Bakshi’s The Lord of the Rings, on Adult Swim

It wasn't just Sir Christopher Lee who appeared in both Star Wars and Lord of the Rings films. Anthony Daniels was also present in both Middle Earth and a galaxy far, far away—or at least his voice was. The man geeks love as C-3PO provided the voice of Legolas in Ralph Bakshi’s animated adaptation. While divisive at the time of release, many fans warmed to it over time (and it looks like a true masterpiece compared to the streaming series). With Middle Earth returning to animation (look for an upcoming Cinema Daily US review), viewers can revisit the 1978 film, since Bakshi’s The Lordo of the Rings is conveniently scheduled to air this Sunday on Adult Swim.

You know how this goes—there was one ring to rule them all—and somehow in ended up in the possession of Bilbo Baggins. Fortunately, his friend, Gandalf the wizard, convinced the hobbit of the ring’s danger, so he relinquished it to the care of his nephew Frodo. Unfortunately, the Dark Lord Sauron has been searching for the all-powerful accessory, so Frodo embarks on a quest to safely dispose of it, once and for all.

Of course, a modest hobbit like the younger Baggins will need help. In fact, he will need a fellowship, including Aragorn, a brave but down-on-his-luck ranger, who also happens to be of noble blood. It is august company, considering Legolas is also the son of the elf king and Boromir is the heir to the kingdom of Gondor. However, hobbit tag-alongs Sam Gamgee, Pippin Took, and Merry Brandybuck are arguably even less formidable than Baggins, but they mean well.

At the time, Bakshi’s film took a lot of flak, because it was conceived as the first installment of a duology, but not marketed accordingly—and unfortunately, the second part was never produced. However, Bakshi and co-screenwriters Chris Conkling and Peter S. Beagle did a nice job combining the first two books, fittingly culminating with the Battle of Helm’s Deep.

Indeed, it is clear Bakshi “got” Tolkien. He understood the huge archetypal significance of events like Gandalf’s return from presumed death and clearly appreciated the fantasy genre in general (having already helmed Wizards).

Bakshi’s extensive use of rotoscope animation techniques was innovative at the time. However, the photo-negative effect is more potent for shorter scenes fueled by dark magic than the extended battle sequences. Regardless, his scenes of the shadow riders stalking the hobbits have lost none of their intensity.

Damascus Cover: Syrian Skullduggery

In 1989, almost the entire world was suddenly optimistic, except the Middle East. The New World Order seemed cool and doable then, so it is rather ironic to transfer Howard Kaplan’s cynical 1970s realpolitik espionage novel to the time of post-Wall euphoria, but it sort of works. Of course, the Syrian government remains brutally oppressive, so the immediate dangers faced by burned-out Mossad agent Ari Ben-Sion (cover name Hans Hoffmann) is just as timely and believable as it ever was, if not more so, in Daniel Zelik Berk’s Damascus Cover (trailer here), which releases today on DVD.

It is hard to understand why a senior Israeli military intelligence officer would betray his country, but he did. Ben-Sion’s boss Miki sniffed him out before irreparable harm could be done, but the whole affair turned up the heat on a highly placed Israeli source in the Syrian intelligence service (known as “The Angel,” because the Mossad apparently recycles code names for double agents). It will be Ben-Sion’s mission to extract him, or possibly a Jewish-Syrian scientist with a senior position in the Syrian nuclear program. Frankly, his assignment keeps changing, leaving him increasingly exposed.

Under his Hoffmann cover, Ben-Sion is posing as a German businessman looking to import carpets. According to his legend, his father happened to be a SS guard at a concentration camp, which automatically puts him in good stead with the small National Socialist expat community given sanctuary by the Assad regime. They in turn introduce the spy to the feared Sulieman Sarraj, Syria’s newly appointed chief of the secret police. They are quite an unsavory lot, but as a consolation, Ben-Sion will also spend some quality time in the Damascus Sheraton with USA Today photo-journalist Kim Johnson, at least until he has to start bringing his work home with him.

