Category Archives: Cinema

Review – Into The Woods, Errol Flynn Filmhouse, Northampton, 29th January 2015

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Is it me, or are they making films of stage musicals much better these days? Over the years, some of my favourite stage musicals have been made into absolute stinkers – a prime example being A Chorus Line, where they actually changed the story because they thought What I Did For Love worked better as a simple love song between two people rather than being about love for one’s career as a dancer. You did a lot of fantastic things, Sir Richard Attenborough, but I’m afraid that wasn’t one of them. But I found the film version of Les Miserables endlessly more watchable than the stage version, not that being sat in the front row of the dress circle of the Palace theatre with no leg room and with gout is that conducive to theatrical magic. Now into the mix comes Into The Woods, Sondheim’s fairytale fantasy made into an engaging and brilliantly performed film by a first rate cast.

I should state that I’ve never seen a live stage production of Into The Woods, although I have seen a DVD of the original Broadway production. I quite enjoyed it; Mrs Chrisparkle found it a bit “relentless” – her favourite word to describe something she doesn’t like because it just doesn’t let up and sometimes less is more. The show hit Broadway in 1988 and the West End in 1990, at a time when we didn’t go to the theatre much – how weird that feels today. The concept of the show is wonderfully inventive and original and appeals to anyone who, as a child, ever read or was told a fairytale; i.e. everyone. Unlike with A Chorus Line, I’m not an Into The Woods Purist; but if you are, you might be disappointed with some of the story tweaking, the dropping of several songs, making it slightly less violent and more family-friendly, which of course has nothing to do with its being made by Disney.

In a mythical fairyland, four of our favourite childhood heroes all unite to make a new story. Jack (of Beanstalk fame) has to sell his favourite cow to raise money so that he and his mother don’t starve; Little Red Riding Hood has to visit her grandmother to bring her food (if she doesn’t scoff it all herself by the time she gets there); Cinderella has beastly step-sisters who mistreat her and try to prevent her from meeting the Prince at the Royal Ball (that’s a Festival in Sondheim-speak); and Rapunzel is trapped in a tower but will let down her golden hair for anyone who fancies a clamber-up. Meanwhile, the Baker and his wife despair that they can’t have children, and discover it’s because their neighbourhood witch put a spell on their property in revenge for the Baker’s father’s vegetable- and pulse-based kleptomania. But she will lift the spell if the Baker and his wife can provide her with a cow as white as milk, a cape as red as blood, a slipper as pure as gold and hair as yellow as corn. I’m sure you’ve worked out where this is going. So they all go into the woods; and eventually they furnish the witch with what she needs, the spell is lifted, the Baker and his wife have a child and they all live happily ever after.

Except that they don’t because in Sondheim’s world nobody lives happily ever after. The giant’s wife wreaks havoc (where there’s a beanstalk, there’s a giant, keep up), Rapunzel runs off, Cinderella and the Prince need marriage counselling and the Baker’s wife falls off a cliff. And lots of other people die too. Of course, all this could have been avoided if the Baker and his wife had been mature enough to accept their situation, maybe try a little IVF, or simply change their mind-set from childless to child-free and go out more. There again, there’s no end to what some people will do in order to have kids, as this story proves.

The film looks and sounds ravishing all the way through. Disney threw $50m at it, and it shows. There are some very nice special effects when the witch regularly appears and disappears, nothing too cosmic, just some elegantly done whirlwinds. Sometimes, as Robert Frost would have it, the woods are lovely, dark and deep; sometimes they’re utterly terrifying, the kind of place a lascivious wolf would lurk in order to chat up little girls. Musically it’s a treat for your ears from start to finish. The arrangements are sumptuous and the singing is clear, beautiful, funny, and quirky – all the right ingredients for this show. Into The Woods boasts some stonking good songs, including the main theme, an assorted fugue-like piece of fun which sticks in your head for ages afterwards (I woke up at 4.00am this morning with it running through my brain) and which you can use as a commentary on your daily chores (“into the shop to buy some food”, “into the kitchen to make some tea”, etc, etc, ad nauseam).

The performances are pretty much uniformly superb throughout. James Corden continues to prove why he’s one of our best young actors with a funny, thoroughly believable and surprisingly moving performance as the Baker; and he also provides the narration. Desperate to meet the witch’s demands, he masterminds a cack-handed assault on the roving characters of the woods together with his wife, gaining items from them but losing them on the way too. It’s a bit like an extended, musical round of Jeux Sans Frontières, catching hold of the cape and the hair with one hand but dropping the cow with the other. Emily Blunt gives a wonderfully understated performance as the Baker’s wife with great comic timing and a terrific voice. The two of them become the perfect foil to the mad excesses of Meryl Streep’s witch, dominating proceedings with her sheer energy and attack – although Sondheim gives her some damn good lines to sing too.

The two child performers are absolutely sensational. 13 year old Lilla Crawford plays Little Red Riding Hood like an old pro, completely stealing that first scene in the Bakers’ shop, as she discovers and devours cookies with the efficiency of a heat-seeking missile. When she’s interacting with the other main characters she’s equally as assured as the most experienced of actors. Similarly, 15 year old Daniel Huttlestone, who both warmed and broke your heart as Gavroche in Les Miserables, takes to Jack as a duck to water with his fine singing voice and confident cheeky personality. Anna Kendrick does a good job as the stereotypical Cinderella, putting up with the cruelty of her step-sisters and falling in love with the Prince, but with the added dimension of the role’s darker dénouement too.

One of the best scenes in the film was the song Agony, performed by Chris Pine as Cinderella’s Prince and Billy Magnussen as Rapunzel’s Prince, each trying to out-prince each other as their duet gets progressively wetter, the further into a rocky waterfall they blunder. Both suitors are really well cast, Mr Pine having the terrific line about only being trained to be charming, not sincere; and Mr Magnussen doing a marvellously painful descent on Rapunzel’s hair. I confess, when Rapunzel’s tear dropped onto his eye and he could see again, my brain let out a huge soppy “awwwwww” – I just hope my mouth didn’t hear and follow suit. Mackenzie Mauzy is an excellent Rapunzel, changing from malleable daughter to being unable to forgive her mother – and under the circumstances why would you? – and Johnny Depp is a splendidly eerie and foppish wolf, planning main course and pudding before getting his own just desserts. Cinderella’s horrendous household is very amusingly portrayed by Tammy Blanchard and Lucy Punch as her villainous step-sisters and Christina Baranski as her brutally bossy stepmother (no Baron Hardup here).

There’s also a lot of fun to be had spotting famous people in minor roles, like Annette Crosbie as Little Red Riding Hood’s granny, Frances de la Tour as the Giant’s wife, and Simon Russell Beale as the Baker’s father. But the biggest blast from the past – for me at least – was when Jack’s mother first appeared and I whispered to Mrs C “could that possibly be Tracey Ullman?” who I hadn’t seen since she was in Three of a Kind (whatever happened to David Copperfield) and since she drove away with Paul McCartney in the “They Don’t Know” video. And yes indeed it is Tracey Ullman and she gives a wonderfully warm and funny performance, with no care at all for the moralities of corporal punishment.

