The Curse of the Cat People (Robert Wise/Gunther V. Fristch, 1943)

As part of a double-bill, BFI Gothic additionally screened The Curse of the Cat People, Robert Wise’s strange sequel starring the same characters but with shoe-horned Gothic elements that fail to truly connect to each other. Strangely, The Curse of the Cat People does not feature any cats – except a feline that runs up a tree in the opening moments of the film.

Taking place roughly 9 years after the events of Cat People, Alice and Ollie are now married with a young daughter named Amy (Ann Carter). Amy is a day-dreamer, often becoming side-tracked by butterflies and old, scary houses. Akin to Miss Havisham in Great Expectations, within the spooky house resides a reclusive old lady. Serving as a minor-narrative, Amy befriends this woman not knowing how fractured the old lady’s relationship with her own daughter is. Meanwhile, Amy has created an imaginary friend in her garden – and we realise it is Irena from Cat People. Understandably, Alice and Ollie are concerned and worried for their daughter – and perplexed by how she could imagine a woman whose death was prior to her birth.

Cat People toyed with the pseudo-psychological reality of the ‘Cat People’, while The Curse of the Cat People seems to only flirt with the idea that there is a wealth of psychological theory in a child’s behaviour. In one sequence a primary school teacher relays multiple justifications for the imaginary friend of Amy’s – quoting a poem and specifically highlighting a book named ‘The Inner Child’. Instead, The Curse of the Cat People uses gothic tropes to give the film a look that enhances the environment. Cat People has an almost film-noir tone in New York, while The Curse of the Cat People moves the story to a suburban estate with white-picket fences. A decrepit house, replete with cobwebs and old jewellery becomes the haunted house on the hill. Irena’s gown is white, flowing down her feminine figure so that standing in the garden, Irena is a mysterious ghost that offers advice and friendship to Amy.

A fascinating double-bill as Cat People inspires cinema and remains an established staple of tense, mysterious horror filmmaking, The Curse of the Cat People is a misjudged amalgamation of child psychology and haunted-house genre filmmaking. Director Robert Wise went on to direct The Sound of Music and West Side Story, so it is worth seeing a director in his early years flexing his artistic muscles, but it is Jacques Tournier’s suspicious characters and story that remains with you into the night.

This is Part II of a double-bill screening with Cat People. Part I of the review can be found here. The full review is on Flickering Myth.

Cat People (Jacques Tourneur, 1942)

The title Cat People could be misleading. Half-cat, half-human creatures roaming the streets (akin to An American Werewolf in London) is the first thought that comes to mind when the title – and its sequel The Curse of the Cat People – appeared in the BFI Gothic Season guide. Instead, this 1943 staple of the Universal horror film catalogue is a moody, sinister approach to psychiatry. Indeed, the question lingering in the fog, as to whether the woman is a cat at all is only answered in the third act of the film.

Set within the misty, fashionable streets of New York, Irena (Simone Simon) is a Serbian woman who is obsessed by the panthers and large cats in the New York Zoo. While drawing the majestic creatures (including a dagger, through the heart of the cat), she meets Ollie Reed (Kent Smith) – an architect. A brief flirtation and falling deeply in love, Irena and Ollie are married despite the paranoia that eats away at Irena each day. She recalls legends of the “Cat People” in her native country whereby women would turn into cats when filled with envy or greed – in fact, she believes that if she kisses a man, she will devour him shortly after. Suffice to say, the no-kissing and lack of intimacy within their marriages takes its toll. Ollie’s flirtations with his friend Alice (Jane Randolph) only makes matters worse and Irena’s paranoia may have more truth in it than people realise…

Highlighted in the BFI notes, producer Val Lewton “tossed away the horror formula right away from the beginning”, he adds “no grisly stuff for us”. Indeed, this is Cat People’s strength. We are forced to consider who Irena really is and stand-out scenes linger in your mind through Simone Simon’s edgy, convincing performance. In one scene she follows Alice home while director Jacques Tourneur cuts between the two sets of feet running down the street. Another sequence remains eerie as Alice leaps into a swimming pool as reflections flicker around the pool as we hear cat sounds. Val Lewton/RKO-produced horror films of the 1940’s were hugely influential, and Cat People has a charm that resonates. In 1942, it became RKO’s highest grosser for the year bringing in $4m. Because it was cheap and successful – like a contemporary Hollywood horror film such as Paranormal Activity - it was copied across Hollywood in the following years. But, the subtlety and growing intensity was harder to imitate. Getting under your skin, Cat People toys with a fear of loneliness and detachment, as if we are witnessing a husband who fails to understand his wife’s challenges – and pushes her away in the process.

This is Part I of a double-bill with The Curse of the Cat People, Part II of the review can be read here. The full review is on Flickering Myth.

