Best Episode of The Simpsons? Season 10: Mom and Pop Art

In an attempt to get completely up-to-date on one of my favourite TV-series The Simpsons, after I watch each season, I will choose my favourite episode...

It appears that the last time I wrote a "Best Episode..." post was in October 2012. That can't be good if, in nearly two years, I have only watched one season. In any case, with the FXX marathon everywhere, I missed watching the show. I scrolled through the Season 10 guide. I read over the episodes I watched intermittently in the past year and a few happy memories came to mind. Ralph tasting the snow in Lard of the Dance, the make-up shot-gun in The Wizard of Evergreen Terrace and Pinchy in Lisa Gets An "A" are all memorable moments that make Season 10 such fun. And I'm sure Viva Ned Flanders is, pretty much, The Hangover nearly a decade before. It's fair to say that despite these highlights, Season 10 wasn't as memorable as the previous seasons. 

But, I'm an art teacher so choosing my favourites wasn't too difficult. The references, talking points and fun in Mom and Pop Art won me over. The enormous rubber that "erases" Homer after he criticises the art of (Simpsons-creator) Matt Groening only to reveal two workmen holding a large (Claus Oldenburg-like) pencil, with a rubber on the end, hitting Homer in the face is funny on multiple levels. The perfect "it's funny for the whole family" joke, as the situation looks funny it appeals to children, while we know the art reference and the play on an old animation-trick we've seen as long ago as Disney's Saludos Amigos in 1943.

For something as mainstream as The Simpsons, it maintains it's ambiguously open-stance. While it's critical of contemporary art and it's elitist buyers ("Smithers, years ago I blew the chance to buy Picasso's Guernica for a song. Luckily that song was 'White Christmas' and, by hanging on to it, I made billions!"), it is also appreciative of the nature of ready-made's and art as a way to express oneself. Indeed, "Outsider Art" is a real movement that focuses on artists outside of the art scene - "mental patients or a hillbilly or a chimpanzee" could fit the criteria. The incredible art-dream referencing Warhol, Dali and Leonardo Da Vinci, and the surrealist finish as Springfield becomes a lake unto itself, are moments that whatever your opinion on art, is simply unique to the show. Even a Jasper Johns cameo is a nice touch. Chris Barsanti of Filmcritic.com wrote it best, saying "the episode concocts a knowing satire – but also warm appreciation – of modern art".

Favourite joke? It comes in the episodes closing moments as Springfield wakes up to Homers final art piece...

Ned Flanders: What the flood?! Maude, it's a miracle! The Lord has drowned the wicked and spared the righteous.

[Maude gasps as she see's Homer row by on a raft]

Maude Flanders: Isn't that Homer Simpson?

Ned Flanders (annoyed): Looks like Heaven's easier to get into than Arizona State...

M (Fritz Lang, 1931)

In the media storm involving Rolf Harris and Jimmy Saville, it seems to be the relevant moment to rerelease the incredible thriller M. An unforgettable tale of a child-killer, Hans – labelled by the letter ‘M’ - preys on children using balloons and sweets. His horrific acts are not only investigated by the police but by the victims, gangs and criminals of the town. As part of the Peter Lorre season at the BFI, M is a must-see in the actor’s catalogue as it defined his character in many of his future films, including the established classic Casablanca whereby he retains his bulbous-eyed, sneaky and slimy persona in Ugart.

Akin to Nosferatu, only nine years prior, M uses shadow to reveal the murderer, Hans (Peter Lorre). The tense opener depicts innocent kids playing a game while singing a tune that acknowledges the killer himself. One of the girls wander off, and darkness looms over her before approaching. We then see her Mother, checking the time at home, slowly realising her worst fears. Police struggle to find the killer and the crime bosses decide amongst themselves that they will intervene. Others assist the criminals in hunting down Hans, with one bright spark marking his jacket with white chalk - and the letter ‘M’. He is cornered in a building and independently, the mob put him on trial. Though clearly guilty, he pleads for a fair trial and with seconds to spare, the police break in and stop the verdict. We cut to a courtroom and, abruptly, the film ends.

