Tom Waits: Mule Variations (1999)

My first exposure to the insanely gravelly voice of Tom Waits (over the end credits of the Al Pacino film Sea of Love, where Tom sings the title song) led me to assume that he looked something like Bleeding Gums Murphy from The Simpsons. I was mistaken, but I wanted to hear that voice again and eventually got into Waits’s music; from his beginnings as a humble piano man to his gradual transformation into a fearless musical experimenter who combined his old style with a love of loud clangs and booms. There are many sides to Tom Waits – balladeer, jazzman, blues singer, crazy person – and the album I think illustrates this best is 1999’s Mule Variations.

Tom’s albums tend to bring to mind a particular place (his early albums evoked seedy bars and dark alleyways), and Mule Variations is no different; it sounds like it was recorded on an abandoned farm in a field somewhere. A lot of the tracks have a blues flavour to them, and you can imagine Tom strumming casually on the porch while someone accompanies him on an upside-down bucket. Most of these songs, like “Get Behind the Mule”, “Cold Water”, and “Filipino Box Spring Hog”, sound like they could have been made up on the spot and are all the better for it. We also get one of Tom’s traditional spoken word pieces, the darkly humorous “What’s He Building in There?”, which is told from the perspective of a nosy neighbour peering through the blinds at the suspicious man living next door (although the narrator ultimately comes across as far more sinister than the person he is spying on).

These are strong tracks, but what really makes the album for me are the ballads, which usually feature Tom accompanying himself on piano. Despite his frequent forays into experimentation, Waits is a balladeer at heart; had he been born a few decades earlier, Tom probably would have worked out of an office on Tin Pan Alley writing songs for Frank Sinatra and others (the best evidence of this is probably Tom’s 1982 album One from the Heart). The ballads on Mule Variations are arguably some of the finest Waits his written: “Hold On”, “House Where Nobody Lives”, “Pony”, “Picture in a Frame”, “Georgia Lee”, “Take it With Me”, and the triumphant “Come on up to the House” (my favourite) are all just lovely, managing to be beautiful and moving without becoming overly sentimental. I can’t help but wonder what they would have sounded like with a full Nelson Riddle-style orchestra behind them, but that would probably have jarred with the raw sound of the album.

This is my favourite Tom Waits album, and I highly recommend it. Tom Waits is a real Marmite musician – his eccentric style means people are either instantly repelled or left hungry for more – but if you like your music gritty with more than a few rough edges, this album is for you.

Leonard Cohen: Songs of Leonard Cohen (1967)

Often when buying something like an album or a book, it’s not unusual to think to yourself, I hope I enjoy this, because if I don’t I will have wasted my money. However, as I looked into the eyes of Leonard Cohen on the front cover of his first album, Songs of Leonard Cohen, I knew without any doubt that if I bought it I would enjoy it. I have no idea why this was – I was not familiar with Leonard Cohen’s music at all, the only song of his I knew being the frequently-covered ‘Hallelujah’. I did know that he had recently passed away, and that I had been sad to hear of his death, again despite not knowing a thing about the man or his music. And yet here I was, buying his album, certain that I would enjoy it. Happily, I did.

Since then I have learned that Leonard Cohen was already established as a poet and author before embarking on his musical career; his poetic skill carried over into his lyrics, which are filled with rich imagery and deft turns of phrase. His voice is intense and deep and rarely rises above a whisper, forcing you to ignore whatever else you are doing to devote all of your attention to the songs (this probably isn’t the best album to listen to while driving). The instrumentation on the album is also fantastic, and credit must go to producer John Simon for garnishing Cohen’s vocals and superb acoustic guitar playing with minimalist snatches of unusual instruments that perfectly compliment both the singer and the songs.

Despite all of that, it’s the songs that really make the album. The standard is consistently high, but my favourites would have to be ‘So Long, Marianne’, with its happy female backing vocals during the chorus; the austere ‘Master’s Song’; and the lilting, lullaby-like ‘Sisters of Mercy’, which has a lovely melody of the kind you might find yourself humming absent-mindedly days later.