Parkland (Peter Landesman, 2013)

John F. Kennedy’s assassination is a moment in history shrouded in conspiracy theories. Parkland aims to recreate the three days – beginning with the day the President was shot – through to the immediate aftermath and death of JFK shooter Lee Harvey Oswald. Well-documented and thoroughly researched, Parkland is the directorial-debut of Peter Landesman - a journalist himself seeking to ignore the myth and focus on the reality. ‘Parkland’ itself is the hospital Kennedy died within – and where, days later, Oswald was rushed to. Clearly capitalising on an intriguing and important story, Parkland fails to match the cinematic scale of the event. It is held back by the safety-net of ‘accuracy’, becoming a pedestrian and bland version of one of the most iconic time-periods in American history.

Told from multiple perspectives, Parkland shows us how this death immediately changed the lives of everyone who woke-up on 22^nd November 1963, excited to see the motorcade in Dallas. Multiple doctors and nurses within Parkland hospital (Zac Efron, Marcia Gay Harden and Colin Hanks) who desperately tried to save his life; Mr Zapruder (Paul Giametti), capturing the infamous footage on the Dealey Plaza; Robert Oswald (James Badge Dale), the brother of the assassin; Jim Hosty (Ron Livingston), an FBI agent ‘tracking’ Lee Harvey Oswald and Secret Service agent Forrest Sorrels (Billy Bob Thornton), tasked with finding evidence on the murder itself.

Ensemble dramas lend themselves well to historical events (as Emilo Estevez’s Bobby did in 2006, covering the final hours of JFK’s brother, Robert Kennedy). In a post-9/11 world, an influx of terrorist-attack film and television has shown ensemble-versions of fictional US-tragedy ranging from televised action-series 24 through to Hollywood-trite Vantage Point. The explosive scale of the latter suited the big-screen while Parklands reserved and thoughtful approach fails to require such scale. Actors from 24, Band of Brothers and The Pacific only reinforce the televisual style of story-telling delivered. Following the shooting, Jackie Kennedy (Kat Steffans) is covered in blood from the shooting until she boards Air Force Once; guards have blood spattered all over their suits. It looks gruesome and horrific, but more akin to E.R. rather than World Trade Centre.

This begs the question whether Parklands should be a feature film at all. The tiny time-frame may have a limited scope but the broad range of characters and the potential for further characters (such as Oswald-killer Jack Ruby, a character Landesman considered in early drafts of the script) surely could have suited the much-heralded, longer-medium of the TV-series. The same stylistic 1960’s milieu as Mad Men would gain a large audience – especially with Tom Hanks as producer. The alternative is a documentary, as talking heads can reflect on the event and provide further insight into the accuracy of the reconstruction. Barry Ackroyd (of LFF Opening Gala film Captain Phillips) is cinematographer and his work shows-off a depth of colour that highlights the bloody work within an A&E department in the 1960’s.

Unfortunately, the efforts to capture accuracy restrain the director. Unlike Argo, whereby the closing credits alone show how accurate their depiction of the 1979 Iran hostage crisis was, Parklands weaves original footage throughout the film itself. Conspiracy theorists will conspire. Though Parklands actively chooses not to dwell on these ideas, a central character to sympathise or empathise with could pull you into the story rather than split our attention. Multiple characters falling to the floor, head in hands when the President dies (at least two) or wandering speechless, in shock to the situation (at least another two), is inevitable and expected – so what is Landesman adding to the story except recreating it? Those who have accepted the non-conspiracy version of events will gain little from seeing a recreation of a moment that has been documented so much. While Parklands may not require a ticket-stub, it could’ve been amongst the higher-quality television – and in fairness, that is no easy feat.

Written as coverage for The 57th London Film Festival for Flickering Myth.

Adore (Anne Fontaine, 2013)

Sex, sea and a highly commended cast; one would imagine Adore to be a sultry and deeply affectionate take on lust and love. Two actors from the critically acclaimed Animal Kingdom, the scene-stealing Robin Wright from House of Cards should bode well. Instead, Adore is a weak romance with a clunky and laughable script. Smug direction believes that holding on a character that looks to the mid-distance will automatically generate a heightened sense of emotion. It doesn’t and the forced attempt at passion rings false.

In New South Wales, off the coast of Australia, Adore immediately switches sharply from girls playing on the beach (is this about childhood?) to a funeral (is this about death?) and finally to the relationships at hand (is this about love?). Roz (Robin Wright) and Lil (Naomi Watts), in the first scene, lust after the “God”-like bodies of their sons Tom (James Frecheville) and Ian (Xavier Samuel). A small-cast indicates that we may be in a similar territory to Closer. A foursome – made five by Harold (Ben Mendelsohn), Roz’s husband – may find themselves switching roles throughout the film to dramatic and passionate effect. Unfortunately, this is an expectation that is not met. Instead, Harold disappears for the majority of the film, while the director charts the relationships between the remaining four characters.

 

These strapping young men, and Frecheville carrying himself like Michelangelo’s David with his curls, defined nose and chiselled torso, seem to lack any social skills. The young boys are confident enough to successfully bed their mothers friends, with smooth, sexy exchanges such as – “Have you forgotten something”, and he replies “yes…” before kissing her. But it begs the question where the young, beach babes of Australia have hidden away. For example, towards the end, we join a 21^st birthday party and, it turns out, they are not complete recluses. Attractive friends we have never seen before seem content in swilling the drinks on offer – are these friends oblivious to the incestuous relationships brewing behind the scenes?

