THE FABELMANS**

Hollywood  loves a movie about movies so THE FABELMANS will probably win a ton of Oscars. Michelle Williams gives one of those Oscar-bait performances that's big and tortured and involves her crying for at least fifty percent of the movie in a performance that felt really mannered and fake to me.  This kind of torpedoes the whole film for me, and even without that it's just dull. It's actually worse than AMSTERDAM, which I watched on the same day, because while AMSTERDAM was incoherent, it at least contained flashes of brilliance. By contrast THE FABELMANS is far better made. It's coherent, it's well acted, it looks great, it's just a polished grown-up film. But it's so dull and predictable and blah.  It's just the same old story Spielberg always tells - about the loss of childhood innocence and the trauma of divorce - usually featuring a station wagon and a cute kid sister -  except this time in the guise of a biopic rather than an adventure film. 

The movie focusses on the marriage of Burt (Paul Dano) and Mitzi (Williams). He's a really decent guy, with increasing corporate success. But she's a frustrated concert pianist who spends the entire film battling depression and in love with Burt's best friend Bernie (Seth Rogen).  Her unhappiness dominates the family dynamic and puts unrealistic pressure on their son Sammy (Gabriel Labelle) to pursue his dreams of film-making: he is told by both his grand-uncle and Bernie that if he doesn't pursue his art he will break his and his mother's heart.

So the other half of the movie is seeing Spielberg, sorry Sammy, come of age in a school rife with anti-semitism, and make his first tentative steps into the film industry. Contrast the straightforward, polished, frictionless, lifeless way in which prejudice is treated here versus the grungy, nasty, altogether more impactful way in which it is depicted in AMSTERDAM.  At one point in a high school scene I felt the jocks were about to break out into a song and dance number, a la WEST SIDE STORY.

This is the problem with Spielberg. Even when telling the story of his own life he can't avoid smoothing over all of the spiky edges and making something soupy and syrupy and glossy.  

THE FABELMANS is rated PG-13 and has a running time of 151 minutes.

MAKING WAVES: THE ART OF CINEMATIC SOUND - BFI London Film Festival 2019 - Day Eight

MAKING WAVES: THE ART OF CINEMATIC SOUND is an absolute must-see doc for anyone who loves cinema. It's a fascinating primer on all those behind the lens talents who create the soundscape of the films we watch.  With admirably clear organisation director Midge Costin takes us through the history of sound in cinema, from the silent era, to those mono sound-tracks with unimaginative off-the-shelf sound FX, to the rise of stereo, then quadrophonic sound, to the modern age. We hear from all the greats - whether those who commissioned or created the sound. I was delighted to see Barbra Streisand given real credit for how she pushed the studio to give her the time and money she needed to get the sound just right on her version of A STAR IS BORN.  We hear from her, as well as pioneers such as David Lynch, Lucas, Spielberg and Lassiter. And as for the talents in the sound business, we begin with Walter Murch of APOCALYPSE NOW fame, then onto Ben Burtt from STAR WARS, and onto the contemporary men, AND women, who create the sounds that pique our imaginations.

Not only was the history of sound fascinating, but I also loved the final segment which took us through what each individual part of the sound spectrum did - from recording voices in production, to adding in sound effects, to ambient environmental sound, to the score.  If you ever wondered what ADR was, or what a foley artist did, this is your film.  You also get to see what re-recording mixers do.

I learned so much from this documentary, but what was really wonderful was just feeling the passion and talent of all the interviewees.  This is why I love movies about making movies!  They simply reignite my passion for this craft, and make me appreciate all the more the unsung heroes who make it happen.

MAKING WAVES: THE ART OF CINEMATIC SOUND has a running time of 94 minutes. The film played Cannes, Tribeca and London 2019. It will be released in the USA on October 26th and in the UK on November 1st.