Just like when we saw The Theory of Everything last week, my only criticism of the film is that it just goes on a bit too long. Mentally, I did something of a “switch-off” when the witch became beautiful and the bakers got their child. Maybe I’m just a happy ever after kind of person who didn’t need to see all these people’s worlds subsequently fall apart. In the stage production that’s just the end of Act One. Knowing me, I probably needed an interval. When it became clear there was still some distance to go the film just started to tire me. But it’s a bold man who tells Sondheim he’s got it wrong, and I wouldn’t dream of it. All in all it’s a really enjoyable film with great performances and a feast of splendour for the eyes and especially the ears. Making this film guarantees that the show will continue to delight audiences for generations to come.

Review – The Theory of Everything, Errol Flynn Filmhouse, Northampton, 21st January 2015

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One thing’s for sure – Stephen Hawking is a very clever man. He’s known for his intelligence, his books, his theories, and – let’s be honest – for his survival instinct. When you hear it, everyone recognises that metallic artificial voice and knows about the motor neurone disease that changed a fit and able young man into a completely physically paralysed one. Personally, I can’t recall ever seeing a photograph of him as a young man, and I must admit that I’ve never thought about his private life at all. It’s as though his intelligence and disability are a mask that prevents us or discourages us from seeing – or even considering – the actual man underneath. My bad.

For that reason alone, The Theory of Everything is an extraordinary film because it lifts the lid on this private and unique individual and shows us the course of events that takes us from 1963 to the present day. It’s based on his first wife Jane Wilde Hawking’s memoirs so one can presume it’s all pretty accurate. We relive Stephen and Jane’s undergraduate days, their early married life together, the progress of both his career and his disease, their growing family, and the way they grow apart in the directions of Stephen’s helper/carer Elaine and their family friend Jonathan. In many respects it’s an ordinary family saga, just set against the background of a brilliant brain and a hideous wasting disease.

Mathematics and Science really are a foreign language to me. I haven’t tried to learn the basics of what Mr Hawking’s philosophy is about, because I know I simply wouldn’t be able to understand it. I know I wouldn’t grasp the concepts in his books. In the film I was entranced by the sequences when he is writing out his equations on a blackboard; reams and reams of hieroglyphics of which I couldn’t follow even 1%. They’re just patterns to me. So for me it was a revelation to relate these random, non-understandable concepts to a real man, his real hands writing the equations out on a real blackboard, flowing out from his real brain. It’s not just textbook theory – it’s Mr Hawking’s life-blood, full of passion, hope, and ambition. He wants to find the equation that proves the theory of everything. If that isn’t ambitious, I don’t know what is. Call me shallow, but it had never occurred to me that these (for want of a better word) sums actually stemmed from the mind of an individual person. I just took them as a given. I guess 1+1=2 was actually the brainchild of some caveman once upon a time.

Another aspect of the film that shows the human dimension of the man, rather than just singling out his brilliant brain, is the fact that people with disabilities are interested in sex too. This isn’t so much Does He Take Sugar? as Does He Use Condoms? – with the answer firmly in the negative. As the Hawking family continues to grow with more and more children – and Hawking’s disability seems to get worse and worse – I bet I wasn’t the only person in that cinema who thought “well just how the hell did he manage it?” That was also the suspicions of their contemporaries, as idle speculation from Jane’s parents and family wondered if Stephen really was the father of their third child – with suspicions alighting on their friend Jonathan. But no, Stephen is definitely the father, and it’s the mark of a classy film that they don’t feel the need to give us the ocular proof.

Visually it’s a stunning film, with lovely settings of Cambridge in the 60s as the backdrop to Stephen and Jane’s blossoming romance: the river, the university buildings, railings full of bikes, idyllic lawns. There’s a memorable scene where Hawking is led into a very old-fashioned looking laboratory by his professor in an attempt to galvanise him into some great thoughts and ambitions for his thesis. It actually reminded me of the Biology classroom at my old school, and it’s precisely the kind of place you would expect to see in a traditional institution like Cambridge.

But the really impressive heart of this film is in the acting. Eddie Redmayne delivers just about as perfect a performance as anyone could imagine as Stephen Hawking. From his faux-embarrassed brainboxy young undergraduate, to the world authority that he is today, Mr Redmayne captures a remarkable balance between expressing Mr Hawking’s character and portraying the physicality of his progressive disease. Over the course of the two hours you see Mr Redmayne literally deteriorate before your eyes in a way that you would have thought it was impossible to act – you would think he was genuinely suffering with the disease too. The strength of his voice also fades as the film continues, and somehow, facially, he even manages to recreate Mr Hawking’s trademark swollen lip; I guess that’s down to some clever make-up. His performance is clearly driven by sincerity and respect for the person he is representing; it’s a genuinely unbelievable piece of acting. I thought he was great as Marius in the film of Les Miserables – but this is a career-defining performance.

Felicity Jones plays Jane as a complete powerhouse of strength. The young undergraduate who spins around in joyful freedom by the side of the Cam when Hawking is trying to explain some cosmological law develops into the young woman who doesn’t flinch from the heavy demands of being married to someone with motor neurone disease. There’s one splendid scene where Miss Jones attempts to persevere with her own classical poetry studies, so easy to ignore as irrelevant compared with Hawking’s discoveries. There she sits, at a table, books spread everywhere, getting increasingly irritated that she can’t concentrate on the research that she wants because of family demands; but then she reassumes her role as wife and carer without comment or argument. It really conveys the challenges and stresses of her life. It’s a very thoughtful, honest performance; and also her growing fondness for Jonathan is portrayed with quiet respectability, decency and genuine affection.

I really enjoyed Harry Lloyd’s performance as Brian, Stephen’s university roommate and pal; bright, good-natured, funny, but supportive – the perfect credentials to be your best friend. The scene where Stephen tells him he is suffering from the disease and has two years to live is performed with utmost integrity. As the penny gradually drops, Mr Lloyd desperately faffs round trying to get his head around the fact that his friend won’t be around for long and that it will be a horrible death. Mr Redmayne meanwhile just calmly asks to be alone. It’s a perfectly acted scene. But Mr Lloyd gives great support throughout the whole film. There’s another dignified and mature performance from Charlie Cox as Jonathan, the choirmaster who helps both Stephen and Jane with the practicalities of life before slowly falling in love with Jane.

However, for me the film isn’t an unmitigated success, because despite enjoying it – and thinking the lead performance was simply remarkable – I have to admit that I got a little bored by it. As Stephen’s condition worsens, and the difficulties he faces increase, I found there was a general glumness about the whole film that rather wore me down; and the last half hour or so felt a little bland and lacked a dramatic intensity, primarily because we know that in real life, the real Stephen Hawking is still alive and kicking and slaying cosmological dragons.

I was also slightly irked that the film raises the question of Stephen only having two years to live, but never addresses the fact that this diagnosis was clearly wrong. Was the original doctor over-egging his pudding? Or is it an absolute miracle that Stephen Hawking is still alive? It’s a loose end I’d like tied up. I also felt the timescale was a little woolly throughout; it was hard to get a feel of the actual progression of years as the film went on. We know it started in 1963 but I couldn’t work out roughly what year any particular event might have taken place. Specifically I got confused by the car that Jonathan drives sometime after the third child has been born (when they go camping in France). It had a six digit number plate, meaning it was registered before 1963. But I believe we’re talking mid-80s when Hawking caught pneumonia in France. So either time had stood still, or Jonathan had a very old car.

