Three ballads out of 99 tracks is the strike rate you'd expect of a Mot...
Three ballads out of 99 tracks is the strike rate you’d expect of a Mot
The Human League – The Very Best Of
While everyone including the chaps who commission car ads and their wives remembers the vivid Abba-gone-robot delights of "Don't You Want Me" and "Love Action", the wry, implicitly Northern nostalgia of sadder songs like "Life On Your Own" and "Louise" grows more touching with each passing year. A clutch of trendy, headache-inducing club remixes has revived the League's fortunes, an entire disc of which here includes fashionably stuttering retoolings from Groove Collision, The Strand and Fluke. Oddly, none of them seize upon the then-radical blue-prints of "Being Boiled" or "Empire State Human", but there's enough fascination amid the weeps'n'bleeps to keep feeling it.
While everyone including the chaps who commission car ads and their wives remembers the vivid Abba-gone-robot delights of “Don’t You Want Me” and “Love Action”, the wry, implicitly Northern nostalgia of sadder songs like “Life On Your Own” and “Louise” grows more touching with each passing year.
A clutch of trendy, headache-inducing club remixes has revived the League’s fortunes, an entire disc of which here includes fashionably stuttering retoolings from Groove Collision, The Strand and Fluke. Oddly, none of them seize upon the then-radical blue-prints of “Being Boiled” or “Empire State Human”, but there’s enough fascination amid the weeps’n’bleeps to keep feeling it.
Bruce Palmer – The Cycle Is Complete
When Bruce Palmer was finally dumped by the Springfield in 1968, he began an epic musical exile punctuated by rare, traumatic reunions with Neil Young. In 1971, however, he managed to record one unsuccessful, engaging solo album. The Cycle Is Complete consists of four lengthy, cloudy jams, with flutes, violins, congas and haphazard vocals (courtesy of Rick James) in orbit round Palmer's meandering bass and guitar lines. Absolute flakiness is countered by Kaleidoscope pianist and arranger Jeff Kaplan, who introduces a semblance of organisation to what would otherwise be a roomful of hippies going diverse ways in pursuit of transcendence. "Calm Before The Storm", though, is tremendous?an unsteady symphony that acts as a folk correlative to David Axelrod's grandiose psychedelia.
When Bruce Palmer was finally dumped by the Springfield in 1968, he began an epic musical exile punctuated by rare, traumatic reunions with Neil Young. In 1971, however, he managed to record one unsuccessful, engaging solo album. The Cycle Is Complete consists of four lengthy, cloudy jams, with flutes, violins, congas and haphazard vocals (courtesy of Rick James) in orbit round Palmer’s meandering bass and guitar lines. Absolute flakiness is countered by Kaleidoscope pianist and arranger Jeff Kaplan, who introduces a semblance of organisation to what would otherwise be a roomful of hippies going diverse ways in pursuit of transcendence. “Calm Before The Storm”, though, is tremendous?an unsteady symphony that acts as a folk correlative to David Axelrod’s grandiose psychedelia.
The Wild Swans – Incandescent
Possibly the last post-punk obscurity to bid for a belated 15 minutes, The Wild Swans were more beautifully obscure than most. A perfect pop career was fashioned by recording one towering single (1982's "The Revolutionary Spirit" which somehow managed to marry Phil Spector to Lord Byron), before they fell frantically apart. Thus denying themselves the chance to join fellow messy beat Liverpool poets (Echo, Teardrops, Wah!) in leading the fight against new-romantic shallowness with an intensely Northern form of doomed romanticism. This 23-track anthology finally confirms their status as one of the era's great lost bands, with radio sessions and live recordings adding to their meagre studio output. Two decades on, their huge ambition is waiting to be applauded. So clap until your hands callus. Dizzying, visionary stuff.
Possibly the last post-punk obscurity to bid for a belated 15 minutes, The Wild Swans were more beautifully obscure than most. A perfect pop career was fashioned by recording one towering single (1982’s “The Revolutionary Spirit” which somehow managed to marry Phil Spector to Lord Byron), before they fell frantically apart. Thus denying themselves the chance to join fellow messy beat Liverpool poets (Echo, Teardrops, Wah!) in leading the fight against new-romantic shallowness with an intensely Northern form of doomed romanticism. This 23-track anthology finally confirms their status as one of the era’s great lost bands, with radio sessions and live recordings adding to their meagre studio output. Two decades on, their huge ambition is waiting to be applauded. So clap until your hands callus. Dizzying, visionary stuff.
