doctor Who should never be safe, never be predictable, and never be limited. It should always be surprising and inventive. Moffat sees this.

And how I missed that music! The bow tie, the tweed, that blue box and Doctor Who Confidential!

With last year’s climatic two parter, Moffat showed he could do story arcs, drama and spot on contrast better than his predecessor. This time he’s once again wonderfully flipped expectations on their heads by beginning his second series at the helm with all the secrets and emotional punches of a series finale. And he set it in glorious 60s America!

FROM NOW ON THE SPOILERS BEGIN

He killed the bloody Doctor! In the first episode! And in all interviews he insists it’s real death, seemingly inescapable death, an end beyond even the healing powers of regeneration. All the clues within the show suggest it’s the actual end of the Doctor. Knowing Moffat, the answers to this, the biggest question of all, certainly will not be resolved in the second episode. Of course there’ll probably be a get out but knowing Moffat, not an easy one. The implications will hang over the entire series. And given the way he ended the last series, with the mysterious manipulator of the Tardis still hidden, and the half built Tardis in the Lodger unexplained (it turned up last night though!?), he could well carry the question of the Doctor’s death over to his third series.

 After all the Doctor we’re left with is two hundred years younger than the one so thrillingly and absorbingly killed. Moffat sent him gallivanting through history at the beginning, something Davies would never have done but is far truer to the potential of the character. He is not hopelessly tied to companions; he can travel in time for god’s sake.

The Silence are brilliant monsters. In appearance they pay gothic homage to the classic Roswell alien, but their defining ability is so very Moffat; you look away and you forget you ever saw them. Hence the tagline: “Monsters are real”. The image of them in Secret Service suits was so iconic and striking and scary, but not all that original. Crucially with Moffat it’s the ideas that have to be good first and foremost.

All the performances are improved from last time out, and in particular Smith as the Doctor himself is now completely confident. The role is his own. Moffat’s more intriguing Doctor is his Doctor and vice versa; the writing makes him so good, but Moffat’s writing also needs talented interpretation and portrayal.

So many questions were raised; I worry for even Moffat’s genius as to how they are resolved. The impact of any story arc will be diminished if every episode is so packed with “what ifs” as this one. It can’t maintain such a pace and accommodate endless secrets too. But obviously if I see this, so does the wise one. He’ll have more hints than previous series, rewarding the diehard viewer, but each episode will stand alone and grip in itself. And as I said earlier, Moffat’s disregard of convention will ensure that he doesn’t feel he has to resolve every question in this series. Why shouldn’t he throw all his good ideas at us at once and string them out tantalisingly?

I would now only begin to repeat the more eloquent words of more qualified commentators, so I shall stop and treat myself to watching the episode again. In the meantime check out The Guardian’s excellent, weekly post-show blog and feel free to check back here regularly for my own thoughts.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/tv-and-radio/tvandradioblog/2011/apr/23/doctor-who-the-impossible-astronaut

All hail Moffat! Long live Who!

P.S. He’s put the Who back in Doctor Who and he says this is intentional. Thank goodness, let’s see more of the dark side to such a powerful and fascinating character!

BlogalongaBond: Thunderball


http://theincrediblesuit.blogspot.com/p/blogalongabond.html

I only discovered BlogalongaBond recently. But blimey what an excellent idea. Talking about 007 once a month for two years, and each film in turn; blogging bliss for Bondian fanatics like me.

Then I realised I had just missed the boat for writing about Goldfinger. My first contribution to BlogalongaBond would have to come hot on the heels of a month’s glowing discussion of the world’s most famous franchise’s most iconic entry. How was I going to compete with that? I couldn’t rant and rave about every single classic scene moulded into cliché by endless reference and repetition. As many bloggers said when reviewing Goldfinger, it was THE Bond film and in the eyes of many every one since has aspired to its formula and fallen short of its magical mix.

After watching Thunderball though, I remembered why it’s always been more than the shit part of the National Lottery to me. I loved Thunderball growing up as a boy, and I love it now. For me it is better than Goldfinger. Aside from From Russia With Love, Thunderball is the film that best captures the origins of the character; Ian Fleming’s James Bond transplanted onto the screen.

