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Film: The Kingdom: I&II - Original Broadcast Edition
UK Release date: 4th July 2011
Distributor: Second Sight
Certificate: 18
Running time: 573 mins
Director: Lars von Trier
Starring: Ernst-Hugo Järegård, Kirsten Rolffes, Holger Juul Hansen, Søren Pilmark, Ghita Nørby
Genre: Comedy/Drama/Fantasy/Horror/Mystery
Format: DVD
Country of Production: Denmark/France/Germany/Sweden
Language: Danish/Swedish
Review by: Rob Ward
No stranger to controversy, Lars von Trier has been delighting, appalling and surprising cinema goers for well over twenty years. He pioneered the Dogme 95 school of filmmaking, brought Bjork to the big screen and allowed his production company to produce hardcore porn. Mainstream success has not been easy to come by for von Trier, with even his biggest UK successes remaining largely ‘arthouse’. So it’s little wonder that his early career in Danish television has received little attention over here. But the release of a boxed set of supernatural hospital drama The Kingdom could be about to change that.
The Kingdom is a cutting-edge hospital staffed by an offbeat cast of characters, including a new-age director, an egotistical Swedish neurosurgeon and a reckless medical student. And their faith in science is tested as a series of supernatural episodes occurs: a ghostly young girl appears in a lift shaft; a phantom ambulance appears every night; an unnatural pregnancy affects one of the nurses and all the while a malingering patient attempts to communicate with those on the ‘other side’...
The opening credits create an instantaneous sense of intrigue. At odds with the modern hospital setting, the start of every episode features a prologue set in the misty and mysterious ‘bleaching pools’ upon which the hospital would later be built. A solemn voice narrates as the sepia toned action unfolds on screen, describing the ancient marshlands where cloth workers bleached their wares, enveloped by thick clouds of fog. It’s a simple enough scene, but slow pan of the camera and the deliberate movement of the workers on screen add certain gravity to proceedings. An air of menace and unpredictably is also evident as we are told that the building of the hospital was designed to help eradicate ignorance and superstition in favour of science. Clearly this will not be the case: the old world is literally breaking into the new.
Sadly, the impact of the credits as almost undone by the dreadful theme music which blares from the screen immediately aftermath. Perhaps a product of their time, they have not dated well at all. Like a mid-90s cop drama, they thud from the screen with the word ‘Kingdom’ repeated ad infinitum over cheesy background action. It’s woefully out of place in the midst of such an atmospherically spooky drama.
Thankfully, the director proves that he is capable of producing excellent credit sequences at the end of each episode. In an obvious homage to Alfred Hitchcock, von Trier himself appears as a presenter in dinner jacket and bow-tie as the end credits role to offer a summation of the plot and a hint at what will come in the next show. His language is quaint and antiquated as he poses rhetorical questions to the audience and occasionally mocks the actions of the characters. It’s completely unnecessary yet utterly charming - not only for von Trier’s determination to appear on the other side of the camera, but also for his geeky hand gestures, as he implores the audience to “be prepared to take the good with the evil.”
Just as The Kingdom is filed with ideas of good and evil, so it is filled with morally ambiguous (or often dubious) characters. Chief among these is Swedish neurosurgeon Stig Helmer (Ernst-Hugo Järegård). He’s a man with a whole collection of enormous chips on his shoulders – not least his utter disdain for all things Danish. Despite that, he’s played with some charm by Järegård. His aged face manages to convey just enough rumpled dissatisfaction with his incompetent colleagues to convince you that his heart is in the right place – some of the time. Despite being a fierce critic of malingerers and timewasters, he has secrets and faults of his own – not least a malpractice case arising from a botched operation which left a young girl brain-damaged.
It’s testament to the excellent writing that The Kingdom’s characters are so well-developed. It would have been very easy to rely on clichéd stereotypes in a series such as this, but each character is given room to breathe and time to develop. Some, like Helmer, arrive fully formed, others, such as his nemesis Jørgen Krogshøj (Søren Pilmark) develop more steadily. Initially, he’s little more than a sniping pedant, but he reveals himself as being rather more warm-hearted and ‘resourceful’ than he seems.
Whether the same credit can be extended as far as Sigrid Drusse (Kirsten Rolffes) is less clear. She’s the malingerer in question, inventing reasons to stay in the hospital as an excuse to carry out her paranormal investigations. Initially, she seems easy to dismiss, but as the plot unfolds her snooping becomes increasingly credible. She, however, remains irritating. Despite that, Rolffes gives a brilliant performance as the irritating old woman. One scene in particular, as Drusse attempts to speak to a ghost is an acting masterclass. With only a candle flame foregrounded and her face in the background of the frame, Drusse asks yes/no questions of the spirit world. How the flame reacts to her questioning determines what answer she has received. It’s a beautifully lit and wonderfully acted monologue – and completely compelling.
There are a whole host of other fascinating characters engaged in all manner of hare-brained schemes and storylines. A Masonic lodge rules behind the scenes, the happy-clappy hospital director attempts to introduce his hapless methods of motivation and a medical student uses a severed head to seduce a nurse. With workplace drug-dealing, a doctor transplanting a cancerous liver into himself and a pair of Down's Syndrome sufferers acting as a Greek chorus, it’s a wonder that the plot makes any sense whatsoever.
Somehow, however, it does. Von Trier has been extremely brave in throwing so many characters and so many story-strands into the mix from the very outset. Much of the success of the show lies in not underestimating its audience – each storyline is distinct and unusual enough to hold the attention and every character is interesting enough to sustain the interest. The hand-held camerawork also ensures that the viewer is constantly kept in the midst of the action. And if things ever do flag, an injection of humour is never far away.
The Kingdom is very funny – in a number of ways. There is out and out slapstick, humorous dialogue and enough absurd action to ensure that it appeals on numerous levels – and every episode contains an anti-Danish speech from Helmer (which often ends with him screaming “Danish scum” into the night sky). Often the more humorous scenes are effectively cut with the more supernatural elements to create a cohesive whole which never becomes bogged down in one particular element of the story.
Season one becomes increasingly interested in the supernatural elements of the story as it nears its conclusion, culminating in a series of cliff-hangers which are partly addressed as season two begins to unfold. It would be churlish to give too much away here about the happenings of the second series, but it’s fair to say that there are also plot points which remain unresolved as it ends. Sadly, they will remain that way. Following the climax to the series, both Ernst-Hugo Järegård and Kirsten Rolffes passed away. Shorn of arguably two of the most important characters, there was no way The Kingdom could continue and plans for a third series were shelved.
