As I was walking home, I had a random thought: what’s with all the hate for modern cinema? Granted, box office receipts have never been higher, and Avatar (2009) made close to three billion dollars all on its own, but that’s besides the point.
As far as I can tell, a lot of people are of the opinion that new, mainstream cinema – by ‘mainstream’, I mean films that aren't low- budget arthouse productions or the latest Vincent Cassell vehicle – is nothing compared to what it used to be. In the 70s, you had Star Wars (1977) and Jaws (1975). And now? Pirates of the Caribbean (2003) and Transformers (2007). Scorsese gave us Taxi Driver (1976) and Raging Bull (1980); Guy Ritchie gave us Revolver (2005) and RocknRolla (2008).
On the surface, you might think they have a point. Cinema has lost its originality! they say - after all, this is seemingly the age of remakes, reboots and franchise - but I’d like to say one thing: are you fucking kidding me?
If you take any general gathering of film fans and ask them who the greatest directors of all time are, once you filter our the ridiculous suggestions such as George Lucas and David Lynch, chances are the names Stanley Kubrick and Alfred Hitchcock will appear somewhere close to the top of the list. The latter is an undoubted pioneer in dramatic storytelling – after all, he is the ‘master of suspense’ – and the former is one of the most daring and original filmmakers to ever grace the world of cinema. We all know their work, so there’s no need to get into too much detail – I’d like to think we’ve all seen Rear Window (1954) and A Clockwork Orange (1971); Psycho (1960) and The Shining (1980) – and of course there’s no doubting their quality, but the amount of people who think that things “haven’t been the same since” – dare I say, uneducated people – concerns me.
Case in point: Ever heard the names Christopher Nolan and Paul Thomas Anderson?
You have? Good.
You haven’t? Oh dear.
Without doubt, neither of these directors are the underground, ‘arty’ types, but these days that’s what the general film-loving cretins see as a necessity to providing good cinema.
It’s fair to say that Nolan is the better known of the two, seeing as he's the man responsible for the reinvigoration of Warner’s fledgling Batman series with the excellent Batman Begins (2005) and the brilliant follow-up The Dark Knight (2008). On that evidence, it’s not out the question to think that all he ever does is churn out Hollywood fair – after all, they’ve grossed close to two billion dollars between them, and a concluding third film is on the way – but that couldn’t be further from the truth.
Nolan first made a name for himself with Memento (2000), the excellent non-linear-but-still-more-linear-than-most mindfuck of a film based upon the short story by his brother-come-writing partner Jonathan. Memento stars Guy Pearce as Leonard Shelby, a man with a rare form of amnesia trying to find the killer of his wife and the life that he knew. The problem with Leonard is not that he can’t remember anything, but the fact that he can’t form new memories: a few minutes after meeting someone, he’ll forget who they are and he’ll introduce himself all over again, and there’s even a scene where he’s running away from an armed man, but he forgets what he’s doing and assumes he’s actually chasing his pursuer, who in turn opens fire on him when he inexplicably starts running toward him.
Leonard’s body is covered in the different clues he has gathered throughout his investigation in the form of tattoos, and he takes photographs and makes notes about the people he meets along the way.
But that’s not the weird part.
The film is told in reverse chronology. Or rather, part of the film – shown in colour – is told in reverse chronology, whereas the monochrome scenes are interspliced throughout in a normal this-then-that order.
Confused? So was I, but the result is a wonderfully crafted and genuinely original – yes, believe it or not, original – piece of storytelling, utterly captivating and insanely rewatchable. Memento goes far beyond the gimmick of its own layout: the story is genuinely moving, and the performances from the cast as a whole are excellent. This is the result of a legitimate filmmaker making a real diamond of a movie. And the best part? It came out this century.
And then we have Paul Thomas Anderson.
Anderson came to prominence with Boogie Nights (1996), the story of the rise and fall of fictional pornstar Dirk Diggler and the industry he thrived upon throughout the 70s and 80s. Penned by the man himself, a trait of his carried on throughout all his work, its unflinching portrayal of sex and drugs brought immediate comparisons to Quentin Tarantino and Martin Scorcese – the DVD cover even has the tear-inducingly inaccurate blurb of ‘Goodfellas meets Pulp Fiction’ – but it’s only with his follow-ups that he became a truly undoubted original.
