MUSIC: Music For Atheists - Shift

Last year I wrote a belated review of Melbourne independent metal act Shift’s EP from 2011, and I mentioned my eagerness to see what they come up with for a full-length album. Interestingly, their  debut album Music For Atheists is, as its namesake suggests, an album with atheistic and anti-theistic lyrical themes, and all financial proceeds are donated to Doctors Without Borders - which is, of course, a secular and thereby non-proselytizing international charity organisation. While I don’t expect to influence sales, I will link to the band’s website www.shiftband.net for good measure, because it is a genuinely good cause - and, of course, related to the album’s lyrical themes.

But there is a problem with bands attempting to be intellectual, or indeed political, with their lyrics. It is very difficult - in fact, almost impossible - to represent a complex and convincing argument in a three-to-five minute song. Politics and philosophy are both incredibly nuanced and complicated areas of thought, and therefore hard to communicate in verse form. Thus the result is almost always a reductionist and simplistic argument, which fails in what it intends to do by merely parroting a point of view rather than putting forward an argument. This is my problem with bands such as Rage Against the Machine - as, in their attempts to be political, all I hear is someone shouting their opinion in my ears. And, of course, without a nuanced argument - or, at least, recognition of the complexity of the issues at hand - they are unlikely to convince anyone of the other side, or attract an audience from the other side, and therefore they will inevitably only be “preaching to the choir”, as it were.

This phenomenon comes across fairly strongly in Music For Atheists; the official description of the album includes “. . .inspired by the writings of Christopher Hitchens, Richard Dawkins and Carl Sagan.” As someone familiar with the work of (particularly) Hitchens and Dawkins, some of the lyrics in this album were particularly tiresome for me, because I was only being told in verse form what I already knew. As a result, nothing is really added to the debate or to the music. While I can imagine someone less acquainted with these great thinkers would have a more positive reaction, I can only speak for my own experience when I say that the lyrics didn’t do it for me.

However, as we all should know, lyrics are secondary to the actual music. What I noticed first about Music For Atheists was that the volume measure across the length of the pre-release SoundCloud stream is remarkably constant. From this I deduced - correctly - that this album has a distinct shortage of dynamic variability. The volume and tone remains constantly at a high, blazing-heavy-metal throughout about half of the entire album in total, which diminishes the effect somewhat. Metal has a naturally visceral, raw and passionate quality which is carried by the distorted guitar, blast-beats and double-kick drums, heavy bass and screamed vocals; it is also a genre which facilitates sophistication and complexity not seen in other genres. These characteristics come from the extreme end of the musical spectrum, and because of this, they should be contrasted with other characteristics in order to create a balance. The best music borrows from these extreme characteristics of metal - rather than specialising in them - and their selective use gives them more effect. We can see some effective contrast in Music For Atheists, for example in the clean guitar interlude in Cult of Obey, and these parts are the highlights of the album. Yet they are not very common; for the most part there is little contrast, little variability, and the album remains more-or-less constant. With little change in the dynamics, it doesn’t take much to tune out.

We can hear this from the very first track. All Reason Gone begins at full speed and volume, which is not a good introduction to the album. There no build-up, or space to develop - it just kicks off in medias res. All Reason Gone then continues at almost precisely the same volume throughout the entire song; there’s no development or progression. Not only this, but the overuse of metal tropes such as blast-beats and double-kick makes the music feel cramped and claustrophobic, as there is not enough breathing space within the music to allow immersion. This can also be heard in songs such as Pale Blue Dot. Yet the opening to The Lunacy Of Faith illustrates perfectly how selective use of double-kick can be more effective and powerful; the moments when the double-kick is constant are far less engaging than the moments where it’s only used for a fraction of each bar. 

There is trend in modern metal, which I believe is linked to the accessibility of modern production technology, of polishing the music to a mirror shine, where the guitar and drums are slick and smooth. The problem with this is that it undermines the purpose of distorted guitar: it is meant to be somewhat rough, harsh, and coarse. With overuse and overproduction, it can lose all these qualities  - and Music For Atheists suffers from both. I’ve experienced this with many other metal bands I’ve listened to in the past, including Opeth and Dream Theater, and after a while I stop hearing the guitar. It is ironic when the distorted guitar is too clean, because distortion and grit is really the epicenter of all metal music when it comes to guitar, and the essence is lost by trying too hard to artificially produce the sound. There is a notable exception in the song Black As Death, which has a very interesting, almost industrial and electronic sounding production, providing a nice contrast to the rest of the album.

I’ve mentioned before a few times that “progressive” musicians have a tendency to write long and evolving songs by simply stitching together several ideas into one track, and this is seen on Music For Atheists as well. And it doesn’t work, primarily because it is inconsistent and the song loses all focus and direction. One example is the track From Worms To Maggots, which opens with a nice, quiet, and atmospheric guitar riff; it is subtle and suggestive, intriguing the listener and leading us on. Then - with no prior warning - it launches into a loud and aggressive section with no logical connection to the first. Both sections may be perfectly good ideas on their own, but they don’t belong together without some kind of bridge between the two - and as much as I like contrast, this example is jarring and inconsistent. They might as well be two separate songs.  Stitching various ideas which are not related to each other into one song only serves to subtract any clear direction or focus to the music - songs of this kind merely meander around with a few ideas  with no focus or consistency; this issue is common in Music For Atheists. Long and dynamic songs are best when there are subtle changes which cause the song to evolve from one state to another, and good examples include Reflection by Tool, or even Hustling Paradise from Shift’s first EP Faceless. Layers are added over time, and every change builds on or only slightly tweaks what has been hitherto established. Often there is a core motif which is constant - such as a rhythm or melody -  and the song explores various different takes on this motif.

