Sunday 21 December 2014

All the Way There and Back Again

The Hobbit: The Battle of Five Armies Review

Given that Peter Jackson's adaptations of Lord of the Rings made all the money, it was inevitable New Line would make an adaptation of The Hobbit, they would have been financially irresponsible not to.  Also, given that The Hobbit is vastly different in tone, register and structure to the Ring trilogy it was inevitable that substantial changes were needed to make it fit in with the earlier films. And, given that puffing up a children's bed time story to the size of a Beowulf-esque epic is something of a big ask, you could also argue that it was inevitable that the new films would suffer in comparison to Jackson's earlier efforts.

This was most true of the first Hobbit film, where the boom and blare of Jackon's additions about falling civilisations and quests for revenge - copy pasted from the appendices - clanged like a motherfucker when set against the sing song pitter patter of Tolkien's original narrative. The second film was a definite improvement, settling into a more consistent tone, even if the action was that little bit too cartoony, undermining any sense of threat. The third movie is all crescendo; a two hour fight scene relying on the previous two films to provide it with context and substance

Luckily it's a good fight scene. There's an actual feeling of weight and peril to proceedings that was missing from the previous instalments (assuming that is, your not Legolas - in which case the laws of physics are your bitch). As for the few quiet bits, the stand off outside the gates of Erebor and Thorin's tap dance along the edge of sanity are well handled, and Martin Freeman remains the best Bilbo Baggins they could have possibly cast, even if here, as in the books, he's more or less run out of things to do at this point. Also there are war goats. I now want a war goat. But there's so little story here that it's hard to justify it being its own film and even at two and a half hours it feels too long. It's difficult to view The Battle of the Five Armies as its own thing, as opposed to the final third of  a larger story. That's fine. That's exactly what it is. But it presupposes a lot of heavy lifting in the earlier films which was simply not present.

In a broad sense all the changes that Jackson introduced are clever or at least understandable, creating dynamics and threads that run through all three films and going at least partway to reduce the gratuitous use of deus ex machina employed in the book. But it's when it comes to the execution that the adaptation sometimes sags. Take the much derided dwarf/elf romance, which didn't fall flat because the idea itself was stupid. On the contrary I thought it personalised the ongoing conflict, helped distinguish important characters within a large cast, created new dramatic tensions within the group and raised the stakes for the final confrontation. The reason it didn't work was that it was dealt with in an entirely perfunctory way, making it feel forced and unbelievable. Similarly anyone who's read or seen the supplementary material the film makers put out knows the individual dwarfs are all reasonably well formed characters, with a culture that a great deal of work had been spent into realising. It's just that almost none of that made it onto the screen, the preference instead being for overlong action sequences, comedy mugging and episodic scenes from the book that could have easily been cut, resulting in a amorphous, beardy mush.

I'm ultimately fond of The Hobbit films. Even putting my affection for the original novel to one side, Jackson's films have always been at least fun and now we've seen the trilogy in full it's possible to make out the shape of something very worthwhile. Whether that something would bear that much resemblance to its source is debatable, but it's hard to shake the suspicion that a ruthless, two film cut that included more character development while sheering the bloat off some of the spectacle wouldn't merely be good, but excellent.

                                                                                                                                                  

Anyone remember the scene in Candyman where Virginia Madsen wakes up in a strange flat, no recollection of how she got there, covered in the blood of a dog that it appears she's beheaded, some wifey screaming in the corner and a small baby missing. Yeah, well, after a not dissimilar Friday night I've decided to knock alcohol on the head for January. No sooner had I made this decision than an advert in my local bus shelter informed me that this was a thing that Cancer Research UK is encouraging people to do. While I am generally speaking pro cancer, I understand that a lot of people aren't and figured I might as well try and raise some money for charity while I'm giving my liver a stay of execution. If you feel inclined to donate you can find my Just Giving page by clicking the following link

I wont be posting next week due to festivities so I'll wish you Merry Christmas - unless you don't celebrate it, in which case Merry Thursday - and I'll resume my witless rambles in the new year

Love and Fishes

Dave Denton

Sunday 14 December 2014

The Walrus Loves the Carpenter



The moon was shining on the sea,
Shining bright and white:
The walrus and the carpenter
Sat out in the moonlight
And this was very odd, because
it wasn't even night.

