John Keats: Still Relevant 200 Years Later?

Benjamin Forrest on 6 March 2021

John Keats was one of the key figures within the second wave of romantic poets – alongside the likes of Lord Byron and Percy Shelley – and he is remembered as one of the most brilliant poets in British literary history. Is this praise deserved or is the work of Keats only held in high regard by literary snobs and upper-class pseudo-intellectuals? Well, it is likely a mixture of both. A lot of Keats’ work is shrouded in obscure references to Greek mythology or language which has become outdated since the time period it was penned, but if you manage to look beyond the initial pretentiousness you will find many of the key themes still resonate with modern audiences – even 200 years after his death.

Keats was a man driven by passionate emotion but (like every great artist) was unappreciated in his time, his work only gained recognition for its genius after Keats died of tuberculosis in 1821. He experimented with different themes and ideas – from gothic stories of nymphs and snakes in ‘Lamia’ to Shakespearian style sonnets to a retelling of a novella from the 14th century in ‘Isabella, or the Pot of Basil’; the versatility shown within Keats’ poetry is quite incredible. In many ways, perhaps it is better that Keats died a relative unknown, as it allowed him to express himself with a total freedom. It did not matter what he said because it was only going to be read by a small audience, thus allowing him to be totally vulnerable to his own emotions within his writing. This is something that should resonate with young people today: the free expression of your emotions not clouded by societal devices or the outdated stiff upper lip attitude favoured by older generations is something we can all aspire to.  

The story of John Keats is akin to the story of a modern-day rock star: a tortured, unappreciated genius taking ungodly amounts of psychedelics only to die at the age of 25 – he was more rock ‘n’ roll than Mick Jagger. Whilst the 80-line-long ‘Ode to a Nightingale’ might not be as catchy as ‘Dancing in the Street’, it certainly has a lot more meaningful substance to it (and isn’t accompanied by quite such a terrible music video). After all, Keats was only 21 when his first poem was published (‘O Solitude’); he was experiencing and expressing emotions that have been felt by nearly every young person at some point in their lives. If people read Keats more regularly, perhaps if it was not thrust upon unwilling A-Level students so forcefully, they would discover the themes of love, conflict, melancholy and confusion – which is surely relevant to most young people today. Confused, depressed and incredibly high: young people today have more in common with John Keats than with soulless pop stars forcing their vapid and commercialised slogans down the throats of consumer. 

Over the years, Keats’ writing has become a voice for the outcasted, despondent and intellectual – most obviously signified by the mention of him within the lyrics of The Smiths’ 1986 song ‘Cemetry Gates’. 200 years after the death of John Keats, there is still a place for his poetry within our society – whether that is in the dusty libraries of National Trust manor houses, the lyrics of 80s indie pop songs, the bookshelves of hopelessly stressed A-Level students or simply in the hearts of those who appreciate his incredible writing. I suspect that 200 hundred years from now people will still be discussing the importance of Keats’ poetry. 

‘News of the World’ review: Woody gets a live-action treatment

Jack Denison on 23 February 2021

News of the World tells the story of Captain Kidd (Tom Hanks) in middle America, post-civil war, who plods between small towns delivering the news and stories of the country. His equilibrium is thrown off balance when he meets Johanna  (Helena Zengel), a young girl who had been captured by the Kiowa tribe. The film follows his endeavours to take her back to her family.  

Director, Paul Greengrass, who previously collaborated with Hanks on Captain Phillips, dominates with an impressive set and costume design, making audiences feel like they’re witnessing an American Gothic painting brought to life and stretched over two hours. By night, we are presented with some fantastic stills of midnight ghost towns, moon-lit shudders, amber windows and oil lamps, sparking a dark and brooding atmosphere. By day, we are immersed into the verisimilitude of a comical Wild Wild West town; the perpetually muddy main strips, bustling saloons, neighing stables, bells chiming, people whistling, the clatter of villagers starting their day – a buzzing hive smothered by the epic American landscape.  

Dariusz Wolski’s cinematography and his use of wide-angle frames is accentuated by some gorgeous images of the twilight hours and its rising purple tones casting shadows over the hills, creating a beautifully placid fragrance in the air.  

