Dirty Harry (1971) - film review

I’m sat resting my chin on my hand as I stare blankly out the window, all while wondering how to start this review. I feel lost for words. Perhaps it’s the odd mood I’ve been in this past week, but the first film in the Dirty Harry series has really knocked the wind out of me. That was surely its creators’ original intention, of course, but the film has never truly overwhelmed me like it did today.

I believe the last time I watched Dirty Harry was on a VHS copy, most likely in pan-and-scan format, so this viewing was much different. I am also much, much, much older and world-weary now, which lent a new aspect to the experience.

The 1970s were, so it seems from the outside, the grotesque hangover from the 1960s. All the dreams and ideals of peace and love and understanding, formed by post-war counterculture hippies, began to tire after the “Summer of Love”. The following grip of conservatism meant public services went by the wayside, and those hoping for a communal utopia, where everybody chipped in to help their fellow man, realised that nobody had followed them on their defiant march out the door. The 70s will forever be thought of as the decade that taste and style forgot. Its fashions were as ugly as the mass depression pulling everybody down. When I was a child in the 80s, the previous decade looked just awful. And now, in the 2020s, it still looks awful. I think there was a brief period in the early 2000s where “social influencers’ (nee assholes) attempted to mount a style comeback, but they failed.

Nobody wanted, does want, or will ever want, the 70s back again.

On the understanding that I was a teenager when I last saw Dirty Harry, it’s interesting how a person’s perception of events onscreen can change so much. While I was certainly put off by the period on display, I wasn’t terribly moved by any of the goings on. I think I just lamented at how stale some of the filmmaking appeared. After a brief search, I believe there has yet to be a remake of Dirty Harry, but teenage me would have loved one. After middle-aged me watched the original this afternoon, he found himself in tears over the tremendous sense of loss deep within the heart of Dirty Harry.

You don’t cheer at the end of this film, instead you just look away and sombrely consider how society can sometimes let itself down. Good things happen all the time, of course, but those usually don’t get reported. Crooks are caught, fires put out, and hearts are transplanted, but who could ever personally profit from making headlines out of that?! Dirty Harry captures a lifetime of reading the news and hearing only the negative side of life. It reaches into you and squeezes your heart, stifling your very lifeblood, until you can no longer take it.

Then the film’s villain dies, and the small child, who’s head just had a gun put to it, simply runs off to the side.

It’s over, but there is no parade for Harry Callahan. He is aware that, no matter how hard and far he throws his police badge, things will just repeat themselves tomorrow.

I wasn’t sure whether the film’s opening epigraph regarding brave police officers who have lost their lives in the line of duty was hypocritical or not. Would real life police officers enjoy this film? Or would they simply shake their heads at its implausibility? Police officers in the 70s would no doubt have had a much different career experience to those of 2025, but I just have this funny feeling the 70s ones would not approve. I certainly doubt the mayor of a city would get so involved in a police operation as they do in Dirty Harry, who is portrayed more as a wealthy businessman than a public servant. What on Earth could a bureaucrat have to say on the matters of violent crime?!

Dirty Harry’s villain, named “Scorpio”, is fairly closely based on a real life serial killer, known only as “Zodiac”. Can you see what they did there?! While the latter is potentially still at large, or most-likely dead of natural causes, Scorpio gets his comeuppance. Yes, I shan’t be refraining form spoilers for this 54-year-old movie. Golly, where does all the time go?! But, being mostly a work of fiction for entertainment purposes, the audience deserves this conclusion after all they’ve gone through. You see, real life doesn’t always tie itself up nicely at the end, so here we get to live out that fantasy.

Scorpio is played by Andrew Robinson, who I’ve only seen elsewhere in the first Hellraiser film. I remember him being much more likeable in that. In Dirty Harry, however, he has been directed to be truly irritating. I say “directed to”, because I can’t believe any actor in their right mind would make the decisions that led to what we get here. I couldn’t always work out whether Robinson’s performance made his character unlikeable or the actor himself. I was also confused about the man’s hair colour, as, even though it appeared reddish to my deteriorating eyes, he is at one point described as being “blond”.

Hmmm…

Maybe they shot the “blond” scene before they cast Robinson. Or I have literally gone colourblind, which I genuinely suspect I have.