In a line that gets revisited, Johnson argues anything is possible in a world in which the Wall came down. Maybe that even includes the production of a spy movie sympathetic to the State of Israel. Damascus Cover is not exactly the film we have been waiting for, but it certainly portrays Syria in the harshest light. Granted, Ben-Sion and his colleagues play plenty dirty, but they maintain a sense of honor, while the Syrians are exponentially more ruthless.

That starts with Sarraj, played with chilling intensity by Navid Negahban. Ironically, you can tell Negahban is one of the good guys, because of all the bad guys he has been willing to play, thereby helping to tell some very important stories on film, such as The Stoning of Soraya M., American Sniper, and the short Little Brother.

Likewise, it is great fun to watch the late great John Hurt scheme his way through the film as Miki. Frankly, seeing that old sly fox persona one more time is a fitting coda to his legendary career. While the character is underwritten, Olivia Thirlby does her best to make Johnson smart and alluring. Half the time, Jonathan Rhys Meyers is terrific, in a cold and twitchy sort of way, during his scenes of spycraft and agency politics. However, he never really develops a convincing rapport with Thirlby’s Johnson.

Damascus Cover is exactly the sort of film that deserves a reappraisal on DVD. It has several surprises up its sleeve and some nifty work from cinematographer Chloë Thomson. Plus, it provides an opportunity to give Negahban credit for his work here and in other films (such as his voice-over for the wonderful Window Horses). Recommended as a pretty good film of intrigue and skulduggery, Damascus Cover is now available on DVD.

The Journey: Northern Ireland’s Odd Couple

Despite their titles, the First Minister and the Deputy First Minister of Northern Ireland, UK have equal executive powers. It is all very fair & square and even-steven. It almost sounds ridiculous, but it sure beats shootings and bombings. Before the bitter rivals Ian Paisley and Martin McGuinness could assume their historic power-sharing offices, they would have to agree to end the violence and start trusting each other. Their eventual meeting of the minds inspired Nick Hamm’s (mostly) fictionalized The Journey (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Obviously, an agreement was hashed out at St. Andrews that both sides would abide by. Frankly, if The Journey were about a peace-summit negotiator opting for bloodshed over peace it probably would have been called “Arafat at Taba” instead. Ian Paisley was the Democratic Unionist Party Nixon going to China, whereas McGuinness was the first to admit he was a more palatable public face of Sinn Féin than the radioactive Gerry Adams, but at this point in the negotiations, they were still rather standoffish towards each other.

Facing a potential deadlock, MI-5 ever so logically decides a long car ride will be just the thing to improve their dispositions. Opportunity presents itself when Paisley asks for one day’s leave to attend his 50^th wedding anniversary party. McGuinness is willing to oblige, but he invites himself along for the ride. All the while Tony Blair and fictional (or is he?) MI-5 Northern Ireland specialist Harry Patterson monitor their discussions through the dash cam, relying instructions to the twelve-year-old looking livery driver, who is actually Patterson’s plant. The clock is ticking, because Paisley’s private flight has a narrow to beat an approaching storm.

Throughout the film, Hamm and screenwriter Colin Bateman consistently portray McGuinness as the more reasonable and willing to compromise of the two, whereas Paisley (whose DUP party is currently propping up Theresa May) is the more formidable, in a righteous Old Testament sort of way. Despite these biases, it is a pleasure to watch two old pros like Colm Meaney and Timothy Spall play off each other. They clearly relish the opportunity to spar together, but, unfortunately, Bateman is no Peter Morgan. For the most part, his dialogue is rather workaday and/or on the nose, except for the incisively written scene in which McGuinness sort of-kind of acknowledges his past complicity for supporting horrific acts of terror.

Of course, it is treat to watch the late Sir John Hurt liven up the proceedings with his crafty, charismatic presence. As usual, he is slyly understated as the MI-5 spook for peace. It should also be noted Ian Beattie is an eerie dead-ringer for Gerry Adams (seriously, has anyone ever seen them together in the same room?), whereas Toby Stephens does not look the slightest bit like Tony Blair, but it hardly matters, since he mostly just watches the dash cam and frets about.

