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Viggo is King: Part II

Full disclosure, I haven’t written anything in well over a year – it’s probably closer to two if I’m being completely honest – for a multitude of reasons: a severe lack of confidence, general work-related inability, the pandemic, or just general disgruntlement at the world around me. Inspiration took me by complete surprise when I began looking back over this blog space and I allowed myself to briefly reminisce about the enthusiasm I once had, and the encouragement I received from two wonderful souls. Both of whom are, devastatingly, no longer with us. Anyway I digress… although I’m sure there is something to add about the fragility and futility of life. Do what you love. So, I figured I’d try and write about a subject I love, a bit of an obsession* if you will.

One of the first pieces I published was way back in 2012 for a long-defunct film-site and it got me thinking of my onscreen main squeeze, Viggo Mortensen. Eleven years later, he is still somewhat of a King (and technically a Knight having been bestowed with the honour back in 2010 by Queen Margarethe II of Denmark) and continues to work, thankfully, choosing roles that are fascinatingly complex, interesting, and most of the time utterly unique to him.

“I have no plan. Maybe I should have a career plan but I don’t. I usually wait and hope the right thing will find me.”

The Evening Chronicle

Now a spritely 65-year-old (come October), the dimple-chinned deity has received countless SAG award noms, Golden Globes, EFAs, recognition at TIFF, the Goyas, BIFA, and BAFTA. Plus, wins at Stockholm FF and San Sebastian for his directorial debut, Falling, and a second and third Oscar nom (for Captain Fantastic and Green Book respectively). I can’t say I was a fan of Green Book to be perfectly honest – it was fine, j’adore Vig and Mahershala Ali but I kind of loathed Tony Lip. Thankfully, there has been plenty to enjoy since 2013 (which is where my original Viggo is King piece left off).

The Two Faces of January (Dir. Hossein Amini. 2014)

Based on Patricia Highsmith’s 1964 novel of the same name, Viggo is Chester McFarland, a con-artist married to Colette (Kirsten Dunst), who has to quickly rely on Oscar Isaac’s perfect stranger Rydal Kenner to get him out of a sticky sitch. Cue: frustration, jealousy, paranoia and a slow unravelling. As leading men go, few have looked finer in this tragic murder-flight-redemption mystery thriller. There is an almost Oedipal theme running throughout despite the link to Janus, and with filming taking place in Athens, Crete, Knossos, and Istanbul the emphasis is on heat, sand, and bright light (there are few shadows to hide in). Chester’s Man From Del Monte suit begins to look rather grubby by the end.

Jauja (Dir. Lisandro Alonso, 2014)

In 1880s Argentina, Danish Captain Gunnar Dinsen (Mortensen) is there with his daughter Ingeborg (Viilbjørk Malling Agger) who wants a dog, falls in love with one man, and has to spurn the affections of another… to reveal anything more of the plot would spoil the experience. This is a slow-burn and magical piece of cinema, its gorgeous visuals shot in a 4:3 aspect ratio (Mortensen also served as the film’s composer). The title, Jauja, refers to the once capital of Spanish Peru known as ‘never never land’ and the ‘land of milk and honey’; a mythical El Dorado of sorts. The film itself is existential in tone, hypnotic, and haunting and has me excited for Lisandro Alonso’s next film Eureka – a recent Special Screening at Cannes – which is also anchored by Mortensen.

Captain Fantastic (Dir. Matt Ross, 2016)

Ben Cash (Mortensen), his wife Leslie and their six, uniquely named children live deep in the wilderness of Washington State, “off-grid”. The kids are home-schooled, they hunt, fish, read Noam Chomsky and can be more than a little wild. When Leslie takes her own life, Dad and the kids have to shun isolation and venture into mainstream society, the first time for a lot of them. Vig continues his run of ‘out-of-time’ men, male characters on the cusp of, well, somewhere else. His Ben exudes a childlike simplicity and whimsy but he’s a limiting, almost dangerous, father; selfish, imperfect, and deeply flawed. It’s an incredibly honest and raw performance.