BFI LFF 2016 Preview - DAVID LYNCH: THE ART LIFE

Acting as a companion piece to Peter Braatz' lyrical dream-like BLUE VELVET REVISITED, Jon Nguyen and Jason S's DAVID LYNCH: THE ART LIFE is a much more straightforward documentary biopic. It takes the form of extensive interviews with David Lynch complete with archive photos and videos, set against footage of him making his art today.  It is Lynch's voice that tells his own story, apparently as a kind of video diary for his youngest daughter, who we see sitting on her father's lap in his studio.  The resulting film is measured, patient, as one would expect form this director, but also deeply honest.  Lynch recalls how his elegant but aloof mother identified something special in him from an early age, and his guilt at letting her down with his hatred of studying and going off the rails as young man.  We hear how contingent his career was - that he happened to meet a kid whose father was an artist and realised that this was a thing you could actually do - and then the crucial offer of a place at the AFI Conservatory, where he made ERASERHEAD.  There's something fascinating in Lynch's need to compartmentalise his life - family, arthouse crowd, lovers - and we get glimpses of his fascinating with the macabre in a trip to the morgue.  The movie is also occasionally very unintentionally funny - such as when Lynch lambasts the horror of going to live in Philadelphia.  But viewers looking for an analysis of his artworks of films will go wanting.  This movie is very much a documentary with its firm focus on formative experiences.  To that end, I found it a little disappointing or rather limited in its scope.

DAVID LYNCH: THE ART OF LIFE played Venice 2016.  There are still tickets available for the Monday 10th October screening at the BFI London Film Festival, where the movie is in the Documentary Competition.

BFI LFF 2016 Preview - BLUE VELVET REVISITED

Peter Braatz' lyrical documentary is a must-watch for all fans of David Lynch's surreal, beautiful, disturbing work.  As a younger film-maker, Braatz served as an intern on the iconic 1980s movie, and shot lots of photos, behind the scenes videos and interviews. Now, thirty years later, he has assembled a collage of impressions of what it was like to work with and for Lynch and how the film came together. But this isn't a conventional linear documentary, with carefully composed and edited talking heads taking us from the films conceptions to final release.  Rather, in the manner of Lynch himself, the film is a kind of meditation and mood movie - carefully layering images and interviews and a beautiful sound-track to take us into the emotional world of the film.  

One of the things that jumped out at me was how calm the shoot seemed to be - the union of all members of cast and crew in this strange endeavour.  Lynch repeatedly claims that this is the happiest he has ever been on a shoot - going back to a low budget in exchange for artistic freedom.  There seems to be a spirit of trust on set - trust in David's genius and vision.  Even people who don't really like films - like actor Jack Nance - or don't believe Lynch is au courant - think the movie is going to be something special. Lynch himself, secure in the quality of each component, is quietly confidant too.  It's also pretty special just to sit back and watch the man at work - his immense attention to detail - personally adjusting and trimming a wig - and the way in which movie making feeds into his larger artistic life with sketches of the day's events. 

This movie is then, a wonderful indulgence for fans of Lynch - as creative in its approach as Lynch deserves, and a visual and aural delight. 

BLUE VELVET REVISITED has a running time of 86 minutes. Tickets are available for both screenings.

JODOROWSKY'S DUNE - LFF 2013 - Day Four

It's one of those classic Friday afternoon in the office discussions.  Who's the greatest Bond? Who's the greatest Formula One driver of all time? What's the All Time Ashes XI?  And what's the best movie never made?  Candidates would have to include Kubrick's Napoleon, Coppola's Megalopolis, Gilliam's Don Quixote and evidently, Jodorowsky's Dune.  And making the case for Dune comes Frank Pavich with his meticulously researched, lovingly crafted access all areas documentary.  According to the end credits, Pavich has already succeeded in prompting "Jodo" to work in cinema again, after a 23 year hiatus, and we have to be thankful for that. If in any small way this doc succeeds in reinvigorating studio finance for the film that would be the jackpot.  But at the very least, I'd love to see a facsimile edition of the infamous Dune Book reproduced in the wake of this movie.