Anthony Hopkins had it with Hannibal Lector. Javiar Bardem had it as Chigurh in No Country for Old Men. An actor and role that is haunting, memorable and irreplaceable. Unlike the deeply sinister villains Hopkins and Bardem portray, Peter Lorre’s Hans craves your acceptance. He doesn’t plead innocence and only fails to understand his deep-rooted desires. In an early era of sound, the whistling-signal of his presence is an intelligent use of melody. Scarface would whistle in 1932, and more recently Omar in The Wire and the Guv’nor in The Walking Dead also. Could you trace this morbid use of a childish act, right back to M?

Lang’s silent films ended with Metropolis and Woman in the Moon two years prior. Kim Newman notes the likely influence of Hitchcock, who released Blackmail and The Lodger in 1927 and 1929 respectively. But rather than depicting a killer who is captured and sentenced, M turns the flashlight onto you the viewer. His framing is purposeful, placing you in the judge’s seat in those final moments. His trial is an awkward state of affairs as we are drawn into the argument. The stunted end seems to hint at the lingering question as to whether the courts will do a better job at doling out justice. Ambiguously, we don’t know. M is inspirational and unforgettable filmmaking, a reference point for thrillers and psychological horrors today. Now is the time to see it the way it was intended.

This post was originally written for Flickering Myth

Fast Times at Ridgemont High (Amy Heckerling, 1982)

Fast Times at Ridgemont High is a staple of 1980’s teenage cinema. Part of the ‘Teenage Kicks’ season at the BFI, this is where Cameron Crowe (who would go on to direct Jerry Maguire and Almost Famous) and Amy Heckerling (of Clueless and Look Who’s Talking) would get their start. The many cast members, including Sean Penn as a sweet stoner, would all use Fast Times as a springboard for successful careers following its release in 1982. What separates Fast Times from teenage films such as Porky’s, is the sense of sincerity and brutal honesty it seeks. Fast Times at Ridgemont High is purposefully explicit, but it highlights home truths that our teenage selves might find difficult to articulate. It begins the conversation about masturbation, abortion and sex amongst teenagers, with a playful tone to balance the seriousness of the issues.

The watering hole of these teenagers is Ridgemont Mall. Stacy (Jennifer Jason Leigh) and Linda (Phoebe Cates) work in a restaurant, and sex and boyfriends are the only thing to talk about. Stacy’s brother, Brad (Judge Reinhold), works in a fast food joint whereby he’s popular and with a girlfriend (though he toys with the idea of breaking up to be more “free” in his final school year). Mike ‘Rat’ Ratner (Brian Backer) works in the cinema, while close friend Damone (Robert Romanus) is a ticket tout for local concerts. Damone, stylish and slick, offers advice to Woody-Allen-esque Mike. Mike is in love with Stacy from the first moment he sees her in biology class. Finally, we have Jeff Spicoli (Sean Penn) and his chums (including Eric Stoltz). They smoke all day and fall into school when they’re not dreaming of surfing and bikini-clad women, to the frustration of crusty old Mr Hand (Ray Walston).

These very vaguely interconnected stories are the focus point for the school year. 15-year-old Stacy sets the tone of the film as she uncomfortably asks Linda about sex, before sneaking out of her parent’s house to lose her virginity at ‘the point’ with an older man. What Fast Times at Ridgemont High deftly manages to do is observe these kids without judgement. There is a sense that the older man is a little creepy, and she caves to peer pressure from her friends, but Cameron Crowe doesn’t spell it out. A teenage audience may see the story in a completely different light. The final act even touches on the theme of abortion, and this darker tone is a subtle hint at the potential dangers at play in those precious teenage years. Cool and likeable characters are revealed as insensitive and thoughtless, while naivety and innocence can be influenced easily, with dire consequences.