Magnolia (1999) is a sprawling, intertwining epic set in modern Los Angeles. Clocking in at around the three-hour mark, it takes place in the San Fernando Valley district, following a myriad of main characters through a segment of their own complicated lives, each of them linked in one way or another. Be it the story of motivational sexspeaker and televagilist Frank Mackey, terminally-ill quiz show host Jimmy Gator, or lovelorn cop Jim Kurring, the story is expertly written and directed with the sort of searing confidence and daring ingenuity – raining frogs and a cast singalong, anyone? – that only a seemingly-chosen few are blessed with.
I also think it’s worth noting that Anderson was only 28 when made this. Yes, two-eight.
Still, at such a relatively tender age, he managed to gather an ensemble cast of some of Hollywood’s finest – Tom Cruise, William H. Macy, Philip Seymour Hoffman and Julianne Moore to name but a few – and match them up perfectly with the characters.
For me, and this may be down to a lack of skill on my part, Magnolia is the kind of film that is very hard to describe without spilling the beans or failing to do it justice, but this really is a film of films so well crafted your jaw will drop and your heart will flutter with sheer awe.
Of course, that’s only a snippet of these directors and their back catalogue.
Along with Memento and the Batman movies, Nolan also directed the outstanding The Prestige (2006), a tale of two warring magicians and the world they inhabit - a world of deceit and unwavering one-upmanship, whatever the cost.
Insomnia (2002) is a film which achieves the commendable feat of being an American remake easily on a par with its foreign counterpart. It’s the story of a sleepless and degrading police officer struggling to acclimatise himself to the perpetual sunlight of northern Alaska, all the while investigating the murder of a young woman killed by a man who, in turn, has dirt on the cop himself.
Admittedly, I haven’t seen it all. His mega-low budget debut Following (1998) is something I haven’t been able to get my hands on et, and the upcoming Inception (2010) is a hush-hush whatthefuckisthatabout film set in the world of dreams and espionage. Sounds pretty good to me.
Anderson debuted with Hard Eight (1995) (Or Sydney, if you want to go with the director's original intention), the story of a down-and-out man taken under the wing of a wisened gambler with a secret who teaches him how to beat the odds, in turn becoming the man’s father figure. It’s by far the most underrated of his movies, and it’s a genuinely touching tale of love and responsibility.
Punch-Drunk Love (2002) is the bizarre love story of a man with anger issues, constantly berated by his sisters, one of whom has a friend he takes a shine to. That piss-poor synopsis really cannot describe the weirdness and originality of how it all plays out, and it’s definitely one to rewatch to fully digest what it is you just witnessed.
And now comes the one which some may be surprised to see I didn’t mention in the first place. There Will Be Blood (2007) is the multi-award winning saga of Daniel Plainview – portrayed to perfection by the literal genius of Daniel Day-Lewis – a turn-of-the-century oilman driven to extreme lengths by his own masochist greed. The more he succeeds, the more his humanity slips away, and his rivalry with the young preacher who is as much of a bullshitter as he is and the distance between the man and his son serves as the ideal catalyst. Absolutely essential viewing.
His next project is the tentatively titled The Master (TBA), a loose satire based on L. Ron Hubbard and the rise of Scientology, the theme of fatherhood somewhere in the mix.
To sum up, the reason I’ve so vigorously fellated the two is to show that there is quality left in the world of cinema, and there is something underneath the faecal matter of laborious CGI-fests that seemingly feature less character-driven plot than a blank sheet of ice.
Hitchcock was the original auteur of suspense, intrigue and thrills. As the plot of The Prestige unfolds, or as Memento’s ass-backwards format finally starts to make sense in your head, are you really going to sit there and tell me you don’t want to know how it pans out?
Kubrick was absolutely unrivalled at painting an original cinematic picture and challenging the audience to broaden their horizons, making them sit up and appreciate great cinematography without them even realising it. The symmetry and scale of 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968) is just as striking and original as the sprawling oilfields of There Will Be Blood, or the neon-tinged, coke-fuelled era of Boogie Nights, not to mention the simultaneous horror and beauty of suburban modern America in Magnolia.
Of course, those two are just an example. Kudos has to go to David Fincher, Darren Aronofsky, Steven Soderbergh, (early) M. Night Shyamalan et al for countering the supreme bollocks of McG, Michael Bay, Brett Ratner and all the other whogivesafucktheyreshite directors of the modern era.
With the pair merely on the brink of their forties, and both of them surely being the leading light of film for years to come, surely there's more enough reason to be thankful for the state of modern moviemaking.
