Red Sparrow (2018)

Based on the novel of the same name by former CIA operative Jason Matthews, Red Sparrow tells the story of Dominika Egorova, a promising ballerina whose career is abruptly and violently called to a halt. With a sick mother to support, she has no option but to perform favours for her sinister uncle and when one such favour sees her witness more than she ought to, she is coerced into enlisting at the Sparrow Academy (or'whore school' as Dominika later calls it), becoming one of a number of young and attractive Soviet agents schooled in the art of sex and seduction known as 'sparrows' 

Arriving at the height of the #MeToo movement this year, it's perhaps understandable that a narrative about sexual objectification and how men use young women as little more than meat to their advantage in order to procure greater power was about as welcome as Jonathan King at a children's birthday party. For many critics, Red Sparrow was simply too much of an ordeal, too much of a backward step. Far be it from me to say that this reading of Francis Lawrence's film is in any way wrong,but I do feel that the film's message - that these are the actions of an oppressive state and patriarchal system - is overlooked in any criticism. Much like every time that the TV critic and professional numpty Alison Graham bemoans a serial killer drama that consists of the murder of female sex workers, I do wonder if we run the risk of being pressurised into avoiding the harsh, sickening realities of life in the desire to showcase the ideal we all desire of gender equality and female empowerment. To me that's not what the #MeToo movement ought to be about.

What I liked about Red Sparrow is that it's a studio picture for mature audiences, something of a rarity in an overcrowded market of Marvel and YA blockbusters. With a storyline that could easily have been set in the Cold War past, Francis Lawrence delivers a kind of throwback to the kind of sex and violence driven movies of the late '80s and early '90s too; the type of film that Paul Verhoeven and Brian De Palma would have had a field day with. But Lawrence is not Verhoeven and De Palma and, whilst he does a very capable job on the whole, his film still has some flaws. Having been a fan of the likes of Le Carre and Deighton all my life, I am familiar with the somewhat measured pace of complex espionage procedurals, but Lawrence's approach is sometimes a little too dry even by this standards. The two hour fifteen running time, whilst in the main necessary, feels its length which I fear is another reason why Red Sparrow was a turn off for some.

Lawrence scores with his casting of Jennifer Lawrence as our heroine Dominka and the director and actor (who are no relation to each other) are a world away from their previous collaborations on The Hunger Games series. Lawrence is genuinely effective as the complex and ambiguous Dominka, keeping our sympathy and support throughout all the plot machinations that showcase her as a potential double and triple agent. There is at times a blankness to her performance that is both satisfying and utterly right for a character whose heart has been hardened by the cards fate has dealt her and the suggestion of trauma or even abuse in her past are skillfully, subtly conveyed. Of course, Lawrence the director knows that he has one of the most attractive and photogenic leading ladies of the day at his disposal in the role of a deeply alluring 'honey trap' agent and he showcases her natural beauty to full effect which, again, may pose problems for some audiences. 

The film's leading man is Joel Edgerton who performs the role of CIA agent Nate Nash with his usual blandness. Maybe it's just me but I find Edgerton a rather beige performer. There's a scene in Steve Coogan's excellent and much missed sitcom Saxondale where his character has to come up with words that people feel ambivalent towards, in the end he plumps for 'Dennis Quaid' and I think Edgerton fits that category too. As I was watching this I came up with a phrase that may have crossed the director's mind whilst casting this and it's 'Joel Edgerton -  for when you can't quite afford Jeremy Renner' and it left me daydreaming how much better Renner would have been in the role of Nash. That said, Edgerton is never less than acceptable and, crucially, his attraction to Lawrence - even when flying in the face of all evidence that he is being played - is always believable. Much better is Matthias Schoenaerts (or Matty Schoo as I like to call him) in the role of Dominka's dangerous uncle, a man who thinks nothing of using his niece as a pawn in the great game. Schoenaerts possesses a chameleon-like quality here that separates him from previous, more sympathetic roles, and his characterisation is helped immeasurably by his decision to seemingly play this shady government official with the looks and mannerisms of Vladimir Putin.

The film also boasts a strong supporting cast of mostly British performers. Standing out in this field in particular are Jeremy Irons as a sort of KGB elder statesman (if Red Sparrow had made in the early '90s by a Verhoeven or De Palma type then Irons may have taken the uncle role) and Charlotte Rampling as the anonymous no-nonsense 'Matron' of the Sparrow Academy. There's also Ciarán Hinds, Douglas Hodge and, perhaps more surprisingly, Holby City's Hugh Quarshie in there too, as well as Joely Richardson as Dominka's ailing mother. I've never really liked Richardson, finding her the least talented of the Redgrave/Richardson dynasty, so it came as something of a relief to me that her role was relatively short. I also want to comment on Mary-Louise Parker as a duplicitous US official as I've read some reviews that refer to her performance as camp, tonally off and feeling like it belongs in another film. Given that she has one scene in which her character is roaring drunk I feel that is rather unfair.

