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#RIP: Etta James

Jamesetta Hawkins aka Etta James:
25th January 1938 – 20th January 2012

with sadness we note the death of one of the greatest ever blues, soul, R&B and jazz singers.

anima eius et animae omnium fidelium
defunctorum per dei misericordiam
requiescant in pace

despite, and no doubt partially because of, suffering the effects of physical abuse, professional mismanagement and a long-term heroin addiction, Etta James will be remembered as simply one of the greats.

she had a magical voice, which she turned to several genres, from gospel and doo-wop to rock and roll, was a charismatic performer and a talented, often uncredited, lyricist.

Sunday Kind of Love by Etta James

#faithseeking: theology in a nutshell

#cinefile: 2011 in reflection

although it is fairly

clichéd, i still feel that there is value in using the start of a new year to reflect on the experience of the year that has passed.

i’ll understand if you have an aversion to reading yet another person’s rundown of the year; but for those gracious enough to humour me, here are my reflections on 2011 in film.

——————

2011 in film was, very much like Libya, a land of contrast. on one hand it saw the unceremonious dismantling of the UK Film Council, whereas on the other lots of critics thought it made sense to juxtapose that with the success of The King’s Peach, which made Harvey Weinstein pots of cash.

of course as anyone who stops to think about it will learn, we won’t realise the implications of the end of the Film Council era for some time, but it made a neat story to pretend otherwise.

i saw some wonderful films this year, at least two of which have already floated to near the top of my all-time favourites, and a couple more that would fare well in a list of my favourite films of this century. alas, as ever, looking at the list of the top ten grossing films of the year leaves my heart cold and full of dread.

here are the films that we in the UK patronised the most:

1. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Pt II ..................... ($117m)
2. The King's Speech ......................................................... ($75m)
3. The Inbetweeners Movie ............................................... ($71m)
4. Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides .................. ($54m)
5. The Hangover Part II ..................................................... ($53m)
6. The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn Pt I ........................... ($46m)
7. Transformers: Dark Of The Moon .................................. ($45m)
8. Bridesmaids .................................................................. ($37m)
9. Tangled ........................................................................ ($33m)
10. Rise of the Planet of the Apes ..................................... ($32m)

i don’t know about you, but i have to run my eye down to number eight before i find a film i even half enjoyed. these are not the sort of films that i want to be made, and yet that is precisely what the number$ indicate will happen.

i had the spirit-crushing experience of being at a New Year’s Eve party with a well-educated ‘chap’ in his late twenties who told me that The Inbetweeners Movie was his favourite film of the year, and that was at about 8 o’clock. #face as the kids say #palm.

beneath, i have listed, in reverse order, the ten films released last year that moved, challenged, amused, touched and/or entertained me most, with a short description of how or why. please feel free to take me to task in the comments section.

11. Source Code: not as captivating as Moon, but a solid and engaging, if more mainstream, follow-up from Duncan Jones. i like Jake Gyllenhaal.

10. Hanna: beautifully shot, intensely paced, impressively acted (esp. Eric Bana) and raising some interesting issues. ultimately a little overblown in places. warning: some girls will kill you dead.

9. The Adjustment Bureau: suffered from comparisons to Inception and its links with Mad Men, but still stands for me as a crisp, smart pulp-sci-fi-thriller. nice wardrobe. nice Anthony Mackie.

8. Rango: smart, funny and enjoyable across the age spectrum without being overly stratified and relying on the tired slapstick-for-the-kids-innuendo-for-the-adults formula. a cartoon film for film lovers. my family film of the year.

7. Super 8: an excellent movie slightly spoiled by something of a blown-out ending. when it’s good it’s sweet, full of the hopefulness of youth, superbly acted and soaked in the love of the film camera and what it makes possible. a movie made by the Spielberg that Dawson from Dawson’s Creek loved.

6. Friends With Benefits: a smart, well made, genuinely touching and fairly believable Hollywood rom-com is a very rare thing. this felt loose and self-deprecating enough to be amusing and uplifting when it wanted, but also packed a subtle emotional depth. it won’t change the world, but i left surprised and charmed.

5. The Skin I Live In: something of an homage to Eyes Without A Face, this is an intense and emotionally thick drama about repression, pride, revenge and damaged people. Almodovar if not at his very best then certainly close to it, in what stands as a successful and long-overdue reunification with Banderas.

4. Blue Valentine: simple in the best ways. aesthetically beautiful, technically near-flawless, emotionally devastating and fleshed out by brilliant performances from two wonderful actors. warning: some films cut deep.