Indeed, the final song An Atheists Anthem manages this incredibly well, and probably serves as an exception to most of the criticisms outlined above. The base rhythm is laid out by a single guitar riff at the beginning, which is then repeated over and over. Layers are added and thickness increased over time to develop the song and flesh out that one simple riff, which creates a rising tension and escalation within the build. The rhythm guitar moves up and down the same interval to create a rhythmic tension/release cycle, while the delay on the lead creates an eerie atmosphere. Drums slowly increase in complexity and volume, with toms becoming more prominent to bring out a deep and heavy tone. Moreover, the distorted guitar comes in late which makes it stronger and more effective, while the bass deliberately clashes with the guitar, creating a very nice tension.

So Music For Atheists has its moments, and these moments are very profound. There are some songs I like, including Cult Of Obey, because of the complex harmonics and how well the vocals match the rest of the song - and there is also a sense of unity and focus within that song. Other great moments include the counterpoint between guitar riffs in All Reason Gone, as well as the piano layer and subsequent high-pitched dissonant guitar riff introduced later in the song; the clean guitar riff in Cult Of Obey, which expands the song’s breathing space, creating an opening for immersion; much of Morality (God Is Dead) incorporates very interesting layering and dynamics - particularly the outro sequence; Black As Death is a very interesting song which is fairly consistently solid throughout, with a particularly dark tone and atmosphere from the guitar tone and vocals; and, of course, the final track is possibly the best song on the album.

The problem with Music for Atheists is that these great moments are padded with extra material which is largely inconsequential and generic. While their previous release Watch It Burn worked, because its length gave all the great ideas and moments centre stage, Music For Atheists appears to have the same amount of ideas as their previous release padded out into a full-length album - which doesn’t work for the same reasons homeopathy doesn’t work. There’s enough great material written  which could be cherry-picked for another fantastic EP - but as it stands, much of the album is little more than filler material.

All of these characteristics combine to create an album for which I did not have strong feelings. It’s a perfectly decent metal album, and much the same as Watch It Burn but with slightly less imagination. However, compared to their debut EP Faceless - which is still fantastic - Music For Atheists falls quite short. Faceless was a unique and focussed release which was rock-solid. It was a shining example of what metal can be capable of - largely on an emotive level - and employed a high level of dynamic sensibility and aesthetic balance. Music For Atheists, by contrast, appears to be channeling thrash metal, and I would say that any callback to thrash is more regressive than progressive. Once again, while this is a very solid metal album, and Shift remains one of the best metal bands alive in my opinion, there is a lot in Music For Atheists the album could do without.

MUSIC: Ultraviolence - Lana Del Rey

Finally, some music worth talking about.

It’s not as though there’s been any particularly bad music that I can insult for catharsis, either, like what I did for Bring Me The Horizon. And there’s no point reviewing another metalcore album, because I could simply recycle my Sempiternal review and it would be no different. And since Tool has been spending all their time re-writing the calendar, instead of finishing their new album, there hasn’t been much in the way of interesting music released for some time now. (If anyone happens to be reading this, rather than doing something productive with their lives, feel free to lend some music suggestions).

When I was very young, I used to listen to pop music - this was, of course, the trend of the late 1990s. And as I have long since repudiated pop music in most of its forms, I have been pleasantly surprised in discovering Lana Del Rey’s chillingly powerful previous album Born To Die. It was very forceful, melancholy, and dark; with its dissonant orchestral backing, strong, near-industrial drums, and her astonishingly versatile and powerful voice. Despite its polished exterior, Born To Die was raw, honest, and well-crafted.

Three years later, Lana Del Rey has released a new hit album - notably, stylistically divergent from her previous album. It is much more stripped back, with a very organic, raw, and unpolished sound, sounding vaguely similar to Jeff Buckley’s good songs with a touch of blues. Rather than complexity, there’s subtlety; every instrument is used sparingly for maximum effect, perhaps illustrated best in the opening track Cruel World. One could almost say that it the album sounds flat, and if you weren’t really paying attention, much of the subtleties - and therefore much of the substance - could be overlooked. Unlike half of Born To Die, there’s not much “party music” on Ultraviolence.

It’s that nonchalant melancholy that was so effective on Born To Die’s opening and title track which  Lana Del Rey has explored further on this album. Ultraviolence doesn’t have the same catharsis as the powerful Lolita, or the brilliantly subversive Off To The Races - but it does have an ethereal and eerie melancholy, while Del Rey carries a certain “jaded” exterior projection. Rather than try to steal the spotlight, she steps back and “merges” with her music, allowing all layers of the music space to flourish, which creates a far more powerful overall effort than if it were just “singer + backing”.