I don’t know what compelled me to pick up this album, but I am really glad I did; it’s hypnotically beautiful. I am glad to have made Leonard Cohen’s acquaintance and look forward to getting to know him more. 

The Last Waltz (1978)

Concert films are tricky to pull off, maybe even more so than a standard movie. Rather than having weeks or months of shooting to work with, the film crew has to capture an event that lasts just a few hours. On top of that, the director has to give the audience the sense of actually being at the event in question, rather than at home or in the cinema. A tough job indeed, but one that was gladly accepted by Martin Scorsese when he set out to film the final concert of The Band.

The Band was comprised of Rick Danko (bass, fiddle, vocals), Levon Helm (drums, mandolin, guitar, vocals), Garth Hudson (organ, piano, accordion, saxophone), Richard Manuel (piano, drums, vocals) and Robbie Robertson (guitar and primary songwriter), and by 1976 they had been together for roughly 16 years. Starting out as members of Ronnie Hawkins’ backing group, The Hawks, the group eventually struck out on their own before falling into the employ of one Bob Dylan, whom they backed on his infamous tour of 1966. When Dylan was injured in a motorcycle accident and retired to Woodstock, New York, the Hawks followed him.

Recording informally with Bob in the basement of their house, Big Pink, the Hawks hit upon what would become their signature sound: the intertwining voices of their three vocalists – Danko emotive and tearful, Helm fierce and loud, and Manuel ethereal and soulful – garnished with Hudson’s inventive organ flourishes and Robertson’s wiry lead guitar. They also began writing their own songs, which were rich with the many musical styles that America had given birth to over the years. In 1968 they released their first album, Music from Big Pink, under the new name of The Band. It was an appropriate name, symbolic of the equality amongst the members and the lack of a traditional frontman. In the ensuing years they would release five more albums and tour extensively, before finally deciding to call it a day with a concert dubbed ‘The Last Waltz’.

It would have been very hard to cram the entire history of The Band into The Last Waltz, and Scorsese wisely does not attempt to do so. Instead, we meet The Band exactly as they were in 1976: exhausted, burned-out and in serious need of a long break. The concert footage is interspersed with interview segments, where we hear the group reminisce and tell stories about life on the road. Manuel comes across as witty but vulnerable; Danko tired but chirpy and upbeat; Garth an eccentric professor and fountain of musical knowledge. A lot of the interview time goes to Robertson who, although frequently engaging and charming, often coomes across as aloof and haughty. My favourite interview moments come courtesy of Levon; when Scorsese engages him in a discussion about rock & roll, his eyes light up like a child at Christmas. He reminds me of Keith Richards in that respect.

As for the concert itself? Great! The Band clearly wanted to go out with a bang, and everyone pours their hearts and souls into the songs. One aspect of the film I do have mixed feelings about, however, is the amount of guest stars featured, including (but not limited to) Neil Young, Eric Clapton, Joni Mitchell, Neil Diamond, Paul Butterfield, Ronnie Hawkins, Bob Dylan, and Muddy Waters, all of whom perform their own songs. I would have preferred Scorsese to omit some of these performances to make way for more Band songs (like 'Acadian Driftwood'), but it must be said that everyone performs well, and it is interesting to see The Band (who, of course, began as a backing group) supporting artists from such a vast array of musical styles. The guest that stood out the most to me were The Staple Singers, who join The Band for a gospel-style rendition of 'The Weight'.

Scorsese keeps track of the action incredibly well, and has a knack for catching those fleeting interactions between the musicians that are often missed in concert films. The lighting and choice of colour tones is fantastic; you can tell that a lot of thought and preparation went into the film and how it should look.

At one point Robertson refers to The Last Waltz as a celebration, and it is, but the film is also bittersweet; the members of The Band would endure numerous tragedies and hardships in the years after the concert, including the deaths of Richard Manuel in 1986 and Rick Danko in 1999. Levon Helm was diagnosed with throat cancer in 1998, cruelly robbing him of his singing voice. It remains a testament to Levon’s character that he was able to regain his voice and sing again on two wonderful albums, Dirt Farmer and Electric Dirt, before the disease finally claimed him in 2012. Garth Hudson remains in demand as a session musician, while Robbie Robertson works as a music executive for DreamWorks.