Despite the slightly unsatisfactory conclusion, The Kingdom is a simply brilliant series. It wears its influences on its sleeve proudly – clearly owing a debt to Twin Peaks and the X Files - features memorable characters and situations, and combines drama and comedy to great effect. Of course, it’s no surprise that a Danish series about the supernatural was never likely to be broadcast on TV in Britain. Instead, an inferior series (written by Steven King) attempted to replicate the appeal. Don’t bother with the remake – search out the original instead.
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Film: As Far As My Feet Will Carry Me
Year of production: 2001
UK Release date: 6th June 2011
Distributor: Second Sight
Certificate: 12
Running time: 158 mins
Director: Hardy Martins
Starring: Bernhard Bettermann, Iris Böhm, Anatoliy Kotenyov, Michael Mendl, Irina Pantaeva
Genre: Drama/War
Format: DVD
Country of Production: Germany
Language: German/Russian
Review by: James Garner
Prisoner of war films have been capturing the imagination of viewers since the 1920s, and while most of them follow the same escape-from-peril formula, As Far As My Feet Will carry me is unusual in that it tells the story of a German World War II soldier who escapes from a Soviet labour camp. Based on a 1955 novel by Josef Martin Bauer that was adapted into a 1959 German TV miniseries, director Hardy Martins’s 2001 drama doesn’t try to be an exercise in revisionist history, but it does succeed in offering an alternative to the stereotypical depictions of German soldiers as unthinking automatons.
As Far As My Feet Will Carry Me begins with soldier Clemens Forell (an alias of Cornelius Rost, who chose to keep his real name secret fearing KGB reprisals) saying goodbye to his wife and young daughter as he is sent off to war. Before we know it, he is captured by Soviet forces and sentenced to twenty-five years of hard labour in a Siberian lead mine.
Conditions in the camp are brutal, and Forell (Bernhard Bettermann) wastes no time in plotting an escape, but after his first attempt he is quickly recaptured and severely beaten by his fellow prisoners. Eventually, some four years later, he escapes again with the help of the terminally ill camp doctor, and so begins an epic, almost 7,000 mile journey.
Forell’s long escape is fraught with danger at every turn, and he is chased all the way by the camp leader, Lieutenant Kamenev, but while he feels he cannot trust anybody, he receives varying degrees of help from several sources. First, he hooks up with two gold prospectors, Anastas and Seymon, but he is soon on his own again after Seymon murders Anastas and pushes Forell down a slope, paranoid that his gold will be stolen. Next, Forell is rescued from wolves by nomadic Chukchi herders, one of whom, Irina, nurses him back to health falls in love with him. Forced to leave when it becomes apparent that Soviet forces are closing in on him, Forell then sets out on an arduous journey to central Asia, where he is helped by a Jewish man to cross the border into Iran.
In Iran, he is arrested on suspicion of being a Soviet spy, and it looks as though his escape has come to an end in the cruellest of ways, just as he is on the verge of being reunited with his family...
Filmed on location in Germany, Belarus and Uzbekistan, As Far As My Feet Will Carry Me has an epic sweep that is visually powerful and beautiful to watch, but in terms of the narrative, there are elements of the film that feel overly contrived and implausible. Forell’s brief romance with Irina, for example, borders on the absurd as a result of one particular scene in a tent that could almost be a parody of Dances With Wolves. The slush of the natural environment is one thing, but Martins seems to have confused that with the kind of slushy sentimentality that you’d expect from a Kevin Costner vanity project. Forell even develops a close bond with a husky that is later shot when trying to protect him, but, fortunately, this is not Dances With Huskies, and Martins does not milk the relationship between man and beast. Not too much that is.
Sentimentality is one thing, but a bigger problem is the constant pursuit of Forell by Kamenev. The fact that Forell’s stoic pursuer spends so long and travels so far in his attempts to recapture him is difficult to believe, and at times borders on the preposterous. Kamenev’s character is not particularly well developed, and he is played with a one-dimensional solemnity by Anatoliy Kotenyov, so there is little evidence of why he is so obsessed with Forell. Similarly, the idea that Kamenev is permitted by his superiors to leave his post for such great lengths of time to chase Forell is implausible.
Perhaps Martins is making concessions to Hollywood-style melodrama in an attempt to reach as wide an audience as possible, but he is on much more solid ground when he avoids the temptation to overplay his hand. The relationship between Forell and Dr Stauffer (Michael Mendl), the camp doctor who helps him escape, is far more convincing. The two men barely know each other, but as Stauffer is terminally ill, he takes the decision not to waste the provisions he has carefully hidden away and urges Forell to make the escape he knows he cannot endure, asking Forell to pass on a message to his wife if he succeeds.
In spite of its flaws, and a musical soundtrack that is sometimes annoyingly overwrought, As Far As My Feet Will Carry Me is a highly entertaining film that succeeds more often than it fails. Bettermann is thoroughly convincing as Forell, and his understated performance goes a long way in ensuring that the film’s more melodramatic tendencies do not derail it.
While As Far As My Feet Will Carry may differ from the majority of prisoner of war films in telling the story of a German soldier’s escape, in most other respects, it is a conventional POW escape drama; full of dramatic twists, heightened emotion and epic adventure. Overall, it’s an entertaining, though not particularly convincing account of one man’s great escape. JG
Film: The Tunnel
Year of production: 2001
UK Release date: 25th April 2011
Distributor: Second Sight
Certificate: 12
Running time: 160 mins
Director: Roland Suso Richter
Starring: Nicolette Krebitz, Heino Ferch, Sebastian Koch, Alexandra Maria Lara
Genre: Action/Drama/History/Thriller
Format: DVD
Country of Production: Germany
Language: German
Originally created as a German TV mini-series, The Tunnel has been re-cut and re-packaged as a movie for DVD release outside of its homeland. It’s testament to the quality of the production most audiences would be none the wiser about the film’s origins. But does the change of emphasis lead to a worthy release or is this is misguided premise?
Based on a true story, The Tunnel focuses on 1961 Berlin, as the East/West wall is hurriedly constructed families and friends are split on the grounds of geography. Headstrong athlete Harry Melchior is caught on the East where he’s kept under close supervision thanks to his high profile and reputation as a troublemaker and political firebrand.
When Harry decides to make a break for the West, he is unable to take his beloved sister, Lotte, with him. His best friend, Matthis, faces a similar dilemma, as he is split from his wife Carola on their escape through the sewage system. United on the other side of the wall, the pair decide to sneak their loved ones over – or rather under – the border.
Assembling a group of like-minded rebels, Matthis and Harry put their professional skills to the test, as architect Matthis plans the tunnel construction and the athletic Harry provides the muscle necessary to dig through over a hundred metres of earth. With the authorities employing every underhand tactic in the book to uncover their plot, will they achieve their aims or will their plan collapse around them?