Cosmic Rough Ride
Sometimes one feels like collaring the rock yoof of today and blaring, "You! Stop listening to that cack. It's not special. Listen to 'Back Of A Car' by Big Star. That's special." Driving around London listening to Big Star Story in the front of my car, it was as clear as ever that, higgledy-piggledy as their oeuvre is, the group were so much more than a rock critic's conceit/conspiracy. The cult hero's cult hero Alex Chilton may be; the music itself never deserved to be marginalised. Fortunately, the cult lives on, with micro-masterworks such as "Car", "Thirteen" and "In The Street" enchanting new generations who prefer their power pop laced with danger and tragedy. (I was standing outside Stamford Bridge, of all places, in a Big Star T-shirt t'other day when I was accosted with a loudly burped "Alex Chilton! Yeah!" Maybe I'll try my Jimmy Webb T-shirt next week.) The pity is that Big Star Story is neither fish nor fowl. It's not a true introduction, nor do the 18 tracks constitute a chronological anthology, darting as they do between different eras and albums. Worse still, the compilation fails to flag up the fact that several of the recordings are lives, with few clues as to their exact provenance or that Chris Bell's hauntingly great solo outings "I Am The Cosmos" and "You And Your Sister" (that Siamese twin to "Thirteen", with Chilton sweetly harmonising) are post-Star. Shoddy stuff, Ryko. From a quality-control standpoint, the flat-footed boogie of "Don't Lie To Me" could have made way for the supercharged garage Stax of "O'My Soul", the version of Bolan's "Baby Strange" for either "Daisy Glaze" or "What's Goin' Ahn" or "Life Is White" (ah, those uncategorisable Radio City gems). And why "Jesus Christ" and "Thank You Friends" from Third/Sister Lovers and no sign of the spectral "Big Black Car"? The pointless "Hot Thing" instead of "Kangaroo"? I think not. If you're a Big Star neophyte, you're better advised to invest in the three principal studio albums (#1 Record, Radio City, Third/Sister Lovers) and Bell's I Am The Cosmos, approaching anything else (e.g. Chilton's solo works) with caution. Maybe we just get what we deserve.
Sometimes one feels like collaring the rock yoof of today and blaring, “You! Stop listening to that cack. It’s not special. Listen to ‘Back Of A Car’ by Big Star. That’s special.”
Driving around London listening to Big Star Story in the front of my car, it was as clear as ever that, higgledy-piggledy as their oeuvre is, the group were so much more than a rock critic’s conceit/conspiracy. The cult hero’s cult hero Alex Chilton may be; the music itself never deserved to be marginalised.
Fortunately, the cult lives on, with micro-masterworks such as “Car”, “Thirteen” and “In The Street” enchanting new generations who prefer their power pop laced with danger and tragedy. (I was standing outside Stamford Bridge, of all places, in a Big Star T-shirt t’other day when I was accosted with a loudly burped “Alex Chilton! Yeah!” Maybe I’ll try my Jimmy Webb T-shirt next week.)
The pity is that Big Star Story is neither fish nor fowl. It’s not a true introduction, nor do the 18 tracks constitute a chronological anthology, darting as they do between different eras and albums. Worse still, the compilation fails to flag up the fact that several of the recordings are lives, with few clues as to their exact provenance or that Chris Bell’s hauntingly great solo outings “I Am The Cosmos” and “You And Your Sister” (that Siamese twin to “Thirteen”, with Chilton sweetly harmonising) are post-Star. Shoddy stuff, Ryko.
From a quality-control standpoint, the flat-footed boogie of “Don’t Lie To Me” could have made way for the supercharged garage Stax of “O’My Soul”, the version of Bolan’s “Baby Strange” for either “Daisy Glaze” or “What’s Goin’ Ahn” or “Life Is White” (ah, those uncategorisable Radio City gems). And why “Jesus Christ” and “Thank You Friends” from Third/Sister Lovers and no sign of the spectral “Big Black Car”? The pointless “Hot Thing” instead of “Kangaroo”? I think not.
If you’re a Big Star neophyte, you’re better advised to invest in the three principal studio albums (#1 Record, Radio City, Third/Sister Lovers) and Bell’s I Am The Cosmos, approaching anything else (e.g. Chilton’s solo works) with caution.
Maybe we just get what we deserve.