3. Snowtown: based on the infamous ‘bodies in the barrels’ murders, committed in South Australia in the 90s, this is a hefty, hard-htting, gritty crime-pic (in the true sense of the word, like grit in your eye – and i don’t know if they grade grit, but if they do, coarse). dark and brutal, it shines harsh light on some uncomfortable truths about the shadow-side of community and the nature of the human condition. warning: intensely Australian throughout.

2. The Artist: while it’s not yet on general release in the UK, Michel Hazanavicius’ silent masterpiece was officially released last year, and besides, i saw a preview screening and this is my list, not yours. just a wonderful movie – uplifting cinema at its best. technically daring, crisply and intelligently shot and edited, superbly acted and joyful through and through. a real old-school treat with a dark, powerful truth at its heart.

1. Drive: masterfully shot and edited and thus shockingly contrasting in its tone, it’s both languidly ponderous and deliciously terse in just the right mix. the edgy, über-cool tone of the first 3/4s gives way to a brutal final section. the destructive internal logic of violence and vanity is laid absolutely bare and apparent passivity is re-cast as moral agency. the combination of an achingly good use of light and lens, a wonderfully taut script, pitch-perfect performances from golden Gosling and the utterly lovely Mulligan (with great support from Bryan Cranston, Christina Hendricks and Ron Perlman among others) and genuinely profound insight make this a neon-noir treat. the film Quentin Tarantino has been trying to make his whole career.

honourable mentions:
– Melancholia
– Biutiful
– Another Earth
– Senna
– Bridesmaids

*edit films i thought of too late
– Norwegian Wood (which i saw in 2010, but, as i was reminded today, actually came out in 2011 and is superb.)

some films that might have impacted this list if i’d got round to seeing them yet:
– Tree of Life
– Cave of Forgotten Dreams
– Neds

thanks for reading in 2011, please stay for a chat below and be assured that you are warmly invited to engage with all entries in the #cinefile that 2012 offers up.

#telosvision: rose-tinted window

while i

must admit that, unlike several people in my twitter stream (twitream), i have been quite enjoying Charlie Brooker’s well-observed if somewhat hyperbolic satire on current trends in entertainment, Black Mirror, in my opinion there was something else this week that provided an equal insight into the worrying nature of TV culture.

a few days ago, it emerged that some footage of a polar bear nursing her cubs that featured in an episode of the BBC’s latest flagship nature documentary, Frozen Planet, had been filmed in a Dutch wildlife park, and not in the Arctic, as viewers had ‘been lead to believe’.

despite the fact that the origin of the footage was documented in a ‘making of’ video posted on the series website, the response to the mass publicization of the ‘revelation’ in the press (and not just the trash rags) suggests that the incident has scandalised a significant section of the audience.

 
it doesn’t seem to matter that thanks to the editing work, the audience got to see an aspect of the lives of polar bears that would have been otherwise impossible to film without, as David Attenborough has pointed out, the mother killing either her cubs or the cameraman. the point of contention is that the audience was ‘left’ to assume that the footage was ‘genuine’.

the nature of outcry was perhaps best summarised by Conservative MP and chair of the Commons media select committee, John Whittingdale, who claimed that it would have been better for the series if (like all politicians always and everywhere) it had been ‘entirely open’ about the matter.

now the reason i think this story is so significant is not that it further evidences the tabloid obsession with stirring up anti-BBC (read ‘TV license’) foment, or that it demonstrates how worked-up some people will get about relatively trivial issues, or even that it suggests some worrying implications regarding how those in the government charged with over-seeing the media see the role of documentary film making – although those are all interesting and worrying aspects.

the reason i think this story significant is because it demonstrates very clearly how uneducated many people are about what television is and how it is made, and therefore how uncritical they are in their viewing of it.

in the earliest days, films consisted of one continuous shot captured by a single camera in a locked position running until its film ran out. There were no plots or actors; the simple ‘movements’ of everyday life (people or animals walking and running or buses and cars on the roads) were enough to captivate an audience.

as such, the first films made and shown were ‘documentaries’. part of the attraction of these reels of footage (which is obvious when you think about it) was the way in which life looked so different through the selective lens of the camera. film footage made the drab and ordinary, exciting.

 
despite its popularity, the scope for this new-found medium was very limited. that was until people began cutting film and splicing different sections together. not only did this increase the amount of time for which a film could run, it also allowed the possibility for story telling.