Nevertheless, it is an excellent film that gives you an insight into the personal life of a very public figure, and it is crowned by a simply breathtaking performance by Eddie Redmayne. Highly recommended!

Review of the year 2014 – The Fifth Annual Chrisparkle Awards

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Once again our esteemed panel of one has met to consider all the wonderful shows we’ve seen in the previous year so that we can distribute plaudits to the arts world in Northampton, Sheffield, Leicester and beyond! Actors, directors and producers, musicians, dancers and entertainers have all striven to make it to the 2014 Chrisparkle Awards short list, which this year relates to shows I have seen and blogged between 17th January 2014 and 11th January 2015. There’s lots to get through, so let’s start!

As always, the first award is for Best Dance Production (Contemporary and Classical).

I saw six dance productions last year, all of which I remember with much admiration and affection, from which I have struggled to whittle down to a shortlist of four. And here are the top three:

In 3rd place, the powerful and hard-hitting dance version by Matthew Bourne of Lord of the Flies, which we saw in May at the Birmingham Hippodrome.

In 2nd place, the marvellously inventive, comic and moving modern dance drama, Drunk, by Drew McOnie’s McOnie Company, which I saw at the Leicester Curve in January and again at the Bridewell Theatre in February.

In 1st place, a company absolutely at the peak of its powers, the stunning programme by Richard Alston Dance Company that we saw at the Royal and Derngate, Northampton, in September.

Classical Music Concert of the Year.

Of the five concerts we saw in 2014, these are the top three:

In 3rd place, the Night with the Stars gala concert, by the Worthing Symphony Orchestra aka the Malcolm Arnold Festival Orchestra, with soloists Julian Bliss and Martin James Bartlett at the Derngate, in October.

In 2nd place, John Williams plays Rodrigo’s Guitar Concerto, plus Stephen Goss’ Guitar Concerto and Gershwin’s An American in Paris, with the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra at the Derngate in June.

In 1st place, Mozart’s Requiem, together with Alexandra Dariescu’s performance of Mozart’s Piano Concerto No 21, with the RPO at the Derngate in February.

Best Entertainment Show of the Year.

This is the all-purpose, everything else category that includes pantos, circuses, reviews and anything else hard to classify.

In 3rd place, The Burlesque Show at the Royal Theatre, Northampton, in January 2014.

In 2nd place, the amazingly entertaining and funny two hours of magic in Pete Firman’s Trickster show, at the Royal, Northampton, in November.

In 1st place, and I think I have categorised this correctly because you can’t call it either a play or a musical, but it is devastatingly funny, Forbidden Broadway, at the Menier Chocolate Factory in July.

Best Star Standup of the Year.

It was a very good year for seeing big star name stand-up comedians this year – we saw fifteen of them! Only a couple disappointed, so it’s been very hard to whittle down to a final five; but here goes:

In 5th place, Russell Brand in his Messiah Complex tour, at the Derngate in April.

In 4th place, John Bishop’s Work in Progress show at the Royal, in June.

In 3rd place, Paul Chowdhry’s PC’s World at the Royal, in October.

In 2nd place, Trevor Noah in his “The Racist” tour, also at the Royal, in January.

In 1st place, Russell Kane in his Smallness tour show at the Warwick Arts Centre in February.

Best Stand-up at the Screaming Blue Murder nights in Northampton.

Always a hotly contested award; Of the thirty-three comics that we’ve seen at Screaming Blue Murder last year thirteen made the shortlist, and the top five are:

In 5th place, the Plusnet man on the adverts, who cornered Mrs Chrisparkle and I into telling the entire audience how we met, Craig Murray (12th September)

In 4th place, a comedian whose made-up character of Troy Hawke reminded us of a filthy Clark Gable, Milo McCabe (26th September)

In 3rd place, the commanding, intelligent and ludicrous material of Brendan Dempsey (10th October)

In 2nd place, local lad the razor sharp Andrew Bird (16th May)

In 1st place, someone who took control of a baying audience in the funniest and most inventive way Russell Hicks (11th April).

Best Musical.

Like last year, this is a combination of new musicals and revivals, and we had fifteen to choose from. It was very tough indeed to pick between the top three, but somehow I did it. Here goes:

In 5th place, the ebullient and thoroughly enjoyable Guys and Dolls at the Chichester Festival Theatre in September.

In 4th place, the lively and inventive story of The Kinks in Sunny Afternoon at the Harold Pinter Theatre in December.

In 3rd place, the daring and emotional The Scottsboro Boys at the Garrick in December.

In 2nd place, the stylish and hilarious Dirty Rotten Scoundrels at the Savoy in September.

In 1st place, the stunning revival of Gypsy at the Chichester Festival Theatre in October.

Best New Play.

As always, this is my definition of a new play – so it might have been around before but on its first UK tour, or a new adaptation of a work originally in another format. An extremely difficult decision here as it involves comparing uproarious comedy with searing drama; but somehow I chose a final five from the nine contenders:

In 5th place, Alan Ayckbourn’s thought-provoking and very funny Arrivals and Departures, at the Oxford Playhouse in February.

In 4th place, the sombre and intense Taken at Midnight at the Minerva Theatre Chichester in October.

In 3rd place, the moving and beautiful Regeneration, at the Royal in September.

In 2nd place, the laugh-until-your-trousers-are-wet Play That Goes Wrong at the Royal in May.

In 1st place, the claustrophobic, immaculately staged and haunting The Body of an American Underground at the Royal and Derngate, Northampton, in March.

Best Revival of a Play.

Thirteen made the shortlist, easy to sort out a top nine, but really hard to sort out the top five:

In 5th place, the delightful Relative Values at the Harold Pinter in June.

In 4th place, the star-vehicle for Angela Lansbury but a strong production too of Blithe Spirit at the Gielgud in April.

In 3rd place, the atmospheric and brutal Dealer’s Choice at the Royal in June.

In 2nd place, the powerful yet funny Translations at the Sheffield Crucible in March.

In 1st place, the stunning, all-encompassing Amadeus at the Chichester Festival Theatre in August.

Brief pause to consider the turkey of the year – there were plenty of candidates this year, but in the end I plumped for the tedium-fest that was Wonderful Tennessee at the Lyceum Theatre Sheffield in March.

Best play – Edinburgh

In the first of three new awards, this category is for the best play we saw at the Edinburgh Fringe. It could be a comedy or a serious play, new or revival, grand scale or all perched on a couch. There were five serious contenders, and very tight at the top between two plays, but in the end I am awarding this new Chrisparkle award to Trainspotting performed by In Your Face Theatre at the Hill Street Drama Lodge.

Best entertainment – Edinburgh

The second new award is for the best show in Edinburgh that wasn’t a play – so it could be a musical, a review, comedy stand-up, magic, dance, you name it. And the winner is Margaret Thatcher, Queen of Soho at the Assembly George Square Gardens.