I truly feel for Robinson in a way, as I can imagine he was unable get laid for quite awhile after this movie came out. I would assume the same about many screen villains out there. Unless they’re lucky enough to partner up with a mate who prefers the bad boy/girl type. Who knows, it’s just something that crossed my mind.

Dirty Harry was made just a couple of years after the rise of the civil rights movement, where racism and homophobia were, apparently, behind us. Wishful thinking, perhaps, but that was the late-60s for you! There are some hints at those changing times in the film, such as The Mayor sighing at the use of the “n-word” in a ransom note; Callahan mentioning that he can see “Just a couple of kids necking” outside and is met with the reply “Boys or girls?”; one of the first street scenes features a VW camper van passing buy, truly a symbol of hippiedom; and we get a transgender person, sadly threatened with arrest simply for existing, it seems. Basically, the “freaks” are out on the street, and it’s Callahan’s job to clean them up!

Speaking of Clint Eastwood, his look is pretty awful in this movie, which is yet another sign of the times. I usually prefer an offbeat appearance to my heroes, but his naff sideburns and college professor suit are not flattering at all. Shame, is it could have worked. All the best Samuel L Jackson roles are those where he’s playing an unfashionable outcast. Witness him in Jurassic Park or Pulp Fiction or Die Hard with a Vengeance or The Long Kiss Goodnight. When a production dresses Jackson up in jeans and a leather jacket and shades, then you know they don’t “get it”.

The grimy style of the 70s is further depicted in the film’s musical score, filled with sleazy jazz fusion at its most embarrasing. You will want to take a shower after Dirty Harry. But composer Lalo “Mission: Impossible” Shifrin (who’s name I’ve been misspelling and mispronouncing for decades as “Sharifin”) does have his moments. In particular, the fuzz bass riff that accompanies Scorpio assembles his rifle early on made me exclaim: “Hell, yeah!”. So there are pleasing leitmotifs like that to be found amongst the cheesy porn cues. Urgh, remember all the hair in pornography back then?! Thank goodness we agreed to stop all that with waxing by the 90s, although it is making a comeback, tragically.

Finally seeing this on high definition widescreen was a treat, as there are some beautiful shots throughout. I was genuinely surprised to see them, as my previous viewing experience completely missed them. I don’t know how hands-on director Don Siegel was with his camera, or whether his cameraman, Bruce Surtees, was the one going around getting “money shots” of San Francisco. I am currently assuming the latter is the reality. I will post some of my own screenshots after the end of this review.

Yes, I was that impressed.

Reni Santoni is a standout as Callahan’s brief partner, so it’s a shame he’s ultimately cast to one side. I would actually have liked to have seen a “The Adventures of Chico” spinoff. Perhaps someday I will. Perhaps. John Vernon as “The Mayor” is uncharacteristically charming, playing a character with a very difficult job indeed. As mentioned above, whether or not that job is based on the real duties of a mayor, I do not know. There are also a stable of great (and not so great) character actors sprinkled throughout, who ably support the leads, but the film moves much too fast for you to really notice them.

And that’s another thing. Despite its age and fairly static shooting style, Dirty Harry races along like a motherfucker! It wouldn’t surprise me if a minute-by-minute film analysis podcast has already covered it, as so much visual information is presented to the audience. So much detail. So much emotion. While there was definitely a moment in my viewing, as with all viewings, where I felt like pressing stop and taking a long break, with Dirty Harry I daren’t, as I knew something weird or wild or devilishly obscene was just around the corner.

Again, not something I appreciated three decades ago.

Not just the bleak tone, but the film’s violence is also upsetting, without being overly graphic. Callahan torturing Scorpio in the sports arena features Clint merely putting his foot onto Robinson’s “wounded” leg as the camera zooms out, but my goodness do you feel Scorpio’s pain! The shootouts are realistically clumsy and chaotic too, rather than elegant and overly-choreographed. And let us not forget the twisted scene where Scorpio pays a man to beat him up. Every punch connects with the viewer in the most brutal of ways. I don’t know whether this copy is a remastered version, or that the sound design is all original, but it really does have a powerful impact!

