Neil Young: Heart of Gold

Old man, look at my life/I'm a lot like you were



Jonathan Demme's film begins with a series of interviews with Neil Young and various members of his backing group (including the likes of Emmylou Harris) discussing how they met and the recording of his 2005 album, Prairie Wind. We learn that the album was written in the aftermath of the death of Young's father, the writer Scott Young, and that it was during the recording process that Young was diagnosed with, and treated for, a brain aneurysm. After this initial talk of what has been, we are told that Young and his band are on their way to the live premiere of Prairie Wind at the Ryman Auditorium in Nashville, Tennessee, and we then watch as Neil Young performs the album almost in its entirety and then follows it up with a set of old songs.

These initial interviews at first seem out of place in the film since they appear to set the film up as something else. Based on the beginning and its emphasis on talking about Young's career, I was expecting the film to be akin to Martin Scorsese's "The Last Waltz", in that it would mix together songs and documentary sequences to show the audience something about Young as an artist. However, after the interviews the film consists solely of the performance and that introduction then seemed out of place in what was otherwise a straight-forward concert film.

However, as the concert progressed and Young performed more and more songs from Prairie Wind, I realised that the opening was essential to the film since the tiny amount of context it gives to the performance lends the film a power and resonance that it would otherwise lack. Prairie Wind is an introspective album about someone looking back on their life and the people who are no longer in it, and knowing in advance that Young has both lost his father and been forced to face his own mortality in such close proximity to the concert causes every song to brim with life and sadness. It even adds to the old songs, as lyrics like the repeated refrain of "and I'm getting old" in 'Heart of Gold' are given an entirely different meaning being sung by a man in his 60s who has had a brush with death to when they were being sung by a healthy guy in his 20s.

Not that the film wouldn't have any power without the introduction, of course, because at its centre you still have Neil Young, a man who - on his best days - is just one of the most beautiful songwriters ever and is a scintillating live performer even in his 6th decade. That fine tenor, always so fragile yet so unshakable, still retains its power to cause the hair on your arms to rise and your soul to soar, and even when he occasionally struggles to hit the notes (something that happens on occasion in the second half of the concert) it's actually quite charming. He's supported by a group of friends that he loves dearly and is playing to a rapt audience, both in the theatre and at home.

Demme, as he did with Talking Heads on Stop Making Sense (for my money the single best concert film ever made), lets the music speak for itself, often allowing performances to unfold in long, unbroken takes, and resisting constant cutting or fancy camerawork in favour of direction that serves the performance entirely.

There is little in Heart of Gold to convert anyone who isn't already a fan of Neil Young. If you don't like country in general or Neil Young in particular, then this is not the film for you. However, it is not a film intended as an gateway for newcomers; it is unashamedly a love letter to one of the most prolific and influential figures of the last four decades of American music* and its intention is to display the man in full flow and delivering up a wonderful concert. It's a film that hits every note perfectly, even if Young himself occasionally doesn't.

*And yes, I know full well that he's actually Canadian, but he is a figure on the American music scene, a fact that is hammered home by the film's Nashville setting)

The White Ribbon

The village of Eichwald, in the year 1913, is a seemingly idyllic place in a seemingly idyllic time, home to good, honest German people who display good, honest German values. The children are well behaved, the people respect the class system and are happy to serve under the local Baron, and everyone goes to church. The village becomes uneasy, though, after the local Doctor suffers an accident that has every sign of being a deliberate attack, and subsequent bizarre incidents give the impression that someone, for some reason, is punishing the people of the village. But who is doing it, and why?

The Fantastic Mr. Fox

Hmm, replace 'Fantastic' with 'Functional', 'Frigid' or 'Fatiguing' and you'll be closer to the mark.



Mr. Fox (George Clooney) is a formerly wild fox who has settled into a quiet life of domesticity with his wife (Meryl Streep) and young son, Ash ( Jason Schwartzman). However, despite his family, friends and a steady job as a writer for a local newspaper (yes, he's an anthropomorphic fox who writes for a newspaper), Mr. Fox feels suffocated and yearns for his former life as a rascal and a roustabout, stealing chickens and harassing farmers. Drawn back into his old ways, Fox is soon on the bad side of Borris, Bunce and Bean, (one fat, one short, one lean) three of the meanest farmers you've even seen, and they want revenge against Mr. Fox and all his furry friends.

As I mentioned some time ago in this edition of Reasons to be Cheerful, Reasons to be Fearful, I am a massive, massive fan of Roald Dahl and, although it is not my favourite of his books (The Witches, by the way), I have an abiding affection for The Fantastic Mr. Fox and the combination of that source material with such an odd choice of director as Wes Anderson, whose work I generally like (Rushmore) and occasionally love (The Royal Tenenbaums), had me genuinely excited about the film adaptation. It seemed to promise so much, and when I sat down in the packed cinema, I waited with baited breath to see what bizarre concoction would usher forth.

