When Sundance Rode In

So, today the fantastic Mr. Robert Redford has taken our Prime Minister to task for his ‘narrow-minded’ approach to British Film. While of course we all know this will immediately change entirely the way Cameron looks at films, the universe and everything–

 –it’s perhaps also worth considering the state of affairs that has led to the Sundance Kid saddling into town to offer his two cents. When Cameron first ordered the British Film Industry to start making more ‘commercially viable’, ‘mainstream’ films, just what was he talking about? This is the industry that has just finished making the Harry Potter series – a series which has grossed nearly $8 billion dollars worldwide. Unfortunately, that’s about it for global literary sensations hailing from our little island for the time being. New Zealand nicked Lord of the Rings; maybe we could do a remake in the Lake District? Or if that’s too expensive, maybe we could do some kind of animated version?

Maybe we could reboot Potter, locking Daniel Radcliffe into some nightmarish cycle of playing a boy wizard for the rest of his life. ‘But what do we do when he dies, Matt? What do we do then?’ Well, Mr. Cameron, obviously we re-animate the Radcliffe-man-corpse and force him to continue.

You're not... unpatriotic... are you, Mr. Potter? You do love your country don't you?

There are two obvious issues with Cameron's position. First: who the hell can define what the ‘mainstream’ actually is? Slumdog Millionaire was nearly a straight-to-DVD burnout. No one could have predicted the success it would ultimately have – costing £15 million to produce, but achieving £380 million at the box office, compared to say Quantum of Solace which made £500 million but also cost £200 million to make. Does its success mean that we can retrospectively call it ‘mainstream’? With not a word said about quality, how can a film with instances of child-torture be anyone's idea of 'mainstream'?

Second: why does Cameron suddenly appear to give such a shit about the success of British film? This is the man behind the worst cuts since the 1950s – what possible reason do we think he could have for wanting to be Mr. Compassionate, acting to create jobs in a visible area of the industry, but losing them in less obvious areas?

Good job we hid Shane Meadows' body in the basement.

Obviously it’s necessary for an industry to be in profit and obviously Cameron, as Prime Minister, wants as much profit from as many industries as possible. But it’s ultimately pointless to think Britain can compete with the huge number of franchises that the States has. British film, Sirs Bond and Potter aside, is not a “big” cinematic country – “big” in the sense of big names, big budgets, and big returns. We thrive on medium-to-small sized films; these are the films we are known for. The hit-rate might be smaller but it's all we've got. The worry for British Film, then, is that Cameron might get rid of the little guys before realising that there aren’t enough big guys to fall back on.

EXCLUSIVE: NEW STILL FROM SKYFALL*

LOLOLOL. Why would a movie still have writing on it? Iss crazy! LOLOLOL.

*Disclaimer: This is a cheap joke. I like Sam Mendes lots and lots.

Defending Vincent Gallo (From Vincent Gallo)

If we’re to believe what Vincent Gallo says about himself, he’s a very bad man. He badmouths just about everyone he meets, he wholeheartedly approves of the W. Bush administration, he even wished cancer on the lovely Roger Ebert.

Yes, you, Roger, he doesn’t even care that you look like somebody’s nanna. But you did call his movie, The Brown Bunny, the worst film in the history of Cannes, didn’t you. You laughed when your buddy Roeper said it was worse than a steaming pile of excrement, didn’t you. Don't lie to me Roger.

But maybe it’s because I happen to love his first movie, Buffalo 66, so much, maybe it’s because I happen to think that The Brown Bunny is a steaming pile of heartbreaking independent cinema at its best, I just don’t think that Vincent Gallo is as much of a dick as he wants us to believe.

If Gallo’s political leanings are REALLY as far to the right as he claims, how can he justify making films which push the boundaries of conventionality as far as they do? I call bullshit. In his youth, Gallo was an artist (of the painting kind, not the artfilm kind) and it seems to me that he’s in fact still at it, pulling some kind of life-long performance piece.