There is something appealing about a film that celebrates political risk-taking and the start of a genuine odd couple friendship. Hamm’s approach is straight forward and conventional, but that rather makes sense, considering he had Spall, Meaney, and Hurt to showcase. Recommended for fans of recent vintage historical dramas, The Journey opens this Friday (6/16) in New York, at the IFC Center.

Bong Joon-ho’s Snowpiercer

In the future, the world will become a giant allegory. Nothing in this claustrophobic dystopia performs a practical purpose, but serves a vision of class warfare at its most extreme. At least it all looks cool when the train’s tail-section revolts in Bong Joon-ho’s first English language production Snowpiercer (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Seventeen years ago, a climate control experiment went horribly wrong. Now that the Earth is a frozen wasteland, the only surviving humans live in the protection of the globe circling train providentially prepared by the mysterious Wilford. However, instead of assigning productive tasks to each survivor, the Wilford express maintains a rigid and baffling bizarre social caste system. The further up you travel, the richer, crueler, and idler the passengers get. It’s all sushi and filet mignon up front, but gelatinous protein bars for the proletarian in the tail-section, who do not really appear to work either, but just sit around waiting to be beaten by the guards (apparently the train’s only productive class).

Curtis Everett has emerged as the leader of the proles in the back of the train, whether he likes it or not. He is still haunted the things he did during his darkest, most desperate hours, but old Gilliam provides encouragement and wise counsel to the budding revolutionary. Everett is biding his time, waiting for a cue from a source ensconced somewhere further up the train, but the arbitrary ruthlessness of Minister Mason, a buck-toothed caricature of an elitist exploiter, forces his hand. Freeing Nam-gung Min-su, the drug-addled Korean security specialist who designed the train’s door locks, and his train-born daughter Yo-na, Everett and his followers plan to fight their way to the engine room. Stopping anywhere short of that will doom their revolt.

Frankly, Snowpiercer is even less subtle than it sounds. Tilda Swinton is a great screen thespian, but her portrayal of Mason is embarrassingly cringey. She is also emblematic of the film’s fundamental problem—this simply is not a believable world. People act mean and savage for no logical reason accept to live up to a class-based stereotype. Nonetheless, production designer Ondřej Nekvasil and art director Štefan Kováčik created a distinctively detailed calling card that ought to earn them a gig on the next Terry Gilliam or Tim Burton film.

If you prefer your movie leads on the sullen side than you will probably be okay with Chris Evans’ turn as Everett. He is a brooding machine, but looks respectable during the well-staged action sequences. John Hurt’s Obiwan shtick also works well enough for Gilliam the sage. However, the only real surprises found in the film come from the characters of Nam-gung Min-su and Yo-na—as well as the respective performances of Korean superstar Song Kang-ho and Ko Ah-sung, his juvenile co-star in The Host. Viewers should keep their eyes on this tandem, because together they nearly redeem all of Snowpiercer’s flaws.

Uncut by the Weinsteins, Snowpiercer is so didactic it will give intellectually sophisticated viewers a headache. Yet, there are fascinating Easter Eggs buried throughout it, thanks to a skilled design team and Bong’s Host alumni. Diverting for those who appreciate spectacle and mayhem, but disappointing on any deeper level, Snowpiercer opens this Friday (6/27) in New York at the Angelika Film Center.

