I firmly believe that it's only worth covering a song if you propose to do something different with it, but even then it's only the few exceptions that manage to step out of the shadows of the original.
Fine Young Cannibals set about covering Buzzcocks' punk classic Ever Fallen InLove (With Someone You Shouldn't've) in 1987 and secured a soundtrack spot in the Jonathan Demme film Something Wild as a result. It's a certainly a somewhat different approach. Does it work? I'm not completely certain, but it is not without some charm of its own. Or maybe that's just the interesting dancing of the noodle-legged guitarist, as you'll see in this clip from Top of the Pops
It's like he's stubbing cigs out underneath the heels of too-tight shoes that are pinching him whilst simultaneously silently squeezing a fart out! And I love it!!
Fame is a bit like Saturday Night Fever in that the collective consciousness seems to be labouring under a misapprehension as to what kind of film it is. Like Travolta's disco classic, Fame is wrongly considered to be a glitzy piece of music and dance - cinematic fluff from the tail end of the 20th century. Mention Fame to most people and they'll probably explain it via Irene Cara's hit of the same name which features the euphoric, we-can-do-anything lyric "I'm gonna live forever, I'm gonna learn how to fly - high!". To these people, Fame is a musical; precocious students with impromptu dances during their lunch hour. All jazz hands, sweat bands and lycra.
But whilst Fame certainly is that (and the subsequent TV spin-off series was almost exclusively that), as a film it is also something a whole lot more. Something darker, more downbeat and ultimately more real. Abortion, poverty, racial inequality, homosexuality, suicide, mental illness, drug and alcohol abuse, domestic strife and a harrowing '#MeToo' moment (for the aforementioned Cara's character) all feature in Fame. When you take all that into consideration, it's not exactly High School Musical is it?
It is this contradiction of grit and glamour that is there for all to see in the film's tagline; "Fame is the glamour of the Great White Way of Broadway and the squalor of 42nd Street" and, Directed by Alan Parker, Fame captures the oft unspoken truth of the pursuit of a career in the performing arts. The central message of Cara's theme song, which features such an exuberant outdoor dance sequence that literally stops traffic, may be about living forever through their success, but the film's actual narrative does little to suggest that such immortality and adulation is waiting in the wings for any of them. The old adage that school is the best years of your life seems to be incredibly apt for our youthful protagonists as the innocence of their dreams are resolutely lost by the time the credits roll. As talented as they may be, the chances are they'll most likely be waiting tables once they graduate, as evinced by the fate of the former school golden boy Michael (Boyd Gaines). 'Remember my name' the lyric may well implore, but the truth is, they'll be lucky if they remember to tip. In keeping with its surprisingly gritty flavour, it offers no consolations or solutions for any of its characters. All they have, as the film pointedly and poignantly ends with them performing together on stage for one last time, is their shared experience and their bond.
Fame is an episodic and occasionally frenetic, Altmanesque snapshot of life for the students at the school, from nervous auditions through to their senior year and graduation. It boasts some excellent performances that show a real change occurring within each character (specifically Maureen Teefy's Doris and Ralph played by Fever's Barry Miller who seem to grow before our very eyes) and a unique perspective on American culture from Englishman in New York, Parker. Whilst it's arguably a little overlong at two hours ten minutes, its place in popular culture is assured, if a little mistaken by audiences.
Anyone watching TV of late ought to know this song as it's currently being used in a rather fun trailer between BBC programmes for Radio 2 that sees a mum who can't help but dance the minute the song is broadcast on the station, much to the amusement of her little tot.
I was in a CEX store yesterday and the song was playing as I was in the queue at the tills. Just like in the trailer, the girl standing in front of me immediately started dancing - clearly it's contagious!
Deeply saddened to hear of the death of Lindsay Kemp at the age of 80.
Kemp was a truly avant garde artist, a groundbreaking dancer, mime and choreographer whose influence cannot be underestimated; he taught Kate Bush to dance, taught David Bowie mime and helped him to create personas such as Ziggy Stardust, and worked with film auteurs such as Ken Russell (SavageMessiah) and Derek Jarman (Sebastiane and Jubilee). He even appeared in the seminal cult horror classic The Wicker Man. Born near Liverpool in 1938, Kemp grew up in poverty in a South Shields one-parent family. He discovered his love of performing in the region's working men's clubs but it wasn't until he saw his first ballet at the age of 17, with fellow Bradford College of Art student David Hockney, that he transformed himself, studying dance in London with Hilde Holgar and mime with Marcel Marceau. He formed his own dance company in the 1960s and met the 19-year-old David Bowie in Covent Garden in 1966. He became Bowie's mentor and lover, choreographing the singer's Ziggy Stardust concerts. In 1974 he took the Edinburgh Fringe by storm with his performance of Flowers, based on Jean Genet's Notre Dame des Fleurs, and his fame and success was secured.