Hanks and Zengel wear their roles well, particularly Hanks, who is renowned for his  humbleness and good nature, makes for a perfect fit as a paternal character. The film’s first old-school, fun cowboy shootout with some rugged bandits and a creatively horrific  alternative to gunpowder pushes our familiarity with Mr Beloved Worldwide as a heroic  gunslinger but does not disappoint.

Credit: Universal Pictures

Greengrass plays it very safe in News of the World, which makes it hard to flesh out any  valid flaws. However, some complacencies present themselves, such as within its  dialogue. When a shady, menacing crew try to take Johanna off Captain Kidd’s hands for  a price, which results in an altercation, one of the members threatens him saying “I’ll be  seeing you Captain…I’m coming for you as soon as I’m done with these blues”. Not only  is this on-the-nose, but it also frustratingly spoils the possible element of surprise later on  in the narrative with his return, as we already know from this confrontation that he  presents himself as a potential antagonistic conflict, resulting in what is some pretty  complacent writing.  

Captain Kidd’s quest in bringing the news of the country to these isolated, bubbled village  communities resembles a lighthouse beacon illuminating the scary unknown abyss of the  expansive lands of America for its disconnected sleepy towns in an age of tremendous  darkness before a world of technology, science (labelling the misunderstood as ‘cursed’),  mass-communication (other than ‘word is’) and humanitarian justice. This metaphorical  plague is manifested in and personified by our two protagonists, who are both isolated  and wrestling with an existential ambiguity over where they belong and where they ought  to go.  

News of the World doesn’t conquer any new grounds or put itself up to any real risk but instead communicates a very necessary sentiment. The timeless power of stories is what triumphs here. His stories are the only light that echoes through a country muffled by darkness, a country riddled by desperate turbulence, confusion and anger, in need of severe enlightenment and escapism, whilst on the brink of a new era. For these reasons,  News of the World couldn’t have come out at a better time. 

Header image credit: The New York Times

“I know a good joke when I steal one”: An exploration of plagiarism in comedy

Benjamin Forrest on 7 February 2021

The issue of ‘joke thieves’ and plagiarism in comedy has become somewhat of a regular discussion in the past few years, with perhaps the most prominent example being American comic Amy Schumer who was exposed as having plagiarised a vast array of jokes from other comics such as John Mulaney, Kathleen Madigan and Wendy Liebman (among many others). It is important to note that joke theft is not a new issue, by any means. The 1993 Denis Leary special ‘No Cure for Cancer’ is widely regarded to have completely ripped off the act of legendary comedian Bill Hicks – both the Denis Leary and Bill Hicks performances are currently available on Netflix so you can see for yourselves how similar the two are. Further back than that, the 1973 National Lampoon stage show ‘Lemmings’ was accused of stealing a joke from Monty Python. So why is plagiarism in comedy much more prominent nowadays? It is difficult to say for sure, but the ease at which content is viewable on the internet means that if Amy Schumer tells a joke very similar to a joke Wendy Liebman told in the early 90’s, the likelihood is that there’s a video of that performance online. Thus, perhaps joke theft is not a much more important issue these days, it is simply easier to identify.

Schumer has faced very little in the way of consequences in spite of the overwhelming amount of evidence of thievery. Her new show ‘Expecting Amy’ is a hit on HBO Max, two of her stand-up specials along with her film ‘Trainwreck’ are still available on Netflix and she has won multiple awards from Critics’ Choice to an Emmy. It does not seem morally sound that Amy Schumer, and many other plagiarists, are allowed to create a successful and illustrious career based upon the jokes of other comics who are left to fall into obscurity. Denis Leary still enjoys an incredibly successful career as a writer and actor thanks largely due to the success of his ‘Cure for Cancer’ special, whereas Bill Hicks died in 1994 with only a handful of stand-up specials and an unaired Letterman performance to his name. Seemingly joke theft is not regarded as a big deal, when questioned on Leary’s plagiarism, Hicks quipped “I stole his act. I camouflaged it with punchlines, and to really throw people off, I did it before he did.”.