So what is the book, since it's at the heart of this film?  It's the step by step all colour storyboard of Jodo's vision, as mediated by artists of the calibre of HR Giger, Moebius and Dan O'Banon and Chris Ross.  It shows the ambition, artistry and sheer imagination that used Frank Herbert's metaphysical space saga as a springboard for a kind of sci-fi consciousness expansion project.  For Jodo is always ambitious!  He was gathering together genius "spiritual warriors" to alter the minds of a generation, with a cast including Dali, Mick Jagger, Orson Welles, and his own son as the Messiah.

When you see the storyboards and hear the gonzo tales of recruitment and inspiration you can't help but be mesmerised by Jodo.  He's so charismatic and energetic at eighty he must really have been something when he put the team and the book together in his forties.   I guess it shouldn't have come as a surprise, no matter how polished and impressive the book was, that Hollywood wasn't going to fund the project.  Jodo's background was in surrealist radical theatre and his two previous films, El Topo and The Sacred Mountain were equally genius and crazy:  prophets shitting golden turds and the like.

I loved seeing the creators light up at describing the wonder of collaboration on this project. And the one time the mischievous Jodo gets genuinely angry - when he describes how he wasn't allowed to make the movie - it's genuinely heartbreaking.  But perhaps the greatest epitaph for Jodo's Dune is when Frank Pavich shows us the influence of the book that must surely have done the rounds of every Hollywood producer and creative artist.  You can see it in Star Wars and Alien and Raiders of the Lost Ark and Flash Gordon, and every movie that those movies influenced.  It's just a shame that the disappointment seems to have slowed down Jodo's own cinematic, if not literary, output.

There's nothing not to like in this movie.  It oozes love for cinema, and Jodo makes for a fascinating narrator.  God bless the rogues and warriors!

JODOROWSKY'S DUNE played Cannes, Telluride and London 2013. It does not yet have a commercial release date.   The movie has a running time of 90 minutes.

MY SON, MY SON, WHAT HAVE YE DONE?

You go in to a movie directed by Werner Herzog and produced by David Lynch with a certain expectation of Weird. You come out thinking, “What just happened here?” You struggle with your own feelings – did you enjoy the film? Is that even a possible outcome here? Maybe it’s just about levels of being unnerved? We’re not in Kansas anymore.

The story is simple enough. Brad McCullum (Michael Shannon – in serious danger of being typecast) is an actor who has become so obsessed with Elektra that he has murdered his over-protective mother. His girlfriend knew he was becoming increasingly unhinged, but the fact that she was with him at all, given his weird emotional tics, shows that she’s no judge of character. But then again, a Herzog film is often peopled with characters who are weird without being sinister – without there being a narrative purpose to it. Udo Kier’s theatre director is certainly strange and bizarre and unnerving, but he’s not actually menacing. The same applies to Willem Defoe’s detective, who appears to be immune to the weirdness that engulfs him, and this immunity makes him as strange as the man he’s staking out. At let’s not even discuss the craziest character of all – Brad’s insane ostrich-farming Uncle Ted (Brad Dourif). It’s as though Herzog is making a point about the inherent oddity of suburban life. Yes, he’s saying, this shit may seem unutterably weird to you viewers, but if you look beyond those white picket fences, this is really the level of oddity on which we’re operating. And that brings us firmly into the realm of David Lynch.

And so you end up with a film that combines both Herzogian and Lynchian strangeness. An obsession with mutated chickens; aggressive ostriches; a random interlude in Peru; and endless tableaux vivants; put us firmly in Herzog territory. The casting of the default-crazy Grace Zabriskie; the inclusion of a milk-sop girlfriend; and the fetishisation of a food; put us firmly in Lynch territory.

How can you respond to a movie in which the plot is propelled by a murder and an abduction, but basically nothing happens? In which every crazy character is trumped by another? This movie isn’t so much an empathetic experience as a spectacle. I still can’t tell you if I enjoyed it. But I know I won’t forget it in a hurry.