Best film

The last of the three new awards is for the best film I’ve seen all year, no matter what its subject matter. Twelve Years a Slave and The Imitation Game came close, but I’m giving it to Pride.

Best Performance by an Actress in a Musical.

Ten contenders in the shortlist, but the top four were very easy to identify:

In 4th place, Jodie Prenger’s’s spirited Jane in Calamity Jane at the Milton Keynes Theatre in March.

In 3rd place, the amazingly versatile and surely soon to be a star Debbie Kurup in Anything Goes at the Sheffield Crucible in January 2015.

In 2nd place, the wonderfully funny and sad performance by Sophie Thompson as Miss Adelaide in Guys and Dolls at the Chichester Festival Theatre in September.

In 1st place, probably the strongest central performance by any performer in a musical ever, the extraordinary Imelda Staunton in Gypsy at the Chichester Festival Theatre in October.

Best Performance by an Actor in a Musical.

Again ten fine performances in the shortlist, but here’s my top five:

In 5th place, for his sheer joie de vivre, the dynamic George McGuire for his role as Dave Davies in Sunny Afternoon at the Harold Pinter in December.

In 4th place, Alexander Hanson’s strangely vulnerable title character in Stephen Ward at the Aldwych Theatre in February.

In 3rd place, Paul Michael Glaser’s funny, realistic and sincere Tevye in Fiddler on the Roof at the Derngate in April.

In 2nd place, Robert Lindsay for his sheer style and panache in Dirty Rotten Scoundrels at the Savoy in September.

In 1st place, Brandon Victor Dixon’s stunning performance as the principled, tragic Haywood Patterson in The Scottsboro Boys at the Garrick in December.

Best Performance by an Actress in a Play.

Twelve in the shortlist, but a relatively easy final three:

In 3rd place a wonderful comic tour de force from Sara Crowe in Fallen Angels at the Royal in February.

In 2nd place, the emotional but still very funny performance by Caroline Quentin in Relative Values at the Harold Pinter in June.

In 1st place, the strong, dignified performance by Penelope Wilton in Taken at Midnight at the Minerva Theatre Chichester in October.

Best Performance by an Actor in a Play.

Twenty-two contenders in my shortlist, and I whittled it down to this:

In 5th place, Aaron Neil for his hilarious portrayal of the useless police commissioner in Great Britain at the Lyttelton, National Theatre in July.

In 4th place, Rupert Everett still on amazing form as Salieri in Amadeus at the Chichester Festival Theatre in August.

In 3rd place, Kim Wall for his brilliant performance as the kindly Barry in Arrivals and Departures at the Oxford Playhouse in February.

In 2nd place (or maybe 1st), William Gaminara as Paul in The Body of an American Underground at the Royal and Derngate in March.

In 1st place (or maybe 2nd), Damien Molony as Dan also in The Body of an American Underground at the Royal and Derngate in March.

Theatre of the Year.

A new winner this year. For a remarkably strong programme, comfortable welcoming theatres, and a fantastically improved dining experience, this year’s Theatre of the Year award goes to the Festival Theatre/Minerva Theatre, Chichester, with the Royal and Derngate, Northampton, and the Menier Chocolate Factory, close behind.

It’s been a great year – and thanks to you gentle reader for accompanying me on the trip. I hope we have another fantastic year of theatre to enjoy together in 2015!

Review – The Imitation Game, Errol Flynn Filmhouse, Northampton, 11th December 2014

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There are secrets and there are secrets; but one of the best kept secrets in the history of mankind must be that of the wartime activity that happened within that innocent looking compound at Bletchley Park – the home of the code-breakers, whose success is believed to have shortened the length of World War Two by two years, saving an inestimable number of lives. Personally, I feel a certain affinity with the place. As the infant Chrisparkle, I spent my first five years living in the nearby village of Newton Longville; the Dowager Mrs C had a cousin who worked as a typist at Bletchley Park during the war – but of course we never really knew what she did; the Soviet spy John Cairncross, who also worked there, was the brother of the Master of St Peter’s College Oxford, my alma mater. Forsooth, Enigma is the life blood coursing through my veins.

Although Bletchley Park is now open as a museum (and a jolly good place to visit too), many secrets from its past still remain; and that’s probably right and proper, both to protect the innocent and in the interests of national security. But it’s also important that we can consider it a national shrine to the memory of Alan Turing, code breaker extraordinaire, computer creator, and victim of anti-homosexual legislation which required him to be chemically castrated and led him on to suicide. From today’s perspective it seems at best bizarre, at worst immoral and criminal, that he should have been treated this way by the country that owed so much to him; but, as Chapman wrote in 1654, the law is an ass and will always remain so.

The screenplay for The Imitation Game is written by Graham Moore and is based on the biography Alan Turing: The Enigma by Wadham College Mathematics Fellow Andrew Hodges, so it’s got a reliable pedigree. The title comes from Turing’s own words, his description of an experiment to define a standard for a machine to be called “intelligent” – which later became known as the “Turing Test” and which, even today, is an essential concept in the philosophy of artificial intelligence (according to Wikipedia anyway, so it must be true).Interweaving three timelines of Turing’s life – his schooldays at Sherborne, his working life at Bletchley Park and his final days at Manchester – the film tells his story clearly, compassionately and with a good deal of humour. In real life, Turing was doubtless something of a rum cove, too cerebral to waste time on friendships or personal relationships, and too literal to converse normally with his colleagues. This is amusingly portrayed in the scene where Turing is told by one of the chaps “we’re going for lunch” – with the unspoken implication “do you want to come too?” – but Turing only hears and deals with the fact that the others are going for lunch which is a mere statement that doesn’t affect him.

Nevertheless, Turing does have a close friendship with Newnham College alumnus Joan Clarke, a whizz at cryptanalysis, and to whom he was briefly engaged before admitting to her his homosexuality. Turing was definitely turned on by her intelligence – cue for another delicious scene where she is hilariously patronised when taking a test to see if she is brainy enough to work at Bletchley Park. One of the most intriguing things about the film is that it makes you want to find out more about some of the other people in Turing’s orbit at the time – like Joan Clarke, John Cairncross, Commander Alastair Denniston, and International Chess Master Hugh Alexander. Turing’s story has a very rich cast of supporting characters about whom one feels one ought to know something, and the film is definitely a good starting point to find out.

Despite the frequent flashes of humour, and the gathering momentum as the team get closer and closer to cracking the code, the main emotional sense from the film is one of sadness. For me, the two most poignant sequences showed the developing friendship between young Alan and his school friend Christopher Morcom, their messages passed to each other in code to help mask the necessary secrecy of the growing love between them – and how it ends; and the pathetic shell of a man that Turing becomes as a result of the enforced medication to reduce his libido, quaking with tears at the degradation he faces, an old man well before his time.