Before I say anything else about the film and its, as far as I'm concerned, many, many flaws, I want to give it a chance to wag its tail proudly (before I shoot it off) and say up front that the animation is just terrific. Wes Anderson clearly has a deep love of stop motion animation (as demonstrated by its use in The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou) and that love translates completely onto the screen. It is clear that this medium, which affords the film-maker such complete control, is perfectly suited to Wes Anderson, whose films have always been meticulous in their design, and I was genuinely astounded by how well his style of directing, which makes great use of the sort of constantly moving camerawork that is really difficult to do in stop motion, was transferred.

The movement of the characters is idiosyncratic, veering from beautifully smooth to intentionally awkward, and the animation on the characters' faces during close-ups (of which there are many, this being a Wes Anderson film) is really quite special. We see every hair and whisker move minutely, providing perfect vessels for the film's talented voice cast. It is clear that this medium, which affords the film-maker such complete control, is perfectly suited to Wes Anderson, whose films have always been meticulous in their design.

The problem with the film does not lie with its looks or its voice, though, but with its soul, since it is completely bereft of warmth, even if it does have its own quirky (Please let it be noted that I shuddered when I typed that word. I hate the word "quirky". It's a word that is all-encompassing and completely meaningless, acting as a shorthand for anything odd whenever someone with a limited vocabulary can't think of a more apt word to describe it. Which is why I am using it. I am nothing if not a hypocrite) charm. Sure, hearing George Clooney's silky voice talking about the existential malaise of being a fox and the essential paradox of him wanting to be more than what he is yet fully aware that he is just a "wild animal", and there is something marvelous about Bill Murray playing a badger, but aside from these chuckleworthy moments there is nothing weightier to the film to keep the interest.

Perhaps "weightier" is an ill-advised word, I certainly don't expect great emotional heft from a kid's film, least of all one directed by someone whose work is renowned for its flippancy, but I can't think of a better way of summing up what is lacking from the film. The archness that so typifies Wes Anderson's live-action films feels out of place in a medium that is dependent on the likability of the characters and a sense of excitement or peril to engender good will in the audience. If you compare it to Coraline, 2009's other high-profile stop-motion feature film, its deficiencies become apparent. Coraline, whilst not as overtly stylised as The Fantastic Mr. Fox, manages to get the viewer more emotionally invested in the world of Coraline Jones and her friends than Fantastic Mr. Fox ever does by making the peril seem real throughout. At no point do you feel that Fox and co. will fail to win the day because Anderson can't do peril. This is apparent from his other films, and I have no problem with it in those films, but a kid's film does need to be scary and exciting, it can't just amble along making jokes aimed at adults rather than trying to be all-inclusive.

It is this last point that irks me more than pretty much anything else. The film has clearly been made by people who resolutely do not make films for children since both Anderson and his co-writer, Noah Baumbach, have both made numerous dramatic comedies intended for adult, arthouse audiences. The problem is that they apply that approach to a film that is, nominally, a film for children, and I found that a little cynical. There is not much difference between Anderson and Baumbach slipping in jokes for adults whilst the animation distracts the kids and the likes of Shrek. Sure, it's a smarter film than Shrek, but the underlying principle is the same. Had they had the courage to make it an animated film aimed at adults I probably would have liked it more.

Now, some may argue that that is what they have in fact done because the film makes so few concessions to children, that much of its target audience will probably be Anderson's hipster followers, rather than children, and that it is the studio that are pushing it as a kid's film, but I think that the substitution of 'cuss' for a variety of swear words in the dialogue indicates otherwise; if they were making a film for adults, they would have left the swearing in and if they were making a film for children they wouldn't have even used 'cuss' at all. They are trying to have their cake and eat it too and they do so in a manner that is completely contemptuous towards their audience. It's cynical, cynical film-making.

It is not without charm and it is not without wit, but The Fantastic Mr. Fox is considerably not. Anderson's auteurist vision gets in the way of the story, excising the peril and darkness of the original story and replacing it with an ironic tone and lackadaisical pacing that does not suit a family film.

Lucidity (XBLA)

"I'm not crying, It's just raining... on my face..."

It’s not often that a video game is designed to toy with your emotions. Mostly these days, they follow the adventures of a man with knuckles the size of his head, or female fetish models. Lucidty takes the road less travelled, being centred around a little girl named “Sofi”. Watched over by her grandmother as she falls to sleep, it quickly becomes apparent that all is not well in her real life, and this becomes reflected in the dream world she inhabits.

By escaping to the dream world, the designers at LucasArts have created a scenario that, although the truth behind it is revealed to the player before the character, allows itself to unfurl slowly with an atmosphere like no other (with the possible exception of Braid). By simply framing the game in a simple three act structure (happiness, loss, acceptance), the game creates an emotional ambience that is told simply through the visuals and the breathtaking soundtrack.

The game consists of Sofi traversing the world continually from left to right, whilst the player acts as a guardian angel-esque figure, providing her with the tools to negotiate the world. These include ladders, fans, springs and catapults, which simply create ground for her to move on, or actually project her around in a fashion similar to Lemmings. It’s simple, occasionally frustrating, fun. Not in an exhilarating way, this is a game to relax to.