In many ways, this isn’t a ‘story’ at all, more an insight and snapshot of (white, middle-class) teenagers in the early 1980’s. The scorn you could hold towards lazy, stoner Jeff is countered by his dreams and ambitions of surfing, and his reckless optimism (that even drives him to order a pizza as he sits in class). Within this single year, Jeff will do fine. Job-hopping Brad too, though fantasising about his sisters friend, has his heart in the right place.

Fast Times at Ridgemont High is first and foremost, good fun. There is no definitive moral to the story, and though it celebrates the sexual freedom of youth, it doesn’t seem to pack a punch when it surely could. Abortion, rather than an easy-fix to a flippant situation, is often a difficult process for any woman to go through. By the same token, Jeff’s disenchantment and lack of interest in education is often the case with many, and very few are lucky enough to still achieve the grades to continue. But these are concerns that negate the purpose of Fast Times at Ridgemont High. It raised awareness at a time whereby discussing the issues would be taboo in and of itself. By not placing judgement or criticism, it opens the door to interpretation and places the ball back in your court. Teenagers are irresponsible and, rightly so, Fast Times at Ridgemont High has this reckless attitude at its core.

This post was originally written for Flickering Myth

Lucy (Luc Besson, 2014)

Lucy asserts itself from the start. Cells form and apes evolve, immediately confirming its ambitious intentions. Luc Besson, of The Fifth Element and Leon, boldly throws the titular character into a situation she, and we, barely understand. Scarlett Johansson has supported the Avengers, and notably, this year she was second-billing in Captain America: The Winter Soldier. Lucy becomes her first leading film as a sci-fi, action heroine, complementing her indie work with Spike Jonze in Her and Jonathan Glazer’s Under the Skin. Lucy is a crazy type of fun. It’s a film with a loopy edge that tries to profoundly state the meaning of life within its ridiculous premise - and we hold on tightly to enjoy the ride.

In Taiwan, Lucy (Johansson) is a shot-drinking, club-dancing, student, inadvertently pulled into a relationship with Bono-shades wearing Richard (Pilou Asbæk). He forces her to deliver a briefcase, without the knowledge of its contents. Moments later, Taiwanese gangsters kidnap her and force her to carry drugs by surgically implanting these underneath her skin. Lucy’s trials are intercut by a lecture delivered, in grand tone, by Morgan Freeman. He explains the teeny amount of brain power we pesky humans use. Barely 10%, apparently, unlike dolphins who use sonar power by using 20% of theirs.  Suffice to say, the drugs Lucy carries seeps into her system and she increases her brain power. Akin to The Bourne Identity, she has to grapple with the significant skills she has acquired in a short space of time. Gangsters pursue her, less-fearsome cops seek to apprehend her and the knowledge she possesses has to be stored for future generations.

Considering her brain can control “magnetic fields” and her hair changes colour at will (is hair-control part of the brain?), she possesses powers seen earlier this year in X-Men: Days of Future Past. Even Morgan Freeman’s lecture echoes the opening monologue in X-Men. Evolution as revolution or mutation, it seems to make the same point about our need (or our challenges) to adapt. Whereas the comic-hero team subtly comments on homophobia and racism, Lucy is far more on-the-nose. There is a messianic figure in Lucy. Her attitude is openly anti-capitalist and almost Buddhist in her sense of place in the world. Our existence is nothing without time, we’re told. So bold in its stance, Lucy draws inspiration from Terrence Malick’s Tree of Life, or even Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey, as she witnesses the birth of humanity, from a comfortable office chair.

You’d be lucky to observe these magisterial moments from a comfy chair too, in an IMAX cinema. The small time-frame of the film ensures that it snaps along with assured pace. The plane-hopping and unknowable extent of her powers creates a thrilling tension. When the drugs first kick-in, it is an awkward moment as, Exorcist-like, her body contorts and twists as she is flung across the room. It’s difficult to stifle a laugh when everything is expected to be taken so seriously.