As a spy movie, Red Sparrow doesn't reinvent the wheel, but if you enjoy the cloak and dagger genre then you won't be disappointed. It boasts some fine wintry cinematography from Dutch DoP Jo Willems and, alongside Mother! (her other recent bold choice of film) establishes Jennifer Lawrence  as something much more than a YA heroine which should do her career no harm at all. Should Hollywood consider adapting the other two Red Sparrow novels in Matthews' trilogy, I would hope Lawrence would continue to be on board. I know I'd happily watch another instalment though, given the reception for this, I probably won't hold my breath.

Our Kind of Traitor (2016)

Following hot on the heels of other Le Carre adaptations like Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy (very good), A Most Wanted Man (good), and The Night Manager (good until they ruined everything with a different ending that saw the bad guys lose) comes Susanna White's 2016 film Our Kind of Traitor. When considered alongside those recent successes, White's film is not that good. But it's not actually the film's fault.

Though John Le Carre is one of my favourite authors even I would have to admit that among the many outstanding novels that make up his body of work, there are also a few utterly disposable ones propping those classics up. His 2010 novel certainly fell into the latter camp; the finger-on-the-pulse topicality of its plot aside - shady Russian oligarchy gaining a foothold in the city of London's banking district with a little help from some extremely corruptible and morally bankrupt Blairite British politicians  - this was slim, easily digestible fare from the master, so it should come as no surprise that this screen adaptation is equally rather forgettable.

The screenplay by Hossein Amini strips clean to the bone what was already (and by Le Carre standards at least) a lean novel. Ewan McGregor stars as our hapless man in a muddle, an academic who unwittingly stumbles into the plot whilst trying to salvage his marriage to Naomie Harris on holiday in Morocco. Le Carre's book was thoughtful enough to explore these characters, digressing into the backstories of a sporty and left leaning Oxford professor disillusioned with his country following the invasion of Iraq, and a rising young barrister whose parents were bohemian actors, but Amini's script has neither the time nor the inclination to provide us with such colour, leaving McGregor and Harris to flounder somewhat. Harris in particular has a really thankless role as 'The Wife', and the emotional journey of their characters never rings true. As the Russian mafiosi who wants out, Stellan Skarsgård delivers another of his many gregarious and crass, dangerous foreigner turns - the kind of role he can play in his sleep. Meanwhile Damien Lewis has clearly got in touch with Michael Caine's tailor to portray the idealistic MI6 operative who is trying to keep them all safe.

White has some impressive TV productions under her belt but this, only her second feature, plays things a little too safe and generic. Nevertheless, this is a competent production that will draw you in rather than wow you. Much like the book itself.

Oh and the moral of the story is if you ever have to go on the run or enter witness protection then please take the mobile phone off your mopey daughter and check that she hasn't had to break off a love affair to come with you, because the chances are that boyfriend is working for the people who want you dead and she's bound to phone him up one lonely, hormonal-charged night and land you all in the shit. Movies tell us this will always happen, listen to movies.

It's Corbyn Bashing Season - Must Be An Election On The Horizon

In recent weeks we've seen Jeremy Corbyn denounced as an agent for a Czech spy in the 1980s, and we've seen his stance of advising caution in the wake of the Skripal poisoning attacked, with the BBC depicting him as a Soviet stooge on Newsnight with a conveniently distorted hat and a red hue to his image against the background of the Kremlin. Just this weekend alone we've seen Owen Smith whinge about being sacked from the cabinet because of his views on the EU do not correspond with the leadership, and now we've got the old cries of anti-Semitism ringing out again. Why, anyone would think there's an election on the horizon. Oh there is!

Let's take these attacks individually shall we? The first, the Czech spy scandal held no weight whatsoever, and resulted in the odious Pub Landlord lookalike Tory MP Ben Bradley being forced to publically apologise and cough up for a slanderous tweet defaming Corbyn when he swallowed the rumour hook, like and sinker.