this profoundly important evolutionary stride is generally attributed to Edwin S. Porter, a former electrician who took a job at Thomas Adison’s film laboratory at the end of the nineteenth century. in Porter’s seminal 1903 film Life Of An American Fireman we see the realisation of some of the multitudinous possibilities that cut and splice editing allows:

a fireman on a ladder appears at the window of a smoke filled room. he lifts a woman through the window which is centre-screen, filmed straight-on. then, a cut, and we now see the fireman from the back, woman shouldered, descending the ladder.

this simple scene, and several others like it, shocked audiences – what kind of witchery was this?

soon a vocabulary of film-making emerged – a cut meant one of two things: 1. a change of perspective, or 2. a shift in time. cuts that showed a change of perspective would show the same event occurring from from a different angle. cuts that represented a shift in time showed the same subject(s) doing something else, which implied that time had passed.

as the use of this emerging vocabulary developed, the distinctions between the two blurred – a shot from a different perspective no longer showed the same thing happening again, but instead picked up the action from the new angle at the point in time that the cut occurred.

this innovation was key to the art. by no longer repeating the action when the camera moved, it became easier to create the illusion in the audience’s mind that there was only one camera; a single, but omni-present eye.

this feature of film-making remains essential to the medium. when swept-up in the world of a film, a modern audience no longer thinks of a cut as representing, in effect, a different perspective.

 
it’s an irony that early films used one camera but seemed like they were ‘seeing’ from many different perspectives, whereas modern films use several cameras to create the illusion of one, continuous perspective. but, of course, it’s not an illusion that we fully believe, is it?

to ‘play’ with cameras and cuts is fine in the context of drama, however, what the outcry about Frozen Planet suggests is that when it comes to documentary, much of the modern day audience are less sophisticated viewers than their nineteenth century equivalents.

although Edison’s audience marvelled at the novelty of the spectacle he created with his static, open camera, they were also entertained because they saw it as both familiar, and magical; unreal. Porter’s audience recognised this all the more once he learned to cut, rearrange and paste his film.

today, it seems, we have become so used to the tools of the film-maker’s trade that we are no longer aware of them. cuts are not magic tricks and cunning lies, but just ‘the way things are’. at the cinema, we still love to be taken in by the camera when it plays with and confounds our expectations – perhaps this cut means time went backwards, not forwards; maybe the person we’ve cut to from behind is not the same as the one we just saw from the front, etc.

it used to be, however, that a filmmaker achieved these results through a kind of agreement with the audience. this unspoken contract is often called ‘the suspension of disbelief’. this pact works because we, the audience, want to be entertained, and the filmmaker wants to entertain. what is more, both parties understand that this is impossible if the audience keeps what it knows about filmmaking and how editing works and so on at the forefront of its mind while it watches.

the Frozen Planet incident, however, suggests some worrying trends:

entertainment is so ubiquitous a goal in television that sections of the audience have got so used to suspending it, that they no longer start from a position of disbelief.

 we are losing sight of the fact that, as early cinema audiences so clearly recognised, even before you add cut-and-paste editing into the mix, reality is thoroughly different when viewed through a lens – or rather what we see through a lens is a different kind of reality (as Marshall McLuhan noted, “the medium is the message”).

audiences are increasingly essentialising TV along genre lines and in accordance with Modernist principles. i.e. if Sky+ says it is News or History, or Documentary then it will be ‘true’ and without ideological or other forms of bias, in a way that Drama or Entertainment might not be.

in 1985 Neil Postman wrote, in Amusing Ourselves To Death, that trends in the consumption and production of TV suggested that “culture-death is clear possibility”. while most of the time i try to hope that while sharp and timely, his perceptive critique has proved only partially true, every now and then i get the sense that it’s all worse than i care to believe.

yes, Charlie, a TV can be like a black mirror, reflecting back to us the full grotesqueness of our own appetites, but in order to recognise it as such, we’d have to turn it off. much of the time, however, it stays on and functions like a rose-tinted window on a world we increasingly believe is real.