Gang-leader Mr Jang (Cho Min-sik) and his Korean clan all speak their own language. Lucy even requires an interpreter initially when pleading for her life (we need the translation too as it plays without subtitles). As Lucy gains her powers, she understands the symbols and language better. The main drive of the film is a desperate attempt at sharing knowledge. It’s a clever play on us as English-language cinema viewers. You haven’t learnt a second language? Maybe, French-filmmaker Luc Besson is making a point. We’re told that “knowledge does not create chaos, ignorance does”. Am I ignorant? Am I worthy of Lucy’s “sacrifice”?

Lucy is bonkers, but it’s carries an air of confidence in its defiant tone.  Ambition can often lack in summer releases, but not here. Lucy may veer from pseudo-serious intelligent discussion to ludicrous memory-recall of breast-feeding, but it doesn’t shy away from some electronica Matrix­-like gun-fights. It doesn’t get the balance right, but Lucy can’t be faulted for trying. It’s strangely sincere, preposterous and equally bat-shit crazy. Lucy is a refreshing piece of the summer pie, and a welcome change to the formulaic, sequel-driven films that dominate the cinema screens at this time of year.

This post was originally written for Flickering Myth

The Internet's Own Boy: The Story of Aaron Swartz (Brian Knappenberger, 2014)

Aaron Swartz was a genius. A child prodigy involved in developing the RSS process as a 14 year-old. This was a boy who was going places. His suicide at the age of 26, in January 2013, remains a shock. Coverage of his death credited him as a “co-founder of Reddit”. This underplays his political attitudes and deeply personal ambitions to make a better world. What is difficult to comprehend is how Swartz clearly had so much more to accomplish. This young man looked to Tim Berners-Lee as inspiration, not Bill Gates and Steve Jobs. As a child, pre-dating Wikipedia, Swartz created a program that utilised contributions from multiple sources to provide information to share across the internet. It is difficult to imagine what would’ve happened if Berners-Lee had a patent or demanded royalties from the use of his world wide web, but he didn’t. It’s clear from Internet’s Own Boy that there are forces working behind the scenes that are keen to monetise every possible element of the internet. Swartz fought these forces.

Swartz’s early brushes with the law are crucial to his story. Law, Culture and Scientific studies are documents that many believe are freely available to the general public. With the internet, it is a shock to discover that in America, access to public records and law documents are purposefully difficult to gain access to. Furthermore, it’s a multi-million dollar industry that creams off the money of graduates and those in the business who require regular access to these documents. Take PACER (Public Access to Court Electronic Records), an American website that houses all the public records digitally. Despite its ‘public’ nature, it costs (currently) 10c per page, with a maximum of $3 per document. As these are deemed public records, Swartz (amongst a group of other internet activists) began downloading as many of the records as he could, and giving actual free access to the documents via a “PACER recycling” website. PACER earned £150m in revenues in 2008 according to court reports. Even visiting the site in 2014 proves how purposefully difficult it is navigate. Suffice to say, law documents that are considered public record and therefore free to all, should be the type of thing the internet can ensure is freely available, but it’s not. This is only one example of the hypocrisy Swartz was prepared to fight. Consequently, and what led to his depression and suicide, he was hounded by the government in an era whereby computer hacking was considered the new threat. FBI drove outside his house, ex-girlfriends were aggressively interviewed and Swartz’s movements were restricted as he awaited trial. Unfortunately, he killed himself before the trial leaving an incomplete legacy – especially as his lawyer states how convinced he was of their win. The tactics used against Swartz was purposefully aggressive and threatening as he was to be “made an example of” in the face of cyber-threats to America.

As a documentary, director Brian Knappenberger is passionate about his subject. A clear narrative, Knappenberger uses Swartz’s death to bookend the story. His choice of interviewees is friends and family members who openly support the liberal bias that dominates the film. Crucial representation from the government, Massachusetts Institute of Technology and JSTOR is awkwardly missing, with voiceovers revealing their declination to comment. Sometimes, the absence of crucial figures is a reveal unto itself as “silence speaks louder than words”. In this case, it seems like a gaping hole in the story.