It’s rare for the standout song on an album to also be the lead single, because the lead single is usually the most lukewarm and palatable track in order to sell the album to the lowest common denominator. Yet West Coast has a hint of the force seen on Born To Die with a very subtle dissonance carried in the guitar, and some interesting layering which builds the atmosphere over time. The background noise is less orchestral on this album, which contributes to its more stripped-back ethereal quality, yet still manages to build a thick atmosphere - this can be heard on other songs such as Sad Girl and Black Beauty, as well as many others. And all throughout, the subtle use of clean guitar in the background acts as an anchor to reality, keeping the music firmly grounded whenever it is in danger of sounding artificial.

Lyrically, Lana Del Rey has always been one for contradiction. In many songs from her previous album, she could go from extreme love to extreme hatred in one sentence without batting an eyelid. It is that kind of cognitive dissonance representing the complexity of human existence and emotion, which can only be expressed in verse, and she executes it quite brilliantly. This is most prevalent on Ultraviolence’s title track - and it has been suggested that the song “glorifies domestic violence”. It does nothing of the sort; rather, it takes the perspective of the victim and paints the complex emotions at work, thereby explaining why it is such a contentious issue. While I’m not sure if Lana has actually experienced this before (although it’s not unthinkable), I daresay this song does more for victims than her critics have.

Another contradiction at work is that the song Fucked My Way To The Top is probably the most accessible song on the album, and should have been the lead single on the album. It wouldn’t have made it; perhaps because of the explicit lyrics, and maybe because the subject matter might have hit a bit close to home for the pop-music industry. But it is the juxtaposition between light and dark, love and hatred, happy and sad, clean and gritty, which really showcases what makes Lana Del Rey’s music good.

What I’m uncertain about is the literary references. Born To Die featured numerous references to Vladimir Nabokov’s Lolita, which makes a lot of sense in context; yet Ultraviolence’s reference to Anthony Burgess’s A Clockwork Orange is perhaps more obscure, and less easily deciphered. Although, it must be said, much of this album has that old-fashioned eerie quality which would have fit in Stanley Kubrick’s films quite nicely.

The major selling point of Lana Del Rey’s music is that it is, above all, genuine. Honesty is the secret ingredient in all music; Lana Del Rey puts her mind and heart to her art, and the result is very powerful. Ultraviolence doesn’t showcase Lana’s incredible vocal range and singing versatility to the same extent as noticeable in previous songs such as Off To The Races, Lolita, and, quite frankly, most of that album. She has restrained her voice somewhat, but it hasn’t been too detrimental to the quality of this album - and, realistically, her previous style would probably become a gimmick if she continued with it. But she shows her talent by releasing a repertoire of slow, atmospheric and emotional songs in Ultraviolence. It is likely this album would have been overlooked were it not for the success of Born To Die - but, as it stands, Lana Del Rey shows us all that there is still hope yet for the mainstream music scene of the twenty-first century.

FILM: The Fault In Our Stars

What makes a sad story? It is an interesting and important question to ask, and to attempt to answer, for any artist who wishes to involve their audience emotionally. Incidentally, The Fault In Our Stars - both the book and the film - has been described as incredibly sad and emotional, as you will no doubt have heard. So what does make a story sad? Is a story “sad” if it depicts sad events or themes, or if it makes its audience feel sad? How does one go about constructing a narrative which accomplishes this goal?

The Fault In Our Stars is a film based on John Green’s novel about teenagers with cancer. It claims to be about “telling the truth”, rather than sugar-coating tragic events and themes. While cancer is certainly a sad and distressing thing, merely depicting it in fiction is not enough to evoke an emotional response. The events and characters must draw the audience into the story so that we may involve ourselves with the emotional journey - for that to happen, the story requires characters we can empathise with and relate to. Not only do we need to see that people are dying, but we also need to care about it.

This film appears to rely too much on teenage romance drama clichés to tell this part of the story, rather than actual characterisation. Themes such as obsession over a love interest (“waiting to call”, etc.) and sentimental attachment in other ways play a major role in The Fault In Our Stars - at the end of the day, the film is about teen romance and love. And that subject has been done to death in the past. The Fault In Our Stars relies on the cliches of teen romance to tell its story and to emotionally involve its audience, and I would argue that is not adequate, because other peoples’ love stories are inherently uninteresting to all except those involved. While their relationship might matter to them, there is nothing which would - or should - make anyone else care about them. And this is because the film has not built its characters to make them likable. We, as the audience, only meet them superficially, and do not get the opportunity to genuinely know and understand who they are. Furthermore, there is not much about them which is interesting or intriguing - for the most part, Hazel and Augustus play archetypical roles for a generic teen-romance story. The characters are solely defined by their love interest, and not by their own characteristics - this makes them very difficult to empathize with.

It is true that the story does deal with some interesting philosophical themes, particularly about nihilism, existentialism and death, and Hazel’s choice of the word “oblivion” carries that rather nicely. There is some discussion about afterlife - but more importantly, how the world continues to exist after we die. A very, very common theme in similar stories is how our death will affect our loved ones - family, friends, lovers etc, and The Fault In Our Stars isn’t an exception to this. There is discussion about how one is remembered after death, and the bigger picture of certain human annihilation on a long enough timeline is invoked. It raises some interesting questions, particularly given the terminally ill in question are under 20 years old, and the existentialism of death is all the more poignant when concerning the young.