Miles Davis – The Complete Jack Johnson Sessions
Following such monster sets as The Complete Bitches Brew Sessions, here's another compendium, this time of the recordings that culminated in A Tribute To Jack Johnson, a homage to the trailblazing black heavyweight boxer. These sessions, which took place between February and June 1970, are not essential unless you need to hear every note Davis ever parped. Much of it's the equivalent of sparring, especially the skinny funk workouts on the second disc. Better when the music slows and the electric improv waters are less muddy, as on the exquisite "Ali" and "Konda", in which the keyboards of Keith Jarrett swirl to the fore.
Following such monster sets as The Complete Bitches Brew Sessions, here’s another compendium, this time of the recordings that culminated in A Tribute To Jack Johnson, a homage to the trailblazing black heavyweight boxer. These sessions, which took place between February and June 1970, are not essential unless you need to hear every note Davis ever parped. Much of it’s the equivalent of sparring, especially the skinny funk workouts on the second disc. Better when the music slows and the electric improv waters are less muddy, as on the exquisite “Ali” and “Konda”, in which the keyboards of Keith Jarrett swirl to the fore.
Various Artists – Rough Trade Shops: Country 1
A knowledgeable and imaginative two-CD set, as you'd expect from the Rough Trade Shops staff, whose compilations (especially Rock'n'Roll) have been so satisfying in the past couple of years. Country 1 (mercifully) disproves the idea that Uncle Tupelo somehow invented alt.country by featuring fractious '80s border-dwellers like Gun Club, The Violent Femmes and The Mekons. Nice, too, to see some relatively unheralded talents?Omaha's baroque Lullaby For The Working Class, the hair-raising Geraldine Fibbers?alongside usual suspects like Steve Earle, Whiskeytown and Howe Gelb's Tucson cabal.
A knowledgeable and imaginative two-CD set, as you’d expect from the Rough Trade Shops staff, whose compilations (especially Rock’n’Roll) have been so satisfying in the past couple of years. Country 1 (mercifully) disproves the idea that Uncle Tupelo somehow invented alt.country by featuring fractious ’80s border-dwellers like Gun Club, The Violent Femmes and The Mekons. Nice, too, to see some relatively unheralded talents?Omaha’s baroque Lullaby For The Working Class, the hair-raising Geraldine Fibbers?alongside usual suspects like Steve Earle, Whiskeytown and Howe Gelb’s Tucson cabal.
Various Artists – Strawberry Bubblegum
The 23 tracks here were all written, sung or produced between 1969 and 1973 by one or more future members of 10cc. There's Ohio Express' yummy yummy "Sausalito (Is The Place To Go)", penned by Graham Gouldman during his stint with US production-line bubblegum team Kasenetz-Katz. Godley (the one with the soulful croon) and Creme (he of the cartoon falsetto) use the Doctor Father alias for "There Ain't No Umbopo", the sort of novelty primitive-beat pop they finessed as Hotlegs for worldwide 1970 hit "Neanderthal Man". Meanwhile, Eric Stewart, who part-owned Strawberry Studios (hence the LP title), produces and engineers most of this material, from the sublime?Festival's "Today", a prototype for 10cc's multi-layered gossamer balladry?to the gorblimey?Manchester City's "Boys In Blue", tossed off by the group's three Jewish geniuses in their sleep.
The 23 tracks here were all written, sung or produced between 1969 and 1973 by one or more future members of 10cc. There’s Ohio Express’ yummy yummy “Sausalito (Is The Place To Go)”, penned by Graham Gouldman during his stint with US production-line bubblegum team Kasenetz-Katz. Godley (the one with the soulful croon) and Creme (he of the cartoon falsetto) use the Doctor Father alias for “There Ain’t No Umbopo”, the sort of novelty primitive-beat pop they finessed as Hotlegs for worldwide 1970 hit “Neanderthal Man”. Meanwhile, Eric Stewart, who part-owned Strawberry Studios (hence the LP title), produces and engineers most of this material, from the sublime?Festival’s “Today”, a prototype for 10cc’s multi-layered gossamer balladry?to the gorblimey?Manchester City’s “Boys In Blue”, tossed off by the group’s three Jewish geniuses in their sleep.
Compilations Of The Month
Over 20 years ago, Michael Zilkha and Michel Esteban, fired up by post-punk and Studio 54, saw no reason why the two couldn't coexist. So they set up a label called Ze that promised a great future for pop. There is no better place to rediscover this era than Mutant Disco. Originally a single LP cont...