I’m going to go ahead and assume that a modern remake would omit any bloodletting in order to get a UK 15 or US PG-13 rating.

That’s progress for you!

So, there we have it. I don’t need to recommend Dirty Harry to anyone, as it’s a much-deserved “classic” that surely adorns the bookshelves of anyone interested in the history of cinema. Despite its one-many-again’t-the-system reputation, it is, at heart, a simple serial killer suspense thriller. And one of the best. It’s gripping, traumatic, and hurtles by extraordinarily. I bought the complete film series boxset, so I shall be watching and reviewing Magnum Force soon enough. This will be my “Friday the 13th of 2025” long-running blog series. Possibly along with the Rock films.

We shall see…

Do stay in touch, punks.

Toodles!

Jim’s EPIC Big Budget Hollywood Flops of 2024 Movie Marathon!

Catchy title, huh?! I came up with it myself!

What better excuse to sit down and watch three critically-panned and audience-avoided cinematic failures than when your internet keeps going down. I was going to do this marathon further into the weekend, but living off hardcopies seems to be the way my ISP wants me to go today (Friday 11 April 2025). They all laughed at me when I stubbornly refused to go the streaming route, but now I’m the one laughing. Me! Not them! Me and my huge disc collection! Mwahahahaha!

And, yes, I said “disc collection”.

I selected these three “masterpieces” of American cinema to watch together really as a coincidence, only realising they all came out the same year when trying to figure out which order to watch them in. Now I’m just going to do it in alphabetical order.

I’m very curious to see if they’re all as bad as everybody apparently agrees they are. But I’m not one to follow opinion like a good little lamb, being the contrarian prick that I am, so let us watch Borderlands, Madame Web, and Megalopolis and just see if there’s anything to salvage from the decadent wreckages of egos gone mad!

I will be writing this post “live” as I go, therefore the beginning, middle, and end should reflect how I felt at those points. I will not “retcon” these early paragraphs to match how I end up feeling. So please bear with my changing opinions.

Onwards!

BORDERLANDS

“Did something important happen?!”

Indeed it did, Claptrap, an entertaining science fiction action-adventure movie came out and got universally panned by professional critics. What a shame. I have no love for the Borderlands video game series, so let’s make that clear straight away. In fact, Borderlands 2 was the first console game I ever bought. And I absolutely despised it. I found its plot machinations baffling and visuals hideous. However, I did think to myself: “Hey, this would make a great movie!”. Cut to this. Out of the many problems critics seemed to have with Borderlands: The Movie, its cavalcade of cliches loomed largest of all. Well, I hate to break it to you, folks, but cliches are there for a reason. At least, they are for films like this. If modern cynics had their way, the characters in Borderlands would wander around saying nothing and doing nothing. Those cynics would then flag down a pain-au-chocolat, readjust their cosmetic spectacles, and complain that there weren’t enough “tropes” in the film. Good grief. This was my first watch of an Eli Roth movie, mainly due to my not being a horror person, but he has won me over first time around. There’s one scene in Borderlands where a character provides the audience with a hefty exposition dump, a potentially-tedious moment. Witness Christoph Waltz’s similar burden towards the end of Robert Rodriguez’s vile Alita: Battle Angel crap-fest. In Borderlands, Roth has said character energetically stalking around the set, coquettishly climbing onto objects in order to break up the monotony for us. Now that’s a skilled director! Rodriguez just had poor Waltz sitting in a chair looking like he’s about to fall asleep. Another problem critics had with Borderlands is its constant dialogue dubbing. But dubbing happens in movies just as much as sound effects foley. 99.999% of the Lord of the Rings trilogy had “automatic dialogue replacement” laid over it, as that production saved money by shooting next to train tracks and inside cacophonous tin sheds. If the ADR work in Borderlands was to improve audience comprehension, it worked. And I approve. I remember watching negative video review after negative video review for this film and, while the critical narrator was saying overwhelmingly bad things about it, I couldn’t help but see something special onscreen. I had a feeling I needed to see it for myself. Today I was relieved to find this feeling was correct. Even Claptrap’s admittedly-cliched comic relief did illicit genuine laughs from me. He’s really funny. Also, Jack Black is unrecognisable in the role. The makeup and costume design for his robot character is flawless! The actor must be much smaller in real life. Ha! Anyway, all I can say to those modern cynics who dislike this movie is: I’m so sorry it wasn’t based on your favourite comic book and didn’t bore me to tears. Your Marvel movies are all terrible and Martin Scorsese was right in citing them as the potential death of cinema. Borderlands is old fashioned but utterly charming, exciting, and races along at an amazing pace. Cate Blanchett is an engaging heroine and doesn’t seem miscast even in the slightest. She isn’t the charisma vacuum that Chris Pratt is, by any means. Mr Roth knew exactly what he was doing with his casting. Whatever alleged problems occurred behind the scenes on this film, they certainly do not show up onscreen. Much like Cleopatra and Waterworld, this film is simply a victim of “trial by media”. With any luck, Borderlands will find its audience on home media, as it certainly deserves to. Actually, it might make a great video game!