He taught Kate Bush to dance finding the future singer 'shy'. She later dedicated her song Moving to him, pushing a copy under the door of his flat. It came as a surprise to Kemp as he had no idea she was a singer. Later, Kemp starred as the enigmatic guide in her film, The Line, The Cross & The Curve (pictured above) Today, Bush paid tribute to her mentor; "To call him a mime artist is like calling Mozart a pianist. He was very brave, very funny and above all, astonishingly inspirational. There was no one quite like Lindsay. I was incredibly lucky to study with him, work with him and spend time with him. I loved him very much and will miss him dearly. Thank you, dear Lindsay" Kemp died at his home in Italy, aged 80. To pay tribute, here's that Kate Bush track that he was he unwitting inspiration for.
DJ and legendary trance producer Robert Miles has died at the age of 47. Reports say he had been suffering with cancer for several months.
Born Roberto Concina, Miles' biggest hit was the 1996 'dream house' club hit Children, a big favourite of mine.
Originally written in response to the images from Bosnia of child victims from the conflict in Yugoslavia, the hit took on a different life when Miles saw the 'Saturday night slaughter' on Italy's roads; numerous car smashes that took the lives of young clubbers returning home from parties. Determined to offer a more sedate, chilled beat to close the night and bring clubbers down enough to drive safely, Miles penned Children; with its natural thunderstorm start and melancholic piano riff, the track made the youth of clubland think and feel nostalgic and reflective, as opposed to still attempting to chase the buzz from earlier in the night. It remains a beautiful track that hasn't dated a day in the twenty-one years since its release. RIP End Transmission
As regular readers will know, I'm an eternal singleton who isn't very keen on Valentine's Day. Nonetheless watching Born Romantic on the evening of said day was my one concession to the spirit of it. I hadn't seen it in years, and I'm glad I've caught up with it again now - Thank God for That's Entertainment (my local DVD and music store) and it's 3 for a fiver deal!
As with his directorial debut, This Year's Love, David Kane uses a combination of characters and interweaving storylines to explore the meaning of what it is to be in and out of love in turn of the century London. Whilst This Year's Love charted the course of true love running less than smooth through the pubs and clubs of trendy Camden, the setting this time around is much more specific; a salsa club - the then up and coming leisure time established as an alternative and prime pickup joint for the '00s.
As a writer, Kane has a real flair for characterisation and an eye for authentic behaviour that places him more in the Mike Leigh camp than the Richard Curtis one. From Rat Pack admiring Frankie and self-contained, frosty Eleanour through to the morbidly fascinated Joceyln and inept thief Eddie, by way of former lovers from Liverpool Fergus and Mo; each one leads dysfunctional and empty, unfulfilling lives but each finds a chance of freedom and romance when drawn to the dancefloor.
And as a director, Kane gets the very best from an ensemble that includes Craig Ferguson, Olivia Williams, Catherine McCormack (who gives probably my favourite performance of the lot as the neurotic Jocelyn), Jimi Mistry, David Morrissey and Jane Horrocks, as well as Adrian Lester as the sensitive, sympathetic 'cupid' cab driver who circles their orbit, and cameos from the likes of John Thomson and Ian Hart who provide the film with a Greek chorus as Lester's fellow cabbies, discussing women in a manner not to dissimilar to Pete and Dud or the Smith and Jones head to heads.
Born Romantic may not reach the same heights as This Year's Love did, but it's still a very strong, honest film in its own right. It's a shame that Kane didn't carry on making films like this as he could easily have created his own little recurring movie milieu here.
A truly stunning and emotionally engaging film from playwright Martin Sherman and Sister, My Sister director Nancy Meckler, Indian Summer (also known in the US and on DVD as Alive and Kicking) tells the story of Tonio, a young gay dancer who is HIV Positive played with superb intensity, authenticity and humour by Jason Flemying. Believing his beautiful body - the tool of his trade - to have betrayed him with illness, Tonio pushes both it and himself to the limits for his art in the run up to his failing company's revival of the gay-themed ballet Indian Summer.
But at its heart the film is an honest depiction of a love affair between Tonio and Jack (Antony Sher, a fine turn) an older man who works as a therapist for HIV and AIDS patients and their families and who is overweight, prone to drinking and occasionally self-destructive. Because they're so opposite, and because the illness Tonio will one day succumb to is forever in their, and therefore, our minds, the film can truthfully explore the insecurities and conflicts that arise from love that other chocolate box romantic films simply shy away from.