#tireddesign: carol christmas cards

dear you

MERRY CHRISTMAS

love
RQT

 
PS: i have designed some Christmas cards themed after christmas carols. here ➞ is one example, but there are four designs.

they are available to download in an all-laid-out-and-ready-to-print .pdf format

here: http://thetireyard.x10.bz/xmascards/
and here: http://cl.ly/2B3p0y1s400v2Y3G0S2A

if you like and use them, in lieu of payment please do something kind for a stranger.

thanks.
xxx

#cinefile: moneyballs

my intentions have been noble, but the reality is that i’m getting behind with the film reviews that i’d like to be offering you.

therefore, here are some very brief thoughts on some films i’ve seen recently that offer little else than you would find in any film column or blog anywhere, followed by some more developed ones about one film that few others seem to have had.

o Snowtown is not that similar to Animal Kingdom, but almost as brilliant.
o the intriguing if odd mix of common dystopian themes in In Time comes out a little too po-faced to be properly engaging. however, i still have mad love for JT and Cillian Murphy.
o Ides of March is both less like Julius Caesar and more dull than i’d expected.
o while Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol is painfully cliché ridden and predictable, at least this time no-one wears a prosthetic face that makes them look like Philip French. or do they?!

and so, to the matter at hand: Moneyball *SPOLIERS ahoy*

i’ve always liked Brad Pitt (often despite his films) and nowadays he’s the new Robert Redford. his performance here is strong (if a little face-touchy) as are those turned in by Jonah Hill and Philip Seymour Hoffman, although, in truth, none of the roles is exactly demanding with the latter’s barely requiring that he break, as it were, a metaphorical ‘trot’.

so, the acting is solid and engaging and, what is more, things are shot very nicely too – a fact that will not surprise those that noticed the name Wally Pfister in small letters on the poster.

some advice for those who don’t take notice of cinematographers: a) you should b) Wally Pfister is the guy that made pretty much all of Chris Nolan’s films look nice c) yes, it is an amusing name.

so far then my assessment is in agreement with most critics, a facet that i will complete by emphasising that Moneyball is not, repeat not, a baseball film. should i want to remain in the same groove as all the critics i’ve read/listened to, however, i’d say that what it is really a film about is statistics.

the trouble is, it’s not. it’s really a film about why, despite everything, late-capitalism is good.

the subtitle of the largely biographical book on which the film is based is The Art of Winning An Unfair Game. as the film explains right from the off, the ‘unfair’ bit refers to the fact that the Oakland As (the baseball team managed by Brad Pitt’s failed-baseball-prodigy character, Billy Beane) are a small franchise in comparison to the big-boys of Major League Baseball, the New York Yankees, Boston Red Sox and so on.

“There are the rich teams”, Beane explains to his apparently overly-optismistic staff, “there are the poor teams, then there is fifty feet of crap, and then there is us. It’s an unfair game.”

what, it turns out, this essentially means is that as GM of the As Beane has around $50m a year to pay his players, where as the Yankees have more like $125m. this discrepancy is the source of the apparent ‘unfairness’ of Major League Baseball.

now it’s not that i’m unsympathetic to the idea that its unfair that some people have more money than others – on the contrary – but it’s just that that’s not the kind of thing i’d expect to be widely recognised within either the Baseball or Hollywood fraternities.

i mean Baseball is the great American pastime and Hollywood the great American mirror, but Capitalism is the great American way of life. surely when it comes to one company being more wealthy than another, fairness doesn’t come into it?

perhaps, then, this was going to be a shockingly counter-cultural, anti-Capitalist tale?

well. the ‘solution’ to this injustice that the real Beane got from his boss, but the fictional Beane gets from a plucky, young, Yale-educated stat-hound called Peter Brand (played by Jonah Hill), who in-turn borrow it from a renegade sports author called Bill James, lies not in feeble flesh and blood, but simple, noble numbers.

if we ignore the conventional wisdom of scouts and sports analysts, Brand insists, we can put together a championship winning baseball team for relatively little money (NB: it is VITAL to remind yourself during the film that ‘no money’ still means millions of dollars).

the key to this ‘thrift’ is to cut through the layers of standard, misguided romance/hubris/superstition by ignoring the vagaries of the game, the players, etc. and simply utilising the purity of statistical data.

the chronic weaknesses of the normal approach are illustrated by virtue of parallel reflections on drafting and trading – the main two ways MLB teams get their players.

‘drafting’ refers to ‘the draft’, which, for those unfamiliar, is a system used in many American sports whereby the top, young amateur players are offered contracts by the pro franchises, who receive picks in a certain order. in Major League Baseball, the order is the reverse of the standings from the previous year, with the team with the worst record having the first pick, and so on. when each team has picked one player, that ’round’ ends and the process begins again until the talent pool is exhausted. this year, for example, this process lasted for fifty rounds and decided the fates of 1530 amateur players.

