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Another entry from Brit mini-production house Handmade, this is one of those masterpieces that almost didn't happen. Producer Denis O'Brien hated the first rushes and threatened to fire writer / director Bruce Robinson - who had already quit once before lunch on the first day. Yet somehow all of them persevered like an alcoholic actor determinedly seeking his next snifter, and it all worked out. The film is possibly one of the finest on-the-page screenplays ever written, brought to life with offbeat performances and an understated style that the mainstream simply wouldn't dream of attempting. Sadly much of its popularity has been within the student community, who fixate on the heavy drinking focus and still believe that endlessly quoting the lines (often incorrectly) will make them as funny as the title characters, but don't let that sour the genius. 
We all know what happens when Big Business tries to muscle in on a small town, right? They are met with universal hostility and chucked out on their ear - or, in this case, not quite. Certainly, tycoon Burt Lancaster has designs on the small Scottish village of Ferness and sends his agent, "Mac" MacIntyre (Riegert) there to seal the deal, and certainly things don't go smoothly, but there's little hostility and no real conflict here. Mac gradually comes around to the village's slower way of life, even as the villagers leap on the money that should flow from the oil purchases - and if things don't work out quite as anyone planned, well, all's well that ends well. Beautifully shot and mixing whimsy and hard-headed realism in equal measure, this is the most feelgood film ever to feature a (literal) bunny boiler. 
Trainspotting didn't so much reinvigorate British cinema as spike filmmaking heroin into its vein. In adapting Irvine Welsh's cult novel, director Danny Boyle re-teamed with the winning creative talent behind Shallow Grave (producer Andrew Macdonald, screenwriter John Hodge) and the result is another offbeat rush of dark, orgasmic cinema. Ignoring tabloid arguments of whether the movie glorifies drug use or not (it doesn't), a grotty depiction of the Edinburgh junkie subculture just shouldn't be this enjoyable. But in fusing wildly imaginative style (Renton's plunge into the filthiest toilet in Scotland) with naturalistic but witty dialogue, an impossibly iconic soundtrack, some truly disturbing imagery (the baby, anyone?) and, er, Dale Winton, it spoke to the '90s chemical generation. From Robert Carlyle's 'tache-totting psycho to Jonny Lee Miller's Connery-worshipping wideboy, it's also full of memorable, quote-worthy characters, while Mark Renton remains the performance of Ewan McGregor's career. 
A biting class satire, a hilarious farce, a comedy of pitchest black, this is the jewel in the glittering crown of Ealing Studios. Oh, it may be amoral and thoroughly naughty, but that just adds to the deliciousness of this tale, whereby an impoverished offshoot of a noble family, Louis Mazzini (Price) murders his relations (all played by Guinness) on his way to a title. Price is impossibly poised in the lead role, but it's Guinness who garnered most of the attention in a succession of noble turns that run the gamut from fop to fogey via suffragette. With a Wildean voice over dripping with bon mots ("It is so difficult to make a neat job of killing people with whom one is not on friendly terms") and a thorough villain as its hero, this isn't nearly as cuddly as, say, Passport to Pimlico or Whisky Galore!, but it's a wildly entertaining aberration for the studio. 
At Shaun Of The Dead's big, beautiful heart, there's a single, simple joke: modern-day Londoners behave much like zombies, so what if there was an actual zombie apocalypse? Would all the Tube-going, bum-scratching commuters even notice? Brought to the screen by the Holy Comedy Trinity that is Simon Pegg, Nick Frost and Edgar Wright, it's a masterpiece, right up there with Evil Dead II as one of the finest horror comedies ever made. It's a film so good that even if you don't like horror, you love this movie. It's a film so good that even if you don't like the Spaced crew, you love this movie. It's all because it was written, produced and acted with such passion, energy and sheer, unadulterated charm that it's nigh-on impossible not to enjoy. No matter what magnificent deeds the trio accomplish in the future, we have a sneaking suspicion that Shaun Of The Dead will remain many folks' favourite. 
Maybe the greatest weepie ever made - yes, more tear-jerking than either Beaches or Great Chelsea Goals 2004-2005 - this is guaranteed to make every stiff upper lip wobble a little. Johnson is Laura, the housewife who forms an innocent friendship with Trevor Howard's Alex, a doctor she meets in town on her weekly shopping trip. But friendship turns to something more, and before you can say tea and crumpets this respectful, rather staid pair are contemplating throwing it all away for love's sake. Proof that deep wells of human emotion exist even under the most tightly buttoned cardie, this has a strong claim to be the most English film ever made (along with This Is England, of course) - boasting as it does endless cups of tea and a visit to Boots for good measure. 