Thunderball the novel was a return to form for Fleming, who had taken a break after Goldfinger to produce a collection of short stories, For Your Eyes Only. The book introduces the character of Ernst Stavro Blofeld for the first time and provides Bond with an excellent enemy for two other brilliant novels, On Her Majesty’s Secret Service and You Only Live Twice. Of course the films made Blofeld Bond’s ultimate nemesis from the outset, whereas prior to Thunderball, in the literary world of Bond his primary foes had been unorthodox Russian organisation SMERSH. Lampooned in the 60s by Bond spoof Casino Royale, SMERSH sounds unavoidably silly compared to the sinister SPECTRE headed by mysterious Blofeld.

Interestingly the physique of Blofeld in the novels is quite different to that presented in the films. The most memorable portrayal of Blofeld is perhaps Donald Pleasance’s scarred little bald man in You Only Live Twice. In Roger Moore’s time the character is reduced to being dropped down a chimney in a pre titles sequence. Thunderball showcases Blofeld at his best; unknown, all powerful and faceless.

Thunderball also shows off Bond at his best. In a PTS far superior to the aforementioned Roger Moore effort in For Your Eyes Only, we learn everything we need to know about 007. In my view Thunderball’s PTS is also better than Goldfinger’s despite the prevailing view being that Goldfinger’s is the most flawless of the series. As several bloggers pointed out, Bond’s ridiculous duck disguise in Goldfinger spoils the other elements somewhat and to me Thunderball’s PTS is a stronger standalone mini-story, which also ties back to the main adventure.

Steven Spielberg once said that to him, James Bond was a detective, a suave Sherlock Holmes with a gun. For the directing legend Bond was at his best when distilled to this level and he tried to replicate elements of this when creating his Bond equivalent, Indiana Jones. I certainly think that description is a simplification of Bond’s character. But the mighty Spielberg has a point. There’s plenty of sleuthing and relying on Bond’s instincts in Connery’s early films, and particularly Thunderball. It’s something the modern films lost sight of and need to get back to.

Bond is certainly knowing and observational when he unmasks the widow in Thunderball’s PTS as an enemy agent. Connery’s charm, charisma and comedy are turned up to the max and the whole sequence looks stylish. Bond quips and flirts with his female assistant. Then in a brutal, ahead of its time fight scene that the likes of Jason Bourne and the modern 007 are returning to today, Connery kicks his opponent’s ass, savagely strangling him to death with a poker.

The PTS then ends with an outrageous escape via jet pack and gadgets galore on the sleek Aston Martin. These tongue in cheek gizmos aside, the gadgets in Thunderball are at the pitch perfect level. There’s a wonderful scene with Q in which sensible but clever gadgets are introduced that will return to prove vital in the plot. Connery’s sparky dialogue with Desmond Llewelyn is the best in the entire series.

So after the PTS we know who we’re dealing with; James Bond 007, licence to kill, with girls, guns, gadgets and grisly action galore. It’s then that the film introduces the masterly plot that remains durable, relevant, captivating and even slightly plausible today. Goldfinger took Fleming’s immense imagination and made his ideas work better on film than they did in the novel. In Thunderball Fleming’s fantastical schemes once again marvel and delight, and shock and scare, this time sticking closer still to the original story. It’s a testament to the story’s selling power that a major legal tussle over the rights to a remake led to the 1983 unofficial entry starring an aged Connery, Never Say Never Again.

The legacy of the nuclear arms race remains an issue today and the power of rogue atomic weapons to frighten certainly endures. The enormous importance and scale of events adds terrific drama to the story. It’s a drama any Bond film needs and thrives off of; the global significance bearing down on 007’s shoulders as he conquers personal hurdles to unravel it all. Coming up with the perfectly judged plot remains the biggest challenge for those behind new Bond films today because they can’t compete with Fleming.

Thunderball is the first of the films to deal with Fleming’s fascination of the sea and the underwater world. Today it is increasingly difficult to find exotic locations for Bond when holidays can whisk you practically anywhere in a flash. But the colourful realm beneath the waves, glowing in a turquoise tint, remains another mostly inaccessible world. There’s something alien and yet attractive about the monstrous creatures living amongst the sand and sun rays. There’s something dark about anyone who can master this environment and exploit it for his own gain. Something secretive about the tropical depths.