Over 20 years ago, Michael Zilkha and Michel Esteban, fired up by post-punk and Studio 54, saw no reason why the two couldn’t coexist. So they set up a label called Ze that promised a great future for pop. There is no better place to rediscover this era than Mutant Disco. Originally a single LP containing six 12-inch mixes, it has now been expanded into a double. Of the original tracks, Kid Creole And The Coconuts’ “Maladie D’Amour” has been replaced by “(I’m A) Wonderful Thing (Baby)” and “Annie, I’m Not Your Daddy”. Yet August (Kid Creole) Darnell’s vision remains secure: the elegant spleen of Darnell sidekick Coati Mundi’s “Que Pasa/Me No Pop I” has hardly been surpassed.
Then there’s Was (Not Was) in their pre-corporate production days, still rearranging your head with the mind-boggling collision of MC5 guitar, bebop trumpet and psycho-analytic disco that is “Wheel Me Out”. Or the metal Moroder of Material’s “Bustin’ Out”, the sumptuous demolition derby of Cristina’s “Blame It On Disco” or James White’s squawking urge to “Contort Yourself”? Best of all is the dadaist dub/free jazz/bubblegum alliance of the Aural Exciters (effectively the Ze All Stars) on “Emile (Night Rate)” and “Spooks In Space”. Finally, the obscure-even-for-Ze Gar
Beth Orton – Pass In Time
A patchy selection (the dour "Concrete Sky" must only be here because it's a Johnny Marr co-write) that illustrates Orton has yet to make a record that really does her justice. Andrew Weatherall's production on "Galaxy Of Emptiness" is a highlight, the perfect expression of Orton's conflation of folk-inflection and post-dance electronics. Her take on Fred Neil's "Dolphins", with hero Terry Callier, however, is deeply unflattering. Hopefully rumours she's working with Four Tet's Kieran Hebden will flourish into an album that transcends that quintessentially Heavenly feeling of great record collections inspiring distinctly second division records.
A patchy selection (the dour “Concrete Sky” must only be here because it’s a Johnny Marr co-write) that illustrates Orton has yet to make a record that really does her justice. Andrew Weatherall’s production on “Galaxy Of Emptiness” is a highlight, the perfect expression of Orton’s conflation of folk-inflection and post-dance electronics. Her take on Fred Neil’s “Dolphins”, with hero Terry Callier, however, is deeply unflattering. Hopefully rumours she’s working with Four Tet’s Kieran Hebden will flourish into an album that transcends that quintessentially Heavenly feeling of great record collections inspiring distinctly second division records.
Various Artists – Off The Wall: 10 Years Of Wall Of Sound
Wall Of Sound launched the careers of the likes of R...
Wall Of Sound launched the careers of the likes of R
Melissa Etheridge
Before she became the epitome of all that's tedious about rock music made by lesbians, Etheridge made this record. Admittedly, it's extremely earnest and doesn't exactly rewrite the rules of rock, yet it opens with "Similar Features"?not quite in the league of Furniture's "She Gets Out The Scrapbook" as songs about the indelible stain of the ex-lover go, but pretty damn fierce nonetheless. Her ragged, garnet-hued rasp maintains an almost-painful level of intensity throughout and, despite the year, the production's not the dated FM nightmare it might have been. Somewhere between Pat Benatar, Bonnie Tyler and Joni's Blue. CD2 offers 10 tracks of Melissa and band live, and five solo acoustic performances, which are much more worthy of your time.
Before she became the epitome of all that’s tedious about rock music made by lesbians, Etheridge made this record. Admittedly, it’s extremely earnest and doesn’t exactly rewrite the rules of rock, yet it opens with “Similar Features”?not quite in the league of Furniture’s “She Gets Out The Scrapbook” as songs about the indelible stain of the ex-lover go, but pretty damn fierce nonetheless. Her ragged, garnet-hued rasp maintains an almost-painful level of intensity throughout and, despite the year, the production’s not the dated FM nightmare it might have been. Somewhere between Pat Benatar, Bonnie Tyler and Joni’s Blue. CD2 offers 10 tracks of Melissa and band live, and five solo acoustic performances, which are much more worthy of your time.