But this is secondary to the primary theme of love and romance, and the idea of death is carried by the protagonists’ romantic love. In the film, Hazel, who is dying, decides to shut herself off from her love interest because “I don’t want to hurt you” [sic]. This is another cliché which is presented as though it were something new - I’ve seen it countless times before, and I’ve never been fond of it. By common sense, would it not be the choice of the one who was to be hurt? He even says himself “I don’t care if I get hurt”, and yet she refuses to concede his point. This whole scenario is an exercise in laughable, unoriginal sentimentality, and marks poor characterisation and plot development.

The other aspect that an emotional story needs is effective contrast. Tragedy doesn’t mean much unless it’s juxtaposed against something positive, and often writers depict their characters gaining something positive before taking it away from them, thus creating a tragic event. In The Fault In Our Stars, Hazel gains a lover, and then loses him - therein lies the contrast. However, for much of the first half, the film carries an overwhelmingly positive tone in which everything is going perfectly for the young couple, peaking at the expensive (free) romantic dinner in Amsterdam. It overplays the positive aspects to the point where it becomes absurd and difficult to take seriously; the resulting contrast, when everything inevitably and predictably falls, is surreal and contrived, and likewise difficult to take seriously. 

As well as this, whilst the film champions honesty and candidness, it sports an overtly polished and glossy production which makes it feel fake. Many of the lines spoken appear pre-rehearsed and contrived, which is possibly a product of poor acting, as well as many of the scenes. Why, for example, is there a crowd of spectators and subsequent applause when the young couple share a romantic kiss in the Anne Frank house? It is a film that is very difficult to take seriously when it possesses this fake and unrealistic quality.

But the major downfall for this film is as I outlined above - while it claims to be a film about death and loss, the major theme is teen love and romance. It reminds me of The Hunger Games: an interesting idea is marginalized and drowned out by a generic teen love affair. While the interesting philosophical themes are present, the film is dominated by the romance. Love - specifically romantic love - is a boring subject in fiction, and is almost always played out in exactly the same way. And it is for this reason that I don’t find The Fault In Our Stars particularly sad, sombre, or emotionally effecting. As I have mentioned before, romantic affairs in fiction are either specifically tailored to the individual characters’ situations, or generic and clichéd - in both cases, they are difficult to relate to, and therefore boring. It is difficult to become invested in watching someone else’s love story - and as such, any film which relies on it for emotional involvement is likely to fall short. 

It likes to remind us, as well, of how “edgy” and innovative it is. The opening narration, seconds into the film, proclaims that this story does not “sugar-coat” the truth “like they do in the movies” [sic]. Later on in the film, Hazel’s narration confesses that, while she would like to say Augustus was brave and courageous in the hospital, “that’s not what happened.” Throughout the film, there are constant reminders which reiterate how different and candid The Fault In Our Stars is - particularly, compared to other films. Yet the reality sends a very different message - for the most part, this film is little more than another generic teen-romance flick, with a touch of cancer and death added. The focus is skewed in favour of the romantic themes, and the more interesting existential themes are downplayed as a result. And perhaps it is “edgy” by mainstream Hollywood standards - but those standards are not what any filmmaker should strive to meet.

It is for all these reasons that The Fault In Our Stars is not particularly affecting or “sad”. This is not to say that the film was completely lacking in power - the core of the narrative itself, involving young people dying, is a fairly strong one, and no doubt taps into young peoples’ fear of death. But  while the narrative itself is fine, it is in the execution and presentation of this narrative that the film fails; greater emphasis on the themes of death, dying, and existentialism, while diminishing the role of love and romance, would have made a significant difference, and a far greater emotional impact, in my view. Fundamentally, the problem is one of priorities.

There are also some character-based themes which could have been expanded on. Augustus, in all his pretentious smugness, does suffer a moment of weakness when his metaphorical cigarette is taken away from him. Notably, that metaphor is his defense mechanism - it makes him feel as though he has the power to cheat death. It’s a power trip, and they could have played more into the potentially anxiety-inducing effects of that metaphor being “not allowed on this flight”. It would have given the audience a window into his true character, beyond the facade he presents to others, and overall enhanced the emotional weight of his demise. As it stands, not knowing the characters beyond a superficial level makes it difficult to care about what happens to them. That sort of thing needs time to develop - or at the very least, attention - which is why something like Game Of Thrones is so powerful, because we have had a long time to become attached to the characters we are fond of.

So while I’m not saying it’s completely incompetent, popular opinion has greatly exaggerated the actual depth and power of The Fault In Our Stars. Despite this, I would be very interested to see whether the novel is any better than the film is - not enough to read it myself, mind - because most of what I have heard has been about the book. But for now, all we have is another teen-romance film with only a hint of something more interesting. 

FILM: Frozen

So there’s been a fuss about Disney’s latest animated musical film for some time, and after much apprehension I finally got around to having a look. I have not been fond of Disney’s traditional cliché-ridden style of storytelling, and I appreciate even less their general popularity. Frozen, apparently being the highest-grossing animated film of all time, begs some scrutiny, particularly in the company of many genuinely brilliant animated films. What is it, for instance, that makes a film like Frozen so popular? 