Additional tags: Ernst Reijseger, Loretta Devine, Brad Dourif

MY SON, MY SON, WHAT HAVE YE DONE? played Venice and Toronto 2009 and was released in Portugal earlier this year. It is currently on release in the UK and Italy and was released on DVD in the US last week.

Pantheon movie of the month - ERASERHEAD

David Lynch - master of surreal suburban horror. Things that seemed egregious and silly to reviewers of his first feature back in 1977 (check out the dismissive, excoriating review in VARIETY) now seem like early examples of style and themes that have been consistently mined over his career. To my shame, I hadn't seen ERASERHEAD until yesterday despite being a hard-core Lynch fan. (Two weeks ago, some friends and I did a Twin Peaks Series 1 marathon - Series 2 is next weekend).

What shocked me was how much now-classic Lynchian tropes were present in ERASERHEAD and how, even in his first film, he managed to find a perfect balance between beauty and horror. Take the haunting song sung by the deformed Lady in the Radiator. It's as beautiful as the song Donna and Maddie sing with James in Twin Peaks but far more unsettling. Even the design is similar to later works - little things like the pattern on the floor, or the style of dress.

The plot sees a repressed man with iconically frizzy hair father a deformed child, perhaps the result of the machinations of the Man in the Planet. The mother leaves him, unable to cope with the child's mournful crying. The father is plagued with nightmares in which his severed head is sold to a pencil company to be used as erasers. He has an affair with the Beautiful Girl Across the Hall, who then cuckolds him. In a fit of pique, the father unwraps the swaddling bandages of his baby, only to find that they are part of the baby's flesh. In an electrical storm, he is transported to another place with the Lady in the Radiator.

It's pointless to try and lay down what all this means. Far better to linger on the nightmarish, Freudian images of a father threatened by his own offspring - visions of impotence - the dread of suburban family existence - the possibility of spiritual salvation.

This movie is source-gold for Lynchians, and I suspect, more annoying to non-Lynchians, than anything else in his oeuvre. It's obscure, but in a manner that provokes emotional, visceral responses, as opposed to the more opaque, and frustrating INLAND EMPIRE. It has been referenced by tens of films, its music has been covered by many a band, and it was reputedly one of Kubrick's favourite films. It prompted the offer to direct ELEPHANT MAN and also, rather bizarrely RETURN OF THE JEDI. You can see a lot in ERASERHEAD, but I'm not sure whether you can see anything to make you think of cute cuddly Ewoks.

ERASERHEAD was released in 1977, after a five-year, cash-constrained shoot.

SHERRYBABY - brilliantly crafted portrait of a lady

SHERRYBABY could adopt the same tagline as INLAND EMPIRE: a woman in trouble. It's a breathtakingly well-made and well-acted drama following a young ex-jailbird, junkie and mother as she leaves prison and tries to regain her daughter. The movie features a central performance by Maggie Gyllenhaal that is powerful, moving and certainly the most breath-taking portrayal I have seen in the past twelve months. Indeed, it makes Dame Helen Mirren's multiple award-winning role in The Queen look like dress-up. Gyllenhaal has to portray a woman who is simulataneously angry, strong, determined but also damaged, desperate for attention and self-destructive. We have to believe that Sherry loves her daughter and wants to make good, but also the serious danger of spontaneous self-harm. The complexity of both the written part (writer-director Laurie Collyer) and Gyllenhaal's performance combine to take this film beyond a typical tart-with-a-heart story and into something more impressive and authentic. Not to be missed.