Falling (Dir. Viggo Mortensen, 2020)

Mortensen’s most personal project to date – a work of auto-fiction – based on his own childhood, his parents’ love story, and the last few years of their lives. He directed the film, wrote the screenplay, and composed the film’s score as well as starring as John, a Pilot charged with looking after his father Willis (Lance Henriksen), an unflinching and uncouth, bad-tempered old bastard of a man whose brain is slowly surrendering to dementia. This film is the antithesis of Florian Zeller’s The Father and one which looks at memory, communication, forgiveness, and is evidently made with love.

Crimes of the Future (Dir. David Cronenberg, 2022)

David Cronenberg’s 2022 body horror is the fifth time he has worked with his favoured leading man (a safe assumption by now, right? For anyone questioning the five films, Cronenberg plays a staid proctologist in Falling). After Tom Stall, Nikolai Luzhin, and Sigmund Freud comes Saul Tenser, he of tender soul – and still a man ‘undercover’ or in hiding. This is a vulnerable Vig. His Saul is a performance artist whose body leaves him in constant pain – he has the ability to produce multiple new body organs, which are then removed during a live show by his partner Caprice (Léa Seydoux). He is then approached to go undercover to infiltrate some radical evolutionists. The world is changing (again) and “surgery is the new sex”. There are visual nods to The Man Who Laughs (1928), The Passion of Joan of Arc (1928) and call-backs to Videodrome (1983), Crash (1996) and Existenz (1999). Viggo is, as ever, compelling but I think the women of the cast, Seydoux, Kristen Stewart (who is fantastic), and LifeFormWare Techs played by Nadia Litz & Tanya Beatty shade him at times.

My admiration goes way back to The Indian Runner (Dir. Sean Penn, 1991), I was 15 when I discovered the DVD in 1998, I’d just seen him in another directorial debut (ugh) Albino Alligator (1996) and wanted to see more, beyond the bespectacled and besuited moustache he played. Aside from the obvious aesthetically-pleasing exterior, there’s a quiet intensity, and nuance to his performances. He’s not a method actor but I find him as mesmerising as Brando (unsurprisingly, I’m a huge fan of Bud too). 27 years later, Mortensen is still my go-to, one of a select group of actors who I’ll watch anything and everything they churn out.

This has resulted in a wealth of work to look back on and dip in and out of from the multi-hyphenate artist. As well as the new projects he completes to look forward to. Perhaps, I will even, finally, get to those elusive three that I have yet to watch – La pistola de mi hermano (1997), On the Road (2012) and Far From Men (2014).

It’s rare for him to give a bad performance even if the film itself is a dud. Whether he’s onscreen for one brief scene or the King of a 682-minute trilogy, he tends to bring his kind of magic to it which keeps you enthralled or at least pique your interest. Next, however, will be his sophomore outing behind the camera, The Dead Don’t Hurt, an 1860s-set western love story, in which he will play Danish immigrant Holger Olsen opposite Vicky Krieps’ Vivienne Le Coudy. Can’t wait.

*“Without obsession, life would be nothing.” – John Waters

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Death Proof

The Tarantino debate has been doing the rounds again on social media with several of his films maligned (this one included) by ‘experts’ and divisive views reverberating around the echo chamber. Have you ever noticed that when Scorsese references other films it’s art but when Tarantino does it, he’s a rip-off artist? Anyhoo, it seems like as good a time as any to dust this off again…

Love him or loathe him, everybody seems to have an opinion about Quentin Tarantino and his body of work. Whether you admire, abhor, or are apathetic towards the Tennessee native most appear to have their favourites (Django Unchained and Reservoir Dogs), one that they just cannot stomach (Kill Bill Vol.2) or one that they unequivocally love. For me, that is Death Proof (2007). 