Some of the criticism I've seen relating to the film online (in the amazon reviews for example) is that the film is a little dated now. I'm not altogether sure what they mean by that; do they mean that HIV and AIDS isn't as prominent a threat as it once was and so the message of the film doesn't feel as topical now? Or are they simply pointing towards the filmmaking style and the authentic snapshot of the 1990s? If it's the latter I have to disagree; I personally really like a film that can evoke such memories of a past I have shared and which is emphatically rooted in time and place. And if it is the former, then I continue to be at a loss; does a second world war film lose resonance when viewed today because we live in a time of relative peace? One thing that strikes me about how the film handles the illness is that it seems utterly truthful and, above all, real; when the company are holding a vigil around the hospital bed of the dying Ramon (Anthony Higgins) and the night nurse advises them that he can't hear them talking to him, when Bill Nighy turns to her and reassures her that 'we've done this before' it feels utterly realistic. These tragedies were what people had to endure on a daily basis, a fact which is thankfully almost incomprehensible to me.
Whatever title you chose to call this, as a film it succeeds in touching you - whether it's a scene like the one mentioned above, the ups and downs of Tonio and Jack's relationship, or the many moments of comedy it offers too (the bit where Tonio and his lesbian best friend and fellow dancer Millie, played by future EastEnder Diane Parish, try to go straight and bed one another is a genuinely amusing highlight - it's like watching two children play at being grown-ups) - with the final dance scene crushing you completely, in a good way. Beautifully written, directed, acted and scored, this comes recommended.
The Top of the Pops special on Christmas Day has long been a tradition. Perhaps because of the fact that the show no longer exists in the weekly format (the BBC air just two episodes a year now; Christmas Day and New Year's Eve) or perhaps maybe it's just because I'm getting older, but watching it this year left me in a state of complete bemusement. I hadn't heard of the majority of the performers and found the music to be utter dross. And the less said of the presenting duo, Reggie Yates and the ever-irritating Ferne Cotton, the better. However, the real highlight of the show, the only song and performance I truly enjoyed, was this one from Christine and the Queens....
I've ordered her album from Amazon now as a direct result of this appearance.
By day the most elegant, beautiful young woman works the most blue collar masculine job. By night, she strips at the most avant-garde blue collar strip joint imaginable. All the while she is dreaming of breaking through the ranks to become a professional dancer at the Pittsburgh Conservatory of Dance and Repertory. Such are the paradoxes of the preposterous yet unmitigated hit 1980s movie Flashdance, a film that has been best summed up for me by a brief exchange between Robert Carlyle and Mark Addy in 1997's The Full Monty; "It's "Flashdance", Dave. She's a welder, isn't she!" "A welder? Well, I hope she dances better than she welds! I mean, look at that - her mix is all to cock!" "Shut up, Dave. What the fuck do you know about welding, anyway?" "More than some chuffin' woman! Arh, it's like Bonfire Night! That's too much acetylene, is that! Them joints will hold fuck all!"
By rights Flashdance should be complete and utter bin juice. A variation on TheUgly Duckling; this first collaboration by producers Don Simpson and Jerry Bruckheimer meant that, via their notorious 'High Concept' style that would come to illustrate so much of '80s cinema, very little 'ugly' was actually left. The film purports to be set in a blue collar world, yet Jennifer Beals' immaculate heroine lives in an exclusive yuppified warehouse conversion well beyond the means of an 18-year-old welder and exotic dancer, whilst her seedy secondary employment takes place in the aforementioned curious hybrid of dingy cabaret and experimental modern-dance platform imaginable. Make no mistake, this is no Saturday Night Fever. It's a film whose contradictions can be laid firmly at the door of its stylised choices.
And yet it is that style-over-substance approach that has meant Flashdance remains a landmark film of the 1980s and an enduring hit. It's as cheesy as they come and seems to have created the template for every Body Form advert that was produced in its wake, yet it hits the nostalgic spot each and every time. Thirty-three years later and you mention its name and people will want to tell you about how one of Beals' many dance body doubles included the MALE performer known as Crazy Legs, or that co-star Michael Nouri had no idea that Beals wasn't wearing a full dress-shirt beneath her 'tux' in the dining scene, and his reaction is therefore 100% genuine. They might even bring up Robert Webb's brilliant routine for Let's Dance For Comic Relief
In short, Flashdance is a film that has huge cultural multi-platform significance and, whilst Irene Cara's titular hit is evergreen, for me at least, it is Michael Sembello's Maniac that is one of the most invigorating songs ever.
It's a ridiculous film but, as a barometer of the time, it's essential. Simpson and Bruckheimer's 'High Concept' style and, it could be argued, '80s cinema itself was born right here.