The film is beautifully acted throughout but boasts at its heart a real star turn from Benedict Cumberbatch as Turing. He absolutely gets that sense of edgy, uncomfortable, reserved intelligence, together with a dedication to his task, a justifiably high opinion of himself and a superior hollowness where his emotion should be. It’s only at the end, when he completely breaks down, that you see the years of repression spilling out, and it’s extremely moving. He is matched by a superb performance from Keira Knightley as Joan, irrepressibly and irresistibly upbeat, and determined to be seen as an equal in the misogynistic world of code breaking. Matthew Goode is excellent as Alexander, his nose put out of joint by Turing’s rise to power, congratulating his achievements with still a hint of resentment; and there’s a brilliant performance by Charles Dance as the no-nonsense Commander Denniston, permanently irritated by Turing’s lack of respect for his position, and always looking for a revengeful way to regain supremacy.

I also very much enjoyed Mark Strong’s quietly assertive and wryly humorous performance as MI6 boss Stewart Menzies; and Allen Leech played John Cairncross almost precisely the same as he plays Branson in Downton Abbey, but seeing as how they’re both socialists in a world of nobility, I guess that makes sense. Topping and tailing the timelines of the story I was very impressed by Alex Lawther as the young Alan – repressed, tight-lipped, tentatively pushing at the open doorway of a burgeoning relationship – and Rory Kinnear is as eminently watchable as he always is as the apparently sensitive, but ultimately law-enforcing, Inspector Nock.

An engrossing story of one of the most important aspects of the Second World War, lucidly told, and compellingly acted – we really enjoyed it. It also gives you a lot to think about secrecy, intelligence, loyalty and justice. This one’s going to be around for a long time – and it’s got to be in line for loads of awards!

Review – Gone Girl, Errol Flynn Filmhouse, 2nd November 2014

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This is the second consecutive film we’ve seen at the Errol Flynn that has been a sell-out – the other being the splendid Pride. Directed by David Fincher, who made Seven (very good) and The Social Network (a bit tedious) and starring Ben Affleck and Rosamund Pike, whose Hedda Gabler we saw in Oxford a few years ago, this is Gillian Flynn’s own adaptation of her best-selling novel.

Hopefully this won’t give too much away: Nick Dunne comes home one day to find a glass occasional table smashed and on its side and no sign of his wife Amy. She’s the real life version of the fictitious Amazing Amy, heroine of a series of books written by her parents, thereby making her disappearance instantly interesting to the media. Imagine if A A Milne’s Christopher Robin was thought to be at the bottom of a lake somewhere, that’s the kind of thing. Nick is initially helpful with the cops, but they start to suspect him of her murder, and he doesn’t help himself by his ability to grin inanely when posing by a poster of his missing wife, or allow himself to be hoodwinked by a pretty journo into co-operating with an inappropriate selfie. As the case mounts against him – despite the lack of a body – he enlists the help of Ace Defence Lawyer Tanner Bolt. Add to the melting point a little infidelity, harassment of his twin sister, Amy’s unpredictable ex-boyfriend, and a couple of mud-raking gossip-mongering TV chat-show hosts, and there’s plenty for Detective Rhonda Boney to get her teeth into. And there’s also the fascinating unravelling story of what actually did happen to Amy.

It’s a gripping story, tightly told, with an excellent cast and some scary moments. As usual, I missed the first few minutes of dialogue as I couldn’t make out a damn thing they said whilst I adjusted to their muttering accents. I was also struck by how dark some of the scenes were – not in a moody, portentous way, but literally lacking in light. This was particularly noticeable in some scenes with Mr Affleck, where he often seemed to be lurking in gloom, almost as though he wasn’t entirely happy with our seeing how he’s ageing. I’m sure that wasn’t the motivation, but I did find the deliberate darkness rather irritating.

When you could see what Mr Affleck was doing, he was extremely good. Blundering hopelessly into traps set for him, and not only by the police, it’s a very credible performance of an ordinary guy trying to cope with devastatingly public difficulties way beyond his usual experience. Even though he’s a louse in many ways, you do take his side and he actually becomes quite heroic, which is an interesting manipulation of the viewer’s morals. Miss Pike, too, was very effective as Amy, filling in her diary-driven backstory, convincingly changing appearance from society girl to trailer park trashette as the plot thickens. At times there was more than something of the Fatal Attraction bunny-boiler about her, which added a nice sense of suspense.

I was very impressed with Kim Dickens as the detective; suspicious, reasonable, firm but eventually powerless to see justice through to its proper conclusion; and I liked her badinage with her assisting officer, played by Patrick Fugit. Neil Patrick Harris plays Amy’s ex-boyfriend Desi with just the tiniest bit of the unhinged about him which makes you think the story might progress in a different direction. Carrie Coon gives the character of Nick’s twin Margo a lot of attitude, fiercely defensive of her brother and even more fiercely attacking him when he lets her down; and Sela Ward plays TV hostess Sharon Shieber with chillingly attractive venom.

It’s a long film at two and a half hours, but it really does hold your attention all the way through; I wouldn’t say that the time flies by exactly, but it certainly doesn’t seem too arduous. What’s really aggravating is the uncertain ending! You’re crying out for some natural justice to win the day but it’s not going to happen. Still, it’s a realistic way of finishing the film, and you can always add your own supposition as to what might have happened next.

Arresting, exciting, with surprising plot twists and not a little disturbing; what more could you want from a thriller?

Review – Pride, Errol Flynn Filmhouse, Northampton, 7th October 2014

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1984-85 – the Miners’ Strike. Those were hard times. Daily news coverage of clashes between strikers, police, pickets, “scabs”; daily coverage of families scrabbling around for food; daily coverage of resolute politicians from all parties refusing to compromise; daily coverage of the gladiatorial combat between Thatcher and Scargill. No matter your own politics, people and communities were suffering. No matter where you lived or whether you were directly affected or not, nobody was immune from this strike. Even in leafy Buckinghamshire where I lived, about as far away from a coalfield as you could get, I wore my “Coal not dole” badge. We’d buy extra tins of food at the supermarket and donated them to the miners’ stall outside. I also remember feeling very relieved that I hadn’t been shortlisted for an interview for the job I applied for working in management at the National Coal Board a couple of years earlier.

Like Billy Elliott and The Full Monty, Pride is another British film that takes those savage days and creates something really positive out of them. But whereas those other films are works of pure fiction, Pride tells the true story of the Lesbians and Gays Support the Miners group, operating out of the Gay’s The Word bookshop in Bloomsbury, the characterful activists who worked there and raised funds for the miners, and of their association with the Dulais mine in South Wales, and their wish to help the community there.But the course of true altruism never runs smoothly, and not everyone in those traditional, working-class, chapel, areas relished the attention of a diverse bunch of homosexuals from London. In the course of the film friendships are forged, fortresses are broached, seemingly insurmountable differences are reconciled and those few people who cannot find it in their heart to overcome their prejudices are left behind.

Essentially this is a film about solidarity. The gay activists have solidarity with the miners, as an oppressed minority supporting another oppressed minority. There are also questions of solidarity between the members of each side of the equation – the differences of opinion within the LGSM group, and between the different families in the mining community. Activist Gethin was estranged from his mother for many years but regains support from her when she eventually comes back into his life. The opposite is the case for young Joe, whose supportive family turn against him when they discover his secrets. And it is indeed also a film about pride. Pride in who you are and what you can do when the world is not your friend. Pride that gives you the self-confidence to go out on a limb and to bear the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune as a badge of honour – like the successful “Pits and Perverts” fund-raising event, taking Rupert Murdoch’s attempt at an insult and using it as a mission statement. Anything that sticks two fingers up at The Sun is Fine By Me.