As appears to be the norm with Tarantino he channels all manner of homaging forces in his texts. For this one, exploitation meets Ozploitation, via a nudge of French new wave and an open-handed slap of the slasher to give a really enjoyable ride. Revenge is a dish best served hot rod (at 130 mph). 

Released alongside Robert Rodriguez’s Planet Terror as a Grindhouse double feature, the premise is a slasher road movie in which a group of women are stalked by an ex-stuntman, a lone wolf, who has little to do but force them off the road for shits and giggles. The first half of the film follows Jungle Julia (Sydney Poitier) and her friends Arlene a.k.a Butterfly (Vanessa Ferlito) and Shanna (Jordan Ladd) on a night out. They stop off at a bar – of which Warren (Tarantino) is the proprietor – and drink cocktails, down shots and generally bust the balls of the three men in their company – Eli Roth, Omar Doom and Michael Bacall (all three would later become Inglourious Basterds). 

Stuntman Mike (Kurt Russell), it would appear, has been on their tail for some time, cut to a wonderful in-car-moment which does for Hold Tight – and the erroneously misnamed Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mitch (it’s Mick) and Tich – what Bohemian Rhapsody did for Wayne’s World. There is an interlude and a flash forward following a crossover sequence involving the PT hospital and Dr Dakota Block (Marley Shelton). This time, Abernathy (Rosario Dawson), Lee (Mary Elizabeth Winstead), Kim (Tracie Thoms) and Zoë (Zoë Bell) are in town taking a break from filming – they all work in the film industry – when Mike strikes again. Subsequent to the masochistic fender-bender of the first half, these ladies are ready for him. 

This film has all the markings of the 70s and early 80s; retro titles, an amazing soundtrack, jumbo cuts, fast zooms and scratches on the print adds authenticity and while these elements are in keeping with Rodriguez’s Terror it manages so much more even randomly switching to black and white. This is, I believe, Tarantino’s most feminist movie. These are sexually confident, voracious women who love men but also each other’s company (they even manage conversations where men are not even mentioned, although not quite as many as one would like) and best of all they kick arse. 

These savvy women are only as good as their aggressor and this is one of Kurt Russell’s best characters in years. As Stuntman Mike, he is fetishised with a facial scar, the first time we see him, fully, onscreen is in close-up shovelling greasy nachos into his mouth. He is Snake Plissken by way of John Wayne, his baby blues and dimples still visible beneath the aged, craggy demeanour – the fantastic facial hair would come much later in The Hateful Eight. Russell is beguiling and repugnant in equal measure with a beautiful maniacal laugh to boot. As Mike, he revels in inflicting pain and yet is not a fan of it himself and watching him writhe, scream and cry in agony is a very pleasurable experience, especially following the heinous, violent misogynistic code he appears to live by. 

There are, as expected, several nods to Tarantino’s earlier work including Reservoir DogsPulp FictionKill Bill, (as well as the subtle reference to DP in his 2019’s Once Upon in Hollywood), and even his collaboration with Rodriguez From Dusk Till Dawn. As well as several allusions to the films of the genre(s) he is paying homage to: Fair Game (1986), Dead End Drive-in (1986), Mad Max (1979), Road Games (1981), Vanishing Point (1971), and Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill! (1965) to name but a few. Tracie Thoms is the female equivalent to Samuel L. Jackson, delivering Tarantino’s lines with the same expletive motherfucking aplomb. The last action sequence is fantastic, reminiscent of the greatest set-pieces recorded onscreen, in the likes of Bullitt (1968), The French Connection (1971) and, hell, even The Bourne Supremacy (2004). 

New Zealand stuntwoman Zoë Bell plays a version of herself and the sight of her grappling on the bonnet of a white Dodge Challenger is exhilarating to watch and, lets face it, while Refn’s Drive (2011) may have had stylish neon cinematography, a funky score and the stoic masculinity of fanboy favourite Ryan Gosling, Death Proof is far more exciting and entertaining to watch – also, better soundtrack. The viewer needs to be part of a car chase and Tarantino keeps the camera on top and up close to the action, credit also has to go to the director’s editor, the late great Sally Menke who keeps up the frenetic pace. 