The Last Waltz remains a tribute to The Band. It doesn’t tell you everything about who they were and what they were about (you would have to listen to their albums for that), but it shows you what they were; a band, bound by brotherhood, friendship and wonderful music.

The Magnificent Seven (2016)

It’s easy to be cynical about remakes, but occasionally they do succeed in putting a new slant on an old story. Films like A Fistful of Dollars (1964), Scarface (1983), and Cape Fear (1991) are great examples of remakes that used the original films as a springboard for new ideas. This iteration of The Magnificent Seven is, interestingly, a remake of a remake, the 1960 version being an adaptation of the Japanese film Seven Samurai (1954). But I'm rambling: the point is, it’s perhaps best to think of remakes as being similar to the tradition of folk songs and stories, retellings for different times. But does this retelling of The Magnificent Seven have anything new to say?

The film opens with a small town being ransacked and taken over by the nefarious industrialist Bartholomew Bogue (Peter Sarsgaard). Tired of living in fear, the townspeople recruit nomadic warrant officer Chisolm (Denzel Washington) to help them reclaim their town. Aware that he stands no chance alone, Chisolm sets about putting together a miniature army of gunslingers, and then sets about readying the townsfolk for a showdown with Bogue’s men.

The story is simple and straightforward, but sadly the characterisation of the titular seven is somewhat lacking, and there are several members of the team who we don’t really get to know. However, the quality of the actors involved means that some of them are able to make an impression despite their underwritten roles. Denzel anchors the film as the mysterious Chisolm, one of those characters who is engaging precisely because we don’t know much about him. Vincent D’Onofrio, a great character actor, gets his teeth into the role of mountain-man Jack Horne, and Chris Pratt remains a charming and likeable screen presence as Joshua Faraday, although his character is very similar to his Guardians of the Galaxy role. Ethan Hawke has an interesting yet under-developed character arc as Goodnight Robicheaux, while Peter Sarsgaard’s Bogue is menacing but strangely absent for most of the film.

Despite the script issues, The Magnificent Seven benefits from spectacular American scenery which, although we don’t see quite enough of it, still provides a great backdrop for the action. Speaking of action, the action sequences are handled extremely well by director Antoine Fuqua (particularly the climactic shootout, which does a good job of keeping track of what all seven characters are doing), although the film could perhaps have done with one more action set-piece at some stage. The photography is done well without drawing too much attention to itself; I particularly like the contrast between the bright outdoor scenes and the shadowy interiors of log cabins and saloons, which are reminiscent of Clint Eastwood’s westerns.

So does this version of The Magnificent Seven bring anything new to the table? Not really, no. However, it’s very difficult to ruin a good story, and even if the telling of the tale is a little garbled this time around, it remains a good story, and one that I am glad to hear told one more time.

Dracula (1958)

Although Hammer Films had been in existence since 1934, it was not until the release of The Curse of Frankenstein in 1957 that the studio found its niche as the masters of horror. While the film was technically a remake of Universal’s Frankenstein (1931), it bore no resemblance to the earlier picture; Hammer’s Frankenstein was shot in vivid, sickly colour, and revelled in its violence and salaciousness so much that it made Universal’s film seem quaint by comparison. Buoyed by the success of Frankenstein – which featured Peter Cushing as Baron Frankenstein and Christopher Lee as the Creature – Hammer turned their attention to remaking another Universal horror film: Dracula.

The novel Dracula is a hefty, awkwardly structured tome that does not lend itself to cinematic adaptation, so scriptwriter Jimmy Sangster was handed the task of turning the book into a workable screenplay. Sangster streamlined the plot considerably, removing unnecessary characters and confining the action to a single, vaguely European town. The new story was lean and fast-paced: Jonathan Harker (John Van Eyssen) has travelled to Castle Dracula to destroy the infamous Count (Christopher Lee) once and for all. When he fails to return, his colleague – and master vampire hunter – Dr Van Helsing (Peter Cushing) sets out in search of his friend, only to discover that Harker has been turned into a vampire. After reluctantly killing Harker, Van Helsing learns that Dracula has set his sights on Harker’s fiancée Lucy (Carol Marsh) and her sister-in-law Mina (Melissa Stribling). Enlisting the help of Mina’s husband Arthur (Michael Gough), Van Helsing attempts to put an end to Dracula’s reign of terror.