No matter how much they spin it, the oh so impartial BBC did mock up a graphic to make Corbyn look rather Soviet in an edition of Newsnight. OK, they used the same backdrop for Tory MP Gavin Williamson (he of the intelligent 'Russia should go away and shut up' comment) but, as Channel 4 News' FactCheck points out, unlike with Corbyn, they didn't shade Williamson's image in a deep red and the hat was distorted and made to look taller thanks to the curved screen.

Now onto Owen Smith. This Blairite is happy to spin the lie that Labour's stance on Brexit is as clear as mud when in reality it is absolutely crystal clear. Jeremy Corbyn has adopted a compromise position, one which respects the EU vote but remains adamant that the final deal must pass Keir Starmer's six tests. Put simply, if the Tories negotiation proves disastrous (as it almost certainly will) Labour will oppose it.

Let's not forget that Labour sought to defeat the hard right Brexit-mongers who wanted to rip up workers rights, food standards and consumer protection by adding amendments to the EU Withdrawal Bill. They were left with no option but to vote against said Bill because the Tories refused to comply with these amendments. Weirdly, this vote has seen them dismissed by many in the press as colluding with the Tory government?!

Smith refused to agree with Starmer's six tests and official Labour policy and wanted to push his own bespoke Brexit policy. Why? Did he do this because he genuinely wants a second EU referendum as he claims or has he broke ranks to create as much confusion, furore and mud slinging as possible? My guess is the latter. And it's funny how we now live in a world where a strong leadership display from Corbyn is criticised whilst Theresa May's outright refusal to keep order amongst her own ministers, including Boris Johnson's outright dangerous lies, is somehow seen as exemplary.  

Much like Smith's disastrous, laughable and lamentable leadership challenge, his bid to put a spoke in the wheel of his own party clearly hasn't worked as well as he and his fellow plotters had hoped. Which is why we are now seeing the anti-Semitic stuff rearing its ugly head again, with John Mann (of course) making ominous and damaging statements from within the party that Labour is set to be destroyed over this issue. 

It's worth noting that this time around the anti-Semitic slur isn't being laid at Corbyn's door. This is because they cannot make this mud stick against him personally. It's very hard to call someone a racist when they have a long history of fighting racism, when they hold the Sean MacBride Peace Award, and when, as Benjamin Zephaniah pointed out on Question Time the last time this was in the news, Corbyn shared a police cell with him once for standing up to the racist Apartheid!

So no, this time around they're claiming that the Labour Party is riddled with an ingrained culture of anti-Semitism, and that Corbyn's crime is to not act quickly enough to stamp it out and to allow these people to get too close to him. Inevitably, many of these critics are pointing to Momentum arguing that the predominantly young, left wing intake that grass roots movement has brought about are pro-Palestine - views that Corbyn himself shares and has never made secret of. And this is the rub for me; to be pro-Palestine, to be anti-Israel, does not mean in any way that you hate the Jewish people. It is not anti-Semetic to disagree with Israel politics. 

All this is to try and dissuade voters from supporting Labour in May because the establishment are running scared of further gains for Corbyn's party.

Once again, don't believe the lies and smears of the Tories, the Blairites and their propaganda arm within the MSM. Dig deeper, question what you're told and make your own mind up.

A History Lesson For Boris Johnson

He's spent the week comparing Russia's hosting of the World Cup to Nazi Germany's 1938 Olympics, so it's time to remind him of a couple of things:

1) 20 million Russians were killed fighting the Nazis during World War II, so to liken them to Hitler's Nazis is both ignorant and disgusting.

2) Here's a photograph...

It shows the England football team ahead of a game in Berlin in the '38 Olympics, giving the Nazi salute.

They were instructed to perform the salute by the then British government...which was, of course, the Conservative party.

But what about the Russians, you might ask, did they give the Nazi salute to appeal to their hosts too?

Um no, Russia opted to boycott the '38 Olympics, seeing Nazism for exactly what it was.

Boris Johnson Is An Outright Liar

The idiotic and dangerous Boris Johnson is playing the Skripal affair for everything he can get. His weird Churchillian fantasies are coming to the fore; likening the Russian hosts of the World Cup to the Nazi Olympics (and conveniently forgetting that the Nazis wouldn't have been defeated without Russia's brave soldiers) and posing in vintage war rooms. But worst of all, he's lying through his bloody teeth, leaning heavily on experts in a way not seen since Blair's sexed up Iraqi WMD dossier.

Here's what Boris Johnson said to Deutsche Welle in an interview yesterday;

"They (Porton Down) were absolutely categorical. I asked the guy myself, I said 'Are you sure?' (that the Skripal's have been poisoned by the Russian nerve agent Novichok) and he said there's no doubt" 

Let those words sink in for a moment. 'Categorical'. 'Sure'. 'No doubt'.