The driving force behind the narrative and the lead character as the action unfolds is Harry (Heino Ferch), a heroic and committed leader of men. His performance is excellent, as he imbues the character with a nobility and clarity of purpose which is altogether admirable. Sadly, this commitment to the cause means that there is little light or shade to the character and as a result he’s not entirely engaging.
Thankfully, the other characters are more nuanced and interesting. All the performances are strong, and even the occasional lurch into cliché or caricature doesn’t detract from their excellent acting. Sebastian Koch is very strong as the conflicted Matthis and the underutilised Fred really comes into his own as the film reaches its conclusion. Best of the bunch is Nicolette Krebitz as Fritzi.
Fritzi’s story is fairly predictable and her outcome obvious. But along the way her love-affair with Heiner (Florian Panzner), a boyfriend trapped on the other side of the wall, is the source of the most poignant and powerful scene in the movie. Fearing that their relationship is stuttering to a halt, Heiner makes a desperate attempt to join his lover on the West. What follows is a particularly moving scene as their relationship is literally and metaphorically divided by the Berlin Wall, which physically splits the screen and the couple.
Perhaps less subtle, but no less effective are the scenes in the tunnel. There are clear and obvious parallels to be drawn with The Great Escape, as the rebels attempt to cover their tracks whilst undertaking their enormous excavation. Unsurprisingly, they face problems like tunnel collapses and unexpected concrete obstacles, but these are dealt with efficiently by both the characters and the director. The sense of claustrophobia and peril is perhaps not as acute as it might be – the relatively spacious tunnel is a factor in this - but given the budgetary restraints inherent in this TV production it would be churlish to quibble with the set design.
Whilst the men in the story toil underground, their wives and families face investigation on the surface. Creepy Kruger (Uwe Kockisch) straddles the line between unthinking automaton and put-upon jobsworth carefully enough to create a genuinely tense series of double crosses, espionage and intimidation, which plays nicely alongside the honest integrity of the tunnellers.
Sadly, as the film reaches its denouement, it becomes increasingly preposterous and implausible. In a story ‘based’ on true events, it’s difficult to know where the truth ends and the embellishments begin, but there are some barely creditable twists (not least an NBC camera crew filming the action), turns and set-pieces in the final third of the movie. It’s a shame as they were really not necessary at all. The human drama here would have been more than sufficient to hold the audience’s interest without resorting to the action-packed ending provided.
There’s much to be admired here given that The Tunnel began life on television. But sadly a kind of ‘small screen’ mentality limits the film’s appeal in this version. It would be interesting to see what was removed in the cut – a little more focus on characters over action would certainly be beneficial. Having said that, the closing captions about the real people involved confirm this to be a worthy tale and one which has been steadily, but unspectacularly, presented. RW
Film: Dobermann
Year of production: 1997
UK Release date: 25th April 2011
Distributor: Second Sight
Certificate: 18
Running time: 99 mins
Director: Jan Kounen
Starring: Vincent Cassel, Tchéky Karyo, Monica Bellucci, Antoine Basler, Dominique Bettenfeld
Genre: Action/Crime/Drama/Thriller
Format: DVD
Country of Production: France
Language: French/English/Spanish
Released back in the late 1990s, Dobermann was an antidote to the bland offerings of the time and a French response to English speaking taboo breakers like Reservoir Dogs and Natural Born Killers. But in this more permissive time, with the advent of a new breed of horror pushing the boundaries of screen violence, and Asian masters of cinema such as Miike showing us just what it’s like to be on the edge of permissiveness, does Dobermann still hold the same power?
During the christening of Yann Le Pentrec, a Doberman scratches on the church door. One of his uncles has brought the baby a gun as a present. When the Doberman enters the church, and the gun goes flying into baby Yann’s pram after a collision, the family discover that he takes to the weapon like it was a new toy. And so Dobermann is born.
Years later, we meet the adult Dobermann and his girl, Nat, robbing an armoured car before going on to meet with the rest of his gang of lunatics and misfits for the heist of the century.
In broad daylight, the gang rob a succession of banks, throwing Paris into chaos. The police are in turmoil, unable to control the situation. Unfortunately, Dobermann’s plan has put him squarely on the radar of psychotic detective Christini, who will stop at nothing to get him.
As Christini closes in on Dobermann and his crew of reprehensible criminals, they find themselves trapped and prepare for a confrontation of epic proportions…
Dobermann is not an easy film to sit through. Apart from the violence, and there is more than enough to make the hardened viewer squirm, the soundtrack pumps with little consideration for the eardrums, and the pace and editing make for a literally breathtaking experience. It is not always pretty; in fact the majority of the film is an ugly mess of violence, loathsome characters and techno. That said, it’s hard not to like the film as a whole, if only for the way the filmmakers have chosen to batter the viewer repeatedly in nearly every scene and make no apologies for doing so. It’s a mesmeric experience, and one you’re not likely to forget, for better or worse.
The robberies that form the crux of the film are nothing especially inventive or daring. There is little spectacle to them when viewed alongside countless other heist movies, but the little touches, such as placing a grenade in the helmet of a pursuing police motorcyclist, make the whole affair seem so outlandish that you can forget the shortcomings. This is not Heat after all.
The characters on offer start at despicable and descend the scale to scum of the earth. There is not one redeeming feature to any of them. Dobermann himself is a violent and nasty criminal who delights in shooting and blowing things up, as well as humiliating the odd victim of his robberies. He isn’t a character that as a viewer we have any real sympathies with. But that’s ok, because as a villain (oh yes, Dobermann is not the villain of this piece) we are given the despicable Detective Christini, a man so utterly foul that he makes Dobermann look like a lovable rogue. After all, any policeman who thinks nothing of throwing a baby across a room or giving it a grenade to play with during an interrogation is going to make anyone sympathise with the criminal he’s chasing.
This is the main problem with the film. For all the flashy photography and breakneck pace, the characters are so impossible to relate to that we are never allowed to view the film as anything other than an excuse for violence. This leaves the whole film feeling like a bit of throwaway fun rather than a subversive experiment in what’s permissible. Unlike, say, Ichi the Killer, which had at its core a statement on the way we view screen violence, Dobermann seems content to throw brutal acts at us and never allows us to get over one before hurling another, without commenting on any of them. This could be Dobermann’s undoing, but the film has enough genuine adrenalin-fuelled fun in its arsenal that anyone looking for 100 minutes of action will not be disappointed.
Cassel is good as the titular lead, but his onscreen charisma has been better displayed in other, superior films. Monica Bellucci isn’t given much to do except look ridiculously gorgeous and shoot things, which she does effortlessly and with considerable style, stealing most scenes she appears in through sheer presence. Tcheky Karyo is creepy and disgusting as Christini and makes for a very believable monster. The rest of the performances are a great deal of fun, but no one stands out as being anything other than walking comic characters (this might even be a compliment as the film is based on a series of comics).