Many have argued that nobody can really own a joke, they are in the public domain and hold no real value. Stand-up legend Stewart Lee tackled this idea brilliantly in his routine about Joe Pasquale stealing a joke from Irish comedian Michael Redmond, and I believe the sentiment of that routine still rings true. Furthermore, in an industry as hard to break into as stand-up comedy, it is ludicrous to have to accept mainstream comics ripping-off jokes from more obscure acts – that probably will not find themselves on Live at the Apollo or Mock the Week or any other of the one-size-fits-all comedy programmes being thrust unto the viewing public by the BBC – as an inevitability. Aside from anything else, it is lazy. Plagiarism just goes to portray a lack of creativity or originality which, ultimately, will have a detrimental effect on comedy as a whole by limiting the success of new and original comics.

As a journalism student, I know how seriously plagiarism is taken in my field as well as many others such as science or music. Does it not, then, make sense for plagiarism in comedy to be taken just as seriously? It is an incredible injustice, yet it seems to be constantly shrugged off as a mere annoyance. A written joke should be held in the same regard as any other artform. The Verve made no money from ‘Bittersweet Symphony’ because it sampled an orchestral version of a Rolling Stones song, yet Amy Schumer is allowed to continue her ridiculously successful career built off the back of telling other people’s jokes, does that seem fair to you? Stop supporting the hacks. 

Studio Fiasco, Netflix Eclipse & Death to Popcorn – Interview with BAFTA Nominee, Mark Herman

Jack Denison on 22 January 2021

When the opportunity presented itself to interview British filmmaker, Mark Herman, it was too bountiful of an opportunity to not seize, considering he’s a successful BAFTA nominee and director/screenwriter behind British gems such as Brassed Off and Little Voice, but also the highly received The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas.

With British cinema seeing new heights each year and playing an active role in the production of Hollywood blockbusters, I thought I’d ask Herman for his insights on the inner workings of the industry. He confessed that he feels “currently very embittered by it” and that “the only thing I know about for sure, personally, are some of the frustrations caused by the workings of the industry”.

His last film, The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas, a powerful story centred on the relationship of a Nazi Officer’s son and his relationship with a Jewish boy in a concentration camp, was released twelve years ago. Herman remembers that the year after its release in 2008, “I seemed to get sent nothing but projects about The Holocaust, when in fact that would be the last thing I would want to be doing next”. He disapproves of Studios’ behaviour, saying “There is a lack of such financier bravery these days, nobody will stick their neck out and take a risk”. He voices how the industry has been on a creative downhill tumble for decades, saying that twenty years ago the “hoops and hurdles a director would have to go through and over were so much fewer. There was a trust in directors’ track records that is not so obvious today.” He punctuates his disenchantment saying “Nowadays it feels like everything has to be safe: either adaptation of successful novels, or sequels in big hit franchises”. Clearly, the industry has had its philosophies re-calibrated, particularly after the collaboration and selling-of-its-soul to Hollywood. Now, all that’s on the menu are micro-budget arthouse flicks that don’t get the circulation they deserve, or colossal budgeted, formulaic studio blockbusters that you can’t escape from.

As a spectator, he articulates how the industry has become numb and is in need of a wake-up call, saying “instead of having films that split opinion, that some people might hate but some just adore, what gets churned out are films that neither really offend nor really delight anybody.” Its systematic, cancerous values have cursed and swindled filmmakers with a ‘survival of the fittest’ mentality. It has cranked up the dog-eat-dog intensity and has fundamentally strangled the life out of the creativity and arts the industry was founded on, that has now been morphed into a relentless business machine with the maximisation of money in its crosshairs and nothing else. Herman solidifies the toxically dysfunctional behaviour of the industry saying “The tail wags the dog in a way”. Cinema finds itself in a bleak dystopian world, having suffocated and neglected the other equally superior services of film; to make us feel, dream and escape our reality.

The industry is juggling several gruelling existential crises and it would be fair to say it’s being put through the wringer. With the recent news of juggernaut cinema chain, Cineworld, suddenly going into a long haul hibernation to save itself from bankruptcy and then mammoth Hollywood
conglomerate, Warner Bros, deciding to release its entire slate of films for 2021 online, it seems that the exhibition sector is lost in no mans land. Both of these strong footed companies haven’t just been outmuscled directly by Coronavirus, but also indirectly by celebrity assassin, Netflix (last victim, Blockbuster). The streaming service’s popularity has taken spectatorship by storm, revolutionising the game, also being catalysed by the orders of sedentarism from the pandemic. Herman argues that younger generations “have got very used to gobbling up ‘movies’ on smaller and smaller screens, and after this year of many people not even experiencing a trip to the movies, folk do get used to alternatives.” With the ball now being in the cinema’s court to win audiences back over, they “will need to make ‘going to the movies’ a little bit more special than it has been in the last decades. Popcorn is no longer enough (..thank God)”. Or will this be the final nail in the coffin?