No compare them to what was said by evidence submitted by the government at the High Court yesterday (the same day Boris ran his mouth off saying how sure this was the Russians) from Porton Down.

"Blood samples were analysed and the findings indicated exposure to a nerve agent or related compound. The samples tested positive for the presence of a Novichok class nerve agent or closely related agent."

That evidence proves that Porton Down, by their own words, are not 'sure'. That they are not in 'no doubt' and that their findings are not 'categorical' as Boris Johnson claims. So he is lying. He is dangerous. He is the real traitor to the British country he represents and claims he loves dearly. It sickens me that ordinary people who are advising caution are being painted as treasonous and not patriotic. But this proves Russia should not be considered an enemy. There is no clear answer as to who was responsible as yet. It is dangerous to claim otherwise.

Please do not believe the hype of the government propaganda machine of the MSM; the Murdoch newspapers and the BBC. Look beyond the hysteria and jingoistic hyperbole for the facts. Read Craig Murray's blog and share widely. Because make no mistake we are being lied to. We are being set up to fail.

The Facts Behind The Hysteria

With all the mass hysteria going on at the moment, you'd be forgiven for missing this damning letter to the Times; 

Sir, 

Further to your report ('Poison exposure leaves almost 40 needing treatment', Mar 14) may I clarify that no patients have experienced symptoms of nerve agent poisoning in Salisbury and there have only ever been three patients with significant poisoning. Several people have attended the emergency department concerned that they may have been exposed. None has had symptoms of poisoning and none has needed treatment. Any blood tests performed have shown no abnormality. No member of the public has been contaminated by the agent involved.

Stephen Davies,

Consultant in emergency medicine, Salisbury NHS foundation Trust

It's also worth pointing out that the government's line that the nerve agent is 'a type developed by the Russians' doesn't mean made or used by the Russians. And in the midst of the attacks against Corbyn for advising caution (including the 'impartial' BBC's decision to photoshop him as a Russian stooge behind a USSR backdrop last week) how come no one is concerned with the £30,000 donation made to the Tory party by the wife of a former Putin minister - just one of many donations from Russians in recent years. Even Litvenyenko's widow is talking about this, but the media don't seem to want to give her views an airing.

Once again, my advice is look to the truth and not what the government are saying. This is May's Falklands moment and she's loving it, as is the odious Boris Johnson who seems to think he's his beloved Churchill; just in time for The Darkest Hour buzz. Why? Because just like Thatcher's government in '82, it gives them the perfect excuse to bury the real unrest and disasters occurring under May's premiership and the chance to boost her ailing approval ratings with the sheep like contingent of the general public. Brexit, Grenfell etc can all be ignored while they wave what remains of the Union Jack against the menacing Soviet bear.

Happy New Year

Happy 2018 Comrades! 

Wishing You All The Very Best For The New Year!

Letter To Brezhnev (1985)

You can read my review at The Geek Show

Red Dawn (1984)

In Dirty Dancing, Patrick Swayze vows that 'nobody puts baby in the corner' before tripping the light fantastic with 'Baby' herself, Jennifer Grey.

Three years earlier, Swayze passes a fatally wounded Grey a grenade in Red Dawn, ensuring Baby is put in several corners all at once.

Thank you and goodnight!

Anyone who knows me or reads any of my ramblings will know that Red Dawn is not something that I, as a lefty, am politically attuned with. In fact I'd argue that Red Dawn plays solely to the Trump demographic were it not for the fact that Trump supporting neo-conservatives these days seem quite keen on Russia. But what I am quite keen on is some of the dafter elements of '80s Hollywood, and they don't get much dafter than Red Dawn.

John Milius' jingoisitic ode to the culture and values of traditional right wing America and the sabre-rattling Reaganite administration, Red Dawn immediately jumps the shark in asking us to consider America (Fuck yeah!) not as the aggressor, but as a peaceful, sedate country that was essentially minding its own business in the '80s and was not in fact parking Pershing's in West Germany or sending troops to fight in Grenada, Nicaragua and El Salvador to name but a few. Russia, joining forces with Castro's Cuba, are the aggressors here, putting boots on America soil because, it seems the USSR had a bad harvest that year. 