Bandito On The Run
DIRECTED BY Robert Rodriguez
STARRING Antonio Banderas, Johnny Depp, Mickey Rourke
Opens September 26, Cert 12A, 100 mins
It's been eight years since Desperado, since we last caught up with the freewheeling exploits of writer-director Robert Rodriguez's gun-toting, guitar-playing, semi-mythic ant...
DIRECTED BY Robert Rodriguez
STARRING Antonio Banderas, Johnny Depp, Mickey Rourke
Opens September 26, Cert 12A, 100 mins
It’s been eight years since Desperado, since we last caught up with the freewheeling exploits of writer-director Robert Rodriguez’s gun-toting, guitar-playing, semi-mythic anti-hero El Mariachi. In the meantime, Rodriguez (a low-budget legend who prided himself on making 1992’s El Mariachi for $7000) has made horror/sci-fi homage The Faculty starring a pre-Frodo Elijah Wood, and the multi-million-dollar Spy Kids franchise, the third instalment of which has been one of the few reasons to visit a multiplex this summer.
Picking up the blood-soaked, spit-and-sawdust adventures of homicidal hobo El Mariachi so many years down the line, it’s gratifying to see that little has changed?Cheech Marin is still playing a luckless bartender, the explosions are still Hiroshima-loud, Salma Hayek still looks phenomenally pneumatic, and El himself is still riffing his Man With No Name schtick with the right mix of guns and gravitas. As the Leone-inspired title suggests, only the scope has increased here, the bandito body count hitting the thousands, and the supporting cast has swelled considerably.
The story? Rogue CIA agent Sands (Depp) recruits the reclusive Mariachi as part of his attempts to avert the assassination of the Mexican president at the hands of drug baron Barillo (Willem Dafoe). There’s deeper, darker motives at work here which drive the Mariachi’s storyline, and beyond the shouting and shooting, Rodriguez’s story assumes the status of an epic revenge drama.
To reinforce the Leone connection, Rodriguez has written a score full of jarring guitar chords and sweeping strings which mimics Morricone but never mocks. Banderas’ Mariachi is every bit the Eastwood icon?a haunting, monosyllabic presence, an angle of vengeance dispensing justice with whatever firearm comes to hand. After a string of box office flops (including the double-whammy disaster of Ballistic: Ecks Vs Sever and Brian De Palma’s Godawful Femme Fatale, straight to video both) Banderas is on top form here, simmering with suave, dangerous sensuality.
Ironically perhaps, the whole show gets pulled from under Banderas’ feet by Depp and the fantastic supporting cast, who steer Rodriguez’s comic-strip carnage to the next level. Depp is hilarious, amping up his pivotal role with superb comic timing and a succession of increasingly camp false moustaches, bad T-shirts and fake limbs. The deeply unpleasant shit that befalls him in the final act of the film works purely because Depp plays it for all he’s worth, with a laugh-in-the-face-of-terror aplomb that manages to balance tragedy against the tongue-in-cheek with real skill and wit.
Dafoe’s Barillo is the picture of snake-eyed malevolence, Rub
Young Adam
OPENS SEPTEMBER 26, CERT 18, 98 MINS David Mackenzie's follow-up to The Last Great Wilderness is a largely faithful adaptation of Alexander Trocchi's cult '50s shot of Beat existentialism, Scottish-style. Bleak yet beautifully made, this brooding, narcotically slow take on guilt and sexual compulsion will stand, for those who get it, as one of the strongest British films of the year. Ewan McGregor is better than he's been in years as Joe, a drop-out with a past as murky as the canal he navigates. Not long after Joe and his boss Les (Peter Mullan) dredge the corpse of a young woman from the deep, Joe begins an affair with Les' wife (Tilda Swinton), which flashbacks reveal is the latest in a series of loveless conquests. Ultimately, the fragmented story assembles into one slightly too-neat package, featuring Emily Mortimer as one of Joe's previous lovers/victims. Despite its queasy eroticism, this is a film about (but not made with) misogyny, which makes it all the more uncomfortable to watch, despite the luminous, blue-and sepia-toned photography.
OPENS SEPTEMBER 26, CERT 18, 98 MINS
David Mackenzie’s follow-up to The Last Great Wilderness is a largely faithful adaptation of Alexander Trocchi’s cult ’50s shot of Beat existentialism, Scottish-style. Bleak yet beautifully made, this brooding, narcotically slow take on guilt and sexual compulsion will stand, for those who get it, as one of the strongest British films of the year.