Further to my cursory but glowing review, I bring you in on the thoughts of Movie Matt - probably the nicest person you'll ever not meet and definitely the guy who's seen the most movies. Note that his review contains spoilers and, more to the point, the issues Matt talks about will be more interesting if you've actually seen the film already:

"I'm glad to hear you liked Sherrybaby, because I LOVED it. Maggie Gyllenhaal's central performance was truly captivating, and I found myself thinking about it for days. The story of the film is, of course, remarkably simple and could be summed up in a single sentence. This could be construed as a flaw, because in all probability upon hearing this summation before the movie you would predict a clichéd ending of her making the choice to do what is right by her daughter etc. Indeed this is actually what happens, however in all likelihood you wouldn’t guess the outcome when you see the movie because of how believable Sherry is as a person. I thought the troubled aspects of her character were well explored during the course of the story. I really believed how frustrated Sherry was over her own shortcomings as a mother, and as a person, that I just wanted to see the character develop as much as she did. The subtle ending was well executed, leaving you with just enough hope for her future as a mother, but not so that you’ll unrealistically think it’ll all now be happy times ahead.

The tense, and yet often quiet scenes really emphasised her feelings of isolation and loneliness, which in turn added to the realism of the movie. I enjoyed the simple reflections of the atmosphere to her own feelings, from the (often) intense sunshine when she is the most hopeful about her future (i.e. when she meets her daughter again for the first time since her release) to the dingy, heavy florescent lighting of the motel rooms when despair gets the better of her. This effectively echoed not only her own mental state but also the tone of the film as a whole. Indeed the ending of film takes place at night when you see her driving away into the distance after dropping off her daughter at her brother’s house. While the darkness is still all around her and it has certainly tainted her, she’s still moving forward. Simple, yet powerful.

I was also quite impressed with the solid supporting cast, including Giancarlo Esposito as her parole officer and (quite surprisingly) Danny Trejo who really shows that he has talent as an actor. The bath scene where he cleans Sherry delicately with a sponge was particularly poignant, as the total absence of any sexual intention really gave you the impression that he was taking care of her the way a father would take care of his child.

However, by far my favourite scene in the film was where Sherry meets her father again for the first time since her release from prison, because of how much was revealed about her past and her family’s attitude towards her. Watching her standing on the couch with her arms touching the ceiling like a little girl, and actually competing with her own daughter for her father’s attention was utterly compelling. There were also such strong impressions of Sherry being emotionally disconnected from her family, which was demonstrated beautifully when ten seconds after her father sees her for first time in three years, he immediately moves away from her to talk to his son about getting the gutters cleared.

I was also impressed how the story only gave a hint of the underlying abuse Sherry grew up with when you see her father touch her just for a couple of seconds. The film wasn’t trying to shock you with the notion of abuse, and because of this subtlety it was all the more disturbing. Indeed her own reaction to her father touching her was to run away and this told us a lot about her own character i.e. she wasn’t disgusted with her father for what he just done (when of course she clearly should be) she was disgusted with herself because it happened. Then we wonderfully see her run through the neighbourhood, a great analogy to the escapism that drugs provide.

Brad William Henke also gave a good performance as Sherry’s brother. He was a very conflicted character as on one hand he’s a strong enough person to undertake raising Sherry’s daughter in her absence, but on the other he’s aware of his father’s actions and does nothing. Their relationship is summed up very well in the way they greet each other at the start of the film. They hug very awkwardly and slowly from a distance. Yes they love each other, but they don’t feel close.

All in all I walked away overwhelmingly impressed with the movie and further convinced of the depth of talent Maggie Gyllenhaal has as an actress."

SHERRYBABY played Sundance 2006 and closed the BirdsEye View Festival in London in 2007. It opened in Sweden in 2007 and is available on Region 1 DVD.

My not-so-secret shame: I was bored and disappointed by INLAND EMPIRE

Credentials first: I am a fan of David Lynch. I adored Twin Peaks; I watch all his films on a regular basis; I like that there is no spoon-feeding or hand-holding; I love the persistent sense of menace; the whimsical humour; the evocative use of music; the precise framing and visual motifs. So I approached the new Lynch movie, INLAND EMPIRE, with great anticipation. 3 hours in Lynch-world: thank you very much.

People who always hated Lynch for his obscurity, self-indulgence, surrealism.... will hate INLAND EMPIRE too. Conversely, hard-core LYNCH fans will not be disappointed. We have all the classic Lynchian symptoms here: weirdness, unease, horror, confusion, beauty of a sort, evil, brutal fucking murder, two dollar whores and some pretty heavy shit.