Milius wanted to pose a 'what if?' question, a warning for his country to take heed, drawing parallels he maintained with what was occurring at the time with the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan. But it's such blatant anti-communist propaganda, perpetuating the myth that Russia was still a force to be reckoned with in the last few years of the Cold War, that it's a question/warning that is instantly null and void, and one that is tragically short sighted too when you consider all that has happened since then - both with 9/11 of course (from the Afghanistan Milius was drawing comparisons with, whilst Reagan bankrolled these future world terrorists) and with the sobering fact that if a gun massacre occurs in a US school (as it does in the film's opening invasion scenes) its perpetrator(s) have been one of the students rather than any foreign aggressor. 

It isn't just hindsight that damns Milius' xenophobic and overt patriotism, on its release the film received numerous bans in various parts of the world that were sympathetic to communism and was even picketed in many American states, with critics arguing that such a film shouldn't have been made in such politically tense times. Milius' response that these naysayers were 'un-American' only further served to widen the divide, though given its controversy and the arguments made at the time it surprises me that a 2012 remake would go on to feature North Korea as the invaders. 

Watching the film again, it's best to imagine it as a strange kind of alt-reality tale to get the most enjoyment from it, but even then the film is littered with some incredibly dumb, deeply unsubtle and downright odd flaws. Why, despite the numerous successes achieved by the 'Wolverines' (the teen rebellion of Swayze, Grey, Lea Thompson, C Thomas Howell et al) does their ranks not swell? In reality any guerrilla movement would be bolstered with each notable attack on the oppressive occupying forces. And the bit where the camera lingers on an NRA bumper sticker ('I'll give you my gun when you take it from my cold, dead fingers') before moving down to show a Russian paratrooper take a pistol from, yup you've guessed it, a dead man's hand is as laughably hamfisted as some of the atrociously clunky dialogue - not even the great Harry Dean Stanton can make something of the melodramatic line 'Avenge meeeee!'. Lastly, it's almost too hard to care about our band of heroes who are a mix of whingeing, virtually indistinguishable and interchangeable squirts or swaggering jocks as best exemplified by Swayze's sneering lead turn.

I hadn't seen Red Dawn since the 1980s but weirdly as I put it on a couple of weekends back the abiding memory I have of it was nothing to do with the film itself, but was in fact a memory of an argument I witnessed at school about twenty/twenty-one years ago. Some of the girls were claiming what a great film Red Dawn was, before going on to list the famouse and hunky actors who featured. When one girl claimed River Phoenix was in it, Dawn Prescott quickly pointed out that she was wrong. 'Perhaps there's a River Phoenix film you haven't seen?' the girl daringly suggested to this huge River fan. 'I've seen Red Dawn! And he ain't in it!' Dawn passionately retorted, so passionately that you could say she became Red (faced) Dawn. Is it weird that I remembered more about one moment in photography class in 1995 or '96 than I did about the whole of this movie?

Still, that memory answers the question as to just who Red Dawn is for - it's the perfect film for teenage girls and right wing, survivalist obsessive old folk.

Man of Marble (Człowiek z marmuru) 1977

Taking Orson Welles' Citizen Kane as inspiration, Andrzej Wajda managed to produce not only what is arguably his finest film, but also what many believe to be the definitive Polish masterpiece in 1977's Man of Marble. 

The film has two parallel storylines; the first follows Mateusz Birkut, a bricklayer who rises up from the masses, ascending to the idolatry role of State-promoted 'Worker's Hero' in the Stalinist 1950s when, rebuilding Poland following WWII, he and his team breaks a record for laying 30,000 bricks during an eight-hour shift. Whilst the second, set in the present day of 1976, sees Agnieszka, a young and independent Polish woman, directing a film about Birkut for her diploma, obsessively pursuing every one who knew the man for every step of his tale, including his highly secretive fall from grace into obscurity.

Wajda's film seeks to expose the very real nature of human beings beneath the myths and legends of a media construct and the falsities inherent in Soviet propaganda. But whilst Wajda is keen to acknowledge Stalinism for the cruel disaster it so clearly was, he is more sympathetic to the idealism born from the ordinary men and women who were determined to make the dream work. It's this approach which makes the ultimate betrayals and disillusionment all the more affecting and crushing. 

In lead actor Jerzy Radziwiłowicz, Wajda finds the perfect canvas to display all the complex traits he requires in the story. There's a down-to-earth nobility to Radziwiłowicz that is vital for Birkut to convince. The actor doesn't play the hero, he instead plays just the ordinary man who was picked out from the rank and file. He's good-natured, polite and a little green, but the strength of virtue he clearly possesses, which is subsequently mined by the Communist overlords as the ideal for the cause, is one which is simply a quality of humanity in general. 