Emilio Largo had a tough act to follow. Auric Goldfinger is the master villain to beat with his distinctive characteristics and fondness for a verbal duel prior to some ghastly fate waiting for our hero. Largo also struggles to impose himself when the magnificent early scene, with one of THE Ken Adam set designs, showing the SPECTRE meeting makes it clear that he is merely a puppet and drone himself. The true power lies elsewhere. This definitely makes him a different kind of villain. He doesn’t compete with Goldfinger but he doesn’t lack menace or do a bad job either.

What about the girls then? For me in Domino and Fiona Volpe we have two of the best Bond girls ever. Pussy Galore, as played by Honour Blackman, is iconic for sure but mainly because of Fleming’s outrageous name. Domino comes across as one of the most beautiful girls that even Bond himself has ever seen in the novel, and Claudine Auger doesn’t do a bad job at all of visually representing this on screen. As for Volpe, she is incredibly sexy and seductive. Her bright red hair set her out as dangerous, but also as red hot. The scene where she is waiting for Bond in the bath and he offers her merely shoes to put on, and the dancing scene at the Kiss Kiss club where she dies, are two of the most memorable in cinematic history for me personally, never mind the Bond series.

During Bond’s scenes with Volpe there are some cracking Bondian quotes from the script and Connery also delivers some of his best lines in the role sparring with Largo: “Do you know a lot about guns?”, “No but a little about women”, for example.

Another reason for Bond’s scenes with Volpe being so memorable for me, particularly the ones at the Mardi Gras, is the film’s score. I think Thunderball is the first time Barry uses the “00 theme” and his variations on the Bond theme itself to provide tense music are catchy and complimentary to the action throughout. Even when the film has aged less well, for example the scene in the health club on the rack and the unintentionally comedic speeded up careering of the boat at the end, the music remains superb. Tom Jones’ title song is no Goldfinger, but it’s undoubtedly addictive and Bondian. And besides I hear poor old Shirley so much that her voice starts to grate.

In the end it’s for those moments in which we see what purists call the “real Bond” that I remember Thunderball. When Connery calmly kills the Professor in Dr.No after he’s had his six shots I knew that was a truly Bondian moment. It marks out the detached killer in Bond’s character so well. He is so used to living his work that he carries it off with a ruthless efficiency that looks effortless and irresistibly cool. There’s another moment like this in Thunderball. When Largo’s chief henchman Vargas is sneaking up on Domino and Bond on the beach, Domino spots him. Bond turns, almost nonchalantly rolling over, to fire a harpoon through his chest. This is the assassin in Bond. The moment’s slightly spoilt by Connery’s quip, “I think he got the point”, but even this dark humour becomes part of the character that fans can love.

Watch Thunderball and you’ve hit the 007 jackpot; never mind the riches of Goldfinger.

Thoughts on … Never Let Me Go/The Canal/The Dice Man


I have recently enjoyed three excellent and thoroughly engaging novels. Each had me gripped in very different ways, but each shares the key ingredient of successful storytelling; a strong narrative voice. The extremely distinctive first person narrators of each of these novels draws you in and captivates you. A narrative voice that feels real and engaging is the element I most struggle with when trying to write my own creative works. I certainly therefore don’t feel qualified to dissect the successful and unsuccessful subtleties of the writing in these books in review form, but feel compelled to record what made them so readable for me as “thoughts”, for that is all they are, and to recommend them to others nonetheless. I may inadvertently let slip the odd slight spoiler, for which I apologise but place a warning here.