Director Kounen has loaded the frame with enough crazy images to make the eyes bleed. Some are visceral, some are sexual, some are beautiful, but all are loud and searing. The quiet hideout for the gang is contrasted to good effect with the chaotic Paris streets, which are rife with fodder for the array of weaponry on offer. The first shot of adult Dobermann centres on the barrel of his oversized gun and from there his and everyone else’s weapons are almost fetishised throughout. The climactic confrontation between the gang and the police takes place in a club that could easily be Hell. The music is deafening, the imagery gaudy, and the violence extreme. It’s a potent mix that will work for some, but will definitely not be to everyone’s taste.
While it would be easy to dismiss Dobermann as a gratuitous orgy of violence, it is hard not to fall for its charms, such as they are. It is a film that will definitely not appeal to everyone, but one which has retained the shock value that set it apart from an array of Tarantino-style rip-offs, despite some heavy competition over the years. You’ll know whether it’s to your taste before it’s even begun: if the sight of an animated dog urinating on the opening credits doesn’t do it for you then it’s probably best to avoid it. For the rest of us, it’s insane, violent, over-the-top, crass - and a lot of fun. RM
Series: Heimat 2: Chronicle Of A Generation
Release date: 21st June 2010
Certificate: 15
Running time: 1513 mins
Director: Edgar Reitz
Starring: Henry Arnold, Salome Kammer, Frank Roth, Noemi Steuer, Franziska Traub
Genre: Drama/War
Studio: Second Sight
Format: DVD
Country: Germany
Over twenty-five hours of material brings to life a world often unconsidered by Western audiences fed on typically two dimensional depictions of Germans in film. This generation is ideally epitomised through the character of Hermann Simon, whom we return to as grounding for the series’ meandering plot that incorporates thirteen episodes featuring twelve different character perspectives.
In 1960, we first meet Hermann, a brilliantly gifted musician, who, after a youthful romance is brutally cut short by his family, vows never again to give himself up to love. He leaves his small rural village and makes for the Bohemian Mecca of Munich where he is accepted to study piano and composition at the city’s renowned Conservatory. There, he discovers an enclave of talented, experimental young musicians, poets, filmmakers and thinkers, who are collectively trying to come to terms with the long shadow of the country’s all too recent Nazi past. In the grounds of their artists retreat house, this group take a decisive hand in shaping its future.
Hermann’s vow is put to the test by a cohort of liberated and talented women, but it is the quiet, inhibited but brilliant cellist Clarissa whom Hermann cannot seem to put from his mind.
The series then follows Hermann and his friends as the decade unwinds, tracking them through to the end, where the toughest decisions lie in wait for all of them…
Unsurprisingly given its length, the series often has more in common with a novel than a piece of cinema. Reitz’s direction creates a visual canvas that does much to present the shattered, post war beauty of Munich, and even more to present in smoke-filled, lingering detail, a lifestyle that will awake longing in anyone who professes to have an artistic soul. Heimat 2 portrays a world of improvised jamming sessions, revolutionary ideas, talent feeding on genius, and all with explosive and unpredictable results.
For those used to modern cinema and television, the scenes seem to barely move, so content is the director to allow his audience to soak up the atmosphere. It is a series of powerful contrasts that leaves its audience in little doubt that this generation of young German artists had far more to rebel against than their counterparts in the West. The freedom of expression and sexual liberation are movingly contrasted with characters so emotionally fragile that they are often unable to make good on the bounties their lifestyle offers them.
Each of the thirteen episodes offers a new perspective, and, through use of voiceover, allows for a searching, introspective style that creates characters of depth. As the audience reaches the conclusion of the series, there is an intimate familiarity born of having spent at least an hour-and-a-half inside the head of each character. As their initial youthful euphoria gives way to the far more recognisably adult word of professional jealousy and inadequacy, the characters come of age.
Hermann’s inspiration in writing a composition for Clarissa becomes steeped in envy when his experimental work propels her to stardom but he is left in the shadows. His multi-talented South American friend Juan goes from being a musical figure of near reverence to a bitter love rival. As the episodes progress, the intoxicating wide-eyed optimism of the early stories is replaced by something distinctly more dramatic, verging on melodrama, as debauchery, drugs and death pay the characters a visit.
One of the series’ main achievements is in the fact that we never question for one moment that these are highly gifted musicians. This is in equal parts a testament to the skills of the ensemble cast as well as clever, intricate filmmaking. Unfortunately, visually the quality of the series appears to have been greatly diminished in its transfer to DVD. This is particularly sad as the films share an almost decadent, languid visual style that incorporates use of monochrome amid the colour photography during scenes of high emotional poignancy. The slow pacing allows us to take in detail that we would certainly miss in modern, intercut film and television. Whilst some might view this visual style as dated, others will be seduced by it.
There is nothing dated about the performances, however. Henry Arnold leads the ensemble cast with a nuanced and, at times, unsettling portrayal of Hermann Simon, the young genius struggling to come to terms with the ruthless, clinical suppression of his human desires. He is ably supported by Salome Kammer playing frightened love interest Clarissa. The scenes between the two conjure the awkward, stumbling attempts at romance that many will empathise with, and they are handled with a grace and humour that belays their charged emotional context.
In what some might describe as brazenly attempting to ‘chronicle’ a period of the last century, Reitz unsurprisingly faced accusations of a somewhat selective approach to German history. Whilst his representation of ‘60s Munich is often idyllic, Reitz preserves a subtle sense of foreboding at the Nazi skeletons lurking in closets and attic spaces. Even the Foxhole, the Bohemian mansion paradise of the creative set once played host to leading Nazi figures, and the students must face the knowledge that the philanthropy that allows their artistic collective to flourish was preserved by their benefactor’s dealings with the Reich.