Inevitably perhaps, Aaron’s voice did not fall on deaf ears. Before his death he was part of the SOPA (Stop Online Piracy Act) movement, which won its cause in 2012. People talk of freedom and the ample opportunity for the internet to truly make a difference in the world, and surely it can. But these fights require people like Tim Berners-Lee, Julian Assange, Jimmy Wales and Aaron Swartz to lead the way. These are people, who desperately campaign for funding and support; who are maligned in the media and by governments but it is they who passionately defend their belief to change the world, rather than cash-in their chips for the big bucks. Compared to “the billionaire” Mark Zuckerberg, Aaron Swartz struggled to pay his legal fees and this pressure came to a head. Zuckerberg regularly repeats his mantra about “sharing” everything on the “free-of-charge” Facebook. Aaron Swartz was trying to truly “share” the scientific and cultural heritage of the United States, and ensure that “free” documents of law truly were for the public. The Internet’s Own Boy proves that there are fights still to be fought and a genius and important activist has been lost in the process. It may not be the slickest of documentaries, but it is a story that needs to be told. Aaron Swartz was so much more than a co-founder of Reddit, he was an activist that was making a difference for the sake of the world.

This post was originally written for Flickering Myth

The Deer Hunter (Michael Cimino, 1978)

Cinema often depicts characters that we compare ourselves to. Social groups will turn to The Hangover and Stand by Me and discuss which character they, and their friends, are similar too. The six friends in The Deer Hunter, as they gleefully run down streets naked, create this same thought-process. Michael Cimino’s second film sets up a close-knit community we recognise, but it is broken down and irreversibly changed following the Vietnam War. We don’t see Michael (Robert De Niro), Nicky (Christopher Walken) or Stevie’s (John Savage) superiors when they are sent to war. They are people, thrust into a conflict that breaks them physically, emotionally and mentally – with only their loved ones to pick up the pieces. The disheartening and tragic rendition of ‘God Bless America’ before the closing credits has never lacked such hope (a controversial stance to take in 1978).

Broken into three definitive acts, The Deer Hunter introduces the group as they complete a gruelling day at the local mill. For three of them, this is their final day before they are drafted. The wedding between Stevie and Ange is doubled-up to become a leaving ceremony for the groom, Mike and Nicky. Their portraits hang on the wall, almost in remembrance, undercutting the celebratory atmosphere created as a send-off. The remaining friends, clumsy Stan (John Cazale in his final role), “fu**in A” Axel (Chuck Aspegren) and Bar owner John (George Dzundza) playact and get drunk, with a final deer hunt the following morning. Through lingering looks and flirtatious banter, Nicky’s partner Linda (Meryl Streep) and Mike hold a deep connection. Maybe going to war has forced them to confront this or maybe this has always been the case. Jarringly, the film suddenly cuts to the soldiers in the middle of the crisis. Women and children are decimated while Michael uses a flamethrower to burn an opponent. The three friends suddenly find themselves holed up beneath a small shack whereby Asian soldiers play Russian roulette with the lives of our leads. They escape, but not without consequence. Stevie has severely damaged his legs leaving him paraplegic. Nicky has lost parts of his memory and can’t escape the horrors of what he has seen. A hardened Michael returns to Pennsylvania and realises nothing will ever be the same again.

The Deer Hunter is truly a masterpiece when screened at the cinema. From the vast landscapes as they wander the misty American hills in search of a lone deer through to the explosive horrors in Vietnam. The clear contrast between nature and industrialism elevates their meaning and provides ample opportunity for interpretation. The initial mill-worker scenes are dangerous and violent until we see the fire within the war-torn village in Vietnam. The factory-like perspectives of militarism as people are put into the mill and the death of young men is churned out. There is a genuine chemistry between the actors and we can only feel saddened by the chaos created in the era, and its consequences. 