It is a film which illustrates precisely why I dislike musicals as a rule; because they combine music and film in such a way that neither are performed adequately. While music and fiction are good mediums on their own, one which endeavors to combine the two inevitably results in both aspects being sub-average. The music is written solely to convey parts of the story, thereby making it literal, straightforward and simplistic. It is for this reason that adding music to story rarely adds anything of value to the experience - one might argue, and many have, that music adds depth to the story by expressing  elements in another dimension. But because the music is simplistic, no emotive depth is added; it is written for the sole purpose of carrying the lyrics - and there is nothing sung that could not be spoken. Likewise, with the focus on musical performance, there is little room to expand on complex story or character arcs, so many fall upon cliche to tell the story.

As with most musicals, the songs fall upon the generic and rather overused traditional Broadway style - light-hearted orchestral songs with squeaky American voices. Once again, there is nothing sung which could not be spoken, and the songs instead provide a vehicle to labour a point not worth dwelling on. This is most well illustrated in the conversation between the two sisters in the castle: the conversation is carried almost entirely in song for no apparent purpose. Rather than adding any depth, it simply makes it appear melodramatic and contrived. Perhaps this could have been amended if the music was interesting to listen to - but as it stands, that is not the case.

So the music part of the musical does not perform its purpose - namely, to add depth to the story. The story itself, then, should ideally stand competently on its own. It does touch briefly on some interesting themes, particularly regarding emotional attachment and the true nature of love. It is interesting how it uses ice as a literal representation of a cold attitude towards other people, and a repudiation of emotional attachment to others, and it is something which could have been expanded on with far greater depth had the film not placed so much focus on the music. As it stands, the ice-power serves as a physical manifestation of Elsa’s social withdrawal, while also being the cause of her withdrawal - this symbol could, and should, have been elaborated on as a major theme. I don’t mean it should be overtly referenced, but a greater emphasis on her cold dismissal of affection as  part of her character development would have been fitting. However, that appears to have been an endeavour too complicated for the writers and producers. 

Other people have mentioned to me that Frozen employs a clever subversion of Disney tradition by abandoning their usual depiction of romantic love. As far as I can see, this is explored in two instances: the first is a conversation about love at first sight, in which the idea of marriage to another whom one has only recently met is ridiculed. The second instance is the overall point, culminating in the conclusion of the film, about how “true love” is within families, and not romantic. Some might say this is a clever move for Disney, and that they should be praised for their originality. However, even with this “progress” from Disney, they are still many years behind and have a long way to go. This isn’t really innovation from Disney - rather, a step in the right direction which has been overdue for decades. In order to be fair, then, they don’t deserve much credit for this development.

Children’s films are an interesting phenomenon. As far as I am concerned, there are two types of children’s films: films made for children, and films which children can watch. The former are dumbed-down, simple-minded and “friendly” films made solely for children to enjoy; the latter are regular films made for anyone to enjoy, including children. Pixar’s films, for example, are nearly always from the latter category - they are all good films with complex structures, interesting characters and strong writing. They also happen to be appropriate for children to watch. Whereas the alternative involves most Dreamworks animated films, including their sequels (Madagascar sequels, Shrek sequels, etc.) in that they pander to the minds of children. Frozen is almost certainly in the latter category, which makes it near impossible for anyone - other than children - to appreciate it. Yes, there are some mildly complex themes, but they are presented only in a simplistic manner, and hardly elaborated on such that they can be genuinely interesting.

I certainly don’t hate Frozen - at least, nowhere near as much as I had expected I would. In truth, there aren’t many films I truly despise. But what I do loathe is when something mediocre, or below-average, attracts a mass of hype, popularity, and - inevitably - money. While being relatively inoffensive, and lukewarm as worst, Frozen is nothing exceptional, and is barely worth talking about. It is okay when it is not singing. But, as is tradition in musicals, too much effort and focus has been spent in writing catchy sing-along songs, leaving very little room to explore the narrative themes with any depth or complexity. It is very straightforward and simplistic, the humour is lacking (with few exceptions, including the nonchalant psychotic snowman), and the music is generic and uninteresting. Yet, for some reason, this needs to be explained to the kind of fanbase who will get excited over the mediocre; who will revere the average. It helps to have some kind of perspective - there’s nothing in Frozen worth being excited about.

FILM: Noah

The story of Noah’s Ark is not a story one would typically associate with a high-budget theatrical  epic Hollywood film. I have been anticipating Noah since is was first released (whenever that was) as a personal fan of Darren Aronofsky, as I was intrigued to see how Aronofsky’s style would take to the story. Aronofsky is perhaps better known for his unique psychological thrillers, such as Requiem for A Dream and, more recently, Black Swan. Biblical stories seem uncharacteristic of Aronofsky’s style; then again, he was responsible for The Fountain, a rather mediocre melodramatic science-fantasy film. Nevertheless, I was skeptical upon the film’s announcement that Noah’s Ark could possibly beget an interesting film.