Heimat 2 is unquestionably and unflinchingly epic in scope. Its unhurried style may not suit all tastes but for those willing to invest the time demanded by the story’s length the rewards are considerable. In many ways, the best judgement on the film is passed by the film itself. In the opening episodes, Hermann is introduced to a team of young, Avant Garde film-makers brimming with revolutionary zeal. “The films of our fathers are dead,” they tell him, without a hint of mourning at their passing. Now, approaching twenty years since the filming of Heimat 2, there is little doubt that epic filmmaking of this kind has long passed into history, but history has preserved, albeit imperfectly, a near unique cinematic experience of great depth that will fully repay the time invested in watching it. NB
Film: Dougal And The Blue Cat
Release date: 1st November 2010
Certificate: U
Running time: 79 mins
Director: Serge Danot
Starring: Christian Riehl, Paul Bisciglia, Nadine Legrand, Jean-Luc Tardieu
Genre: Animation
Studio: Second Sight
Format: DVD
Country: France
Created by stop-motion animator Serge Danot, The Magic Roundabout was initially a French TV series for children. Only after the BBC bought the series in 1965, and enlisted Play School regular Eric Thompson to transform the programme, did it cast its spell over the rest of the world. With Thompson throwing away the French scripts and writing new ones, with all-new dialogue and quintessential characters, it was hard to imagine the series without our beloved Dougal, Florence et al. With the release of Dougal And The Blue Cat, including the original French version, Pollux And The Blue Cat, we are finally able to compare these two fascinating feature-lengths.
Pollux And The Blue Cat (1970)
Pollux the dog, troubled by an eerie dream, is further dismayed by the arrival of a blue cat to the Beautiful Wood. While the Wood’s other residents try to welcome him, the ever-suspicious Pollux is watching his every move.
When the blue cat ventures into the forbidden part of the Beautiful Wood, things take a turn for the worse. Unknown to Pollux and the rest of his friends, the cat has begun his quest to take over their beloved home, turning it entirely blue with the aid of the ‘blue voice’ and an abandoned factory housing an army to destroy all that isn’t.
Pollux will need to regain the trust of his friends if he is to rescue them from imprisonment and restore the Beautiful Wood to its former flamboyant glories…
Dougal And The Blue Cat (1972)
Dougal, troubled by a terrifying noise during the night, seeks answers from his friends Zebedee and Florence, whom are unable to help, distracted instead by the new arrival in the Magic Garden – a blue cat called Buxton.
While the Garden’s other residents welcome him, the ever-suspicious Dougal is watching his every move, and when Buxton is spotted talking to a mysterious ‘blue voice’ before entering a derelict factory on the outskirts of their world, things unsurprisingly take a turn for the worse.
Unknown to Dougal and the rest of his friends, Buxton has begun his quest to take over the Magic Garden, turning it entirely blue with the aid of the ‘blue voice’ and an army to destroy all that isn’t.
Dougal will need to regain the trust of his friends if he is to rescue them from imprisonment and restore the Garden to its former flamboyant glories…
If Eric Thompson really did tear up the scripts to the French version of The Magic Roundabout and create his own plots, he shared a spookily similar vision to Danot’s, as both versions are almost identical in ways of storyline. His daughter, actress Emma Thompson, to this day insists that her father would watch reels of soundless footage, conjuring up quirky stories for the television series, and this may be true, but to get a feature-length almost spot on seems all too coincidental.
Having said that, out of the two on show here, Danot’s Pollux And The Blue Cat is the more polished, and understandably so, with fabulously quirky ditties complementing the story rather than hindering it - even if Florence’s heart-breaking final song in Thompson’s adaptation is by far the best of the whole bunch.
Pollux is most definitely aimed primarily at children – its characters are more child-friendly and stereotypical. Pollux is a dog that dislikes cats, Ambroise is a cow that just wants to eat grass (lots of it), while Flappy the bunny is lazy, pure and simple. There are no sneaky drug references or political sideswipes aimed predominantly at the student audience of Thompson’s version, and forgiving the racist tones of a narrow-sighted Chinese impersonation that appears in both, every character is straightforward, and perhaps more boring because of it.
What is surprising, then, is just how creepy Danot’s creation actually is. Only twice during Dougal And The Blue Cat do the hairs stand up on the back of the neck: firstly, when Dougal confronts the spectacularly creepy noise disrupting his sleep, and secondly, when Buxton enters the nightmare room during his quest to become king – the sinister soundtrack supporting the odd, angular, almost German-expressionist visuals.
In Pollux And The Blue Cat, the spooky noise is replaced by a dull mechanical one, yet the factory in the forbidden part of the wood is fantastically used to make whips for hitting children. Only on discovering this does the mad army that captures the inhabitants of the wood make any sense – they are whips, something not made clear either by the visuals or by Thompson’s interpretation.
It doesn’t end with the whips, though. Danot doesn’t need a creepy score in the nightmare room to create fear, as the blue cat and the blue voice already conjure enough with their threatening powers of articulation. Then there is the sixth room in the factory, the one where they make the whips to hurt the flowers and the children of the beautiful wood, and an assault on its community that will see mostly younger viewers reach for a cushion or two.
Thompson wins brownie points for turning Danot’s 'storeroom of sugar' challenge into a torture chamber unfit for the salivating Dougal to try and negotiate, but, for the most part, Pollux And The Blue Cat is a far more intriguing and coherent piece of storytelling.
Yet Eric Thompson manages to give each character a unique charm, by now adored by millions - it’s not hard to see why the series, and this film, is cherished by so many. With wonderful one-liners such as “What a place, worse than Barnsley,” “Do you come here often?” and “Remember you’re British!” Thompson was able to connect with both children and adults alike, helped in no small way by political commentary, references to current affairs and nods to other British institutions (Dougal dyes his fur blue and calls himself Blue Peter in order to infiltrate Buxton’s blue factory unnoticed).
Pollux isn’t without its humorous moments either: “Thank god there’s a dark side - much less to paint” is uttered during a trip to the moon to paint it blue. “We have no gutters in the Beautiful Wood,” comments Pollux on meeting the blue cat for the first time, and the clever “She’ll be black and blue” line delivered in the final moments to instigate more dog versus cat violence.
Combined with Danot’s charming animation, both versions are feasts for the eyes, regardless of age or nationality, and although short on running time, with a plodding introduction Thompson struggles to fill, the transition from five-minutes to feature-length is made with considerable ease.
Dougal And The Blue Cat is a wonderful achievement, blessed with wonderful characters and light-heartedness that will appeal to all ages. But ignore Pollux at your peril. Darker, more coherent and just as witty, Danot’s version is actually superior, making this DVD an essential purchase - and an absolute treat. DW
Film: D'Artagnan's Daughter
Release date: 4th October 2010
Certificate: 15
Running time: 125 mins
Director: Bertrand Tavernier
Starring: Sophie Marceau, Philippe Noiret, Claude Rich, Sami Frey, Jean-Luc Bideau
Genre: Action/Adventure/Comedy
Studio: Second Sight
Format: DVD
Country: France
The words “I shall avenge you” conjure up images of Star Trek, or Dr Lazarus in Galaxy Quest who is farcically tormented by that phrase. Its inclusion at the start of D’Artagnan’s Daughter sets the tone for this luscious period romp through the French countryside. Dumas’ Musketeers ride out again in this adventure. Although their breeches are somewhat straining at the seams these much loved characters of literature are as endearing as their previous incarnations. This time though they have an addition to their number.
The story revolves round Eloise, a young girl living at a convent. She has been left there to be raised by nuns whilst her father D’Artagnan is in service to the King of France.
The convent is disturbed one night by a search party pursuing a runaway slave. The search for him by his pursuers leads to the Mother Superior being killed trying to protect him. Eloise (Marceau) vowing to avenge her death finds a smudged document in the old nun’s personal things. Believing it to be highly important, as lives have been lost for its procurement, she must leave the safety of the convent and find her father the famous D’Artagnan (Noiret). She intends to present him with the paper believing him still to be in service to the young King Louis XIV, and therefore able to help her.
Can Eloise find D’Artagnan and reunite Aramis, Athos and Porthos to save the day and decipher the stained paper?
The film delivers on many levels. Fans of the modern day Hollywood pirate will love it; those who love traditional action romps will also adore it. The script doesn’t take itself too seriously, and instead focuses on delivering story and fun. This isn’t ‘carry on’, though; instead it echoes the balance of early Bond films, with action front and centre followed by entertainment, plot twists and turns. Many little humorous moments are asides, like D’Artagnan’s conversation at the side of the grave of his deceased friend - when he realises he was sitting on his friends head! The audience is in safe hands with Tavernier, the film feels warm and familiar.
Tavernier indulges his audience with long shots of sweeping French landscapes, galloping horses, picturesque castles, heavily wooded glades and beautifully imagined French towns. It is a sumptuous production which is aged only by camera technology rather than production. The cinematography is a joy, and there is a real sense of action and escapism in the film which comes in part from the pace with which Tavernier sets it. The sound of thunderous galloping hooves sets an audible rhythm to the piece, usually closing or opening scenes without a hint of Monty Python.
The costumes, which have such an integral role in any period piece, are also exceptional. Full skirts, which are allowed to become muddied in street fights; and the Musketeers faded breeches and belts, which have seen better times. The villainous woman in red, her role centred on her red costume, frequently enters the scene laden in sumptuous fabric, her menacing appearance seemingly every bit as essential as her dialogue.
The Musketeers are past their glory days, although inexplicably older than they should be. For fans of the original films, seeing the older Musketeers may be something of a wondrous return, but it doesn’t actually deliver all that it could. The physical prowess of the Musketeers may have waned, and certainly much is made of that fact, but their exploits seem hampered often by an overly complicated plot which does not need half of the villainous characters it portrays - the spoilt teenage Louis XIV, quick-witted; sinister Cardinal Mazerin; slave dealer Crassac; and the devious woman in red. Along with these primary villains, there are secondary villainous characters that seem to muddy the waters, and create a somewhat farcical atmosphere of chaos and slapstick. It could be argued that these characters could be halved without very much impact on the narrative, and would in fact aid the audience comprehension.
The father /daughter dynamic between Eloise and D’Artagnan is tricky, and although played well, specifically by Noiret, who shows his experience through the affability he creates, it often leaves an audience wanting some semblance of development or affection between the characters. Although she has been in a convent for most of her life, and Noiret and Marceau play their disagreements with conviction, there seems to be a lack of believability between the two characters, which is a real shame.
Marceau’s depiction of a wide eyed Eloise - although perhaps some might argue she is slightly too old for the role - is delightful. She brings energy to the character. It is well known that Marceau did most of her own stunts in the role, training in swordplay for two months prior to the movie shoot. This could go some way to explain why her rambunctious, cavalier demeanour as Eloise works so well.
The pace of the film often builds up to fight scenes, which don’t seem to have any real bite. This is possibly due to very similar fights, and also the older cast playing the Musketeers. The high energy exertions which are required for believable fight scenes are not matched by these Musketeers echoing their supposed younger days. It is almost impossible to see these men as the canny, heroic, unbelievably dexterous men of Dumas’ books, even twenty years later. Viewers have two choices; to either let this issue glide off them and enjoy the frivolity of the whole film, or get annoyed by the disappointment of these faded idols.
Despite its shortcomings, this is still great fun. It’s a film which will happily reside in any collection and will only benefit from countless viewings. It is a genuine joy, which doesn’t take itself too seriously - a perfect antidote to Hollywood’s on-going love affair with pirates. DHA
Film: Possession
Release date: 25th October 2010
Certificate: 18
Running time: 119 mins
Director: Andrzej Zulawski
Starring: Shaun Lawton, Sam Neill, Isabelle Adjani, Heinz Bennent, Margit Carstensen
Genre: Drama/Horror
Studio: Second Sight
Format: DVD
Country: France/West Germany
This is an English-Language release.
Thoroughly disturbing and beyond classification, Andrzej Zulawski’s first and only English-language film, Possession (1981) spent the best part of two decades in ‘video nasty’ hell before finally being officially released uncut in the UK in 1999. It has since gained somewhat of a cult following within the art-house community, and has now been given the re-release treatment courtesy of Second Sight Films.
The story focuses on the frenzied relationship between Mark (Sam Neill) and Anna (Isabelle Adjani) whose marriage is on the brink of tatters.
Mark returns from a lengthy and mysterious business trip abroad to discover that Anna is being unfaithful, as he finds that she has been having an affair with aging spiritual guru-type named Heinrich (Heinz Bennent) for over a year. Anna promptly leaves Mark, presumably to live with her new lover, and tensions mount as she haphazardly returns to the apartment to see their young son Bob (Michael Hogben).
Anna’s mental state begins to deteriorate violently, prompting Heinrich to appear one day claiming not to have seen her for a while. Mark hires a private detective agency to find and follow Anna, assuming that she has left both men to bed somebody else. They find clues that suggest something much stranger is afoot, portending a series of bizarre and nightmarish developments…
Conceived at the time of a messy divorce between Zulawski and his spouse, Possession feels like a very personal document of that mindset; an exorcism of the demons that plagued that emotionally charged period of the director’s life. It comes as little surprise then that this erratic fever comes across in most of the production’s facets. The camera is highly energetic, indebted to the then recent developments in steady-cam technology, allowing Zulawski to be incredibly expressive with position and movement. The juxtapose employed between scene changes where all sound – including music – will end abruptly on the cut from one scene to the next gives the film a jarring immediacy that helps promote the undercurrent of uneasiness present throughout. However, Possession’s madness is perhaps best personified through its acting.
Performances from the principle love triangle are highly dynamic and very unnatural; it almost feels like there was a bet between Neill, Adjani and Bennent to see who could chew the most scenery. They each possess the kind of gestus one would expect from a stage play rather than a film; the opening scenes bristle with the gapless, zero punctuation energy that can be found in some of Samuel Beckett’s work, whereas latter scenes demonstrate a demented madness akin to theatrical practitioners such as Antonin Artaud. It’s suggested early on that Anna is being guided by forces beyond tangible comprehension, whilst Mark is brought to sheer despair over his wife’s seemingly senseless betrayal. It is Heinrich’s overt physicality that is perhaps the most strange and least befitting, creating some unintentionally humorous moments along the way. The film’s musical accompaniment also lets the proceedings down slightly, painfully reminding the viewer that they’re watching something from the early-80s.
Zulawski’s camera on the other hand, and as mentioned before, is simply wonderful, and helps eclipse many of the film’s niggles; spawning sequence after sequence of fluid composition and dynamic content, capturing the tormented and overwrought marital spats between Neill and Adjani with breathtaking lucidity. The flipside of the coin is that the film does come across as being incredibly ‘arty’ as a result, which is immediately at odds with its video nasty heritage. On that note; Possession is frequently labelled a horror film due to its more vulgar and occasionally gory imagery, but this isn’t strictly true. There are no scares as such but the film’s performances and technical execution do create an uneasy and unpredictable mood that bodes a pervading feeling of tension and dread which, funnily enough, many straight up horror films criminally lack. The downfall of Mark and Anna’s marriage and, ultimately, their sanity makes for an intense ride.
Despite not being a horror film in the traditional sense, there are some moments that are terrifying, such as Adjani’s iconic freak-out in the subway underpass, causing her to spasm, writhe and excrete bloody pus from multiple orifices; deep in the throes of being consumed by an unknown power. Carlo Rambaldi (who went on to design the title character for E.T. The Extra-Terrestrial the following year) provides his practical effects-based wizardry for this sequence, as well as the equally infamous ‘creature’ scenes, which are best not explained in full, lest it ruins the overall experience – Possession is a film best viewed with as little prior knowledge as possible, save for its initial premise. Needless to say, Rambaldi’s effects are appropriately creepy, foreshadowing the film’s downward slope into nightmarish delirium.
As a result, fans of David Cronenberg and David Lynch will find much weirdness to revel in. Cronenberg’s The Brood (1979), in particular, shares much with Possession; made in similar circumstances – the result of Cronenberg experiencing a painful divorce and custody battle – and as a result, there are similar themes present, chiefly: the destruction of the family unit due to the wife’s ongoing psychosis, who is ultimately perceived as being inhuman and monstrous by her husband. However, it could be argued that Possession has returned the favour by informing some of Cronenberg’s subsequent output – Videodrome (1983) and Dead Ringers (1988), for example – not to mention future works by David Lynch, the films of Japanese director Shozin Fukui and Lars Von Trier’s Antichrist (2009).
Part domestic drama, supernatural mystery, horror and paranoid thriller, Possession is truly beyond genre categorisation and shouldn’t be seen as a mere tasteless ‘video nasty’. Its occasional pretentiousness and arty behaviour will likely put off some viewers, whilst others will be enraptured by its cryptic denouncement, religious undertones and symbolism, prompting many a late night discussion as to what it all means. Possession is one of cinema’s great enigma’s, which is sadly a rarity nowadays, and offers a unique, challenging and ultimately haunting experience that not only lingers in the mind long after its finished, but demands multiple re-viewings thereafter. Recommended. MP
Film: Heimat Fragments: The Women
Release date: 13th September 2010
Certificate: 12
Running time: 146 mins
Director: Edgar Reitz
Starring: Nicola Schössler, Henry Arnold, Salome Kammer, Caspar Arnhold, Gudrun Landgrebe
Genre: Drama/Fantasy/History
Studio: Second Sight
Format: DVD
Country: Germany
After over 53 hours of film, you’d be forgiven for thinking Edgar Reitz had said all he had to say regarding the numerous descendents and associates of the Simon family throughout his epic Heimat series. Heimat Fragments: TheWomen is the latest addition to the franchise, combining new footage with previously unseen outtakes from all three prior instalments. Focussing mainly on Reitz’s female characters, the film attempts to show how the various women from the Simon past have combined to shape the person of Lulu Simon today.
Heimat Fragments has no plot as such, structured as a dream-like narrative in which Lulu, the 35-year-old daughter of the musician Hermann Simon, searches for something which she calls “the old future of childhood.”
As part of this search, the film sketches in forty scenes, or fragments, that deal with the lives and dreams of the women of Heimat. Scanning almost the whole of the 20th century, the women featured include Maria, Lucie, Clarissa, Renate, Olga, Evelyne, Ms. Cerphal, Helga, Marianne and Dorli from Duelmen.
Also included are old and forgotten war scenes in which her father’s brothers were involved, the day when her grandmother Maria’s last cow is taken away from the Simon farm, and Hermann, once again a schoolboy in shorts, experiencing first love with Klara, or as a young ambitious artist at the music conservatory.
Lulu views these excursions into the past as representing not only the end of her youth, but also as a means by which she can discover a new freedom…
It makes sense that Reitz returns to the theme of womanhood. The women of Heimat were always the most compelling - caught between a sense of duty toward home and family and a desire for personal freedom, they embodied most the themes of the series. Unfortunately, Lulu is one of the least engaging female characters, often coming across as charmless and self-involved. Though her personality is partly explained by being the daughter of the similarly solipsistic Hermann Simon, Nicola Schössler’s mannered performance does not make it any easier for us to empathise with her.
The worst the original Heimat series could be accused of was of being sentimental or melodramatic - though even these elements were tempered by the wider historical-political contexts, be it the rise of Nazism or Cold War and pre-millennial tension; the darkness at the edge of Heimat’s town. Filtered through the perspective of the emotionally distant Lulu, Heimat Fragments certainly can’t be accused of sentimentality, but it can be accused of self-indulgence, and of being seriously confused and muddled.
Aiming for a Proustian remembrance of things past, it falls way short - alternating between banal truisms (endless variations on looking into the past signalling the end of youth) and quasi-philosophical pretentiousness (“I am the archaeologist of the future, who excavates the present”). As if this wasn’t silly enough, Reitz has Lulu constantly wandering around with a shovel and a bore in her hands, digging in the ground, boring holes into trees and into the pillars of the music conservatory through which we look into older scenes. Clearly these sequences contain an element of fantasy, with an all-too-obvious symbolic meaning (metaphors about digging up the past are often followed by scenes of actual digging), but then Reitz insists on shooting the scenes with Lulu through a digital camera – usually the lingua franca of the gritty realist. The end result is some very cheap looking cinematography, jarring considerably with the older, more accomplished shots taken from the earlier series.
There is one moment when Reitz’s approach almost works, during a scene when Lulu revisits the village of Schabbach. As she hammers on an anvil, recalling an iconic scene from Heimat’s opening episode, she speaks of reawakening memories of days gone by. It’s an evocative moment, but the effect is quickly ruined by a shot showing a startled old man overacting as though his life depends on it, as he reacts to the ringing of the anvil. Just like the various allusions, both verbal and physical, to digging, it makes for an odd match of pretentiousness alongside an unnecessary tendency to spell things out for the viewer.
As if the piece wasn’t confused enough, Reitz also includes misjudged attempts at a post-modern self-reflexivity. There is an outtake from Heimat 2 involving the editing of a film that seems to suggest what is left out is just as important as that which is included (a conceit which might have been viable if the outtakes included in this film were not as generally banal and clearly superfluous as they are). Another scene has Lulu in a cinema, insisting: “I do not dream about a movie… The movie dreams about me.”
The picture culminates with Lulu’s attempts to communicate through the film with her father (or, rather, the image of her father upon the screen). Such attempts at breaking the fourth wall could be lauded as daring if they even came close to working, but the execution is clumsy, and the ideas behind them are never really fleshed out enough to succeed.
Of most interest to Heimat fans will be the outtakes from previous series’. However, just as we learn virtually nothing about the character of Lulu, these outtakes are similarly unrevealing. The older scenes, although not entirely without interest, add little to the Heimat series as a whole. Though they do mainly deal with the lives of the women, sometimes at turning points, involving love or career decisions, they seem fairly arbitrary. Often it’s obvious why they were originally left on the cutting-room floor, and you could go through the entire series and pick out a great number of scenes that better illustrate the themes Reitz is getting at.
Watching the fourth instalment of Reitz’s Heimat series, it is the writer Sherwood Anderson that comes to mind - never quite able to recapture the success he enjoyed through his depiction of life in the eponymous town of Winesburg, Ohio. But while Anderson at least tried to move on, Reitz seems unwilling, or even unable to. As Heimat Fragments draws to a close, the overriding feeling is perhaps it’s finally time Reitz left his own fictional village behind.
Even the most ardent fan of the original Heimat series will find Heimat Fragments hard going. Clocking in at just under two-and-a-half hours, it’s an exhausting and ultimately unrewarding watch, confused both in its message and delivery. A huge disappointment from a director capable of so much more. GJK
Film: D'Artagnan's Daughter
Release date: 4th October 2010
Certificate: 15
Running time: 125 mins
Director: Bertrand Tavernier
Starring: Sophie Marceau, Philippe Noiret, Claude Rich, Sami Frey, Jean-Luc Bideau
Genre: Action/Adventure/Comedy
Studio: Second Sight
Format: DVD
Country: France
Alexander Dumas’ 1844 novel The Three Muskateers, and its story of the young hero D’Artagnan and his three swashbuckling friends, remains one of the most popular and endearing stories ever written. Recently released on DVD, Bertrand Tavernier’s 1994 film D’Artagnan’s Daughter catches up with the same iconic characters twenty years after the original tale concluded, and with an unexpected addition to the original team.
In 1650’s rural France, Eloise, the daughter of the famous musketeer D’Artagnan, has grown up with nuns in a convent in the French countryside. After marauding soldiers chase a fleeing slave into the nunnery and kill her mother superior, Eloise strikes out for Paris to track down her famous father and seek vengeance.
There reunited, and accompanied by Eloise’s newly acquired love interest, the poet Quentin la Misère, they set out across France to find the original three musketeers: Athos, Porthos and Aramis, and seek vengeance on those responsible: the odious slave-trader Crassac and his evil mistress, the woman in red…
Key to the success of D’Artagnan’s Daughter is its mischievous spirit and a wonderful sense of folly, which is entirely in keeping with Dumas’ original novel. It is extravagant; lavish, broadly sweeping, and often ridiculously over-the-top, but unashamedly so. The story is frothy and often frivolous but is completely aware of itself - and pulls off farce beautifully. The dialogue is buoyant and fast paced, with the rapport between Eloise and her father a particular delight. The jokes are frequent, and while the humour often relies on farce and slapstick, there is also a healthy vain of wit running through the film, which would see it benefit from repeat viewings.
The art direction is often stunning, and the period is rendered beautifully. Tavernier captures perfectly the lavish excess of the King’s court, the tactile squalor and filth of the Paris streets, and the sweeping French countryside and it’s ominous, looming castles. As you would expect, the costumes are resplendent; the hats enormous and invariably feathered, the boots high and the ruffled cuffs huge. At court, the finery dazzles and the bosoms heave, and the cardinal’s red cloaks sweep majestically over polished marble floors.
The film benefits from a committed and thoroughly likable cast, each of whom look like they’re having the time of their lives. Sophie Marceau is perfectly cast as the headstrong heroine Eloise, while familiar face Philipe Noiret sails through as the roguish, dashing, but somewhat gone-to-seed hero D’Artagnan. Sami Frey, Jean-Luc Bideau and Raoul Billerey all put in whole-heartedly cavalier performances as the musketeers; all older, slower and wider round the middle than we remember, but still with plenty of fight in them.
The villains are in no short supply, with Charlotte Kady deliciously evil as the woman in red, and Gigi Proietti in equal parts dastardly and hilarious as the scheming, paranoid Cardinal Mazarin. What with the shallow, politically devious teenage king, Louis XIV, and the slave owner Crassac (a marvellously worrisome Claude Rich), D’Artagnan’s Daughter is in danger of suffering from an excess of villains, but thankfully all storylines are resolved by the end, and, if anything, the abundance of foes to be overcome only adds to the sense of farce.
Things are let down a little by some unimaginative fight choreography, and a director who seems uncomfortable handling scenes of close combat. While the ageing cast struggle to handle the exertion, Tavernier’s camera idles uncertainly in the background as the action meanders along, and as a result we are detached from the action. It also requires a certain amount of faith on the part of the audience - and stretched imaginations - to believe that these three pensionable musketeers are still capable of scaling castle walls, riding leaping horses onto boats, and taking on twenty swordsmen single-handedly, but it’s all so good-natured and the stunts generally well presented that it’s easy to give D’Artagnan’s Daughter the benefit of the doubt.
The film is also too long, and feels as if the final act has been extended purely to give the musketeers more screen time while the story veers away from the plight of Eloise. It’s not a critical error, but feels unnecessary and could leave some viewers’ attention wandering.
Camp, frothy, and dazzling, D’Artagnan’s Daughter is a rip-roaring delight. Bertrand Tavernier manages to capture all the delight and folly of Dumas’ novel while adding a new spin to a familiar tale - and reminds us of why these characters and their swashbuckling exploits were once the most popular story in the world. LOZ