Yes, by no means is it perfect, it is a dialogue heavy screenplay and QT does flounder somewhat with the womanly repartee but it truly is an enlivened and gratifying female fantasy. So, <blows raspberry> to the naysayers.

Death Proof is currently showing on MUBI

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The Original Vamp: Theda Bara

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Theodosia Goodman was the eldest of three children born to a Polish father and Swiss mother in Cincinnati. The Goodmans lived in the leafy suburb of Avondale until 1905 when their daughter left for New York to become Theda Bara. The name an anagram of “Arab Death”[1], made Bara the epitome of exotic temptress known as the Vamp. She, at the time, allegedly used her sex appeal to manipulate and embodied voluptuous transgression – the exact attributes that Post-Code Hollywood attempted to make commodity and control. In total, Theda Bara made over forty films between 1914-1919 including Carmen[2], Cleopatra[3] and Salome[4], yet it was her first leading role which cemented her as The Vampire. I propose that it was this dichotomous ambivalence and marginalisation in both characters portrayed and persona[5] which started a promising film career but essentially the ideology could not last and ended it too soon. Taking inspiration from a Philip Burne-Jones painting and Rudyard Kipling poem in 1897, A Fool There Was[6] intercuts verses of Kipling’s poem with scenes which are, it would seem, an introduction to the lead characters. An iris reveals a male, who is later revealed to be Mr John Schuyler (Edward José), shot, sat behind a desk gazing at long stem roses, he looks directly into the camera before picking up the flowers and smelling them. After the second verse of the poem, The Vampire (Bara) stands haughtily next to a vase holding similar flowers and picks one out, smells it and then pulls the bud from its stem crushing the delicate petals between her palm. She is dressed in heavy, dark materials and fur, jewellery adorns every other finger perhaps symbolising living beyond her means, or as Molly Haskell describes them “emblems of her wickedness”.[7] The silent film is set within the melodramatic mode consisting of two dominant styles, as identified, by Roberta Pearson, “the histrionic and the verisimilar”[8]

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John Schuyler and his family are white, in not only skin tone but within the mise-en-scène. His wife, Kate (Mabel Fremyear), daughter (Runa Hodges) and sister-in-law (May Allison) are nearly always shot outdoors in natural light and dressed head-to-toe in white costumes. The Schuyler’s daughter, who later is referred to as ‘innocence’, is fair-haired, her blonde ringlets bouncing as she runs. She is, physically, a Mary Pickford/Lillian Gish in miniature, perhaps an indicator of the next generation which will resemble America’s Sweethearts[9] and not the dark, mysterious threat of the Vamp. A dialogue intertitle introduces The Vampire (Bara) so called because she has the sexual prowess and potential occult ability to drain their life source and wealth. The uncanny is aligned with this predator to enhance her otherness in relation to the ‘norm’ – the white, faithful wife and as Sumiko Higashi writes, “implied that her powers were supernatural or that she was, at the very least, inhuman”[10] She is dressed almost exclusively in black, hypnotically so, with an occasional white accessory, as if she were trying to assimilate into “decent” society. The Vampire reads of Schuyler’s trip and Statesman honour while resting at home. She has a black housemaid and an Asian male in attendance and this simultaneously whitens her against their ethnic variations but in the same token reminds the audience that she herself is ‘othered’ when considered alongside the Schuyler family.