In contrast, Agnieszka is very much a product of her own time, one which refuses to fall for establishment lies and looks to the future and the distant glimmer of glasnost on the horizon. The irony of this forward-thinking is of course that it is perhaps the hard work that has already been undertaken by the previous generation of Birkut has granted her such freedom and defiance. But there's also gender politics at play here as it's worth remembering just how groundbreaking a character like Agnieszka was for Polish cinema at the tail end of the 1970s and how she is a world away from the basic cipher of the journalist character from Citizen Kane. Portrayed by Krystyna Janda, Agnieszka  is a sexy as hell, chain-smoking, long limbed blonde who carries a sailor bag around containing all her worldy possessions, though her real possessions are the fierce intelligence, stubborn persistence and dogged determination she displays when it comes to discovering the truth. It's a strong independent depiction of a modern, professional woman and Wajda, together with Janda rewrites Polish cinema's depiction of women in the same way he created an iconic poster boy in Cybulski on Ashes and Diamonds in the 1950s. 

Ultimately, both Agnieszka and Birkut are pawns in a bigger game, tolerated for as long as they are politically useful. The difference is that Birkut ultimately had nothing to counteract this realisation with and faded away (his actual fate would be revealed in the sequel Man of Iron) whereas Agnieszka knew that the story doesn't end simply because the means are taken away from her.

Wajda's masterpiece came about because of a brief blossoming in Polish cinema in the mid 70s that saw the Ministry of Culture request more focus be made in tackling contemporary social realities, as opposed to historical period costume drama (they were seemingly blind to the fact that  period pieces allowed political filmmakers like Wajda to get their message across by drawing veiled parallels between the past and the present) Coined 'the cinema of moral anxiety', it proved to be a very short, but wonderful bloom as by 1981 Martial Law was instigated, stifling such creativity, criticism and freedom of speech, casting a nation once more into the oppressive gloom as the USSR played its last hand of bluff.

The Last Command (1928)

"And so the backwash of a tortured nation had carried still another extra to Hollywood"

The Last Command is a towering 1928 silent epic from director Josef von Sternberg concerning Russian exile Grand Duke Sergius Alexander (Emil Jannings) who is hired as a supporting artiste for a new movie concerning the Russian revolution directed by William Powell's Leo Andreyev. On set, the now aged and traumatised Alexander is forced to recollect events from his past when, just ten years earlier, he held for real the Russian imperialist general role he is set to replicate for Hollywood. These events, and how he escaped the revolution by the skin of his teeth, are being manipulated by Andreyev - who had come face to face with the general as an actor identified by the imperialist troops as a 'revolutionist' alongside his companion, the beautiful yet wild Natalie Dabrova (Evelyn Brent) - and will prove too much for Alexander, as he ultimately loses his grip on reality.

The film was based on a real-life character; Theodore A. Lodigensky was a Russian general who had fled from the Communist revolt to the US where he first set up a restaurant and went on to work as an extra in the movies for a daily fee of $7.50 (the same rate Alexander works for in the film) Taking the name Under the name Theodore Lodi, Lodigensky would work in Hollywood for six years around 1929 and 1935, perhaps most famously playing the part of Grand Duke Michael, a Russian exile who is forced to work as a hotel doorman in the 1932 film Down to Earth - a role he knew all too well.

von Sternberg's movie is wonderfully meta (a vibe helped in no small part perhaps by the writer of the titles - including the one I quote at the top of this review - Herman J. Maniewicz, who is perhaps best known for his screenplay of Citizen Kane) drawing parallels with the notion of Hollywood playing at soldiers, with the frustrations Alexander felt in Russia at the beck and call of the Czar who views his troops as little more than entertainment and expects them to do their duty at the drop of a hat more or less just to keep him amused. 

In the role of the exiled general, Jannings would win the very first Academy Award for Best Actor in a Leading Role, and it's a well-deserved win (certainly when you consider the Academy initially favoured Rin Tin Tin - a dog!) Jannings is larger than life, yet incredibly subtle at the same time. Its a real tour de force of film acting, alternatively eliciting our sympathy as the shaken and doddery exile eking out a living on a Hollywood backlot, adrift in this new country that can never be his home, and then losing it a little as the bear-like, boorish imperialist in the flashback scene, before ultimately winning us back around again when he falls for Natalie, the seemingly untamable yet complex and contradictory revolutionary, played by Brent. By the time the credits roll you more or less believe, as much as the previously vengeful Andreyev, that he was indeed 'a great man', simply by sheer force of Jannings' beautiful performance and the story itself.