This fruitful interview aroused many concerns regarding the fate of cinema and what’s in store for it next. Are we on the brink of an ice age, or gearing up for a renaissance? Whatever may be at the root of the disappointments from the industry; the churning out of lethargic, humdrum blockbusters or the ebbing away of the cinema-trip culture, we need to remind ourselves that the industry is founded on supply and demand. Thus, to save the industry, as audiences, we must act; the blood is on our hands.

Header image credit: Aesthetica Short Film Festival

‘The Midnight Sky’ review: George Clooney fails to save humanity from lockdown boredom

Jack Denison on 21 January 2021

Netflix’s latest big-budget project, The Midnight Sky, is a sci-fi drama directed by and starring George Clooney. The film focuses on Augustine (Clooney), a modern-day mad scientist isolated with a young, mute girl at a research facility in the Artic, who must warn the crew of a spaceship about a recent global catastrophe.

The apocalypse that acts as the hotplate under the character’s motivations, is executed with delicacy. Instead of an all guns blazing, disaster cinematic spectacle, where the skies might as well be falling on the audience too, as seen in 2012 and The Day After Tomorrow, it’s charged by a subtle, lurking, eerie menace. It’s holstered in the unknown, its wrath left to the imagination of the audience, like a silent blanket slowly being drawn over the world. This allows Clooney to hit some chords pretty well, asking; if the world were to stop spinning and fall silent, entombed by darkness, how far would you go to make contact with your family?

The film flexes some stunning cinematography infused with strong post-production colour work, creating some vibrant stills of the world’s last twilight from the Artic, making us feel like we’re watching a planetarium show. Clooney’s acting reflects the deafening stillness of his environment skilfully and his narrative’s midpoint will certainly leave you with clammy hands.

Credit: Variety

However, this is the furthest the film goes in earning merit and is fully eclipsed by its strong flaws, particularly in its script. With dystopian space films being rife in today’s cinema catalogue, the ‘isolated astronaut/scientist’ trope has also been tackled several times and Midnight Sky falls last in the race by a long way. 

Typically, films, especially one of this calibre, need a threat or a force that not only drives the characters through their narrative but also keeps the audience engaged. This nexus to any project that wants a shot at being successful is ignored for ninety-five percent of the film. The finale’s twist, albeit rather bittersweet and tragically endearing, finally sprinkling motivation and meaning on the characters and the film, does not excuse the two hours of boredom and confusion. The film up to this point never finds its feet, never telling us what journey it’s going to take us on, what it’s about and sadly, why we should keep watching. The film in a way explores two narratives, an insight into Augustine’s lonely existence and also the tension and diplomacy of the crew of astronauts. By structuring the script like this, it exasperates the restless need to find out what the point of the film is. Consequently, we have two separate midpoints that don’t have any real significance, especially not one concerning the development of the overall, overarching narrative.

Screenwriter, Mark Smith (The Revenant), tries to capitalise on Augustine’s dynamic with the enigmatic young girl, Iris (Caoilinn Springall) in order to fabricate the film’s force and drive. Cross-generational pairs can perform very well in films, often pursuing the route of an entertaining dichotomy that symbiotically helps construct each other’s character and narrative arch. Here, their relationship doesn’t even come close to this very basic canon, but instead goes the other way and is quite frustrating and tedious, considering how Iris might as well have just as much screen time as Clooney, but doesn’t say a single word. Rather, this notion would’ve computed better if it had taken a step back as a sub-plot device, or if Iris’ character was embraced more.

The Midnight Sky’s disappointing reception was not helped by the drought of new content audiences are receiving, or with the entire country being in lockdown fighting our very own global crisis for that matter. Sadly, circumstantial or not, Clooney’s big white, bushy beard brought more Christmas entertainment to the season than the film itself.