As she boards the ship two previous victims (as they are described in the intertitle text) attempt to get her attention; one is a tramp who gets lead away by a police officer, the other, Mr Benoit, pulls out a gun and threatens to shoot her. The Vampire merely laughs and knocks it away with a flower and coaxes Benoit to commit suicide offering him one last kiss; “kiss me, my fool” before he pulls the trigger at his temple. His death fails to move her and she is reported, by the ship’s porter, to have stood over his body “laughing like a she-devil”. When Schuyler first sees this woman she is framed by a porthole powdering her nose which suggests a subtle hint at female consumerism. She has one eye on her own reflection and the other on her “prey”.

Visible through this porthole and clearly comfortable on deck, The Vampire can be read as a symbol of xenophobic (American) fears of immigration. Numbers of immigrants increased dramatically during the years 1899-1910 and while there is an attempt to Americanise The Vampire. Full assimilation fails as her ethnic femininity and,

[the] vamp persona [situates] her at the intersection of two established representative tropes: the predatory female vampire and the immigrant whose assimilation skills and potential for economic and cultural contribution were uncertain[11]

As an ethnic ambivalent, The Vampire may well have been the all-desiring temptress, however, to describe her as the representation of “the [unleashed] male sexual instinct”[12] as Higashi does seem a little extreme. She and, in this instance, his wife personify the polar opposites constructed through Patriarchy with the wife and child further representing social and moral order, and The Vampire revelling in the destruction and exploitative chaos her ability to emasculate exacerbates. In a Post-Code Hollywood future, as the femme fatale[13], she would be contained, however, Pre-Code, in these early films she was a player in the “fallen man genre”[14]

Even when society turns its back on Schuyler, his mistress brazens it out and walks with her head held high. She, much like the name she is given, sucks the wealth and life from her victim gaining more audacity and strength from his, increasingly, alcohol-induced catatonic state. Schuyler’s gait, once upright begins to stoop and his hair whitens: “The Fool was stripped to his foolish hide”. While this representation of woman displays a level of sexual freedom and independence, it can be limiting to female actors merely providing another stereotype to play in a male world. Theda Bara’s enigma was open to many an interpretation was described by James Card in the following way:

Endless lure of pomegranate lips…red enemy of man…the sombre brooding beauty of a thousand Egyptian nights…black-browed and starry-eyed…infinite mystery in their smouldering depths, never to be revealed…Mona Lisa…Cleopatra…child of the Russian countryside…daughter of the new world…peasant…goddess…eternal woman[15]

Her persona was created and cinematically, as The Vamp, was seen to promote a cultural threat; that of female immigrant sexuality and as Diane Negra writes “was an ideal figure to manage cultural anxiety” and reflected a real need to regulate female sexuality (and the growing birth rate).[16] Bara seemed to be at odds with the direction her film career was taking and tried, somewhat unsuccessfully, to diversify the roles she signed up to, including Romeo and Juliet[17]. The virginal Juliet was an unlikely role for The Vamp archetype and some reviews were critical of her acting style. Like most of her contemporaries, Bara was a student of the Delsarte method. François Delsarte (1811-1871) was the founder of an applied aesthetics system which included rhythmic movement, kinesics and semiology.[18] This system would have given film audiences pause for thought as every emotion was rendered through an eye or bodily movement.

The real reasons why Theda Bara’s career failed at longevity are unanswerable. The Vamp and émigré artist still continued to make pictures, names like Naldi, Negri, Valentino, and eventually Garbo and Dietrich cemented their places as household names. Bara appeared to grow tired of the limitations that The Vamp construction placed on the film roles she was offered and often this would be evident in some of the newspaper and magazine interviews that she gave. She made a last short, comedic film in 1926 called Madame Mystery which was co-directed by Richard Wallace and Stan Laurel but then seemingly retired after marrying. Bara died on 7 April 1955, aged sixty-nine from abdominal cancer leaving behind a lasting cinematic legacy as the original screen Vamp.

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Watch one the few surviving Bara films: A Fool There Was (1915, dir: Frank Powell)


[1] This anagram was alleged to have been the actresses’ own invention and the studio embraced it wholeheartedly creating a birth in the shadows of the Sphinx, a childhood in Egypt and exotic Parisian-Italian parentage. Tactics which enhanced the allure of the Cincinnati-born girl who wanted Hollywood to sit up and take notice.