A fascinating aspect of Dracula is the presentation of the Count compared with earlier versions. At this point, the role had already received two iconic portrayals: Max Shreck in Nosferatu (1922) and Bela Lugosi in the aforementioned Dracula (1931). Christopher Lee’s portrayal is very different from both, but no less iconic. When we first meet him he comes across as a perfect gentleman, greeting Harker to his castle and even carrying Harker’s luggage for him (what a charming host!). However, at the first sign of a threat, the real Dracula is revealed; a hissing, snarling, red-eyed monster. Interestingly, Van Helsing refers to Dracula as ‘it’ rather than ‘him’ throughout the film, and it’s entirely appropriate, as this Dracula is a wild, feral animal that has become dangerous and needs to be put down. It should be stressed that Lee’s performance is by no means one-dimensional; he somehow communicates to the audience that this terrible creature was once human, imbuing the character with a palpable sense of tragedy.

Despite the magnificence of Lee’s performance, his role in the film is actually fairly brief (an early example of ‘The Jaws Principle’ – keeping the monster off-screen to build suspense). The real star of the show is Peter Cushing as Van Helsing. The quietly intense Cushing was a remarkably gifted actor who was an asset to every film in which he starred, and his performance here is as good as any he ever gave.

But Dracula is about much more than the performances; the people behind the camera were also doing fantastic work. Along with Terence Fisher’s assured direction, we have Jack Asher’s striking cinematography and James Bernard’s thunderous score. Asher’s clever use of the colour red creates the illusion that the film is bloodier than it really is, while Bernard’s music lets you know, right from the start, that bad things are about to happen. Dracula has a great overall ‘look’ (which would become Hammer’s signature), and is a must-see for anyone interested in lighting, set design and shot composition.

Like all Hammer films, Dracula isn’t perfect; there are some misguided attempts at comic relief, and the film does drag slightly towards the end of the second act (although this makes it all the more thrilling when it suddenly speeds up again). As a whole, however, Dracula remains a shining example of filmmaking at its best; a team of masters of their respective crafts working together to produce a timeless motion picture.

Hell or High Water (2016)

The phrase ‘game-changer’ is overused these days, but one film that I think really deserves that title is Clint Eastwood’s Unforgiven (1992). To date Eastwood’s last western, Unforgiven seemed to be the last word on the entire genre, turning all of the familiar tropes inside out and leaving the few westerns that have succeeded it looking redundant; while there have been successful westerns since 1992, these films often feel more like tributes to older movies rather than statements in themselves. Hell or High Water looks to change all of that.

The plot is beautiful in its simplicity. Brothers Toby and Tanner Howard (Chris Pine and Ben Foster) are on a bank-robbing spree in West Texas, and Texas Rangers Marcus and Alberto (Jeff Bridges and Gil Birmingham) are out to get them. And that’s it. But it’s the telling of the tale that really sets Hell or High Water apart, and the sparseness of the plot gives us ample time to admire the well-crafted characters. The brothers are interesting; at first you think that Tanner is the crazy one and Toby is more level-headed, but as time goes on it becomes clear that they have more in common than it first appeared. The rangers are good too, a pair of straightforward old-timers trying to make sense of a world that seems to be leaving them behind. Special praise must go to Jeff Bridges as Marcus, who appears old and worn-out but is still sharp as a tack when it matters most. Death hovers over the film; although we are almost certain from the start that at least one of the main characters won’t make it to the end credits, this does not lessen the impact of the inevitable bloody showdown between them.

But the plot is only half the story, and you could say that Hell or High Water is also about America itself. Director David Mackenzie takes us off the beaten track and into a world we don’t often see in big movies, a rural America ravaged by poverty and debt, where no one has any sympathy for the banks that are being robbed. It’s definitely the same world as films like Unforgiven, but we get the sense that it is very much on its last legs. The dusty highways and earthy fields are filmed and photographed really well, and the soundtrack is laced with appropriately twangy guitars.