Aronofsky managed to surprise me with Noah, as his signature psychological style managed to work to the film’s advantage. It is quite a sophisticated interpretation of a rather simple story, and draws upon other biblical ramifications to expand on the concept. Noah is a story of a Man of God (i.e. Noah) being slowly corrupted by the very teachings of his God; his moral character deteriorating over the course of the film to the point where he is willing to murder newborn twin girls to cure the world of Original Sin. Through this, he becomes the very thing he is fighting against; he even states “there is darkness in us all” and goes so far as to prove it. In some ways, it warrants comparison to the Abrahamic story, in which Abraham demonstrates his willingness to kill his own son to prove his love for God. It calls into question the inherent moral nature of the Bible - whether surrendering to God’s will is righteous, regardless of what God’s will may be.

The film portrays the slow but steady deterioration of the protagonist; while events may begin well, Noah gradually loses touch with himself and his principles, and we can see the madness and the darkness growing in him. Through his moral absolutism and martyrdom he proclaims that no man is innocent; that we are all sinners and should therefore be punished via extermination. Inevitably, his claims lead to nihilism and misanthropy, the antithesis of his original moral platform. We can see this theme of the psychological decay of the individual in Requiem For A Dream, 

In this rendition of Noah’s ark, there are two groups of people: the Men of God and the Men of Cain. The Men of God follow God’s will, and are considered good; they are kind, supportive of one another, and loving. The Men of Cain are individualistic and self-serving to a level which would have made Ayn Rand proud. The latter group’s philosophy more closely resembles Satanism of Luciferianism - the idea that “you are your own god” and one should therefore follow one’s own principles to lead a more fulfilling life. More relevantly, however, the people of Cain hold the view that men should dominate nature; whereas the men of God believe that men co-exist with nature and should respect it thusly - incidentally, these two views represent two conflicting accounts in Genesis.

Aronofsky’s films are somewhat difficult to criticize, because his mind appears to operate on a completely different level such that his work is just fascinating to watch in its own right. Psychological reflection is a common underlying theme in his works, and it’s always interesting to watch merely out of intellectual and artistic curiosity, if nothing else. Noah is a study of some of the darker implications of the classic Biblical legend, and it forces you to rethink and questions everything you’ve previously learned about the story. It also exposes the Old Testament (if such a thing was necessary) as a rather brutal mythological anthology; there’s nothing pleasant about the gritty, survivalist pre-messianic period of humanity depicted in the Bible’s Old Testament. Noah’s Ark becomes a very dark and sinister story when you think about it in this light, and in that sense this film is just really fascinating to watch.

Some have criticized Noah for either disrespecting religion or not adapting the story accurately, and often at the same time. Anyone who happens to be a regular reader (if such a thing exists) will no doubt be familiar with my thoughts on adaptations, and I don’t think this is any exception. If anything, Biblical stories are more deserving of creative liberties and subjective interpretations, because they are so well known by now, and so dull, that there’s no other conceivable reason to adapt it to film. My view of religion is somewhat related: in a truly free and civil society, nothing should be immune to criticism, and religion cannot be excepted in this case. I don’t think art should ever be censored or restrained for the sake of sensitivity to certain groups of people - particularly when that group has been the primary oppressor of others for the last few thousand years. It is almost sickening to claim that Aronofsky should have been more considerate to religion when he made this film - the role of art is not to pander to any group, and we should not stifle anyone’s creativity for this sake. 

In some ways it should be commended as a brave effort, to tackle such a culturally famous and well-known Biblical legend in film. It must also be said that Russell Crowe performs astoundingly well in this role. He manages to portray both the kind and gentle family-loving man at the start of the film, and the ruthless absolutist martyr at the end, with great strength and conviction, and I’m finding Crowe to be an actor I’m growing increasingly fond of.

Noah earns my recommendation simply for being different and interesting, and well executed. Some of the mediocre visual effects can be forgiven by the end; it’s the sort of film you watch for its own sake. It is well worth the watch.

FILM: Diana

Diana came out quite some time ago, and although I wanted to watch it then, I wasn’t desperate enough that I was going to spend money on it. I wanted to learn more about Diana, Princess of Wales and why she was such a revered, yet controversial figure, and although the film seemed like an easy way to learn about her life, I never got around to watching it the first time. However, the opportunity arose on a flight from London to Brisbane where the film was available for free via the in-flight entertainment system.

So, Princess Diana. It’s almost surprising how such a figure can make such a medicore film, but there you have it. Diana is hardly more than a below average romantic drama film; almost entirely run-of-the-mill and, not quite as surprisingly as I might have imagined, rather boring as well. The only aspect which could feasibly have put it on the radar is who the titular character happens to be - namely, the estranged member of the British Royal Family and human rights advocate.

If the aim of this film was to portray Princess Diana sympathetically, then let it be said that it failed quite miserably. The amount of screentime dedicated to her love affair with some Pakistani surgeon is perhaps symbolic of how much it occupied her mind. In this film, she is naïve, self-absorbed, vain, and takes every opportunity to turn any conversation to focus on her own self-pity. Whether or not Ms Diana’s character was consistent with this particular depiction is not my place to say, although frankly I can think of no other reason this film could have, or should have, been made other than historical accuracy (discounting, of course, money). 

On reflection, it seems pretty clear how the film wants to portray Diana, with the epilogue before the credits outlining her accomplishments regarding the reduction in landmine casualties since her death, and the diplomatic milestones to which she allegedly contributed. This is, of course, despite the fact that it least ninety percent of the film’s runtime has little to do with either of these subjects whatsoever. Much of the film merely documents her affair with the aforementioned Pakistani surgeon, and her struggles with the press and paparazzi “journalism”. How tragic it must be to be rich and famous solely for being rich and famous.