The racist depiction of the Viet Cong is an unfortunate aside as they purposefully represent an enemy. In the same manner that Russian roulette (no evidence has been found that claim this happened in the conflict) is merely representing the gamble these men have placed with their lives. These are men that Cimino has purposefully framed within a small town where “everybody knows your name”. Tony Curtis Fox, for Film Comment, writes how the church and bar (locations that dominate the first hour of the film) are “metaphor[s] for the closed nature of community”. The Green Beret who sits in the bar dismissively says “fuck it” to the war, but he is an outsider. He is also berated and bothered by the boys before they leave. When Michael returns, he realises how he has changed. This is front and centre of The Deer Hunter. The horrendous destruction and wanton loss of war on the one hand. The beauty of America and tender friendships on the other. The Deer Hunter is bold and defiant in its stance, and at the cinema it is incredibly powerful. At a time whereby war is only a few thousand miles away and we celebrate the centenary of WWI, this sobering attitude couldn’t be more timely.

150W: Alien

Short reviews for clear and concise verdicts on a broad range of films...

Alien (Dir. Ridley Scott/1979)

Often taught as an example of the genre mash-up of horror and science-fiction, Alien manages to get under your skin in a way few films can. The isolation and distant location of the Nostromo is part of the charm. We wake up with these low-paid truck-drivers who, due to a signal, are drawn into the sinister territory where the alien resides. The H.R. Giger planet contains erotica-fused biology to create the phallus-headed beast. Once the creature bursts free from the stomach, the white walls are only blank canvases for blood paintings. Murdered one-by-one, with a unique ambiguous rape-scene, Alien is the sinister underbelly of the happy-aliens seen in Star Wars. Ellen Ripley is the sole survivor and Ridley Scott is the genius that merged art and cinema together, to be appreciated forever after. In space, no one can hear you scream. In Sci-Fi, no-one can think of anything more horrific.

Rating: 5/5

Infernal Affairs (Andrew Lau/Alan Mak, 2002)

Everyone knows The Departed is a remake of a foreign film, right? When The Raid and Let the Right One In is green-lit for a US, English-speaking production, film-fans complain. But side-by-side, both Infernal Affairs and The Departed stand on their own, and share the same DNA in more than the story alone. Infernal Affairs is the blueprint for Scorsese – and as a plan, it is easy to see why he was so keen to remake it with the Boston-based themes that transferred so well.

Tony Rayn’s review in Sight and Sound, in 2004, confesses how “very little in the plot is new” within Infernal Affairs. Indeed, it is a cat-and-mouse dynamic whereby the cop is actually a mole (Andy Lau) and the mole is actually a cop (Tony Leung). One superior officer, Superintendent Wong (Anthony Wong) manages both cops, while the mob boss Hon Sam (Eric Tsang) organises both gang members. The stories weave and intertwine, as both cop and mole are unaware what the other looks like, despite a brief exchange in a music shop at the start, whereby they are oblivious to the key role they play in each other’s life.

Infernal Affairs is fast-paced and a rip-roaring achievement as directors Andrew Lau and Alan Mak cut fast, and play with the urban backdrop of the city. Meeting within offices, we feel the claustrophobia of the grey blinds, offices and filing cabinets that surround Inspector Lau. Meeting on rooftops, we see freedom in the shimmering sunlight and bold blue sky. Reflecting on the glass skyscrapers surrounding the criminals and cops, both are controlled and seek freedom. Different actors portray the young cops in training, which can be confusing. But Lau and Mak comfortably move between each story, flashing back in monochrome to clarify moments when they’re unclear.

Top-dog Hon Sam, has been cast expertly. His cherubian baby-face charms the young men who work for him, while his beady eyes, when confronted in the interview by Wong, are fearsome and full of the danger that he inflicts on others. In The Departed, Jack Nicholson plays his American counterpart as a deeply despicable, terrifying villain sucking his teeth to catch the rat. Eric Tsang, on the other hand, conjures up a likeable rebellious father-figure with a brutal, arm-breaking boss captured within the same disguise. Superintendant Wong, in comparison, lacks the ambiguity that the character begs for. Our first meeting between Chan and Wong hints at a corrupted sense of duty. Does he abuse the undercover agent’s position perhaps? This is not truly clarified and only confuses the introduction of the characters.