Hell or High Water successfully brings the western into the 21^st Century, and will hopefully spark a resurgence for the once-mighty genre. If I had to describe it in one word I would say ‘meaty’; meaty like a steak and just as satisfying.

Bob Dylan: Fallen Angels (2016)

The origins of Bob Dylan’s Fallen Angels stretch right back to the inaugural Farm Aid event on 22^nd September 1985, when Bob performed the popular standard ‘That Lucky Old Sun’ for the first time. Songs from the Tin Pan Alley-era are not what most people would associate with Bob Dylan, but since then his interest in old standards has only appeared to grow. He performed George Gershwin’s ‘Soon’ at a Gershwin tribute event in 1987, sang ‘Answer Me, My Love’ at the 1991 Guitar Legends event, and in 2001 recorded the Dean Martin-sung ‘Return to Me’ for the soundtrack of The Sopranos. That same year Dylan released the album Love and Theft, on which tracks like ‘Bye and Bye’ and ‘Moonlight’ represented his first foray into self-penned jazz balladry. With all of this in mind, it shouldn’t have been a surprise when Bob Dylan released his first collection of standards, Shadows in the Night, in 2015.

I initially wasn’t very keen on Shadows in the Night (although I am now), and for this reason I approached Fallen Angels with caution, afraid that it would be more of the same. What I should have remembered, looking back, is that Bob Dylan never – ever – does the same thing the same way twice. No album of his, for better or worse, has ever been a total re-tread of a previous one, and Fallen Angels is no exception.

Bob kicks things of with an affecting rendition of ‘Young at Heart’, which sets the tone for the rest of the album. It has the laid back feel of a lazy summer afternoon; warm and inviting, a sharp contrast to the nighttime atmosphere of the previous album. All of the songs have the same general effect, but I think my favourite would be ‘Polka dots and Moonbeams’, which has a lovely instrumental intro that gives Dylan’s band a chance to shine. While Shadows in the Night  featured Donnie Herron’s pedal steel as the lead instrument, the sound here is much more varied, and we are treated to pleasant passages of violin and guitar.

Bob doesn’t contribute instrumentally on this album, but Fallen Angels does continue the remarkable recovery of Dylan’s voice, which a few short years ago looked to be ravaged beyond repair. I'm not sure how Bob has managed to recapture so much of his old range, but the main thing is that he is stretching himself again, and that’s good.

So what’s next for Bob Dylan? At this point in a career filled with the unexpected, it's truly impossible to guess. Bob holds all the cards, and he's keeping them close to his chest.

Suicide Squad (2016)

Not many people liked Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice. Maybe it was the darkness of the film, maybe its close proximity to the very well-received Captain America: Civil War, maybe it was the jumbled and overly complex story; whatever it was, Batman v Superman just wasn’t what a lot of people wanted from the first real DC Universe film. While it wasn’t a huge success in terms of likeability, its $872.7 million box office takings guaranteed that the DC Universe would continue to expand, with the next film being the David Ayer-directed Suicide Squad. Personally, I found a lot to enjoy in Batman v Superman (which I mulled over in a previous review), and also happen to think that Marvel is in serious need of some big-screen competition, which meant that I was very excited to see what Suicide Squad had to offer. Would it take the DC Cinematic Universe to new heights? Or leave the upcoming Justice League with the unenviable task of having to rescue the franchise?

Suicide Squad picks up exactly where Dawn of Justice left off. The showdown between the Caped Crusader and the Man of Steel has left the world reeling, and the US government decides that measures must be put in place in case anything similar should happen again. Amanda Waller (Viola Davis) – a government official who is essentially a cold, hard, extremely sinister version of Marvel’s Nick Fury – suggests putting together a team of incarcerated supervillains; the worst of the worst, powerful enough to battle out-of-control superheroes, and yet totally expendable in the event that they fail. Under the watchful eye of Colonel Rick Flag (Joel Kinnaman), the team consists of Deadshot (Will Smith), Harley Quinn (Margot Robbie), Captain Boomerang (Jai Courtney), El Diablo (Jay Hernandez) and Killer Croc (Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje), and the incentive for the criminals to participate in the scheme is an explosive implanted in their necks. Before long an ancient witch called Enchantress (Cara Delevingne) has awakened from a centuries-long slumber to make a play for world domination, and the newly-formed squad is called into action for their first mission. Meanwhile, Harley Quinn’s boyfriend – who happens to be The Joker (Jared Leto) – sets out to steal back his girlfriend.