 

Adore plays to an older crowd, sexualising the younger men for the gratification of the voyeuristic audience, but this only highlights how Roz and Lil are powerless to their desperate urges. The young men place pressure on, and convince, their respective mother’s mate to sleep with them. Tom even takes it upon himself, without consent, to sleep in Lil’s bed. He is aware that his abs cannot be resisted by the desperate old-lady Naomi Watts. Certainly, this relationship only emerges through the reveal of Roz and Ian’s trysts – as if Lil and Tom are only sleeping together out of spite. As incredibly attractive, mature and intelligent women, Lil and Roz aren’t shy and should choose to initiate the sexual exploits. Instead, the loner sons - whose idea of a fun weekend is getting drunk with their Mum and her friend – are the initiators.

 

The jumps between years are flippant and skip past moments we are keen to see giving no sense of pace. We plod along with an early awareness that resolution and a satisfying conclusion is not on the cards. All actors try so hard at weaving truth into the lines that awkwardly shape the story. But when a montage of the relationships in full-swing is followed by a dull conversation, as Roz and Lil matter-of-factly state how they feel, you know there is a serious problem. In fact, that particular sequence was met by a loud laugh from the entire audience I was with during the London Film Festival.  That can’t be good. Adore is a drawn-out mess of a film. The perfect beaches and rippling waves only remind you that, rather than sitting inside a dark room, maybe a couple of hours on a beach is what we all need. In fact, a production on a stunning beach for a couple of weeks, may be what attracted the cast in the first place – because it sure as hell wasn’t the script.

 

This London Film Festival review was originally written for TQS Magazine.

Twenty Feet from Stardom (Morgan Neville, 2013)

Hearing Gimme Shelter by The Rolling Stones is nothing earth-shattering. Martin Scorsese alone has embedded the songs so deeply into our collective, cinematic consciousness that even if Mick Jagger isn’t your cup of tea, you’ll know the song. Listening to Gimme Shelter in Twenty Feet from Stardom, on the other hand, brings a tear to your eye – if not, it’ll have you weeping into buckets at the sheer talent and force of the vocals. And not Mick Jagger’s vocal either.

The vocals are by Merry Clayton. Her agent, waking her in the evening, calls her to the studio, telling her “The Rolling … something … need you”. Mick Jagger recalls the moment too – warmly describing how Merry was in her silk pyjamas when recording the vocals. Another backing vocalist Darlene Love recalls her hiring under Phil Spector whereby she recorded, what was to become her first solo record, He’s a Rebel – only to hear the full version she sang on the radio and credited to The Crystals. The same Crystals who herself, alongside her group The Blossoms, provided backing vocals for previously for hits including Da Doo Ron Ron and Then He Kissed Me. They also provided the backing vocals for Frank Sinatra, Elvis and The Supremes. The list goes on and on.

Morgan Neville directs this fascinating documentary (the first to document the history of backing vocalists) focusing primarily on singers from different generations from the 1960’s through to modern backing vocalists who continue to support The Rolling Stones, Bruce Springsteen, Sting and Stevie Wonder to this day – and these artists, amongst others, all feature in Twenty Feet from Stardom, singing the praises of these outstanding performers.

What could be a historical by-the-numbers documentary or a pure self-indulgent sales-publicity for the artists albums, Twenty Feet from Stardom is neither as Neville balances deftly the need to praise, celebrate and clearly define the importance of these artists in popular music. He captures moments of pure beauty as Lisa Fischer sings fluidly and naturally, without lyrics, surpassing every voice that even approaches the American Idol stage in her flexible, wide range combined with complete control and awesome prowess as a powerful woman. Indeed, these are not weak women (and men - in Oren Waters, a member of The Waters family who have supported Paul Simon and Michael Jackson amongst many others) who are subservient to the leading male performers. They carry an air of grace and a humility that has not been tainted by fame and fortune – they carry with them dignity and a pride in their profession.

Twenty Feet from Stardom doesn’t shy away from highlighting the singers attempt at becoming the leading stars themselves – but it seems, like many success-stories, making that stretch to the front of the stage is a gamble unto itself. Judith Hill, supporting Stevie Wonder, remains in awe of performing with the Motown legend and the gamble of giving this up for a shot at the big time is a risk. It is clear as Springsteen, Wonder, Jagger and Sting (who all talk about a sense of “ego” you must have to become a lead-singer) are in absolutely awe of these singers and give them the utmost respect.

Listening to The Rolling Stones again, after the guitar solo 2-minutes in, listen to how Clayton peaks at the high notes during the legendary lines of Gimme Shelter - notice her voice cracks. It cracks as she gives this one, single line – and she is giving everything she has got. It is breath-taking and a moment that many may never have noticed before now – and after hearing the vocals alone in Twenty Feet from Stardom, we shall never forget in the future. To hear, and see, the women who created such a glorious sound is a privilege unto itself and highlights how true singers still do exist in pop music - they simply appear behind those who are front and centre.

Originally published for Flickering Myth on 14th October 2013 covering the 57th London Film Festival