The movie opens with extreme close-ups of a young whore crying uncontrollably. Classic Lynch. We then move to a sitcom complete with canned laughter. Naturally the actors are dressed in bunny rabbit outfits and their conversation makes only enough sense to disturb us. We then switch to the key story. Laura Dern (BLUE VELVET) stars as an ageing Hollywood actress who has just been cast in a movie alongside Justin Theroux's (MULHOLLAND DRIVE) lecherous leading man by a camp director played by Jeremy Irons. (ERAGON). This being Lynchworld, Harry Dean Stanton plays the director's bum side-kick.

Pretty heavy shit surrounds the production. On the eve of winning the part, the actress is accosted by her strange Polish neighbour who warns her (and the viewer) obliquely about the content of the script and the lack of a linear structure to what will follow. This scene is about as frightening as anything you'll see on screen and all the more impressive for being simply a series of extreme close-ups - shot on rubbish quality DV - of Grace Zabriskie (TWIN PEAKS). The sense of unease is increased by placing the actress (Laura Dern) in an oppressively decorated mansion and having her jealous husband leer over the balcony.

An hour into the film, and Laura's character is committing adultery and starting to see her identity dissolve into that of the character she is playing. Bad news, when you consider that the plot of the film does indeed involve brutal fucking murder and that a previous production of the same script was halted when a number of key people died. We follow her for the next two hours through a series of weird rooms-within-rooms behind the movie set and through the looking glass. She looks threatened and disturbed by these refractions of her psyche.

While I could see flashes of beauty and brilliance - not least in Laura Dern's career-defining and award-worthy performance - I was basically bored rigid by INLAND EMPIRE. Freed from the shackles of a pre-defined script and the kind of studio heat that comes with a production budget that allows for old fashioned photography, Lynch has indulged himself. The beauty of Lynch's photography is heavily compromised by the use of DV. While I can take my fair share of whimsy and treat much of Lynch's work as a sort of tone poem of beautiful brutality - this movie left me cold. I need not have structure and explanation - but if I am to float in a sea of random fragments, I'd like a shorter run-time. Call me superficial - but there are only so many scenes of Laura Dern looking threatened that I need to see.

INLAND EMPIRE played Venice 2006 and opened in the US and Slovakia in 2006. It opened in Italy, Belgium, France, Iran and Spain earlier this year and is now showing in the UK. It opens in the Netherlands, Portugal, Hapan, Finland, Germany and Poland in April and in Russia and the Czech Republic in July.

Ten TV programmes that make me the cynical, paranoid, greedy, capitalist bastard that I am today

In reverse chronological order:

1. 24 (FOX, 2001) The sheer audacity of the final five minutes of season one restored my faith in big-budget mainstream TV. The fast pace, great plotting and character of Sherry Palmer - a charismatic, evil, strong female - had me addicted. After season two it disintegrated into a marketing exercise for FORD, but in its heyday this series ruined a whole genre of movies for me.

2. MY SO-CALLED LIFE (ABC, Channel 4, 1994) was the only high-school series that got a hold of me. GRANGE HILL was nothing like where I went to school and was just too pat - cheekie kids getting into scrapes - and the whole Zammo on smack storyline was again fifty leagues removed from my life. MY SO-CALLED LIFE was bang on. The heroine, Angela, was just a normal kid. Not so pretty, not so smart, not fucked-up by irresponsible parents. But still dealing with her friends' alcoholism and homosexuality and her own messy love-life. I was devestated when it got cancelled.

3. G.B.H. (Channel 4, 1991). Written by the UK's most important contemporary dramatist, Alan Bleasdale, G.B.H. provided a book-end to the social and political upheavals of the Thatcher era. It pitted the megolamaniacal council leader Michael Murray (based on Derek Hatton) against Old Labour headmaster Jim Nelson. It showed how the political machinations at the highest levels - games played for power rather than belief - screw over the lives of normal voters. Intricately plotted and acted, the slowly revealed plot twist answers for much of my political cynicism. It also explains much of the genesis of, and naked opportunism of, the New Labour project. As the shit-rain starts to fall on Blair, I long for another Bleasdale play to chart a course through it all.