But it is Andy Lau who steals the show. As the self-loathing, corrupt (but desperate to escape his hypocrisy) Inspector, his journey is expertly handled. Unlike Leung’s undercover agent who wants out, Lau begins the film as a supporter of crime but discovers that an honest life is preferable. At one point, Leung snorts cocaine in undercover, but there is no sense that he is tempted by this lifestyle. Lau’s clean cut, angular features make him out to be a predatory animal seeking his prey out, but the final act reveals how he is actually a deer in headlights, and the mob is bigger than he ever considered.

In this case, Andy Lau would’ve been a welcome ying to Leonardo DiCaprio’s yang, in an alternate universe. Rather than merely a token gesture, Scorsese pays tribute visually and proudly to Infernal Affairs. It was not a steal of the story for an international market, it was selling the cityscape and incredible sequences that were already in place. The fall from the roof; Lau spying on Chan, who sits in his office behind the blinds; the envelope with the adjusted spelling – these were all in Infernal Affairs before 2008’s Oscar winner. A staple of Chinese cinema, Infernal Affairs is the action film that Hollywood hopes to make – so much so, it asked its greatest director to reimagine it. And, he didn’t change much at all.

This post was originally written for Flickering Myth

A Night at the Cinema 1914 (Various Directors, 1914)

Some people claim they are part of the “YouTube generation”. This is a generation whereby they digest their news, entertainment and education through bite size, under 10-minute videos. There is a sense that these YouTubers are viewer’s whose attention span is short and if videos are too long, they simply switch off. Comparatively, cinema in 1914 seemed to be primarily made up of shorts and bulletins that were bite size and included comic celebrities to round-off the screening. Considering many mornings will start off with a short viewing of Russell Brand’s ‘The Trews’, a video from a friends holiday on Facebook and then a comedy from Funny or Die – it seems viewing habits haven’t changed too much since 1914 at all.

A Night at the Cinema 1914 is part of the celebrations to mark the centenary of the start of World War I. The short 85-minute run-time of the film is comprised of 14 short films that range from news bulletins informing us of Emmeline Pankhurst’s arrest outside Buckingham Palace to the magnificent Egyptian pyramids and sphinx’s as troops march through the territory. Comedy includes a Monty-Python-esque ‘Rollicking Raja’ and a Charlie Chaplin short that shows a little insight into filmmaking of the era.

It is strange to imagine these films, on rotation, whereby visitors would simply pop in and watch whatever is on. Of course a new Chaplin will always sell additional tickets and important news coverage would pull in the punters also, but the very “short burst” nature of each film makes the time fly by and can become a mental timer to judge how far into the programme you’re at. Not to mention how, when you’ve seen military march across a desert landscape, you know it is only a short while before it stops and a completely different film will begin if it’s a little drawn out.

Stephen Horne provides the piano-based score to accompany the film. The music is playful, joyous and representative of the period. The ‘Rollicking Raja’ is the only composition that also includes a vocal track as a singer uses the original composition notes to sing in time with the merry man who could easily pass for Michael Palin in another bizarre disguise.

A Night at the Cinema 1914 veers from laugh-out-loud moments (as the ‘Perils of Pauline’ depict a hot air balloon rising from the ground, taking Pauline with it) to the sadness in the historical moment we see. The first of two World Wars is due to affect every man, woman and child (and dog) depicted on screen – and this was the innocent world before the bombshells hit. But many shorts vividly remind you of the time-period. Planes flying at Hendon airfield must’ve been simply breath-taking a mere decade after the Wright brothers first took flight. Daisy Doodad pulling faces as shocked men, smartly dressed, react isn’t too far from the face-pulling we’ve seen from Jim Carrey and Jack Lemmon. Then we have the underwater adventure of Lieutenant Pimple, whereby the “special effects” are so crude and practical, you cannot help but chuckle at the rickety production. It’s not without its faults, but it is a unique experience that those who appreciate the era will thoroughly enjoy.

This post was originally written for Flickering Myth