[2] Carmen (1915, dir. Raoul, A. Walsh) Fox Film Corporation.

[3] Cleopatra (1917, dir. J. Gordon Edwards) Fox Film Corporation.

[4] Salome (1918, dir. J Gordon Edwards) Fox Film Corporation.

[5] Theda Bara functioned as a star persona serving as a ideological construct as detailed in Richard Dyer, Stars, (London:British Film Institute, 1998).

[6] A Fool There Was (1915, dir. Frank Powell) William Fox Vaudeville Company.

[7] Molly Haskell, From Reverence to Rape: The Treatment of Women in the Movies, (Chicago & London: The University of Chicago Press, [1974] 1987) p103.

[8] Roberta Pearson, “O’er Step Not the Modesty of Nature: A Semiotic Approach to Acting in the Griffith Biographs, in: Zucker, C (ed) Making Visible the Invisible: An Anthology of Original Essays on Film Acting (Metuchen: New Jersey, 1990) pp1-27.

[9] Richard Dyer, White, (London & New York: Routledge, 1997 ) p

[10] Sumiko Higashi, Virgins, Vamps, and Flappers: The American Silent Movie Heroine (Canada: Eden Press, 1978) p58.

[11] Diane Negra “The Fictionalized Ethnic Biography: Nita Naldi and the Crisis of Assimilation” in: Gregg Bachman and Thomas J. Slater (eds) American Silent Film: Discovering Marginalized Voices, (USA: Southern Illinois University Press, 1997) pp 176-200 (179).

[12] Higashi (1978) p59.

[13] Mary Ann Doane, Femmes Fatales: Feminism, Film Theory, Psychoanalysis (London: Routledge, 1991) I.

[14] Janet Staiger, Bad Women: Regulating Sexuality in Early American (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1995) p148.

[15] James Card, Seductive Cinema: The Art of the Silent Film (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota) p189.

[16] Diane Negra, “Immigrant Stardom in Imperial Stardom” in: Gregg Bachman and Thomas J. Slater (eds) American Silent Film: Discovering Marginalized Voices, (USA: Southern Illinois University Press, 1997)

[17] Romeo and Juliet (Dir: J. Gordon Edwards, 1916) Fox Film Corporation.

[18] E.T. Kirby, “The Delsarte Method: 3 Frontiers of Actor Training” in The Drama Review: TDR, Vol.16, No1, March 1972 pp55.69. http://www.jstor.org/stable/1144731?seq=1 [accessed 25 May 2012].

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Ghostbusters (Dir. Paul Feig, 2016)

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*minor spoilers

For my 4th birthday, I received – amongst many gifts – a beautiful Ghostbusterscake. It was huge, had red-frosting and the logo emblazoned across the front. My cousin, born six years before and ten days later got the same cake (only his icing was blue). Lol [his name not laughter] was responsible for my introduction to Ghostbusters and Star Wars, actually, if truth be told. At no point did he exclude me because I was younger or because I was a girl, and let’s face it, a four-year-old will test any ten-year-old’s patience regardless of gender.

I remember having the crap scared out of me watching the film on TV then suffering sleepless nights, that bloody ghost in the library. Six years later I had a David [brother] to pass the love of ghosts and busting onto; films  cartoons, and toys, oh-so-many-toys. Spengler (Harold Ramis), Stantz (Dan Aykroyd), Zeddemore (Ernie Hudson)  and smart-ass Venkman (Bill Murray) held a special place in my (and his) childish heart. Now, Yates (Melissa McCarthy), Gilbert (Kristen Wiig), Holtzmann (Kate McKinnon) and Tolan (Leslie Jones) will provide joy for a whole new generation. Seriously, why is that so terrible?