First up then is Kazuo Ishiguro’s Never Let Me Go, which I admit I was only inspired to read due to the hype surrounding a forthcoming film adaptation and the allure and beauty of the trailer for it. What’s noticeable and striking even in that brief snippet of film is the overwhelming Britishness of the story and it’s a very British novel too. That sense of place comes not just from the boarding school setting, the childhood themes, the nostalgic reminisces and stunning countryside, but from the voice of the novel, Kathy H. Whilst it appears she is candidly telling her life story, with little reason or desire to embellish and hold back, you soon notice her strong focus on others, on those immediately close to her. If she criticises a friend she will qualify what she means and spend pages delving into another random memory of them to share their alternative, better side. In many ways this is a novel of memories, about the ones that slip away and the ones you never let go of. Given that she focuses on those most important to her, it’s enlightening, revealing and intriguing that she never actually says in the novel, as far as I can see or recall, that she loves the man events make clear to be her soul mate. Indeed Kathy does not spell things out about herself often and retells everything, overpowering emotions and all, with a simplicity and undertone of British restraint. It’s this restraint and modesty that is the most chokingly moving at times too.  It’s clearly to Ishiguro’s immense credit that he simultaneously creates a strong, rounded character in Kathy, whilst also letting events, and things Kathy omits, paint a picture of their own. Kathy has confidence that, from what she has retold to us, she need not say explicitly “I loved him”.

 I’m glad I read the original story as a novel before the release of the film in January. Despite the promise that attracted me in the trailer, Carey Mulligan will do well to play Kathy H as quite as compellingly as Ishiguro writes her. The film is also set to cut large chunks of Kathy’s childhood memories of Hailsham, in favour of the adolescent portion of the story. I hope this omission does not detract from events later on and make them less meaningful. The one fault I found with the book, and one the film will also struggle to overcome, is the sense that there is never a satisfying big conspiracy revealed, as is hinted at. The one that does emerge seemed fairly clear early on and whilst Ishiguro seems to hint that there is more to it (I had visions of some sort of apocalyptic Britain or a more interesting and dramatic disintegration of ethics) there really isn’t. Mostly though Never Let Me go is a terribly moving story because of the way it feels so real. Kathy’s language is simple but beautiful at times, like many of her memories. Her friendships and loves are not obsessively described with clichés and extravagant imagery, and are consequently all the more like our own. The way things turn out is so tragic because you can place yourself in her shoes.

I have also recently read Lee Rourke’s debut novel, The Canal, joint winner of the Guardian’s alternative award Not The Booker Prize. As the review on the Guardian website points out, this is a debut crammed with ideas. This might have been a problem if the ideas weren’t original or didn’t resonate with me, but I found most of them to be insightful and well expressed musings on a realistic truth. The novel begins as an engaging meditation on the nature of boredom and how it is a fundamental part of existence to be embraced, rather than feared and avoided. It eventually evolves into a touching love story, which becomes an obsession and climaxes with an eventful ending. Most of the novel aims accurately for realism; its ideas, its dialogue, its images. Only at the end do feelings and events become sensational.

The title of the book makes it clear that it will have a strong sense of setting and the surroundings of The Canal are ever present throughout the narrative, the backdrop to almost all the action. Its features are described with some wonderful imagery and symbolism. Even the book itself, the physical design of the novel, is pleasing to look at and hold. If I were Rourke I’d be delighted with the tasteful design of my first fictional foray. He ought to be proud too of the dialogue in his work, which really stands out as exceptionally believable and realistic, becoming almost a script at times before reverting back to the narrator’s thoughts. The dialogue is rightly praised on the back of the book.

Like Never Let Me Go, much of The Canal’s success comes down to the convincing narrative voice. However if Kathy H was restrained, the nameless narrator of The Canal is mysterious. The woman he meets on The Canal is also mysterious, until he slowly uncovers her secrets. She is for the most part a rounded character and their relationship believable, but at times it succumbs to cliché. There are other clichés too such as the stereotypical gang of youths and the unstoppable march of building work that eventually swallows his patch of The Canal. These unimaginative elements let down the originality and realism of the rest of the book, but The Canal was an engaging, un-put-down-able read.

If The Canal mused about boredom then The Dice Man is a full on exploration of its depths and connections to the meaning of existence. The main reason I was reluctant to be bold enough to call these thoughts of mine a review was that The Dice Man is simply too mammoth, sprawling and impressive a work for me to digest, let alone analyse adequately. It’s jam packed with ideas and full of such variety that it touches on more areas in one chapter than most novels. It has spawned a cult and resembles a bible in weight and heft. It’s immensely controversial, challenging long established truths in religion and philosophy, outraging those with a strong moral compass. It contains scenes that are graphically violent and sexual. It is regularly and consistently funny. However as with The Canal, it is the quality of composition and writing that truly impresses me with The Dice Man.