The love story that is central to the film between the general and the revolutionary is pretty laughable, relying on the simplistic notions prevalent in an era of expedient filmmaking that could not concern itself too much with detail and dimension, but nonetheless both actors sell it, as we come to see that, despite their differences, Natalie finds in him a soulmate who loves Russia as much as she does. Brent is certainly a match for Jennings in the performance stakes and is utterly captivating to watch, especially during the scenes of Bolshevik revolt; flagwaving and leading the masses as they descend upon the general's train and cackling mercilessly as a man is shot before her. She's the ultimate revolutionary pin up and von Sternberg shoots her beautifully, with a keen sense of the iconic.

Likewise, Powell is really impressive as the Russian exile who has taken to the American dream effortlessly. A famed and feted director, Powell's stylish and urbane presence is not too dissimilar to that which we would come to be familiar with in the later stage of his career in the talkies, with roles such as Nick Charles in the celebrated Thin Man series, which I loved as a child (I wanted to be a cross between him, David Niven and Fred Astaire basically). 

It is in the flashback sequence, clad in jet back furs and an ushanka, that he is considerably less familiar to us; his eyes black-ringed to lend a more romantically swarthy air.  It is those eyes that again impress in the film's final scene, when he turns to his assistant (Jack Raymond) with the most strikingly hooded gaze that it ought to be found in the dictionary under the entry 'baleful'.

Unarguably, The Last Command is a true great from the silent era, I just wish I could buy into the love story a little more as it is on paper (because there's nothing wrong with the performances) to give it the full five stars. As it stands, it's a very noble and impressive 4/5.

Smoking Hot

Political dissident, feminist, performance artist and activist 

Nadezhda 'Nadya' Tolokonnikova of Pussy Riot

Red Heat (1988)

"You think parakeet is feminine?"

So asks Arnie at one point in Red Heat. And I have to reply no, I don't actually Arnie. But I do think that opening scene to Red Heat is one of the most homoerotic ever committed to celluloid. Even watching it as a kid, I hoped my parents didn't walk in at that precise moment, for fear they'd get the wrong impression regarding my burgeoning sexuality. It's a scene that made me feel really awkward; I do not want to see Arnie's bare ass in a fight scene. And even though the scene features some naked girls on display too, it's worth pointing out that the one who positions her rather fine, large and shapely bottom under the bathing fountain has (to quote Him and Her) 'dykey hair'

In recent years Red Heat has become something of a perennial in the post pub closing time ITV schedules on a Friday night. Though I'm 99.9% sure they still edit some of the violence out in these screenings, which is weird considering we're talking gone 11pm at night.  

On the whole, you have to give credit to director Walter Hill for delivering a film which features an unashamedly Soviet hero when The Cold War was still, at best, lukewarm. Not for Arnie's Ivan Danko the scales falling from his eyes and the decision that America is the saviour of the world. He doesn't defect, it doesn't cross his mind for one second. Pretty impressive really. It's also fair to say that Red Heat gives Arnie one of his more credible action hero roles too; appearing in an urban America setting that actually allows him to play up to the fact that he sticks out like a sore thumb. 

Unfortunately, not all of the fish out of water stuff works and that's partly down to the fact that the buddy buddy relationship between him and Jim Belushi doesn't really fly. Indeed, Belushi had more chemistry and a more authentic buddy buddy cop partnership with the dog in K9! It's not really Belushi's fault, the character's underwritten and doesn't seem to serve the comedic purpose you'd originally imagine, after all it's Arnie who gets the best gags; "I do not want to touch his ass, I want to make him talk" and "I am not shitting on you" springs to mind. There's nothing here to suggest Belushi is, as the tagline had it, 'Chicago's craziest cop', which is a shame.

I'd really like to see what contribution Troy Kennedy Martin made to the final screenplay. Given how Hollywood mistreated many British screenwriting greats in the '80s, I imagine a lot of the man behind Z Cars, Edge of Darkness, The Italian Job and Kelly's Heroes ideas didn't make it to the screen, but I'm prepared to be surprised. 

Lastly, Gina Gershon is really pretty here, but has very little to do in accordance with the time; '80s buddy cop action movies just offered nothing for actresses really. Also, it's hard not to think of her as Larry David's hasidic Jewish dry cleaner these days!

Rocky IV (1985)

Did Stallone ever direct music videos? Because if he didn't, he missed his vocation. Those montages, man....those montages....

In fact, Rocky IV is a film of montages. Its actually Rocky MTV!