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The expected happened. I grew up, the little girl repressed somewhat but still knocking around, and rewatching Ghostbusters (1984) as an adult is a whole different experience. Now you can laugh at the adult humour that sailed over your cherubic head, cringe at the effects which at times are pretty awful and the best part? Crawl under a duvet, hungover, and passively let each scene douse you in nostalgia like an ectoplasmic gloop. A sequel arrived in 1989 – largely disliked now – who knew? It was fine. I regularly rewatch.

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The reboot was announced. Urgh! Originality is a concept lost on most Hollywood studios. This one was to be directed by Paul Feig. For the record, he seems like a very nice man, always impeccably dressed, and there’s no denying how he has boosted women-led films, but he directed Bridesmaids (deplore), The Heat (lukewarm) and Spy (I adored that one). Was it really a surprise that this Ghostbusters, his vision, would be all-woman? I was intrigued sure, can’t say I was overly fussed either way. The casting of Hemsworth piqued my interest, not least because he would be the male Janine (Annie Potts) – bravo!

Time passed as the darker pockets of the internet cried, screamed and generally threw a strop. Misogyny is never pretty and even that four-year-old girl (now a 35-year-old woman) was verbally abused for daring to say she liked the trailer. These men seemed to have forgotten their own mothers, sisters, grandmothers and aunts as they rendered women ill-equipped to play *fictional* paranormal scientists; their childhoods (long gone) destroyed forever. *Pause for dramatic effect*

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The world lost a vital 1/4 of the original line-up in 2014, with the sudden passing of Harold Ramis. A Ghostbusters III without him would have been senseless. While unable to cameo in the new film, one of his sons makes an appearance and that gorgeous gold bust seen from Gilbert’s desk is a beautiful touch and definitely brought a lump to my throat. Okay, progression. Four more humans don the overalls, get slimed and save New York from paranormal activity, not such a far-fetched notion. Oh, and they have lady-parts…So, what’s it all about?

Following a very effective opening whereby Gertrude Aldridge’s ghost (Bess Rous) is terrorising her childhood home, physicist Erin Gilbert (Wiig) – up for tenure at the prestigious Columbia University – is approached by Ed Mulgrave (Ed Begley Jr). Clutching Gilbert’s co-authored book, a hardbacked thesis written by Dr. Gilbert and her ex-colleague/ estranged friend Abby Yates (McCarthy), he begs for her help. Unaware of the book’s existence, Erin visits Abby and her new colleague, engineer Jillian Holtzmann (McKinnon) in a lab strewn with gadgets – think Egon’s place, only messier.With the help of human A-Z and New York history buff, Patty Tolan (Jones) and inept-but-we-gave-him-the-job-because-he-was-the-only-applicant receptionist, Kevin (Chris Hemsworth), the Ghostbusters (it’s easier for Kev to pronounce than the actual name, you see) are born; to capture paranormal entities and prove their existence to the world while a city of naysayers including the Mayor (Andy Garcia) attempt to discredit them.

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Doesn’t sound so drastically different from the previous incarnation and you would be right in thinking the original has served as a blueprint much like The Force Awakens‘ (2015) similarities to A New Hope (1977). Each acknowledges what has gone before but stands alone in its own, inclusive, right. There are enough nods to the past for the girl with the cake to recollect fondly and yet enough meta commentary and gags for the adult to snigger at and mentally high-five all involved.

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Girls 2016

It’s not “man-hating” which is how I saw it described this morning. The antagonist, Rowan North (played another SNL alum Neil Casey) is white, male, and a little fragile but so are most Bond villains, and after the scourge of hate heaped upon this film, why wouldn’t the filmmakers and writers respond not least in an entertaining way? And it is, you know, extremely so, and I’m sorry but a blast from a ray gun aimed at a marshmallowy nutsack is amusing. It has been a long time since a big studio offered a blockbuster that is as enjoyable and, more importantly, FUN as this one.