4. TWIN PEAKS (ABC, 1990) exploded every convention of what a TV serial could and should do. The visuals were beautiful, the music was haunting, the characters were kooky, beautiful, sick, twisted and full of secrets. The second series lost its way, but the final frames showing the apple-pie wholesome Agent Dale Cooper looking into a mirror at the face of BOB scared me silly. More proof, if any were needed, that David Lynch is the most important visual artist of our time and that the small screen can be used as effectively as the big screen. Shame on all those who do not try.

5. THE NEW STATESMAN SERIES 1,2 and 3 (ITV, 1987) was a vile, brutal, political satire of the worst excesses of the Thatcherite era that had me and my mates re-enacting swathes of dialogue in the playground. It featured Rik Mayall as the corrupt, nouveau riche Tory MP, Alan B'Stard. B'Stard mocked Old Labour crusty Bob Crippen, bullied the landed wet, Piers Fletcher-Dervish MP and mocked the press. B'Stard was brilliantly charismatic and you wanted him to win, so pathetic were his opponents - thus revealing the singular truth that in the Thatcher years, politics on both sides of the fence was a pretty grubby affair. Years later, my cousin Bobby would famously use the line "Right, I'm off to Stringfellows to commit adultery!" with alarming regularity. Of course, THE NEW STATESMAN became unfunny when Thatcher was ousted and replaced with that grey pillock, John Major. Not least of the charges that can be laid against that treacherous bastard, Heseltine's, door is that he pulled the rug from under much of Britain's best comedy.

6. BLACKADDER, SERIES 2,3 and 4 (BBC, 1983-) Blackadder is a peculiarly British comedy that combines dry black wit, political satire and good old-fashioned slapstick comedy. The first series was a bit weak, but by the second it hit its stride. Set in Elizabethan England, then Georgian and finally World War One, Blackadder sent up the great figures of each era in 1066 AND ALL THAT stylee. Blackadder is a malevolent, self-centred man a rung below the in-bred, idiotic ruling class, and frustrated by his infinitely greater merit. Rowan Atkinson's plaintiff sigh of "Oh, God," every time, Percy, Baldrick or the Prince Regent utter some imbecilic plan just sums up what it is to endure life in this country. Not only is Blackadder bloody funny, but in the final episode of Series 4, where the protagonists go over the top of a trench to their death, it is incredibly moving. There is no more eloquent display of the futility and horror of war than those thirty minutes. APOCALYPSE NOW and SAVING PRIVATE RYAN have nothing on it.

7. THE BOYS FROM THE BLACKSTUFF (BBC, 1982). Looking back now, it is easy to forget how radical politics was in the early 1980s and the huge social upheavals that went with it. Now we mock Chavs for wearing Burberry, but in an age of full employment you forget what the miners' strike was like. Of course, I grew up in happy, rich, South-East England with parents who read the Daily Telegraph, so the social unrest seemed like distant thunder. I can still remember the visceral impact of seeing THE BOYS FROM THE BLACKSTUFF and the demented chant, "gissa job". Alan Bleasdale's TV drama exposed for the first time on national television the huge social price of so-called modernity. I can't articulate how much of a revelation that series was.