Let's be clear, we are all in agreement that Rocky IV is utterly dumb. It is completely stupid and so far removed from both reality in general and the reality of the first (and second) film that it ought to sink the franchise. So many stupid things happen in Rocky IV; like how we're supposed to believe that Rocky, a much older fighter who has nearly been destroyed by several other boxers in his career, can now go toe to toe with Ivan Drago, a steroid bingeing soviet fighter, whose punches - we are told several times over - are more than twice the average of a normal fighter. And how we're supposed to believe that a fighter with a 'relaxed brain' (as he said himself in the first sequel) can become a Springer's Final Thought style philosopher on East/West relations. No, seriously. The film concludes with a man who previously couldn't get the teenage girl on her way to becoming the neighbourhood whore to change her ways in the first film now singlehandedly bringing about Glasnost, Perestroika, the fall of the Berlin Wall, the crumbling of the Soviet Union and the end of the Cold War. Ridiculous! I mean, we all know that was David Hasselhoff, right?

Also, why end the film on such an optimistic 'hey, we're all the same underneath so why don't we just try to get along y'know?' message when you've just spent the last 80 odd minutes painting Rocky's opponent as an emotionless avatar of destruction ("if he dies, he dies") It kind of defeats the object and positive sentiment really. But this was the 1980s, and every action movie had to be about a hero out to avenge the death of his friend, brother, father (delete as applicable) Stallone obviously has forgotten at this stage that a Rocky film isn't actually supposed to be an action film, it's a sports drama, but what the heck. Ergo, Drago must be a baddie-o, rather than just a fellow athlete and sportsman (just as Clubber Lang was too). It was this kind of thing I was actually concerned about rearing its head again in Creed, especially being a) British and b) living within the limits of Merseyside like Tony Bellew's character. I was so relieved that Bellew was essentially a loudmouth in the Apollo Creed mould, and that his taciturn trainer actually had a good heart - motivated by money just so Bellew's kids could have a roof over their head once his career in the ring was over.

But I digress. Further irritants are the stupid weight and height difference between Rocky and Drago, the Russian has so much reach advantage on him it's unlikely he'd ever have been hit once. The film is applauded for its use of genuine sound effects from the ring, and its depiction of training methods, but once again we really jump the shark once we step onto the actual canvas. And the bits where Rocky and Drago grapple each other and get tossed around the ring like it's a WWE match? Seriously! Then there's the even stupider robot ("Happy Birthday Paulie") and the fact that the film seems to imply that Paulie is actually fucking that robot and NO ONE SAYS ANYTHING ABOUT THIS. Paulie is of course now the series comic relief (as well as one of Rocky's team ringside, though fuck knows what he brings to the table) rather than the alcoholic who was physically and verbally abusive to his sister and whose dream job was collecting debts for a notorious loanshark. Yup, that's loveable Paulie.

And yet....

Rocky IV is intoxicating fun. A glossy confection, with an almost Tony Scott-like sheen, this is easily the most enjoyable watch I've had in this season of revisits since the first film. Part of this might be nostalgia; I was around 6 years old when Rocky IV came out and, when on holiday in Malta, we picked its soundtrack up on tape and listened to it on a loop. It's a great soundtrack and its clear Stallone knew that, given how many fricking montages he gives us showcasing the songs, Conti's stirring instrumentals and his flashy 80s visuals. 

But is it just nostalgia? I'm not so sure. Because you can't deny Rocky IV is the most successful film of the series -  it is the most financially successful and was actually the highest grossing sports movie for twenty four years (being overtaken by The Blind Side in 2009) - so it clearly always had something. It's a film that certainly taps into the cultural ethos of the time and gives the audience exactly what it wants even if that means moving further and further away from what a Rocky movie was initially all about. In many ways, though Rocky III is an incredibly weak movie, I'm actually grateful it exists because, if we jumped straight from II to the outlandish heights of IV it would just make no sense.

Plus points - well, it's fitting that this is Carl Weathers' swansong in the series as its his best performance as Creed (and he manages to invest so much energy into the film that you almost forget Stallone is essentially just revisiting the death of Mickey storyline again just one film later) and it's nice to actually see Tony Burton as Creed's trainer Duke (a regular in the series from the start) actually have some stuff to do in this one. 

Dolph Lundgren is an imposing Ivan Drago who fits the bill perfectly as this unknowable threat from the icy mysterious East, though it's surprising to learn he actually won a Best Actor award at one film festival for his performance here as the script doesn't require him to much other than look threatening and impassive. Far more fun is what was then the future Mrs Stallone, Brigitte Nielsen as Drago's wife and self appointed spokeswoman, as always a very striking presence on film. 

A real guilty pleasure.

Knockout Rating : 3 Punches out of 5