Of course, it's impossible to defend the possibility that Gallo may have caused Mr. Ebert's throat cancer; such voodoo is best left un-examined. Gallo himself said he had been aiming for Ebert's prostate and 'missed'. But the fact that they're now best buds suggests that this exchange was never to be taken as seriously as Gallo might hope us to believe. Mr. Gallo is, in reality, a thoroughly nice, decent fella who doesn’t wish harm on anybody at all. I betcha. And if he stopped dicking around maybe everyone would start taking him more seriously as a filmmaker. Unfortunately, I don't think the performance is going to be ending any time soon.

Hal Ashby - The Invisible Man

Spielberg, Coppola, De Palma, Scorsese, Lucas: all directors to come to prominence in the period of 1970s cinema known as New Hollywood. Despite some ups and downs (De Palma and Lucas now apparently existing entirely to make it seem as unlikely as possible that they ever actually made a good film) these men have remained at the forefront of the film conciousness to this day. Ask any person in the street to name a director and chances are they’ll name one of those men above. Why then does no one remember the name Hal Ashby? This is a man whose films collectively garnered 24 Academy Award nominations and 7 wins, a man who has worked with Jack Nicholson, Peter Sellers, Julie Christie, Jon Voight, Warren Beatty and... Goldie Hawn. Cult classics Harold and Maude and Being There (Sellers’ last film role – and without question the finest moment of his career) remain popular viewing to this day. They do, however, remain just that: cult classics, known only to those who do a little extra reading about their cinema. Ashby was admittedly not a man who ever cracked the box office to any real degree. His highest grossing hit, Shampoo, is not really a “Hal Ashby film”, heavily tampered and interfered with by the star power of Mr. Warren Beatty.

Even so, David Lynch is hardly a box-office draw and yet he's just about as famous as they come. What, then, is the reason for Ashby’s seeming exile from the industry's conciousness? Is it to do with his drug taking and eccentric behaviour? How can that be Hollywood’s excuse? Coppola’s Apocalypse Now nearly killed Martin Sheen, Scorsese was snorting coke off De Niro’s bonnet during the making of Taxi Driver, and Spielberg made the WWII shitfest that is 1941. Why then has Ashby become a forgotten father of the 1970s new wave? The answer is most likely in his indefinable directorial "style". Unlike Lynch's (no-less brilliant) near-homogenous adherence to the surreal, Ashby's genres range from the prototype-Wes Anderson, Harold and Maude, to the anti-war, existentialist, The Last Detail, to the broad gambling comedy, Lookin’ To Get Out. There is just no real, determinable “Ashby style”. The only running thread of a theme throughout his films is, rather predictably, that of the disenfranchised outsider looking in on a society that does not understand and makes little effort to do so.

Ashby’s later years are admittedly harder to defend. Increased drug use and bizarre personality traits – Ashby began to refuse to eat in the company of other people, instead choosing to exist solely on bowls of rice eaten on his own in editing suites – made him a real concern for studios. While making a documentary about the touring Rolling Stones, Ashby became slightly too involved in the rock star lifestyle and once overdosed before the band had even taken to the stage. It was during the editing of his next cinematic release, The Slugger’s Wife, that things began to take an even steeper downward trajectory. What was intended by the studio as a light-hearted romantic comedy, turned in Ashby’s hands into an avant-garde mood piece – not exactly the kind of thing to improve his box-office woes. With that, Ashby was cast out from the Hollywood studio system.

The heartbreak of his story is completed with Ashby’s attempts to reintegrate himself into the studio system. Shaving his legendary beard and taking to wearing blazers in an effort to convince executives that he was a trustworthy helmsman, Ashby was confined to what was then the auteur’s no man’s land: television. Having suffered years of poor health Ashby was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, dying on December 27^th 1988 at the age of 59.

Haly Ashby is a man who's work deserves so much more than to be swallowed under the weight of De Palma's shitstupid melodramas and Lucas' shitcynical rehashes. I urge you to seek out his work. Because of their variety, it's impossible to say if you'll like every one of Ashby's films. If you like Wes Anderson, you'll love Harold and Maude. If you like Forrest Gump or Rain Man, you'll love the infinitely less mawkish yet still compassionate take on mental illness in Being There. If you like 70s-style disenfranchisement and a good ol' fashioned Jack Nicholson breakdown, you'll love The Last Detail. If you like political intrigue mixed with hair-cutting technique, you'll love Shampoo. Please, for the sake of a wonderful director and a wonderful set of films, watch at least one. Then watch another.