8. BRIDESHEAD REVISITED (ITV, 1981). Of course, I didn't see this till ten years later but it remains for me the quintessial big bucks TV literary adaptation and never to be bettered. Everything about the production is indulgent in the best possible way. Waugh's novel portrays the indulged aristocratic lifestyle and laments its decline. Director Charles Sturridge (who also did a brilliant adaptation of Waugh's brutal A HANDFUL OF DUST) helms a production that spares no expense or attention to detail in bringing the country estate or the Oxford dining club to life. Sir John Mortimer is indulged with thirteen hours of airtime and so can include all the minor characters and the full intricacies of the plot. And the audience is indulged with a stellar cast, including Laurence Olivier as the Byronic Lord Marchmain and Sir John Gielgud in a chilling cameo as Mr. Ryder. I watch the complete BRIDESHEAD REVISITED once a year. It is a story full of tragic love affairs, homosexual, heterosexual, between a man and a way of life, and between people and their faith. It is glorious and shows just how TV can out-do cinema - it can take time. I passionately believe that Alan Moore's THE WATCHMEN can only be brought to the screen SUCCESSFULLY in a similar, lengthy, high-budget, utterly faithful adaptation.

9. TINKER, TAILOR, SOLDIER, SPY (1978, ITV) is another faithful adaptation of a novel that I hold in the highest regard. I saw it in the 1990s at a time when I was reading a lot of Graham Greene, Waugh and John le Carre and I can honestly say that it shaped the way in which I view the world - from politics to love affairs. George Smiley is my hero, and George Smiley will always be, for me, Sir Alec Guinness looking weary but unbowed.

10. SESAME STREET taught me the letters of the alphabet, numbers, how to cross a streeet, that there are lots of people who aren't white too..... Thinking back to all that funky music and cartoon ads for numbers sung by the Pointer Sisters, is it any wonder I grew to believe that Maceo Parker's Elephant Stepped on My Foot was the greatest track ever recorded?

TELL THEM WHO YOU ARE - fascinating doc about legendary cinematographer

Haskell Wexler, the subject of this documentary, comes across as a love-able scoundrel. Born into privilege, he started a school newspaper called “Against Everything” and later organised the workers in his father’s factory into a strike. He then burned through a cool million of his father’s dollars making movies before skulking off to Hollywood as a cinematographer for hire. Wexler quickly became one of the most admired Directors of Photography in the business. He won Oscars for WHO’S AFRAID OF VIRGINIA WOOLF? and BOUND FOR GLORY, and shot iconic movies like AMERICAN GRAFITTI, THE THOMAS CROWNE AFFAIR and more recently MULHOLLAND DRIVE and SILVER CITY. He also shot parts of Milos Foreman’s ONE FLEW OVER THE CUCKOO’S NEST and Francis Ford Coppola’s THE CONVERSATION before being fired for being “difficult”.

Despite the roll-call of famous movies in the first paragraph of this review, TELL THEM WHO YOU ARE is not a piece of hagiography. Rather, it is shot by Wexler’s son Mark, also a documentary film-maker, and avowedly “a son, not a fan”. Mark tries to explore, partly at his father’s behest, the man away from the camera and to try to stage a reconciliation through the medium of making a documentary. I am not sure if Mark succeeds, but we do realise that what made Haskell a difficult father is the same thing that makes him a difficult Director of Photography. Haskell Wexler is good at what he does; he knows he is good at what he does; and he suspects that he is better at what you are doing than you are. The fact that he is probably right, and delivers his rants in a style that is often hilarious, does not lessen the blow. Similarly, the fact that as a kid, Mark knew that when his dad called him “stupid”, he was also calling great directors “stupid” was of little comfort. If your dad tells you you’re dumb is it really any comfort to know that you are in august company?

The whole documentary is like a worked example of both Wexler’s genius and his flaws. He abrasively tells his son what he is doing right and wrong, both in terms of choices about photography, but also concerning content. These exchanges are really funny because Haskell is a funny, feisty guy. Moreover, he is usually right.

The question is whether this documentary has an appeal beyond the obvious audience of movie buffs. My view is that while Wexler is an intriguing and really like-able character, and the themes touched upon in this picture have an appeal beyond the world of cinema, I doubt if someone who really isn’t that interested in how cinema is made would be interested by this documentary. Similarly, viewers expecting famous talking heads recounting chat-show anecdotes are also likely to be disappointed.

TELL THEM WHO YOU ARE toured the festival circuit and went on limited release in the US in 2005. It is currently on release in the UK