Carpenter licked his fingers clean,
And tossed an oyster shell
Now that their repast was now complete
His face, it suddenly fell.
Those oysters, they had trusted them,
And they'd not been treated well

"Walrus," he said, into his chest,
sniffing away a tear
"We did those shellfish a great wrong
that they can't forgive, I fear
As now they're stuck inside our guts,
Are we the bad guys here?"

Walrus's flipper reached behind
And gave his back a pat
"My joiner friend, there is no need
To feel like you're a rat.
We were hungry. They taste good.
And that's the end of that."

He lifted up the chippy's chin
and looked into his eyes
"Don't be sad', the Walrus breathed
And to Carpenter's surpise,
Butterflies swirled inside his tum
and something began to rise

His face and loins were burning hot,
Carpenter suddenly knew
That oysters are aphrodisiacs
And he'd had thirty two
He put his mouth to Walrus's
At which point things got blue.

I'll spare you the gory details
of all things done and said
For walrus/man love is not a thing
you want inside your head
Though I believe you can find such things
Out there on the web.

They lay there panting, side by side
After the deed was done,
For sex is hard when your new lover
Outweighs you by a tonne
But thanks to lube and harnesses
They'd had a lot of fun.

"I can't believe that happened,"
Carpenter happily sighed
"But I'm glad it did as now it means,
I've no reason now to hide
That I love an Artic mammal."
"That's great," the Walrus lied

You see, what he was thinking,
But didn't want to say,
Was that he felt himself a player.
Monogamy? No way!
He'd just hoped to scratch an itch,
And get his end away.

"Oh Wally," said the Carpenter,
"I think that you're the one.
Do you think our parents will understand?"
But answer came there none-
And this was scarcely odd, because
That fucker, he had gone.

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With all due apologies to the estate of Lewis Carroll. This is apparently what I do with my spare time.

Love and Fishes

Dave Denton

Sunday 7 December 2014

Too Many Sandwiches

I'm feeling slightly delicate so I'll endeavour to keep this short. The reason for this is that it was my youngest brother's kinda sorta 21st last night. His actual birthday was back in November, but we were unable to celebrate it back then as he was busy running around the countryside, covered in mud and leaves attempting to defeat imaginary enemies (Just to clarify, this was in his capacity as a guardsman in the Scots Guards, not an escaped mental patient). The back room of the local pub was rented and invites sent to all relevant friends and family. Unfortunately of the fortyish people we were expecting only about a dozen showed up, which was a bit of a shitter, but I've always been of the opinion that if you need the fingers of two hands to count the people who are important to you then you're exceptionally blessed. It also meant that the buffet was essentially untouched. So if anyone's in the mood for 150 slightly stale sausage roles, pop round mine and I'll hit you up.

Her majesty's finest eventually left for the more substantial delights of nearby Newcastle, where by all accounts a good time was had until two of our kid's mates decided to start knocking lumps off one another. The reason we were given for this was that one lad fell over, so the other tried to help him up and got a fist in the face for his efforts. I'll admit that doesn't make a whole lot of sense to me, so  I think a better explanation would be that some people are arseholes when they've had a skinful, While me and the missus were lost in the blissful ignorance of sleep, my sister had to deal with the fall out when everyone returned home, spending an hour and a half in the local A & E with the fight's loser, waiting to get his lips sewn back onto his face. I came down this morning to find me dad's doorstep splattered in vomit and blood, while his kitchen floor was covered in slowly defrosting peas (because to the drunken mind Peas = Medicine). Happily everybody was friends again, although the young lad who'd had his 'tache slapped looked in a sorry state. 

Went to see The Lake Poets earlier in the week. Unfortunately we had to leave early so we only caught a couple of songs, not enough were I could really formulate an opinion. However he (despite the plural in the name, The Lake Poets consists of one guy) seems good in a sort of Damien Rice-y type way. He was certainly leagues ahead of the two support acts, who were both shite.


Also at the top and bottom of the post you have Christmas doodlage. Tis the season and all that..


Love and Fishes

Dave Denton