Interestingly, and despite the over simplistic, contrived and pseudo-poetic writing, Diana does raise some very notable points about the fallacies of monarchism, aside from the obvious pitfall of hereditary power and authority. In general, Diana is a woman unwillingly born into royalty and who clearly doesn’t want a royal lifestyle (although certainly doesn’t shy away from reaping the benefits), trying to build a semblance of a normal life. This is where one must spare a thought for the Royal family, because being tautologically rich and famous can be understandably unpleasant - I for one would not wish for such a life.

Diana’s Pakistani lover brings up a most potent point around the halfway mark of the film, which I can paraphrase as: “I worked hard to get where I am today; you have just been handed everything”. Indeed, one thing lost when raised as though the world belongs to you is a clear sense of perspective, hence also the self-indulgence and vanity of Ms Diana. It is clear that Diana does not fully understand the honor and respectableness of actually accomplishing something through persistent dedication and hard work. It is additionally clear she has a limited understanding of world issues and global politics, and in reality she is more concerned with her own angst. She even “forgot” about the importance of saving lives in one conversation - evidently, her charitable humanitarianism was little more than an afterthought.

But what exactly did Princess Diana accomplish in her lifetime? Solving humanitarian crises? I have a hunch (admittedly not more than a hunch) such processes would have worked fine without the diplomatic advice of a rich vanity-queen. Did she succeed in supporting innocent victims of war and violence? Perhaps, if these people seriously took solace in the mere sympathy from one of the most ridiculously over-privileged people in the world. Moreover, I am certain that countless others have done the same for these people - and more - and receive little-to-no recognition for it because they aren’t related to Elizabeth. Did she at least take the time to research and understand the issues she was supposedly passionate about? Perhaps - there were vague hints in the film of some development in this regard; however it was hardly elaborated on and wasn’t even slightly convincing in any case. Did she, as some claim, use her position of wealth and power as a pedestal to raise awareness and concern among the public about these humanitarian crises in order to mobilise action on a larger scale? Maybe.

However, I don’t even think she got that far. No, what she did manage was to create a massive, fanatical personality cult around herself, wherein she was a selfless, charitable and loving person who could do no wrong. She didn’t inspire people to get concerned and take action on violence and cruelty around the world - because in their eyes Diana had already done that for them.

I have no more distain for Princess Diana than I do for any other member of any royalty. What I do take issue with, however, is her personality cult, and the mindless devotion to her reverence. And this brings me to another issue with the British Monarchy: there are people all over the world engaging in humanitarian relief without an expectation of reward or vindication, including those in military operations. Yet someone who, more-or-less on a whim, decides to embark on a righteous crusade is given a near-messianic treatment because she happens to be born into - not just any over-privileged family - but the right over-privileged family.

Having been less than three when she did and therefore having never2 met her personally, I cannot know how much of this film portrayal of Princess Diana is accurate. Regardless, in this case she makes for an unsympathetic, dull, self-absorbed and unlikeable character, giving rise to a generally boring and unremarkable film. 

FILM: The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug

Before going into the most recent installment of Peter Jackson’s The Hobbit, my preconceptions of it were not dissimilar to my preconceptions of The Hunger Games, based on the quality and reception of the first film. Film one was undeservedly revered by many, and was merely an unexceptional, mediocre and generic film for its genre praised largely because of the popularity of the source material. Unlike the second Hunger Games film, however, The Desolation of Smaug fails to improve on the first, and is simply more of the same. As a result, I can recycle my opinion of An Unexpected Journey from last year, for all to enjoy.

Possibly the most common criticism of the film hinges on its remarkable ambition. I am far from the first, let alone the only one, to point out that there is barely enough material for one film within J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Hobbit, let alone three films - and let alone again, three films that are three hours long apiece. While I don’t think that is the main reason for the film’s lack of quality, it certainly doesn’t help, and could easily have been averted if Jackson had handled the story well. However, I admire his ambition to a certain extent, and his aspiration to expand the story from the Silmarillion and - I’m sure - various other backstory texts.

The main reason I like his rendition of the Lord of the Rings is not for how well he executed the film, but because of how the world was built. What created the intrigue of the Lord of the Rings was the lingering, underlying sense that we were part of a much larger story beyond even the mere hope of comprehension. It was the implication that this entire conflict was merely a few moves within a cosmic chess game, hinted from Gandalf’s regular disappearances to attend to other matters among other things. It truly was an epic, and we could feel it too. The Hobbit, by contrast, is not an epic. It is merely an introduction, setting the scene for what is to come; yet Jackson appears to have set out to (somehow) make it out to be even bigger than the Lord of the Rings. It would almost be ludicrous were it not for the frankly absurd amount of money sunk into its production, money which could certainly be better directed. But, of course, his attempts to inflate the importance of this story fall flat, and appear disingenuous at best, because the events in The Hobbit are not as inherently crucial or important as Jackson would like us to think. It is an inconsequential series of insignificant happenings with only accidental and incidental relevance to the meat of the larger story - for example, the finding of the Ring. The Dwarves’ quest is of little overall significance, but Peter Jackson clearly wants us to believe it to be at least equal to the Lord of the Rings.