Beane, flashbacks show us, once ‘had it all’ and as such was hailed, even out of high-school, as baseball’s next big thing and drafted in the first round by the New York Mets. regrettably, it turned out that he couldn’t handle the pressure of the ‘big-leagues’ and his career floundered.

as such, Billy is himself a walking, talking, brooding example of the fact that the scouts and ‘experts’ don’t always get it right: cue “you don’t know for sure, man, I mean not for sure, for sure, you know, man” etc.

in a key scene, Beane – who turned down a Stanford scholarship to accept a large cheque from the Mets – asks Brand how he would have rated him as a rookie. Brand coyly admits that he would have recommended him for the ninth round, not the first, which would have made Stanford the more attractive option.

then we watch Beane and his team of coaches and scouts rank the currently available talent. it’s a charming but clunky round-table scene in which wizened old American men say “I like Cortez – pure swing”. “Robinson has great feet and a strong arm”, and such.

at the rhetorical and didactic peak of the scene, one man speaks out against a proposed player because he has an ugly girlfriend, which, it is suggested, is a sure sign of a lack of confidence. “I just don’t like the girlfriend. When the girl is a six-at-best like this, it’s never a good sign”. an anecdotal nail in the coffin of the romance of the game ‘as is’.

sweeping aside all this prejudice, pseudo-art and quackery, Beane takes Brand’s advice and picks his team using only statistics. they seek out cheap players who have a high .OBP (‘on base percentage’). Brand produces some complicated looking equations that boil down to one number – the average frequency with which each batter is required to get ‘on base’ in order for the team to exceed the average number of wins necessary to be the champions in an average season.

using this number, Brand and Beane set about identifying players who achieve the required score, but are underrated because of other issues – ugly girlfriends, being too old, too fat, too ill-disciplined, etc – which make them cheap.

Brand describes their dream-team as “an island of misfit toys” – cue the soaring, jangly music and we see that romance has not been banished, but its perception is simply being reversed. in order to prevent us from seeing this as a tale about the replacement of human interests with the cold, harsh, impersonal efficiency of mathematics, the protagonists are portrayed as heroic for recognising the true talent (beauty) of those the system has overlooked or rejected. this, however, is a convenient fiction.

once the venture is set in motion, and the team built, pathos is added as the patchwork, collection of Raggy Dolls and rejects lose. and lose. and lose. cue commentator’s voice over the top of choppy losing-montage “They had an idea and they tried it, but it has failed. You cannot pick a baseball team on the basis of numbers.”

from our insider perspective, however, we know what the commentators don’t. the failures are the result of the team manager’s lack of belief in the system. Art Howe, played by Hoffman, refuses to bow to the numbers, and rearranges the roster of available players in line with his own, traditional perspective.

failing to convince him to do his bidding, Beane simply trades Howe’s preferred players to other teams, forcing him to fall in line.

as the film/season progresses and the new philosophy proves takes hold, there is a dramatic change in the team’s fortunes and they go from bottom of their division to its top, breaking a 100-year record by completing twenty consecutive victories.

so the definitely-not-a-sports-film does have a quintessentially sports-film-esque cliché. and with that, the romance returns, right? well not for me.

whichever way you square it – and Moneyball tires all kinds of ways – there is no getting away from the fact that at its core, the story is about the potential benefits to a company that result from treating its employees like numbers instead of like people. in the course of the film, players are traded and cut without the slightest concern for their interests. by the end i was thinking that at least the chauvinistic scout had noticed that the player had a girlfriend; at least he’d thought of him as human.

essentially what the Beane of the film does is ruthlessly remove all processes or working norms that treat his employees as anything other than numbers on a page. he invests everything the company has and takes every risk possible to establish himself as an impassive calculator with the power to add, subtract and dividing his staff at will.

he makes himself blind to any other aspect of the game and is guided only by the desire for the best statistical edge the money he has can offer. this sort of behaviour ringing any bells? what is more, it’s made fairly clear that he does all of this primarily as a result of the mental trauma caused by his own failure as a player (hmmmm, Dr Freud).

of course, in the film (and apparently in real life) the gamble pays off. despite the fact that the statistics concerned describe a slight, average advantage over a long period (i.e. long enough for natural variance to oven out) and the system treats all negative effects from other factors: form, health, happiness, etc. as ‘externalities’, the team performs massively beyond expectation over a very short period of time. oh, and the system gets the credit.