Featuring the most famous dwarf this side of Thorin Oakenshield, deeply poignant turns from Donald Sutherland and Julie Christie, and that famous did-they-didn't-they sex scene (they didn't), Nic Roeg's great masterpiece has slowly seeped into British filmmaking lore. It brims with indelible moments - the blind seer in the restaurant; the crashing scaffolding; the bloody climax - and exudes a dank menace that envelopes you like a Venetian fog. Much comes faithfully from the pages of Daphne Du Maurier's short story. There is, though, one small but crucial switcheroo: the Baxters' daughter doesn't die of meningitis but drowns under their own noses, adding guilt to the broil of emotions the grieving couple is feeling. Roeg's skill in building atmosphere and manipulating chronology, so innovative at the time, makes this one of the most influential films in cinema. Just ask Steven Soderbergh, Christopher Nolan or Danny Boyle. 
There's a reason why most reviews of Black Swan last year harked back to this post-War Powell & Pressburger classic: this is the definitive ballet-dancer-finds-life-clashing-with-art film. Shot in glorious Technicolor, the better to make those red shoes bleed into life, Moira Shearer plays the passionate young ballerina with a perfect mixture of passion and obsession. She's willing to sacrifice anything to dance - at first at least - and that's something that the Svengali Lermontov (Walbrook) takes ruthless advantage of, pushing her towards stardom but unwilling to accept anything that threatens her single-minded dedication. So he runs off young composer Julian (Goring), to keep her in the business - but can human emotions be so easily controlled? The stage is set for some sort of explosive result, although even those who have read the dark and rather twisted Hans Christian Anderson story which inspires this will be shocked at how it transpires. It's melodramatic, perhaps, but it's luminously shot and has just enough sinister edge to undercut any accusations of girliness. 
Most of us know by now the origins of Python's second proper movie - at a press conference, Eric Idle laughingly suggested that their next project would be "Jesus Christ - Lust For Glory". What they eventually came up with was much better - an unrivalled satire on religion, and quite possibly the funniest movie ever made. Trouble was, no-one in the film business had the balls to make it. From its opening sequence (the first joke is a pratfall) it's evident that this is going to be Python of the highest standard, but it's the cohesion of the story that makes this all work so well. In sending up not Christ (who is, technically speaking, treated with reverence and kept at arm's length), but all of the petty, political, opportunist zealots around him, the troupe had finally found in their subject an idea ripe for ridicule large enough to accommodate their rapid gag rate and breadth of style. Of course Brian isn't the Messiah (that'd be the boy up the street), but you try telling them - and the financiers - that. Enter Empire's favourite Beatle and cornerstone of the British film industry for the next decade, George Harrison (and his money), and the rest is history. The creation of Handmade Films. Uproar. Outrage. Censorship. Genius. 
Strip away its scale and grandeur and Lawrence Of Arabia seems to be the kind of rags-to-riches tale that's two-a-shilling in cinema: an ordinary man shaking off mediocrity to answer the call of greatness. It's Rocky in Bedouin robes. Except, of course, it's much more than that. Over three-and-a-bit hours David Lean gives us a portrait of a man riddled with contradictions, awash with doubt and filled with enough hang-ups to give Freud a migraine. Through his fabled journey, Peter O'Toole's T.E. Lawrence somehow unites the Arab tribes and leads them stampeding through Aqaba and on the blood-stained path to nationhood. If 'El-Aurens' is complex enough to stand comparison with Charles Foster Kane or Michael Corleone, his co-star, the vast and magnificent Arabian desert, fully deserves second billing. Captured in all its widescreen sweep by Freddie Young's cameras and given voice by Maurice Jarre's stirring score, it's friend, enemy, solace and implacable observer all in one; an epic canvas on which Lean paints an epic picture. Sharing is Sexy !
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1 comments:
I love seeing English movies.I have seen many of the above mentioned movies.My most favorite are Casino Royale,Harry Potter, Good Bye, Mr Chips,Hunger,Sweet sixteen and Slumdog millionaire.I also have a huge collection of English classics.