Top billing is given to Bill Nighy and Imelda Staunton, who are indeed excellent. Mr Nighy plays Cliff, the quiet, thoughtful but passionate Elder Statesman of the mining community, delightfully unfazed by the arrival of the gays; and Ms Staunton is Hefina, one of the strike committee women, endlessly fighting for the survival of the community. Her staunch approach to equality is heart-warming to watch, and there’s one hilarious scene where she and her ladies discover a stash of gay porn – I don’t think naughty laughter has ever sounded so funny.

But these are relatively small roles, and I was really impressed by some of the other younger and maybe less well known performers. Ben Schnetzer is brilliant as Mark Ashton, the Northern Irish Communist leader (or as close to a leader as they got) of the LGSM. Brash yet vulnerable, you find yourself willing him through all his challenges and really admiring his indomitable spirit. Jessica Gunning plays a feisty Siân, idealistic but very practical, irritated by her husband’s lack of backbone. There’s a wonderful scene when she gives the police what for –it’s a great example of an ordinary person becoming assertive against authority and it’s really funny. Andrew Scott gives a very touching performance as Gethin, ill at ease, verging on depressed, full of sadness for the family life he has had to leave behind; and Dominic West gives a really strong performance as Gethin’s partner Jonathan, in real life the second person ever to be diagnosed as HIV positive, giving it large on the dance floor much to the delight of the Welsh women and inspiring some of the Welsh men to loosen up a bit too.

There is excellent support from Faye Marsay as the punky Steph, at first the lone lesbian sticking up for her rights within the group; Paddy Considine as Dai, the visionary local mining leader who had the guts to have the initial meeting with the LGSM and convinced his community that the two groups have more in common than not; and Lisa Palfrey as the hard-hearted Maureen who cannot be shaken from her prejudiced and vindictive viewpoint. There’s a great comic performance from Menna Trussler as Gwen, who’s curious to know absolutely everything about lesbians and greets them regularly with disarming joy.But perhaps best of all is George Mackay as young Joe, tentatively finding his feet and discovering who he is, a character who brings to mind aspects of Bronski Beat’s Smalltown Boy. It’s a very moving performance. Keep your eye out for a few excellent cameos too, including Russell Tovey as an ex-boyfriend of Mark who clearly hasn’t resolved being “ex-“, and a terrific one-liner from veteran comedy actress Deddie Davies.

It’s a beautifully written film that never shies away from the gritty reality of the situation faced by both groups, nor does it descend into sentimentality. It’s full of exhilarating characters and has some very funny lines, and there’s an enormous feelgood factor about the whole film. My guess is that if you’re a right-wing homophobe there’s not going to be much in this film to entertain you; but you’d probably be put off by the title anyway.The final credits tell you what happened to some of the characters in the intervening years. Some of it will astonish and delight you; some of it will leave you with a heavy heart. A really rewarding look back at a time of conflict and how solidarity, tolerance and equality grew from it. Like a fine wine, this film is going to get even better in the years to come.

The First (Maybe) Annual Effie Awards – Errol Flynn Filmhouse, Northampton, 21st June 2014

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Can you believe it’s been a year since the Errol Flynn Filmhouse first opened its sumptuous auditorium to the cinemagoers of Northampton? It certainly changed how Mrs Chrisparkle and I think of cinema. No more those tacky venues that masquerade as candy stores designed to sell you a plastic bucket of coke, a basket of hotdogs and hamburgers, and a suitcase of popcorn, with the occasional cinema ticket thrown in for good measure. No more limiting yourself to American yoof “comedies”, blood ‘n’ guts horror-thrillers, and mainstream Hollywood blockbusters. The Errol Flynn provides us with somewhere in the centre of town that offers a wide range of films from all over the world designed to make you think, make you see life in a different way, and to give you some alternatives to the usual movie titles that monopolise every multiplex across the land.

And they treat you like adults too. Reclining leather seats, first class sound and picture systems, a quality choice of food and drink, with small tables to the side of each seat to place your real glass of wine or beer, or proper cup of tea or coffee. No wonder that the cinema has the honour of being Northamptonshire’s No 1 attraction on Trip Advisor.

To mark its first anniversary, regular customers were asked to vote in the first Effie Awards, to select the favourite films shown over the past twelve months in a number of categories. And on Saturday morning there was a star-studded ceremony (even if all the stars attending were only on screen rather than in person) to celebrate and announce the awards. So whilst we knocked back our Bucks Fizzes and nibbled at our Errol Flynn cupcakes, we were welcomed by our Master of Ceremonies, the Royal and Derngate’s Chief Executive, Martin Sutherland, and in turn he introduced several R&D/EF colleagues, who were holders of exciting-looking golden envelopes, to come forward to reveal the winners in each category.

The first category was Best of the Biggest Selling Films, and this was the category in which I had seen the majority of the nominees. I had voted for Behind the Candelabra, but, perhaps unsurprisingly, the winner was 12 Years A Slave, and it’s hard to deny this was an extraordinary film, albeit not an easy watch. Steve McQueen and the team were sadly unable to be there, but I’m sure they’ll be thrilled with the award to go alongside their Oscars. After each award was presented, we watched the official trailer for the film, as you can do now if you like:

The next category was Best Classic Film, and from a choice of notable black and white favourites, the winner was It’s A Wonderful Life, much to the delight of many in the audience. James Stewart was unable to be there to accept his award, for several reasons. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen this film, but watching the trailer reminded me of why it remains such a favourite.

Moving on to the Best Documentary Film, and again agreeing with this year’s Oscar committee, the Effie went to 20 Feet From Stardom, which I haven’t seen but looked really entertaining in the trailer. It’s a look at those unknown backing singers who have supported the world’s most famous and best-loved music stars, and an understanding of their role in creating definitive performances and recordings.

The next category was Best Live Event. Not only does the Errol Flynn show a wide range of films, but it’s also noted for its NT Live/RSC live relays, where you can see a live theatrical, opera or ballet performance from anywhere in the world, almost as if you were there. We’ve not attended one of these yet, which is a sin of omission on our part – unfortunately they tend to start at 7pm which is just a bit early for us. Still, one day we will. Also considered for this category was the EF’s live Eurovision night, bringing the camp glamour of the Beloved Contest to the big screen and an excuse for a party. But the winner in this category was the NT Live presentation of War Horse, a production we still haven’t seen, but which hopefully will be touring in the near future.

Then there was an award for the Best Film or Documentary Not in the English Language. I hadn’t seen any of the contenders, but the winner was the intriguing looking Stranger By The Lake, a French thriller that had been shown as part of the EF’s regular LGBT film club, Q-Film.

They had a category called Best Under The Radar Film – this category covers all those niche movies that could never commercially sustain a long run in Northampton but which really put the Art into Arthouse. Again, I hadn’t seen the winner – Inside Llewyn Davis – but it looks a complete treat from the trailer. Definitely need to catch this one.