Header image credit: NBC News

Mank Review: David Fincher’s Love Letter to Old Hollywood

Jack Denison on 6 January 2021

Mank marks the collaboration between heavy-weight Director David Fincher (Fight Club, Seven, The Social Network) and Netflix. It throws us into the action of Hollywood in the 1930’s from the perspective of the raging alcoholic screenwriter, Herman J. Mankiewicz, as he writes Citizen Kane, one of the highest acclaimed films of all time. The film is rife with social commentary on the industry at the time, communicating the world’s political ambiguity with World War Two lurking just around the corner.

Fincher goes slightly off-piste in Mank, a black and white love-letter to 1930s Hollywood, much like La La Land was to 1950s Musicals. His romanticisation of the era roars. The punching of the type-writer for scene headings, strong orchestral scores, fuzzy gramophone-like dialogue quality, characters’ faces split up with light strips from drawn blinds and idling cigarettes delicately left balancing on the rim of an ashtray and still smoking. His brilliant direction brings these text-book pictures to life. We’re teleported back into the bustling streets of Hollywood with classic cars, retro poster ads, bellboys with funny hats, three piece suits and tie clips and filterless cigarettes. We are also given an insight into turmoil left behind by the Great Depression, the anticipation of the Golden Era and speculation about what this ‘Hitler’ guy is up to in Germany. Even though Mank is set some ninety years ago, the parallels in-between its financial crisis to ours today were too big to go unnoticed. 

The casting pays off, with the great Gary Oldman taking the reigns as the screenwriting protagonist and Amanda Seyfried filling the shoes of a femme fatale-like actress. Despite this, the script hampers his potential and doesn’t give him the space of delivering a game-changer we know he’s capable of. How much wiggle room can an actor have to impress if he’s cemented in a bed for half the film? With this being said, there is credit to be rewarded in the casting department, particularly for not giving in to pressures for mega marketable names unlike the Coen Brother’s Hail Caesar!, starring George Clooney, Scarlett Johnson and Jonah Hill. Going down this path would’ve tainted the artistic integrity and tone which Fincher boasts.

Not long into Mank, once the novelty of its beautiful lighting and striking costumes begins to settle, its serious flaws begin to materialise. Alarm bells start to ring early on, booming ‘style over substance’ and this is incredibly hard to shake off. The film’s runtime of nearly 2 1/2 hours proves to make it a downright tedious experience, boldly toying with audience’s patience levels. Equally, the film is peppered with meaning and conflict that just doesn’t appeal to the common man. The daily endeavours of Herman J. Mankiewicz and his navigation to making one of the best pieces of cinema is actually, quite a dull piece of cinema. Mank prioritises its indulgent commitment to the vintage aesthetic and consequently, neglects the most primitive service of cinema; to entertain.

This trap also has a knock on effect with the flow of the narrative, through the excessive usage of the slow, fade-to-black. Although this editing technique is also a motif from the Noir-era, it’s exhausted and as a result makes the entire film feel very segmented, like a collection of isolated scenes that don’t carry over smoothly on to the next. Middle man, John Houseman (played by Sam Troughton), pays a visit to Herman Mankiewicz, criticising his patient development on Citizen Kane, saying he’s “hardly out of the first act”. What’s amusing with this line is how the concept of plot structure is non-existent in the overarching film, resulting in a narrative that waffles through its generous run-time. Although validation can be given to the importance of flashbacks, it isn’t executed very well or clearly, resulting in a slightly messy narrative.

Mank offers something new in an age of humdrum films built on generic conventions and passive audiences. It packs a theoretically interesting premise, that delivers for a two-minute trailer, but over 135 minutes, it’s empty and falls flat on its face. Fincher won our trust in making biopics with an exciting, slick and intense execution in The Social Network. You’d be forgiven to assume that he copied and pasted his algorithmic approach here with Mank, but alas, as we all know, lightning doesn’t strike twice. Fincher has lost his charm in this project, but what has stayed is his slick dialogue, clever subtext and ‘cigarette burns’ (queue, Tyler Durden monologue). But ask yourself this – if a house can’t be built on sand, can a film stand on aesthetics and dialogue?

Header image credit: The Times