Ewan McGregor is better than he’s been in years as Joe, a drop-out with a past as murky as the canal he navigates. Not long after Joe and his boss Les (Peter Mullan) dredge the corpse of a young woman from the deep, Joe begins an affair with Les’ wife (Tilda Swinton), which flashbacks reveal is the latest in a series of loveless conquests. Ultimately, the fragmented story assembles into one slightly too-neat package, featuring Emily Mortimer as one of Joe’s previous lovers/victims. Despite its queasy eroticism, this is a film about (but not made with) misogyny, which makes it all the more uncomfortable to watch, despite the luminous, blue-and sepia-toned photography.
Le Divorce
OPENS SEPTEMBER 19, CERT TBC, 115 MINS An Altmanesque ensemble (and feel) enliven an atypical Merchant-Ivory production. Based on a novel by Diane Johnson, it's an Americans-abroad fable that sets modern US and French mores on a collision course. Among a fine cast, Naomi Watts, Kate Hudson, Matthew Modine and Glenn Close are especially captivating. Californian Isabel (Hudson) travels to Paris to visit pregnant sister Roxanne (a luminous Watts), whose French husband has walked out on her. "Le divorce" looms, with family fights and money disputes. Isabel herself falls for a Frenchman (the suave Thierry Lhermitte), the two clans battle over a priceless painting, and fret about Modine, a loose cannon prone to rage. The film's climax atop the Eiffel Tower recalls The Third Man, but up till then it's about small emotions writ large, cultural gaps magnified for comedy and pathos. Stephen Fry, Stockard Channing and Leslie Caron offer support. If you can stomach the way vast wealth is taken as standard, it's sumptuously enjoyable.
OPENS SEPTEMBER 19, CERT TBC, 115 MINS
An Altmanesque ensemble (and feel) enliven an atypical Merchant-Ivory production. Based on a novel by Diane Johnson, it’s an Americans-abroad fable that sets modern US and French mores on a collision course. Among a fine cast, Naomi Watts, Kate Hudson, Matthew Modine and Glenn Close are especially captivating.
Californian Isabel (Hudson) travels to Paris to visit pregnant sister Roxanne (a luminous Watts), whose French husband has walked out on her. “Le divorce” looms, with family fights and money disputes. Isabel herself falls for a Frenchman (the suave Thierry Lhermitte), the two clans battle over a priceless painting, and fret about Modine, a loose cannon prone to rage. The film’s climax atop the Eiffel Tower recalls The Third Man, but up till then it’s about small emotions writ large, cultural gaps magnified for comedy and pathos. Stephen Fry, Stockard Channing and Leslie Caron offer support. If you can stomach the way vast wealth is taken as standard, it’s sumptuously enjoyable.
Ned Kelly
OPENS SEPTEMBER 26, CERT 15, 109 MINS The latest of many biopics about 19th-century Australian outlaw Ned Kelly (the 1970 version of the same name starring Mick Jagger being the best known), director Gregor Jordan's version has moments both majestic and maladroit. On the plus side, Heath Ledger as the taciturn hero carries the film well, while Orlando Bloom provides attractive if one-note support as Kelly's partner in crime, and Naomi Watts is the cursory love interest. The script economically focuses on the last years of Kelly's career, from his final breech with the law after his mother's arrest up to the fatal showdown in Glenrowan, complete with circus animals (a bizarre but accurate detail). But it's let down by its over-reverence (it's far less anarchic than Jordan's previous Buffalo Soldiers) and occasionally clunking sentimentality. Western fans will detect echoes of The Wild Bunch and The Long Riders, but at its best Ned Kelly offers a very Australian treatment of the most Australian of legends.
OPENS SEPTEMBER 26, CERT 15, 109 MINS
The latest of many biopics about 19th-century Australian outlaw Ned Kelly (the 1970 version of the same name starring Mick Jagger being the best known), director Gregor Jordan’s version has moments both majestic and maladroit. On the plus side, Heath Ledger as the taciturn hero carries the film well, while Orlando Bloom provides attractive if one-note support as Kelly’s partner in crime, and Naomi Watts is the cursory love interest. The script economically focuses on the last years of Kelly’s career, from his final breech with the law after his mother’s arrest up to the fatal showdown in Glenrowan, complete with circus animals (a bizarre but accurate detail).