His agenda is not very convincing for a number of reasons, but the most important point here is this: nothing in the story has any weight. There is an unnatural emphasis of theatrics and presentation, to make things seem important without making them feel important to the viewer. One obvious example is the dialogue, which is contrived, stifled and unnatural; every character speaks either in riddles or overly poetically. Obviously most people don’t speak like this, and so the entire film cannot be expected to feel real or natural on any level.

Films are obviously pre-rehearsed, scripted, planned, predetermined, and heavily edited such that the final product is as smooth and flawless as possible. The magic of a good film, and thus the talent of a good director, is when it permits the audience to forget this - I believe “willing suspension of disbelieve” is the correct term. It is for this reason that films must appear natural, and this is something at which Peter Jackson’s The Hobbit spectacularly fails, specifically by presenting itself as a over-melodramatic stage play. The dialogue is but one instance, but also quite surprisingly bad acting, with many famous actors, who are usually much better than this, appearing to be more-or-less phoning it in - Christopher Lee, Orlando Bloom, Hugo Weaving, and particularly Cate Blanchett to name a few - all very stiff, stifled, or sometimes over-melodramatic. Possibly the most notable example that comes to mind is a scene from the first film, where Galadriel is introduced for the first time; she turns to face the camera with sunlight glowing from behind her, in a completely symmetrical and perfectly framed set, the wind in her hair and uplifting orchestral music framing the shot. Anyone who has seen the film will know what I am talking about, and will understand my distain for the contrived and over-rehearsed nature of it. It’s surreal; it’s unnatural, and it’s too obviously faked - and even better, the entire film is like this. And now The Desolation of Smaug can sing along.

The Lord of the Rings suffered from this as well to a point, but was saved because of the inherent weight of the story’s great scope. It didn’t matter how well the story was executed because the story itself was compelling regardless. The Hobbit doesn’t have this benefit, and thus cannot rely on it, no matter how hard Jackson tries to conjure it from thin air.

These are far from the only issues. With no apparent reason for doing so, The Hobbit erratically and schizophrenically flicks between sincere drama and slapstick comedy, failing to decide on one or perform either adequately. The result is a messy film with no idea of what it wants to be. With the sincerity watered down somewhat by poor directorial decisions previously mentioned, and childish slapstick comedy (which I would call “cheap humour”) eliciting the occasionally mildly amused chuckle at best, if that, I’d say all we have on our hands is a generic, mediocre fantasy flick with an overinflated ego.

Other than this, a word must be reserved, once again, the characters. There are thirteen main characters, and over all perhaps two of them are developed at any length or with any depth - one of which being the dwarf leader whose name escapes me. The rest are mere one-dimensional caricatures with no identity of purpose; I don’t even remember most of their names. There are simply too many, and the film becomes too thinly spread as a result. I am fully aware that it is part of an accurate rendition of the book, however to me this is no excuse. It simply reflects the unsuitability of the source text for film adaptation as it stands.

As far as I can tell, the only redeeming quality of these films is Martin Freeman’s acting performance, which is remarkably by any standards. his experience from much of his resume as the “everyman” - particularly The Office, is perfectly suited for the role of Bilbo Baggins, and highlights far more than anything Peter Jackson did the theme I hinted at earlier: being caught up in an incomprehensibly massive conflict against one’s will. It is a recurring theme in the Lord of the Rings, but is central to The Hobbit. In a way, Freeman’s casual acting style reflects the audience, with his ability to act naturally and impulsively painting his character as being the most genuine and real. He mirrors how most of us would feel in similar circumstances, as ordinary people ourselves.

A final word on magic in fiction. By definition, magic should be able to solve all problems faced by characters in a work of fictions - it is, after all, a defiance of the laws of nature, under which anything applies. Obviously, if this were taken at face value by writers, there would be no story as any conflict could be resolved within five minutes, and without conflict or struggle how could such a story be compelling? This is a serious narrative issue in any fantasy story - there must be reasonable restrictions placed on the use of magic such that challenge is not eradicated, and above all they must be explained. This is something I found lacking in The Hobbit: there is a scene toward the end of Part One where the dwarves and Gandalf are stuck in a tree balancing horizontally over the edge of a cliff. There is absolutely no reason to believe, what with his previous demonstrations of magical prowess, Gandalf could not have simply lifted the tree upright within few seconds. Alas, he resorts to summoning giant eagles instead, after much “struggle”. Willing suspension of disbelief is completely absolved and the film loses all ability to be compelling. Magic should be used with caution in writing, else there is no good reason to believe the characters could not wish away all their problems and be home in time for lunch.

The only conclusion which can really be reached on The Hobbit is that it is, simply, poorly directed. In an interview with the BBC, Peter Jackson stated that he believed the main quality of his films to be “authenticity” [sic], which is odd, because authenticity is precisely what these films shamelessly lack. I’m not claiming all films need to be realistic, but they should at least be believable to a reasonable degree, and not look like a middle school drama production. The Hobbit has simply been misdirected and mishandled by Jackson, resulting in a messy, inconsistent, contrived and - above all - boring film made out of a once great story.