Smiley Returns: Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy

Five ghosts haunt John le Carré’s most celebrated spy novel. The shadow of the so-called “Cambridge Four” spy ring, including the treasonous Kim Philby and Anthony Blunt, looms large over the story, especially given the circumstances of their private lives. The fifth of course, is Sir Alec Guinness, who is so closely associated with the role of mole-hunter George Smiley. However, Obiwan Kenobi should be smiling down on Gary Oldman, who confidently assumes the Smiley mantle in Tomas Alfredson’s appropriately cerebral adaptation of Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Smiley once was the deputy chief of the Secret Intelligence Service (a.k.a. MI6, but known colloquially as “The Circus”), but he was forced out with his boss, known as “Control,” when an operation went spectacularly wrong. As a result, a field operative (or “scalp-hunter” in Circus parlance) was captured, effectively ending Control’s related mole-hunt. Unfortunately, it turns out the late spymaster was not so paranoid after all, as the minister begrudgingly admits when he brings Smiley back into service to furtively investigate the four top officers of the Circus, code-named by Control: Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, and Spy (skipping “sailor” from the old nursery rhyme, because it is too close to “tailor”).

There are no explosions in TTSS, nor is there a whole lot of shooting, but when it happens, it is significant. Instead, we watch as Smiley pieces the puzzle together, interviewing a diverse cast of professional thugs and bureaucrats, gleaning tantalizing clues from each resulting flashback. Yet, perhaps most intriguing are the glimpses we get of “Karla,” the notorious Soviet intelligence mastermind (played by a rarely seen Patrick Stewart in the classic BBC series, no less). Smiley might be chasing a mole, but his real adversary is definitely Karla, who fully understands his retired rival’s weaknesses.

Gary Oldman is the key reason why the revamped TTSS works so well. In a way, Smiley could be considered the dark side of his Commissioner Gordon persona in the Dark Knight franchise. Like Guinness, he plays Smiley’s cool detachment in a way that makes it clear the gears are turning furiously within his head. Occasionally, he even seems to adopt some of Sir Alec’s cadences and mannerisms, but that is fine. Frankly, those familiar with the prior incarnation will rather want to hear that echo.

TTSS also features at least a dozen genuinely first class British actors, some famous and some who should be. John Hurt’s casting as Control is so perfect it requires no explanation. Likewise, Toby Jones, Colin Firth, and Ciarán Hinds add plenty of color as the Circus’s inner circle and Smiley’s prime suspects, by extension. Yet, it is the intense and dynamic supporting work of Mark Strong and the soon to be famous Tom Hardy as scalp-hunters Jim Prideaux and Ricki Tarr that really crackle and hum.

Alfredson has helmed a sleek and brainy espionage thriller (one can see a certain kinship with his frosty, Nordic vampire tale, Let the Right One In), but it is definitely a product of the le Carré school of Cold War moral equivalency. Smiley himself explicitly states there is no ethical distinction between us and them. Even the mole himself eventually explains his decision to betray his country was largely based on aesthetics (which seems bizarre, considering he should be fully versed in the glories of Socialist Realism). Frankly, given the wealth of revelations that have flooded out of the former Soviet bloc, such revisionism seems like a dated relic of the 1970’s, but at least it matches the pseudo-retro vibe of the film.

TTSS is an absorbing big screen intrigue, even though it is relatively easy to guess the mole’s identity, solely on the basis of screen-time allotment. (Frustratingly, this means one of the best actors of our day is rather short-changed in the process.) Still, watching Oldman’s Smiley is the real show, following not just in the footsteps of Guinness but also the great James Mason (who played the character, inexplicably renamed Charles Dobbs, in Sidney Lumet’s moody but effective The Deadly Affair). He is worthy successor, deserving serious Oscar consideration. Recommended for intelligent viewers who enjoy films about Intelligence, TTSS opens this Friday (12/9) in New York at the AMC Lincoln Square and Village 7.

NYFF ’11: Melancholia

It is the end of the world or the end of Lars von Trier’s career. Whichever it is, it will finish with a bang. After this year’s Cannes, Melancholia is probably carrying more baggage as well as more laurels than a porter in the Roman Senate. Yet, it is worth considering von Trier’s Melancholia (trailer here) separate and apart from extraneous controversies when it screens during the 49th New York Film Festival.