From the very first page The Dice Man makes it clear it will not follow the conventions of an ordinary novel, but mimic several at once. It flits from the brilliantly cynical and scathing first person voice of Dr Lucius Rhinehart, to describing events in his life in the third person. It also chucks in various articles about events in the Dr’s life, along with other methods of storytelling such as transcripts of interviews and television shows. With all the talk of ideas, philosophy and sex surrounding The Dice Man, it can be forgotten that it is an exemplary exercise in creative writing, full of tremendous variety. The dialogue is always funny and realistic and the characters well realised, albeit obviously through the lens of Dr Rhinehart’s own entertaining, intelligent opinions. There are narrative twists and turns, violent thrills and sexual ones. The careful craft and exciting breadth of this novel ensures that a novel of over 500 pages remains gripping throughout. It consumed me for a whole week.

Then of course there are the ideas themselves, the philosophy behind The Dice Man. The reason this book has become so notorious and actually converted readers to the “religion” detailed within its pages, is that many of the ideas make sense, that and the alluring mystery to it all. The mystery blurs the boundaries between fiction and reality. Luke Rhinehart is of course a pseudonym, but a quick Wikipedia search on The Dice Man and you discover the real author, George Cockroft, also genuinely experimented with the “dicelife”. So there is some truth to the claims that this a factual account and that may account for its vivid detail. However it is also undoubtedly a sensational work of fiction, at times taking swipes at the profession of psychology and the state of society in general. I have already said that as a novel it should be praised and not revered simply for its bold ideas, but it is true that the seductiveness of the ideas help sweep you along in the story.

The basic principle of The Dice Man is to abandon free will, at least to a great extent. Every decision in your life you are unsure about should be decided by the throw of a dice, and in fact later on, even those you do feel sure of. You may create options for the various numbers of the dice or die, but whichever they choose you must blindly follow. The options must try to embrace all aspects of your multiple existence, so for example if you have idly fantasised about masturbating over your pot plant, even for a second, this ought to be considered and given to the die to decide. The aforementioned variety and randomness of the novel thus mimics the theory at its heart, with one section actually printed twice immediately after you have read it, presumably at the will of the die.

The philosophical implications of handing over control of a human life to chance are vast and fascinating and I shall not even scratch the surface of their interest here. But Rhinehart comes to believe in the novel that by following the dice and developing his theory he can become a kind of superman, the ultimate human that abandons the misery imposed on us by clinging to a sense of “self”. We often feel completely contradictory desires each day, none more true than the other.  What is truly haunting and bewildering about The Dice Man is that by listening to Rhinehart’s distinctive, cynical, hilarious voice, we come to see the sense to his arguments and then when he commits an unspeakable sin at the will of the dice, we feel implicated too. Does a truly liberated human existence require immorality?  Rhinehart becomes obsessed by the potential of his simple idea to elevate him intellectually, to truly free him from boredom and obligation. He says that he resembles Clark Kent and by pursuing “dice theory” Rhinehart aims for a permanent transformation into Superman, The Dice Man, on another level to the ordinary human drone.

I’m not saying The Dice Man is the perfect novel, do not misunderstand my awe and praise. At times it left me baffled in completely the wrong way, and despite its championing of the random and new experiences, it can become repetitive, particularly the frequent bouts of sex. And whilst it is sometimes credibly intellectual and inspiring, such as the scene when Rhinehart defends his new theory to a panel of his influential peers, at others it does appear to be simply sick and shocking for shocking’s sake. The thing is that The Dice Man knows it is not the perfect novel, in fact its cynicism screams and mocks the idea of a perfect novel being possible. Even the repetitive sex scenes are always evocatively described or hilariously painted and the idea that a man striving for complete liberty is constantly tied down by sexual desire is ironic and mocking in itself. The Dice Man really is often laugh out loud funny. It is also scandalous, entertaining and everything else it has been described as. Most of all it is an original creation, a unique fusion of cultural influences, which perfectly encapsulates the America of its time and remains powerfully relevant today.

These three novels perhaps demonstrate the importance of two ingredients in particular amongst the many needed for a success: interesting ideas and an individual narrative voice.