But it’s let down by its over-reverence (it’s far less anarchic than Jordan’s previous Buffalo Soldiers) and occasionally clunking sentimentality. Western fans will detect echoes of The Wild Bunch and The Long Riders, but at its best Ned Kelly offers a very Australian treatment of the most Australian of legends.
Man Of The Year
DIRECTED BY Jos...
DIRECTED BY Jos
Disco Inferno
DIRECTED BY Fenton Bailey and Randy Barbato
STARRING Macaulay Culkin, Seth Green, Chlo...
DIRECTED BY Fenton Bailey and Randy Barbato
STARRING Macaulay Culkin, Seth Green, Chlo
Tears Of The Sun
OPENS SEPTEMBER 12, CERT 15, 121 MINS Whatever happened to TV's gag-spouting smirk-fiend David Addison? You won't find him anywhere near Bruce Willis' latest vehicle, which stars the former Moonlighting jester as a ferociously silent US commando and completes his transformation into the Aldo Ray of contemporary combat cinema. Willis stars as LtWaters, commander of a Navy Seals unit flown into Nigeria to rescue four US nationals led by Dr Lena Hendricks (Monica Bellucci, all pout and cleavage). After witnessing the Nigerian rebels' genocidal mania, Waters abandons his mission and leads Hendricks' ailing patients toward safety at the Cameroon border. Tears Of The Sun is a routine war pic, flashily directed by Antoine Fuqua and beautifully shot by Mauro Fiore. Bellucci is laughably glamorous, but this flick is all about Willis, deadly convincing as the conflicted lieutenant. No other contemporary screen actor can match his ability to convey so much raw emotion by saying so little?this is a five-star performance in a three-star movie.
OPENS SEPTEMBER 12, CERT 15, 121 MINS
Whatever happened to TV’s gag-spouting smirk-fiend David Addison? You won’t find him anywhere near Bruce Willis’ latest vehicle, which stars the former Moonlighting jester as a ferociously silent US commando and completes his transformation into the Aldo Ray of contemporary combat cinema.
Willis stars as LtWaters, commander of a Navy Seals unit flown into Nigeria to rescue four US nationals led by Dr Lena Hendricks (Monica Bellucci, all pout and cleavage). After witnessing the Nigerian rebels’ genocidal mania, Waters abandons his mission and leads Hendricks’ ailing patients toward safety at the Cameroon border.
Tears Of The Sun is a routine war pic, flashily directed by Antoine Fuqua and beautifully shot by Mauro Fiore. Bellucci is laughably glamorous, but this flick is all about Willis, deadly convincing as the conflicted lieutenant. No other contemporary screen actor can match his ability to convey so much raw emotion by saying so little?this is a five-star performance in a three-star movie.
Winged Migration
OPENS SEPTEMBER 5, CERT U, 89 MINS The team of French natural historians and film-makers who got down and dirty with meadow insects to make Microcosmos looked to the skies for their next project. It took four years to gather the footage for this remarkable film, which charts the awe-inspiring journeys of migrating birds the world over. From etiolated cranes, stalking with exaggerated elegance, to bolshy, thuggish geese that still find the energy, even after several thousand miles of flight, to squabble in mid-air?the team of cameramen actually manage to get within the flocks, flying eye to eye with the birds. The means of capturing such extraordinarily intimate moments came from the use of a variety of new technology?compact cameras on remote controlled model gliders, model helicopters, hot air balloons and an ultra-light aircraft developed for the film. It's as much for people interested in the technology of animal photography as it is for bird lovers. But whether or not you have a vested interest in the subject matter, there's something humbling about these encounters with birds and their incredible journeys.
OPENS SEPTEMBER 5, CERT U, 89 MINS
The team of French natural historians and film-makers who got down and dirty with meadow insects to make Microcosmos looked to the skies for their next project. It took four years to gather the footage for this remarkable film, which charts the awe-inspiring journeys of migrating birds the world over. From etiolated cranes, stalking with exaggerated elegance, to bolshy, thuggish geese that still find the energy, even after several thousand miles of flight, to squabble in mid-air?the team of cameramen actually manage to get within the flocks, flying eye to eye with the birds.
The means of capturing such extraordinarily intimate moments came from the use of a variety of new technology?compact cameras on remote controlled model gliders, model helicopters, hot air balloons and an ultra-light aircraft developed for the film. It’s as much for people interested in the technology of animal photography as it is for bird lovers. But whether or not you have a vested interest in the subject matter, there’s something humbling about these encounters with birds and their incredible journeys.