Frankly, Justine would probably welcome the apocalypse on her wedding day. Hours late to her own reception, family tensions are already boiling over. Her hotelier brother-in-law John resents footing the bill for the lavish shindig when she does not even appear to take it seriously. Her very divorced parents are eager to start clawing at each other again, while her crude boss chooses the ostensibly happy occasion to play a weird round of mind games with his newly promoted employee. Claire, her slightly less highly strung sister, tries to hold the night together, but chaos is inevitable.

As Melancholia’s second part opens, Justine is now a basket case, having driven the adoring Michael away. Through Claire’s insistence, she is staying her sister’s family, acting weird and getting on John’s nerves. In addition to her family drama, Claire is increasingly anxious over doomsday scenarios regarding Melancholia, a hitherto unknown planet projected to cross quite close to the Earth. As an amateur astronomer, John assures her she should not pay attention to such media claptrap, but it is clear viewers should give her concerns credence.

Melancholia has been dubbed Another Earth’s evil doppelganger. To an extent, this is a valid analogy, particularly in the manner both films use science fiction concepts in what are otherwise very personal and intense human dramas. Yet, the comparatively free-wheeling first half of Melancholia feels more closely akin to fellow Dogma 95 filmmaker Thomas Vinterberg’s The Celebration. Indeed, it is a joy (though perhaps a slightly sadistic one) to watch Melancholia’s top shelf cast tear into each other.

The Best Actress winner at Cannes, Kristin Dunst really is quite unsettling as Justine. The term hot mess could have been coined with her in mind, yet she is never excessively showy in the role. Charlotte Gainsbourg and Kiefer Sutherland might sound like the most unlikely of couples, but they are quite convincing together as Claire and John (though at times we would not mind watching him open up a can of Jack Bauer on sundry family members).

Not surprisingly, the old pros Charlotte Rampling and John Hurt nearly upstage everyone as the bickering exes, luxuriating in their tart sarcastic zingers. They also look perfectly cast as Gainsbourg’s parents (though maybe not so much for Dunst). Yet, the biggest laughs (and they are considerable) come from von Trier regular Udo Kier as the snippy wedding planner.

In the moodier, more impressionistic second part, Gainsbourg and Sutherland largely shoulder the dramatic burden, which they handle quite adroitly. In fact, Sutherland’s nuanced work might be the biggest surprise of the film. The notorious von Trier also stages the end of the world quite inventively, employing a simple but cinematic device to depict the rogue planet’s advancing approach.

Though accessible for general audiences, Melancholia is not the sort of film one can give a pat nutshell response to. Rather, it is the sort of film one studies and revisits over a period of years. A fascinating example of big picture movie-making on an intimate scale, Melancholia is the cineaste event-film of the year. Highly recommended, it screens this coming Monday (10/3) and Thursday (10/6) at Alice Tully Hall as a Main Slate selection of the 2011 New York Film Festival.

Brit Noir: Brighton Rock

Catholicism is not the villain in Graham Greene’s novel Brighton Rock, per se, but it holds a rather ambiguous if significant place in the overall scheme of things. Like Greene, the somewhat reluctant convert, small time hoodlum Pinkie Brown is also a professed Roman Catholic, but there is no mistaking his sociopathic behavior. Yet, somehow an innocent working girl does exactly that in Rowan Joffe’s Brighton Rock (trailer here), the latest adaption of Greene’s noir morality tale, which opens this Friday in New York.

It is the mid-1960’s rather than the 1930’s of the novel and classic John Boulting film, but the characters’ prospects have not changed. Brown is a thug. Rose is a waitress. They both work on the bottom end of the food chain in the seaside resort town of Brighton (known for the titular rock candy). In no way is Rose his type, but circumstances force him to seduce her, at least temporarily. She happened to be on break when Brown’s accomplices were about to settle a score with a rival gangster and one of the tourist-preying photographers captured the moment on film. Rose was given the claim check, not that it meant anything to her. Of course, Brown’s gang will stop at nothing to get it, so Brown is sent in to employ his highly questionable charm on his fellow Catholic.