The final category was simply to select the Errol Flynn audiences’ favourite film of the year, and with some fantastic runners-up, the winner was Philomena – which again we haven’t seen although we really wanted to; every time it was shown we always had other commitments! Nevertheless, having seen the trailer again it really whetted our appetite to see it.

So there you have it, this year’s Effie awards, and the winners represent a very wide range of talent and achievement that’s both representative of the film industry as a whole and a credit to the Errol Flynn and the good taste of its audiences. It’s a bit late for New Year’s Resolutions – but a Mid Year Resolution for us should be to see more films! And I can’t think of a better place to see them.

Review – The Grand Budapest Hotel, Errol Flynn Filmhouse, Northampton, 31st March 2014

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To be fair, gentle reader, we probably weren’t sufficiently match-fit to see this film. Mrs Chrisparkle and I have been on our travels again and haven’t really been home long enough to regroup. Thus tiredness, jetlag, and upset tummies are still taking their toll. Nevertheless we went, as I was looking forward to this film as I’d seen the trailer last time we went to the cinema and it looked like it would be dashed funny.

And indeed it is. The Grand Budapest Hotel itself stands as a monument to faded glory in the heart of fictional Zubrowka, and its owner, Zero Moustafa, invites one of its few guests to have dinner with him in order to explain how he came to possess such an extraordinary building. The majority of the film is one long flashback, as young Zero, the lobby boy, accompanies charismatic concierge Gustave on their quest to prove Gustave’s innocence of the murder of Madame D, whilst securing her valuable painting – his inheritance – “Boy with Apple” – in the process. The plot takes many unlikely and wacky turns and moves at a fast and furious pace, including chases, prison break-outs, handling intimidating military police and a wonderfully ludicrous shoot-out across the landings of the hotel. Think Mel Brooks at his zaniest mixed with a touch of The Pink Panther, a hint of Feydeau Farce and all dressed up in classy art deco style and you have something of the feel of this film.

However, you also need to be fully alert and, above all, consistently awake to appreciate all its finer points. Hence my introduction above; unfortunately Mrs C and I spent the evening nodding off despite the fact that we were really enjoying it. You know that feeling when you just can’t keep your eyes open even though you desperately want to stay awake; so you risk a brief eyelid droop when you think nothing’s going to happen for the next minute or so, and you think you can still keep with the plot – and then you’re awoken by the rest of the audience suddenly laughing and you realise you missed a good bit. Well I had quite a lot of that.

It’s all delightful to look at with terrific attention to detail, capturing the hotel both in its heyday chic and in its latter-day distress. The script is wry, without ever being laugh out loud hilarious. It’s beautifully crafted with its mixture of screen aspect ratios and the music by Alexandre Desplat perfectly matches the story and characters. At the heart of the film is a wonderfully quirky performance by Ralph Fiennes as Gustave, the Clark Gable of concierges, elegant and refined, courteous and charming, but with the ability to burst the bubble of pretentiousness with uproarious coarse language when you’re not expecting it. Following him like a faithful bloodhound is 17 year old Tony Revolori as the young Zero – hilariously impassive while all sorts of ridiculous things happen all around him until he suddenly spurts into action – a bit like the cartoon dog Droopy but not quite so lugubrious. The only time Zero has to face up to his boss is when Gustave slides into flirtatiousness with Zero’s girlfriend, the lovely Agatha, played with gentle humour by Saoirse Ronan. The surrounding cast include such notables as Jeff Goldblum, F Murray Abraham, Jude Law, Harvey Keitel, Tilda Swinton and Tom Wilkinson, all of whom bring their own touches of magic to their roles.

It’s all purely for fun; there’s no great secret message hidden away for us to learn from, or innovative insight into the human condition, just a farcical cavorting around some Ruritanian backwater, and the happy news that the good guys win in the end (at least temporarily). I’m sure it’s even better than I have described – but I was probably asleep through those bits.

Review – 12 Years a Slave, Errol Flynn Filmhouse, Northampton, 5th February 2014

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I’m not sure I’ve ever really seriously thought about slavery before. In an abstract sense, yes of course, one knows that it is a terrible thing and that Wilberforce was a good man, but that merely scratches a tiny part of the surface. If I thought about it all, I would come up with the fact that you have no freedom, you work hard hours every day and probably have little to eat and drink and no real place to live. If I thought of slave traders, I would think of some fictional character like that in Le Corsaire, or 1001 Nights, something out of Kismet, or Up Pompeii. If I thought of their masters, I would probably envisage some mean ogre of a swine towering above a bunch of workers, threatening them with (but maybe not using) a whip. If I thought of the slaves themselves, I’m not sure what I would envisage; probably nothing more horrific than Paul Robeson singing Ol’ Man River. But having now seen 12 Years a Slave, I am ashamed of that ignorance.

This film paints a very different picture. I could not have imagined the sadistic relish with which the slave handlers whip and torture their slaves within an inch of their life – or if they went an inch too far, who cares. I could not have imagined the slave purchasing process, taking the wife and kids out dressed in their smart suits and crinolines, to inspect, prod, slap and humiliate naked men and women in someone’s fancy drawing room. I could not have imagined the sense of fear that meant that when your fellow slaves were being beaten, whipped or hanged you had no choice but simply to look away with no outward emotion. I could not have imagined that a slave would be required to whip another slave whilst their master and mistress ogled the process with glee. I could not have imagined the association of these vile landowner slave-owning families with adherence to their Christian God. I could not have imagined that the women were as happy to abuse their slaves as the men. I could not have imagined that you could buy a slave with a mortgage. I could go on.

This is not an easy film to watch. I underestimated the grit and determination that Mrs Chrisparkle and I would need to see it to the end. We are not used to watching violence, but the violence in this film is shocking, sadistic, visceral, graphic; yet perfectly justified. The personal tragedies that unfold on the screen split husband from wife and family, mother from children; and if these victims show too much emotion, or challenge an injustice, they die; disposed of as a no longer needed commodity, like a worn-out pair of pants; but not just slung away in a bin, ripped to shreds first.

I think one of the things that subtly emphasises the horror of this true story of a free black man in 1840s Saratoga, New York, who was tricked into being drugged and overpowered to be sold as a slave, is the fact that it is a very beautiful film. That irony is clear throughout – stunning cinematography, great acting, great costumes, beautiful sets, and a marvellous soundtrack. Those gorgeous captures of sunsets over the Mississippi are to die for; trouble is, uncountable thousands (millions?) of slaves did just that. It’s so striking that all this beauty is based on such ugliness; the immaculate and expensive Sunday-best clothes of the families, the stately residences and outhouses that the slaves build, are all at an inestimable cost of life and humanity. It made me want to go over to America, find some of those beautiful houses and torch them. Mrs C tried to pacify me by saying that previous generations have probably already done it.