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Boys 1984

The cameos (there are a fair few and perhaps one or two could have been saved for the inevitable sequel) but they would not have worked so well had those actors been playing the characters they made famous yonks ago. Thankfully, they’re a breath of fresh air and each one more joyful than the last. Hemsworth is perfect as pretty but dumb Kevin, his Norse God alter-ego is a saviour, however, it’s refreshing that four ladies get to rescue him, and I don’t necessarily mean just from peril – they become a family. The women themselves are hilarious, smart, loud, brash, uptight, and gloriously realistic albeit plonked in a disbelief suspended setting.  Abby and Erin are the heart of the narrative, it’s their friendship which drives the plot while Jillian and Patty are the funny. I’m unfamiliar with their Saturday Night Live work but Jones is hysterical and McKinnon, a revelation. It’s not perfect, nor was I expecting to be, it’s a Ghostbusters film and I don’t mean that in a derisive way – as long as there are creepy ghosts, gloop, busting of said see-through creeps and humour, I’m easily pleased.

It does exactly what it set out to do, which is bring the Ghostbusters into the 21st century, passing the proton pack to a whole new generation. That’s the beauty of it, there is no either/or, everyone will have a preference, sure but neither undermines the other – there are now eight Ghostbusters to identify with and choose as your favourite – I just had faceache and a warm, fuzzy feeling throughout watching this one. I’m still chuckling days later. If only that four year old girl could have seen it…

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75 Years is a Really Long Time…

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Footage has been released! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i9Ur4De7yT8

No, I’m not talking about the dreary looking Batman Vs. Superman, within which there is some nonsense about whether Supes bleeds, some fighting presumably instigated by a small bewigged Luthor, people getting angsty, etc. until they make nice and play with that woman with the shield, who, by the way isn’t “with” either of them. I am, of course, talking about said (wonder) woman and no, I’m not going to analyse the footage. At least not exhaustively because let’s face it, somebody will have done so already and either offered some salient points,  snark and anger or deluded optimism.

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For the record, I sit somewhere in the middle. I think I’ve made my feelings on the character, casting, and the 75 year hiatus between comic inception to big screen heard. Following the release of footage, which is seconds long (by the way) and yet again released on the coat-tails or rather, I should say, flowing capes of the men in the DC universe. DC comic writer Geoff Johns, Gal Gadot, Chris Pine and Patty Jenkins all offer up some spiel over the snippets. Good, bully for them but at the end of the day it is those few shots that I am most interested in. Yes, they’re dark and swift but I was (briefly) giddy and determined to show anybody who showed the remotest interest. Johns describes WW as an Amazon Warrior charged with protecting “man’s” world, a corner of the internet seethed – he shouldn’t have said man he should have said humanity. In the original comics, it was man’s world. Themyscira is an island housed solely by women (why do you think WW was made of clay? No sperm producers). Also, he then describes it as ‘our’ world.

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All of the other titbits of information…feminist cultural icon (check)…stands for equality (check)… are followed by Patty who declares Wonder Woman to be “good and kind and loving, yet none of it negates her power”. Yeah, Ms. Jenkins gets it – another corner of the internet eye-rolled, female superheroes don’t have to be loving, good and kind. No, they don’t but Wonder Woman IS. That’s kind of the point; she was Marston’s utopian vision of a strong, good woman who is all for equality and love, ooh and also not a misandrist just because she can kick your arse.

Ah, her arse. That came up too apparently, she’s sexualised in those few short seconds, the camera held at butt-level. Having rewatched a good half a dozen times, I don’t see it. The camera angle is low, sure (I would suggest that is because she’s a Goddess, we’re mere mortals looking upon her/up at her) but her entire body is in frame and she’s active, ferociously so and I just don’t register a scopophilic gaze but then, my gaze tends to be female and I’m not objectifying her.

I love the fact that a few seconds of film can produce such disparagement but I’ll be damned if I let it ruin the experience for me.