in truth, the change is so rapid and profound, that i would have thought any statisticians would want to look for another explanation other than the small, average edge the team had when it came to ‘getting on base’. however: first, when the team is losing everyone hates the system, then when the team is winning, everyone loves it. as a poker player the first lesson i learned was not to be results orientated – if you play well, your edge is profitable over time. the rest is just luck.

anywho, despite a dramatically successful season, the team loses in the first round of the post-season playoffs, failing to realise Beane’s dreams of a championship win. but, Beane and Brand (who then completely disappears into the background), have successfully proven their point. their approach, some captions tell us before the credits, has gone on to revolutionise baseball.

at the story’s conclusion Beane rejects a $12.5m offer from the Red Sox that, if accepted, would have made him the best paid sports GM in history. he does it partly because of his family, partly because of his desire to stay with the As and win a championship there, but mainly because he once made a decision based on money, and will never make the same error again.

perhaps, therefore, this undoes my theory that Moneyball is an apology for finance capitalism? well perhaps. however, if we learned anything from Wall Street in the 80s (the movie), Nick Leeson in the 90s and Wall Street in the 00s (the place), it should be that derivatives traders, hedge-fund managers and other late-capitalist apparatus, are not primarily motivated by money.

as Leeson and many others that followed in his footsteps more recently have admitted, what they were doing became nothing to do with money – instead it became a numbers game; a game that it became worth risking everything to win. now, i’m not saying traders would do it for the love – they are handsomely paid – but then it’s not their own money that they gamble with.

Beane might turn down the 12.5m, but he remains the GM of an MLB team, a job that commands a six figure salary. for me, the most telling line in the film is delivered by Arliss Howard who plays Red Sox owner John Henry. prior to Beane turning down Henry’s offer, they are chatting and Beane raises the fact that he had hear that Henry had hired Bill James, the guy who wrote the book from which Brand had originally derived the idea. Henry responds that he has no idea why it took someone so long to hire James. “Well”, Beane retorts, “baseball hates him.” Here is Henry replies:

“Yeah, well baseball can hate him. One of the great things about money is that it buys a lot of things; one of which is the luxury to disregard what baseball likes and doesn’t like, what baseball thinks and doesn’t think.”

ladies and gentlemen, i give you Moneyball or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Finance Capitalism.

#RIP: Ken Russell

Henry Kenneth Alfred Russell:
3rd July 1927 – 27th November 2011

with sadness we note the death of one of the greatest directors, photographers, music lovers and patrons of the arts to grace our times.

anima eius et animae omnium fidelium
defunctorum per dei misericordiam
requiescant in pace

Russell is best known for his adaptations of D.H. Lawrence’s Women In Love (1969), which stands as one of the all-time great British films, his dramatic, theological masterpiece The Devils (1971), and the film version of The Who’s rock-opera Tommy (1975).

despite being a keen fan of these great films, it is for another entry in his portfolio that i will best remember Russell. while it wasn’t until my late teens that i saw the films listed above, it was as a child of eleven that i sat transfixed by a late-night, BBC 2 broadcast of his techno-coloured, psycho-sexual odyssey, Altered States (1980).

in this hallucino-sci-fi classic, William Hurt plays a University research chemist (based on John C. Lilly) who takes first LSD, then a tincture made from Mexican Caapi vines, suspends himself in a flotation tank and attempts to record and reflect on the results.

apart from opening my eyes to the possibilities of the human mind, the human body and Drew Barrymore (who debuts), that night marked a key point in the development of my passion for films. as well as the strange wonders worked by Russell and Hurt in Altered States, a not-insignificant part of my love for it comes from John Corigliano’s superb (and superbly used) soundtrack.

Russell’s influence on the evolution of the modern film soundtrack is widely under-appreciated, yet profound. not only were the two films he released in 1975, Tommy and Lisztomania, two of the first motion pictures to feature Dolby-encoded soundtracks (something for which he fought hard), but also his passion for and superb use of music is evidenced throughout his back-catalogue.

those who only know Russell from his recent, eccentric appearances on reality TV are unlikely to be reading this blog, but if that’s true of you, i urge you to rent his films and therein encounter a true genius of the cinema.

i will leave you to seek out Altered States and Coriglino’s score, and instead conclude this eulogy with one of Russell’s favourite pieces – used expertly in a great performance scene his 1970 Tchaikovsky biopic, The Music Lovers.

Rafael Orozco with The London Symphony Orchestra
conducted by André Previn – Allegro Non Troppo E Molto Maestoso
from Piano Concerto #1 In B Flat Minor by Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky