Saturday Film Club #17: A Harlot's Progress

Director: Justin Hardy

Country of origin and year of release: UK, 2006

This made for TV film premiered on Channel 4 in 2006 and was created by the team behind the much more well known and successful City Of Vice. 

It's worth mentioning City Of Vice. Not only because it's set in the same historical period and city as A Harlot's Progress, nor simply because Henry Fielding is a key character in both productions, but because A Harlot's Progress can also be viewed as a sort of audition tape or first stab at City Of Vice. 

The origins of A Harlot's Progress lie in William Hogarth's series of engravings, A Harlot's Progress, which was first published in 1732. The engravings depict the journey (or progress) of a young woman, Moll Hackabout, who arrives in London and quickly ends up being procured by one of the cities brothel madams. It is a cautionary tale and, like Hogarth's later work The Rake's Progress, doesn't end well.  

The film imagines Hogarth's inspiration for The Harlot's Progress, with Toby Jones' Hogarth meeting Zoe Tapper's Moll in a tavern just as she is being procured by the brothel madam (played by an excellent Geraldine James). He draws her picture and seems intrigued by her, and by this chance meeting. Later, when she has become a high class courtesan and kept woman, Moll commissions Hogarth to paint her portrait. 

Throughout the film we largely see the cruel uncaring world of eighteenth century London through Hogarth's eyes. This is a city in which children die on the streets, men can buy time with female prisoners by bribing the jailer, rich people visit Bedlam to laugh at the inmates, and there is a gin craze. One of the weaker aspects of the film is the way it tries to draw parallels between Hogarth's world and the world as it was in 2006. Sometimes this is done fairly subtly, but often it's not and it can jar the viewer a bit sometimes. Similarly, a device is sometimes used whereby the viewer enters the scene through a still that reflects one of Hogarth's six engravings for the progress, and while it's very clever, it can sometimes feel a bit Brechtian and jarring, which I'm not always sure was the intention. 

There are some truly horrific moments in the film, including depictions of the later stages of syphilis, the ravages of gin, and the revelation that rather than being a lighthearted form of punishment, people did actually die in the stocks. 

By contrast, Hogarth's relationship with his wife is explored and these scenes count as some of the tenderest, most touching in the film. They contrast well with the anger Hogarth feels towards the hypocrisies of those in power, particularly as regards their responsibilities to those below them in the pecking order. It is this sense of injustice that seems to have inspired A Harlot's Progress in its finished form. 

There is a certain amount of fun to be had with Hogarth's interactions with his peer group, particularly Henry Fielding, who spends much of the film moping about the various public deaths of his plays. The joke here being that he will, once he switches to writing novels, receive the critical acclaim and success he has been craving. In a related note, the downward spiral of Moll is relieved of some of its brutality and horror by Hogarth's involvement in the founding of the Foundling Hospital, a purpose built home for abandoned children preserved these days as The Foundling Museum. 

While A Harlot's Progress doesn't always feel perfect, it is still a well put together, compelling and thoughtful drama about a period of history that doesn't always receive the scrutiny it deserves. Both central performances are tremendous, and Jones and Tapper are well supported by other members of the cast, including Richard Wilson as Hogarth's strait laced, disapproving father in law. Well worth watching. 

Saturday Film Club #16: The Wipers Times

Director: Andy De Emmony

Country of origin and year of release: UK, 2013

This made for TV film premiered on the BBC in 2013 but its origins lie much further back than that. 

The Wipers Times was a trench newspaper published by The Sherwood Forresters, a troop of British soldiers stationed at Ypres during World War I (the term 'Wipers' refers to British army troops mistaken pronunciation of Ypres) who stumbled across an abandoned printing press in 1916 and decided to make use of it to start a newspaper for the troops, by the troops. 

At the time, much of the British coverage of World War I was of the chest-beatingly patriotic, jingoistic nature, as perpetrated by the notorious Willam Beech Thomas (satirised in The Wipers Times as Teach Bombers) who reported (supposedly from the trenches, but much more likely from far beyond the fighting) for the Daily Mail. There is a story from the time of one of Beech Thomas' stories being stuck to one of the trenches, with the addendum 'If he comes here: Shoot him', suggesting that British troops stationed in Ypres and elsewhere had their own strong feelings about the war, and about Beech Thomas' reporting of it. 

While The Wipers Times features in museum archives such as the World War I exhibition at the Imperial War Museum, and the complete run of the trench newspapers are available to buy in facsimile form as a book, the story of Captain Fred Roberts (editor) and Lieutenant Jack Pearson (sub-editor) and their wartime foray into journalism isn't well known. 

Ian Hislop and Nick Newman, who wrote the script for The Wipers Times, were inspired to write the film following a short radio documentary Hislop had made about the publication for Radio 4 a number of years previously. Hislop has gone on record a number of times (including in the extras on the DVD) to say that he feels The Wipers Times is one of Private Eye's natural ancestors. The source material for the screenplay was his earlier research, alongside Roberts' memoir, and The Wipers Times itself. 

Since the film was made, The Wipers Times has gone on to become an equally successful stage play, essentially making the reverse journey to that made by Oh! What A Lovely War back in the 1960s. It seems inevitable to compare The Wipers Times to Oh! What A Lovely War, given the biting satirical tone of both the soldiers songs it draws on and the articles The Wipers Times draws on. There's even a subtle mention of The Wipers Times in Oh! What A Lovely War, just as there are music hall skits and songs in The Wipers Times. Similarly, both of these productions would find common ground with the more well known Blackadder Goes Forth, which was also famously set in the trenches of WWI.

The film was shot on location in Northern Ireland, with Ben Chaplin playing Fred Roberts and Julian Rhind-Tutt playing Jack Pearson. The story begins with the Sherwood Forresters out scavenging for wood and supplies amidst the bombed out ruins of Ypres, during the course of which they discover the printing press and decide to bring it back to their trench. One of the troops, it turns out, used to be a printer and knows how to operate the machine and Roberts has the whimsical idea of starting their own publication "Like Punch, but funny". 

Things go well and the publication is a big hit with the soldiers, leading to further editions and to Roberts and Pearson correcting prose and making editorial decisions amidst constant bombardment and fighting. Inevitably, not long after, the printing press is destroyed in a bombardment, leading to one of the most touching moments in the film: The troops carrying bits of decimated printing press as though they are mourning their best friend. 

A new press is located, meaning it's game on so far as The Wipers Times is concerned, but the troops activities have come to the attention of the high ups, and they are (largely) not pleased. 

Michael Palin puts in an exquisite turn as one of the few military commanders who, you suspect, has a bit of a soft spot for The Wipers Times and serves as a good source of support for Roberts and Pearson, just as their slightly eccentric command and compassionate attitude towards the men under their command serve as a good contrast to some of the more prim and proper military commanders. 

The film, much like the original source material, doesn't shy away from the horrors of war. It also acknowledges that The Wipers Times didn't stay in Ypres, with the title changing according to where the troops were stationed. Eventually they stopped including their location in the title, for intelligence reasons, but it's known that the Sherwood Forresters were at Passchendaele and at The Somme. In the latter case, twice. 

The film balances a light humorous tone with genuine pathos, poignancy and tragedy. There are also Pathé style comedy set pieces and music hall sing alongs, conveying the spirit of The Wipers Times as well as  of the times. 

As war films go, this is an unusual one. But it's well worth a watch. 

Navel gazing journalism post or... An ode to editing

Trying to review a Florence + The Machine album is akin to attempting to unravel an onion or a ball of twine to navigate a labyrinth. You find yourself poring over individual tracks, trying to decode them like an undergraduate working on a dissertation. You find yourself having sudden brainwaves in unexpected places, like on the bus on the way into work. And then frantically scribbling post its to yourself in the office and stuffing them into the pocket of your work trousers first thing in the morning as your colleague walks through the door.*

While this isn't the first time that I've reviewed the work of Florence + The Machine, it is the first time that I've been invited to do so by a publication.** The invite came from the Reviews Editor at Louder Than War back in March. 

I haven't written for Louder Than War for nearly two years. This is because my main work for them previously has been live reviews and I haven't been to a gig since February 2020. I did, however, review Skin's memoir for them back in summer 2020. As such, it seemed a good idea to reacquaint myself with the style and format of the album reviews ahead of time and to makes notes on the four singles from Dance Fever that had already been released. This was a good move because I didn't receive the promo stream until Wednesday 11th May, two days before release day. 

That evening, several hours after I'd got home from work, I sat down with my laptop and headphones and opened up the stream. It felt vaguely surreal to be listening to Dance Fever late at night, in the dark, with my headphones plugged into my laptop. 

Drink too much coffee and listen to Florence + The Machine

I'd already resigned myself, and my editor, to not having the review ready before release day so that first evening I just listened in the dark to the stream. Afterwards, I made notes on my first impressions, closed the laptop, and went to bed.

I figured that I had a few days to figure out Dance Fever and settle such important questions as "Should I give it 9 and a half out of 10 or 10 out of 10?" 

On Thursday night, after my second listen of the stream, I found myself lying awake and fretting: "If Lungs and High As Hope are both 10 out of 10, and Ceremonials is a 9 out of 10, does that mean How Big How Blue How Beautiful is 8 out of 10? or 7 out of 10?" 

I really like Dance Fever, but it didn't make me so excited that I was giddy and sleep deprived for a month afterwards (like Lungs did) or sob uncontrollably (Like High As Hope did). Is that what 10 out of 10 means? I'm not sure. It feels a bit of a misuse of my critical faculties if I'm deciding the star rankings of an album based on how extreme a reaction my central nervous system has to it. I mean, I was pretty mentally unwell when both Lungs and High As Hope came out, and that probably needs taking into consideration. "It will probably be 10 out of 10" I concluded, before fretting that it would look to the (sometimes critical) readers of Louder Than War as though I was fangirling, not doing journalism if I gave the album 10 out of 10. 

Saturday 14th March:

Once I'd done the food shop and listened to the repeat of The News Quiz at lunch time, I drafted and re-drafted my review until 8pm when I closed the laptop and headed through to the kitchen. There was a particularly well put together documentary about Castlemorton airing on Radio 4 and I wanted to get some tea. 

Sunday 15th March:

In the morning I felt I was ready to put my draft into Wordpress and add the videos, images and links. And generally get the SEO and formatting sorted. After I got back from the launderette, I set about doing this.

After six hours of solid editing the SEO and readability widgets in Wordpess were doing my head in.

I had felt pretty good about the review until I put it into the site and the readability widget flagged up a load of issues with it. Mainly to do with the passive tense and overlong sentences. This is probably natures way of reminding me that I've spent far too much time recently editing book chapters and trying to persuade literary agents to read them. And that I should have spent more time remembering how to write like a journalist.

All the videos, images and links were in the post by this point and the SEO light had gone green, but the readability monitor still had a red frown-y face on it and I was starting to worry about the length of the review and whether the structure was coherent enough. I found myself looking back at my review of High As Hope for The F-Word in 2018, and wondering why my review of Dance Fever wasn't as good. I mean, I was on anti-depressants and anti-anxiety pills when I wrote that one. I'm only on anti-histamines now. Surely that should make me a better writer?

At just after quarter past 7pm I closed my laptop and put it on to re-charge. Then I went through to the kitchen, flicked on the radio, and heated up the soup I'd made earlier after getting back from the launderette. Radio 4 was five minutes into what turned out to be Carys Eleri: Lovecraft (Not The Sex Shop In Cardiff), and it was so Welsh, so surreal, so weird, so completely over the top in its mix of musical theatre, sci fi and despairing takes on lockdown that even the continuity announcer sounded slightly stunned at the end of it. Note to self: Must listen again. 

I decided to make a coffee and vanilla milkshake with the remaining iced coffee because I could tell that it was going to be a long, long night.

Monday 16th May:

Woke up at twenty to six this morning knowing the alarm for work was going to be going off at 6am. Felt strong sense of injustice and decided to have a five minute lie in. Really wanted a 30 minute (at least) lie in but didn't fancy the abject hell of getting the bus after 8am. 

One of the disadvantages of reviewing an album using a promo stream is that there's a risk you'll get things wrong when it comes to attributing authorship of tracks or who produced what. I've a horrible feeling I might have done this, but hopefully not.

In a related note, I probably also paid far less attention to the album artwork for Dance Fever than I did to the artwork for High As Hope in 2018. This might be because I really, really like the artwork for High As Hope, but it's also because there wasn't as much time to consider it with Dance Fever. I realised after I'd submitted my review to my editor late last night that the image of Florence on the back of the CD of Dance Fever reminded me of Janis Joplin on the cover to Pearl, rather than giving off Victorian funeral tradition vibes as I'd felt previously.*** Not sure that anyone needs to know this, but it kept my mind occupied on the bus into work this morning.

This thought then caused me to muse on how your feelings about albums you've reviewed change over time. This is especially the case with albums you love that you continue listening to long after the review is done. There's always at least one epiphany about a specific song that you read a certain way and later end up re-evaluating and reading differently. Sometimes you end up reading the entire album differently because you end up building a relationship with it, and that relationship inevitably changes over time. 

You can read my review of Florence + The Machine's Dance Fever over at Louder Than War

* I don't own a smartphone. I was very late to phones generally and I am the world's slowest texter so scribbling cryptic notes to myself on scraps of paper is quicker. 

** I reviewed Florence's four previous albums for The F-Word. This means I either pitched the reviews to the Music Editor at the time or, when I was the Music Editor, I basically commissioned myself to write them.

*** My friend David and I went to the People's History Museum in about 2011 when they had an exhibition on funeral traditions and rituals in Victorian England. I have never forgotten this. 

Saturday Film Club #15: Veer-Zaara

Director: Yash Chopra

Country of origin and year of release: India, 2004

It would be easy to write one of those elevator sell, quick summaries of Veer-Zaara:

Romeo and Juliet, but in India and Pakistan.

That summary wouldn't be inaccurate, given that the film tells the story of Veer, an Indian pilot, who rescues Zaara, a Pakistani girl, and that they do fall in love with each other. But to simply describe it as that wouldn't do it justice. 

As well as telling the Veer and Zaara love story in flashback, the narrative is structured and anchored by the legal story framing it. We begin our film with Shaamiya Siddiqui, Veer's lawyer, who is played by Rani Mukherjee. She is a new young lawyer, seeking to make her mark in the male dominated Pakistani judicial system. And she has been given a case that, seemingly, she can never win: That of Veer Pratap Singh (Shahrukh Khan), an Indian man who has been detained for twenty years in Pakistan, accused of being a spy. In that time, he has refused to provide any kind of defence or explanation, or, indeed, to speak at all.

Reportedly based on real life Pakistani human rights activist Asma Jehangir, Shaamiya is pivotal to the film. It is she who persuades Veer to tell her his and (by extension) Zaara's story, and it is she who fights to change minds, to bring a case to challenge his imprisonment.

The tense legal scenes are intercut with vivid Bollywood recollections from Veer of his romance with Zaara (Preity Zinta), which are relayed in luminous scenes that show both the Indian countryside and Pakistan's cities at their best. Veer, we discover, grew up in a small village but went on to do very well when he qualified as an Air Force pilot, rescuing those in need. Zaara, meanwhile, grew up in wealth and pampered luxury in Lahore. They could never be together. Not just because of their two countries relationships with each other, but because - in the case of Zaara - her fate was already sealed. 

As I suspect is the case with Bollywood films in general, there is a real sense of spectacle to Veer-Zaara. I felt something of this spectacle, and sense of scale, years ago when I first saw the equally good Monsoon Wedding, but I'd say that Veer-Zaara is probably closer to my western sense of Bollywood. Mainly because it features characters bursting into song on a regular basis and Monsoon Wedding doesn't, but also because it's so incredibly long. It is, to date, the only film I own on DVD that includes an intermission. It is so long that it makes Gone With The Wind look like a taut 90 minute drama in comparison. You really need to be prepared to set aside an entire afternoon or evening for it. And to have a huge box of tissues to hand. 

What makes the film such compelling viewing is the engaging performances from the two leads as well as strong support from Mukherjee as Shaamiya and Divya Dutta as Zaara's friend and confident. The cinematography is also, frankly, gorgeous. What also makes it is the sense of Zaara we get through Veer's re-telling of their story: The Zaara he portrays is rebellious and outspoken, not given to sitting at home and waiting for her life to start. Through his telling, the viewer gets a real sense of not only his character but hers, and why he loves her. 

Saturday Film Club #14: Breakfast At Tiffanys

Director: Blake Edwards

Country of origin and year of release: US, 1961

Adapted from Truman Capote's novella of the same name, it feels only fair to state at the outset that Breakfast At Tiffanys the film is a very different beast to Breakfast At Tiffanys the novella. Both are equally enjoyable, but for different reasons.

Given the gritty reality of Capote's Holly Golightly, and her world, it perhaps doesn't seem surprising that the author had very clear ideas about who he wanted to play her. And it wasn't Audrey Hepburn. 

Instead, Capote's stated preference is widely reported to have been Marilyn Monroe, an actor whose background and biography would have placed her closer to the reality of a female hustler such as Holly.

Hepburn is perfect (nay iconic) as the Hollywood version of Holly Golightly, but that Hollywood version is, alas, a Holly defined and restricted by the expectations of Hollywood and the confines of the Hays Code. Which is a long way of saying that the character is much nicer,  and is more appealing, in the film than she is in the book. Similarly, it's never really clear in the film just where she's getting her money from, and the screen version features a traditional Hollywood ending that certainly isn't in the book.

The film begins with George Peppard's character, Paul, moving into a New York brownstone and meeting his neighbour, the charming Holly Golightly, an adventurer with a series of male friends who holds loud parties and keeps him awake at night. He first meets her properly when she climbs in through his open window from the fire escape in order to escape from the man she's left downstairs in her apartment. 

Later, he is invited to a party at her apartment, and the viewer witnesses one of the most entertaining moments of the whole film in the form of a hedonistic, cigarette and alcohol fuelled post war blitzkrieg that only ends when the police are called. It's a vision of a bygone world and, for this reason alone, you should watch this film.

In the film Paul is definitely heterosexual, meaning that the story can take a more romantic turn than Capote's original story did. Rather than being simply fascinated by his neighbour, Paul is now free to fall in love with her, and can be seen to be acting out of a sense of love and chivalry rather than simply friendship. Their relationship is also complicated on screen by the presence of Patricia Neal's character, a distinguished older married woman who has some kind of interest in Paul that the viewer guesses at rather than knows for certain. As with Holly's men, we kind of know where her interest in Paul lies, but it's never made explicit within the film. What it does is place them on a more even footing as characters: He may have a more comfortable life than her but, ultimately, are they so different? Seems to be the question that is being asked. 

Hepburn's Holly is an irresistible mix of charm, chic and exuberance that carries the film but - Mickey Rooney's disastrous casting aside - this is a film in which nobody is bad and everyone, however small their part, turns in an excellent performance. A case in point would be Dorothy Whitney as Mag Wildwood, who embodies the part perfectly, being both very funny and also true to what you suspect would be Capote's vision of her. Similarly, Neal - playing a character written for the film - purrs and vamps her way through every scene and Martin Balsam, as Holly's agent, is perfect in this cigar chomping, fast talking character part.

The element of the story that adds the most pathos has always been Holly's aspect of little girl lost vulnerability and (implied) mental instability, both of which Hepburn nails completely. And it is for this reason that the romantic aspect of the film works so well, up to and including the ending. We can believe that Holly would lay aside her adventures for the right man because the Hollywood version of her, er, would. Similarly, the Hollywood version would also go back and find the cat that she's just abandoned and would have a happy ever after ending with Paul. And, really, there's nothing wrong with that.