Rose’s boss Ida Arnold immediately sees through Brown. Though a respectable woman, she has some understanding of the way the world works. In fact, she was a friend of the man Brown’s gang murdered. Unfortunately, the love-struck young woman remains deaf to her warnings.

As crime drama, Brighton is a handsome diversion, but nothing classic. However, it is a joy to watch Dame Helen Mirren and John Hurt bicker, banter, and flirt as Arnold and her sort-of-not-really platonic gentleman friend Phil Corkery. They both invest their characters with charm and intelligence, developing genuine chemistry together.

Of course that spark is completely lacking (by design) for Sam Riley and Andrea Riseborough, as Brown and Rose, respectively. Yet, Riley never really works in the role, failing to convey the proper sense of malevolence as Brown, considered one of the most iconic heavies in British cinema and literature. As a consolation though, Andy Serkis chews the scenery with appropriate relish as Colleoni, Brighton’s local kingpin, proving he can make a substantial impression even when not buried under layers of prosthetics and CGI effects.

Based on their turns in Brighton, someone should cast Mirren and Hurt as Nick and Nora Charles-like sleuths investigating Andy Serkis as their primary antagonist. This is not that movie, but it has its moments. Regardless, it all looks great, thanks to the moody noir visual style and rich period details crafted by cinematographer John Mathieson and production designer James Merifield’s team. There is no question it is the old pros who save Brighton, but that is what old pros do. Recommended on balance, Brighton opens this Friday (8/26) in New York at the Angelika Film Center.

Brits Behaving Badly: 44 Inch Chest

An aging football hooligan with a broken heart is not a pretty sight. At least Colin Diamond has friends willing to help make things right by kidnapping his wife’s lover. In between the beatings they inflict on the poor other man, they cuss up a blue streak and generally get on each others’ nerves in Malcolm Venville’s 44 Inch Chest (trailer here), a dark little morality play opening tomorrow in New York.

Aside from his money, middle-aged Diamond is not much of a catch, but he evidently loved his wife Liz with genuine ardor. When she announces her intention to leave, he completely breaks down mentally and emotionally. Fortunately, his mates have just the cure: the offending “Loverboy” tied up and ready to be killed at his leisure.

It is not exactly clear what Diamond’s friends ordinarily do for a living, except for Meredith, who seems to be something of a professional gambler with a Noel Coward demeanor. Naturally, he gets under the skin of Old Man Peanut, a homophobic, misogynistic misanthrope. Despite his smarmy exterior, Mal also seems to have an ocean of contempt bottled up inside him. Even Archie, the faithful mother’s boy, has no reservations regarding the premeditated execution of London’s unluckiest French waiter.

No one would ever want to spend any length of time with this ferocious Fab Four, but as on-screen heavies played by four of the best British character actors working in film today, they are jolly good expletive-laden fun. Ian McShane (a.k.a. Lovejoy) delivers Meredith’s cutting dialogue with panache, investing the film with an electric magnetism and sinister charm. As Peanut, John Hurt is compulsively watchable. Gaunt and twitchy, he looks like a feral cat and projects and similar sense of ill contained menace. Though their characters are not quite as sharply drawn, Stephen Dillane and Tom Wilkerson are unsettlingly effective conveying the not-so latent sociopathic impulses of Mal and Archie, respectively. The weakest link of Inch might actually be Ray Winstone, who does not leave nearly as strong an impression as the psychologically challenged Diamond.

Had Inch simply focused on its contemptible but entertaining supporting cast, letting them start at the beginning, strutting and cursing their way through to the end, it would have been a very satisfying picture. Unfortunately, the script by Louis Mellis and David Scinto (the writing team responsible for Sexy Beast) craters under its own narrative pretensions, leaving audiences to wonder ultimately what was the point of all that.

Though too clever for its own good, the intense supporting performances from the Gang of Four certainly give Inch a distinctive flair that is never dull. Still, viewers should be specifically warned, the film’s profane language makes Mamet’s dialogue sound like a Hallmark Channel original production. It opens tomorrow (1/29) at the Village East.