Where the plot of Batman v Superman was very convoluted and hard to follow, the story of Suicide Squad sometimes feels perfunctory and familiar; a threat arises and the team simply has put aside their differences and find a way to destroy it. However, this actually works in the film’s favour, as the straightforwardness of the plot allows us to focus all of our attention on the interaction between the film’s superb cast of characters. A problem with making films about villains, and one which Suicide Squad could easily have fallen into, is that you can end up with a group of horrible, unlikable characters who the audience have no sympathy for. Thankfully, the film gets around this by ensuring that its characters are multi-layered and interesting. We have Waller – ruthlessly efficient and willing to stoop to any depth to get the job done, yet ultimately working for the greater good. Deadshot – committing high-priced assassinations to provide a secure future for his daughter. Harley – a tough and resourceful criminal hopelessly in love with a man who is pure evil. El Diablo aspires to forgo his life of crime to become a man of peace, while Rick Flag goes from supervising the team to gradually becoming one of them. Captain Boomerang mainly serves to provide comic relief, and Killer Croc remains engagingly mysterious without coming across as one-dimensional.

The film’s wildcard is The Joker, who is not aligned with Waller, Enchantress or the Squad. He just wants his girlfriend back. The Joker’s relationship with Harley is fascinating in is horribleness: she has clearly become ensnared by his extraordinary personal magnetism, but his attachment to her seems far more sinister, and the exact purpose of it is never fully revealed. Never before has the Joker been more grotesque and vampire-like; he is like a cross between Anthony Hopkins’ Hannibal Lecter and Klaus Kinki’s Count Dracula in Nosferatu the Vampyre (1979). While he doesn’t appear often enough to steal the show, he makes a big impact, and the best is surely yet to come when this Joker eventually goes toe to toe with Ben Affleck’s Batman.

Characters aside, Suicide Squad has a lot going for it on a technical front. A big highlight of Batman v Superman was its sustained mood, and its successful efforts to create a universe for its characters to inhabit. Happily, that mood has carried over to Suicide Squad; it isn’t a sequel, but we definitely know we are in the same world as the previous film. Suicide Squad has a very distinct look, a sort of grey fog contrasting with bright colours in the form of flashing neon lights and the characters’ costumes. Occasionally the colour-o-meter swings too far in one direction, leaving us with either garishness or murk, but on the whole the photography is effective and has a genuine comic book flavour to it. The Joker’s scenes are a highlight in this respect; they have a weird, otherworldly vibe which is completely in synch with Jared Leto’s interpretation of the character.

One slight problem with Suicide Squad is the way the first part of the film is edited, and you suspect that the cold reception afforded to Batman v Superman forced the team to make some last minute changes to this film in an attempt to save it from the same fate. Consequently, where the first third of Dawn of Justice was slow and ponderous, the first third of Suicide Squad passes by in a blur, as it rushes to introduce all the characters and set up the plot. However, I can’t hold this against the filmmakers; they clearly listened to the criticisms of Batman v Superman and acted (perhaps overzealously) to rectify them with Suicide Squad, and you can’t fault that.

All in all, I think Suicide Squad is a success. It serves as an effective continuation of Batman v Superman, lays the table for Justice League, and manages to work on its own terms as a standalone feature. I particularly like that the DC films up to this point have a real heft to them that the Marvel films, for all of their positive attributes, tend to lack; Avengers and Guardians of the Galaxy keep you thoroughly entertained while you’re in the cinema, but Batman v Superman and Suicide Squad will have you thinking about them weeks later. Suicide Squad also continues to establish DC’s cinematic identity. The anti-Marvel: dark, violent, but ultimately driven by a strong cast of complex and interesting characters played by top-tier actors. That’s a recipe for success, and I’m looking forward to the next helping.