Chiwetel Ejiofor puts in an immense performance as the formerly free Solomon, full of dignity and despair at injustice, perpetually hanging on to some distant hope that life remains worth living. Lupita Nyong’o is incredibly moving as the devastatingly abused Patsey, raped by her master, assaulted by her mistress in return, and almost flayed alive as a punishment for absenteeism to procure a small bar of soap, to which she pathetically hangs on during her torture. Michael Fassbender is very strong (in more ways than one) as the Biblically unstable landowner Epps and Sarah Paulson unnervingly brilliant as the vile Mrs Epps, of whom I could only say at the end, taking the words of Willy Russell’s Rita, “wasn’t his wife a cow”.

If you survive the 134 minutes of unrelenting misery (Mrs C’s description), at the end you feel flat, wasted, despairing of humanity, and guilty about your own freedom; well we did. Never has quaffing a superb Argentinian Malbec during a film, whilst luxuriating in the Errol Flynn’s fantastic leather seats, felt quite so shallow. For me, I accepted the film for what I take it was meant to be – a no-punches-pulled drama about the inhumanity of slavery. But Mrs C’s reaction was far more morose. The violence was just too much for her, and even if the film had decent motives, she couldn’t help think, what’s the point; there is still people-trafficking and slavery, there is still discrimination, prejudice and brutality against our fellow men; as a planet we have learned nothing about how to live as one. I could barely get another word out of her all night. So take note chaps, this is not a good movie for a date.

A very fine film, yes, and no doubt an important one too. But check your tick boxes before committing to it – it can make you feel desperately sad, much more than you would expect; with side effects of high-level anxiety, guilt and worthlessness that take between twelve and twenty-four hours before starting to pass out of your system.

Review – Saving Mr Banks, Errol Flynn Filmhouse, Northampton, 23rd December 2013

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Back in 1982 I was invited to an Honorary Degree Ceremony at the University of London’s Senate House. HRH Princess Anne was there to bestow the honours; among the recipients was Peter Parker, at that time Chairman of British Railways. Why am I telling you this? Because there was a military band present at the reception playing light classics to accompany our glasses of champagne and the song they played that most sticks in my mind as being a brilliant choice for such an occasion, was a wonderful oom-pah version of “A Spoonful of Sugar”.

One of the things I really enjoyed about Saving Mr Banks was the opportunity to get a little more insight into Robert and Richard Sherman, who wrote the music for not only Mary Poppins, but also, inter alia, The Jungle Book, The Happiest Millionaire, and Chitty Chitty Bang Bang – four of the most entertaining film music scores you could imagine. Actually I found it impossible to keep my feet and legs from twitching musically as the film showed some of the songs being put through their paces in the Disney studios’ rehearsal room; sorry to those seated around me. But just to put on record; how much cheer and happiness has been spread around the world due to the Sherman brothers’ partnership – thanks for everything you wrote.

Back to the matter in hand: Saving Mr Banks is a delightful, thoughtful, and emotional film that takes the experiences of Mrs P. L. Travers as she visits Los Angeles to discuss and collaborate with the Disney creative team who hope to get Mary Poppins on celluloid; and contrasts those experiences with her own childhood in Allora, Queensland (which I think counts as back of Bourke) and her close relationship with her father. It could have been just a standard biopic – there’s a lot of humour to be drawn from the prickly Pam Travers resisting the perceived tastelessness of the Disney machine – but by delving deeper into her emotions and unfinished family issues you get a greater understanding of her priorities and motivations. As soon as you see her pelting pears into the Beverly Hills Hotel swimming pool, you know that there’s something not quite right going on. She equates the character of Mr Banks with her father; loving, but stuck in a starchy job that makes him absent and prone to irascibility. We also meet her Aunt Ellie, who suddenly appears at the house to help her mother with the chores whilst the father is languishing in his sickbed. She has a black coat, a carpetbag and an umbrella with a bird’s head as a finial. Yes, it’s the real Mary Poppins.

In Allora, the young P. L. (or Ginty as she was known then) witnesses the slow decline of her father’s health, caused or at least exacerbated by his dependence on alcohol. She sees him lose control at work in the bank and get fired (subsequently to get reinstated by his begrudging boss); she sees him passionately advocating bank accounts for children as a way of introducing them to a mature way of life; she sees him fall off the stage at a fair where he is awarding the prizes; and she sees the devastating effect of his alcoholism on her mother. The scene where her mother has finally come to the end of her tether and walks out on Ginty really had me watery round the eyeballs, soft old thing that I am. Hence the older P. L. prefers to take tea rather than alcohol in bars, has an aversion to that particular fruit, prefers children to be treated as adults and has the need to protect the reputation of Mr Banks as not a monster but as a kind man who likes to play. It takes the Sherman Brothers’ “Let’s Go Fly a Kite” to turn P. L. around and give at least some form of consent to the film being made, as it finally affirms to her all the good qualities she remembers of her father.

Mind you, P. L. (don’t call me Pamela) isn’t the only one to have issues. Although it’s never directly stated, you definitely get the feeling that Uncle Walt also wants Mr Banks to represent Disney-the-man in some way. P. L. doesn’t want him to have moustaches – flashback to a conversation Ginty has with her clean shaven father; whereas Walt insists on the moustaches, proudly massaging his own set back into place. Moustaches win – and David Tomlinson gets to play the iconic Mr Banks. The chief strength of the film is in the development of the characters – not only the way P. L. comes out of her shell and starts coming to terms with her past, but also how Walt also learns how not everybody responds to Disneyfication in the same way.

At the heart of the film is a stunning performance by Emma Thompson as P. L. Travers. She absolutely conveys the tight-lipped disdain of anything American and open-hearted, and bitterness of someone who can’t quite allow others to enjoy themselves; and it’s consequently beautiful when she finally lifts some of her own veils, playing in the grass with her driver Ralph (very thoughtfully and kindly played by Paul Giamatti) and even adding a drop of whisky to her tea. It’s a really convincing and masterful performance. Tom Hanks is exactly how I would imagine Walt Disney to be on a good day, when he’s trying to get what he wants by being nice – totally convincing. He even managed to make the only really sloppy/sentimental speech in the entire film (when Walt is delivering his final syrupy salvo to make P. L. see sense) sound bearable.

Jason Schwartzman and B. J. Novak make very credible Sherman brothers, spending day and night pounding at the piano, changing something good into something perfect, trying to charm their esteemed guest into accepting their work. There’s a very funny scene where Mr Novak, tired and fed up, challenges P. L. on one of her quibbles, and she just dismisses him from the room like a naughty schoolboy, and he slumps off, speechless. The shared facial expressions between the brothers speak volumes throughout the film – an excellent pairing. There are also very moving performances by Colin Farrell as the father, pathetically inadequate without the boost of alcohol yet with a heart full of love and kindness, Ruth Wilson as her exhausted and frayed mother and Annie Rose Buckley as young Ginty, wide eyes taking in all the happiness and sadness that constantly besets her; even if in her first few scenes her happy face expresses not so much an unquestioning love for her daddy but more “I can’t believe I’m actually acting with Colin Farrell!”

This is a really affecting and thoughtful film. If you like Mary Poppins then you will find this a fascinating background accompaniment to an old favourite. Even if you don’t, it’s still a great insight into how a creative writer can look upon their fictitious creations as part of the family, to be protected at all costs. And Emma Thompson’s performance is one of the best I’ve seen for years. Terrific!