The main selling point of the game, however, is the art style which sits somewhere between a children’s book, The Snowman and a Studio Ghibli movie. Every level has it’s own unique look, gradually traversing a world from autumnal dreams to deep sea nightmares. This transition allows a great variety of visuals, brimming with originality, such as one stage entirely populated with broken umbrellas, mimicking leafless trees. Even when in the the early stages of the dream world, the contrasting use of idyllic paradise of the level with rusted, barbed wire as an environmental hazard is inspired.

Sofi herself is beautifully animated, which really helps the player engage with her survival, even when she walks off into oblivion for seemingly no reason. Perhaps, though, she really is the key to the successful emotional resonance of the game. Rather than the superhuman antics of the Master Chief, slaughtering wave after wave of monster, this is a defenceless character that you really feel like you need and want to help her.

Despite all of this praise, I couldn’t recommend Lucidity to everyone, but at only 800 Microsoft Points (around £6.50), I’d definitely suggest giving it a go. There will be some frustrated by the slow pace, others by the quirky whimsy that runs throughout, and others may even find it over sentimental. But video games are an art form in their infancy, mostly incapable of dealing with emotional content with any degree of success. Though some may find this title a little bit overly mawkish, games like this are an important step to being allowed in to the more respected ranks of art forms. And if nothing else, this was the first game that made me feel like I should phone my Nan. Not many games can say that.

The Cove

"I spent ten years building this industry up, and I've spent the last 35 years trying to tear it down"



I wasn't quite prepared for The Cove. I wasn't prepared for it to be quite as exciting as it is, nor was I prepared for how much of an emotional impact it would have on me, bringing me to the verge of tears several times during the course of the screening I attended.

The Cove is a truly harrowing documentary about dolphin hunting in the town of Taiji in Japan. Every year from September to March hunters spend day after day capturing dolphins, some of which are chosen to be taken to be put into captivity in parks all over the world, but most are taken to a secluded cove where they are slaughtered. The film follows Ric O'Barry, who in the 1960s more or less created the dolphin trade through his work on the Flipper TV show, as he and a team of dolphin enthusiasts try to get footage of what takes place in The Cove. What follows is equal parts passionate nature documentary and heist film, as O'Barry and the director, Louis Psihoyos assemble a team of experts to place hidden cameras in the cove and expose what goes on there to the world.

The triumph of The Cove is its ability to be a number of different things simultaneously. On one level, it is a documentary about the dolphin trade and the damage that it does not only to the creatures themselves but also to the eco-system. We are shown many scenes of dolphins languishing in captivity as O'Barry and a host of experts lay out for us the abuses of the trade and the harm that it does to these majestic creatures. In order to best illustrate how the dolphin trade works, the film dissects the I.W.C. (International Whaling Commission), the body which is intended to protect cetaceans from being overhunted. Early on we learn how toothless the organisation is - thanks to a loophole in its charter, dolphins are not protected so Japan has been allowed to increase dolphin hunting as their whaling has been curtailed - as well as the extents to which Japan will go to try and get the ban on whaling overturned; we learn that the Japanese government has been paying off bankrupt countries that have no stake in whaling so that they will join the I.W.C. and vote with Japan. The film paints a picture of a paranoiac industry full of conspiracy, intimation and, on some occasions, murder, with O'Barry citing two specific examples of his colleagues being killed for trying to stop whaling in countries such as Russia. This part of the film is frustrating, passionate and powerful.

The other way in which the film works is as an exhilarating caper movie. In order to get footage of the cove in Taiji so that they can expose what the fishermen are doing to the world, and with no legal means of doing that, Psihoyos and O'Barry are forced to use illegal means, i.e., placing hidden cameras and recording equipment in The Cove at night. To accomplish this they have to bring together a team of experts, from divers to engineers who can construct fake rocks for them, and plan out how they are going to achieve their goal. The hostility of the villagers to any incursion, coupled with the sheer terror of breaking into a secret compound at night, adds a palpable sense of dread to the raids and makes their eventual success all the sweeter, even though the results are so very bitter.

The scenes of the slaughter are unsurprisingly devastating, but what shocked me was how beautiful some of the other moments of the film are. It's easy to be blasé about dolphins since we have seen them so often in nature documentaries before, but the footage of dolphins in the wild, complimented by interviews with members of the team in which they talk about swimming with dolphins with pure beatific joy and contrasted against footage of them in captivity, adds a power to the film that I was not anticipating and which ultimately makes the violence at its core all the more terrible.

At the heart of the movie is O'Barry, whose guilt and remorse are palpable. He has dedicated his life to trying to save dolphins because he played, or at least he believes that he played, such a large part in bringing about the current level of slaughter. We learn that O'Barry has been arrested numerous times for trying to free dolphins and has become a sworn enemy of the very industry that he helped create. He is a tragic figure who may very well never achieve his dream of stopping this monstrous practice in his lifetime, but his efforts and willingness to put himself on the line are awe-inspiring.

A passionate, brave and dangerous piece of film-making, The Cove is absolutely stunning and deserves to be seen by as many people as possible. If it affects you as deeply as it did me, visit these websites and see how you can get involved.

http://www.takepart.com/thecove/

http://www.opsociety.org/