MADAME WEB

“Seriously, don’t do dumb things!” 

Hmm, maybe take your own advice, Madame Web! After the pleasant surprise of Borderlands, I was concerned there would be no real duds on today’s viewing schedule. I mean, it’s fun being bitchy sometimes, right? Well, thank goodness for Madame Web. I just… I just… I just can’t believe this is actually a thing. What is it?! It sure is a thing, I can give it that much. It exists and I bought it and I sat down to watch it and I somehow got to the end of it. But is it real-real?! I know beyond-zero about the origins of the Madame Web character and story, but I am pretty sure this is a comic book adaptation. I will even go so far as to assume it is loosely inspired by a comic book. If there are devoted fans of the source material out there, I hope I am correct in this assumption. For their sake. I have a theory that this film was originally shot as the pilot episode for a television show that never made it to series. Then, some truly misguided human being at the studio, decided they had enough faith in the existing footage to have its runtime extended by nearly five-eighths. Erm, I think that’s right. Maths isn’t my thing at all. Anyway, one sign of this theory being correct is Madame Web’s director, for which this is their first feature film in a long career of solid television credits. I believe Madame Web was meant to be just another TV gig for this person and they were surprised to see it showing at their local cinema. Another piece of evidence to support my theory is that scenes which really should only last for 30 seconds or so go on for about 10 minutes. I kept muttering: “Hurry up!” at the screen, which can never be a good thing. These seemingly-endless scenes of nothing happening would be boring, were it not for the unintentional humour generated by their bizarre length. If this was always intended to be a feature film, then the editor is to blame for the mess the final product is. And them alone. If my theorised-45 minute pilot was taken out of their hands and blown up into a 116 minute instrument of torture, then I apologise. The screenplay also includes numerous grammatical errors. Take the line: “I’ve never said this before in my entire life, but you’re a good teacher”, which is said between two people who have only just met. What the character means to say is: “I’ve never said anything like this to someone in my life before, but you’re a good teacher”. Yet they don’t actually say that. The errors go on like this. While character names are said out loud throughout the film, I failed to learn any of them. I blame the movie for that. Therefore, the character I can only describe as “Skateboard Girl” is just about the only one I quite enjoyed in a non-ironic way. Otherwise, the film is filled with forgettable nobodies. Its one and only star-of-sorts, Adam Scott, is cruelly dismissed after half an hour, only to stagger back in 45 minutes later, looking as confused as the rest of us. Although the film is generally shot in a competent fashion, there are moments of drama shot with perfect comedy timing, whereas moments that should be funny simply made me frown. What’s the plot of Madame Web, you ask? I do not know. I also do not care to know. For a film that is purportedly “woke” in its political correctness, it is borderline-racist. It presents the outdated-concept of the “magical foreigner”, a notion abandoned once the age of imperialism was over. It also feels somewhat sexist, in portraying women as ruled by their emotions and illogical beliefs, while only truly being capable of achieving motherhood. Elsewhere, there’s one baffling moment where a group of people are seemingly offended by one character discussing her mother dying in childbirth. Why on Earth would people be offended by that?! They should and would be supportive and say kind words. Instead, they just descend into awkward silence and share angry looks. There is a passable melodrama deep inside Madame Web, should someone take the footage available and cut any references to villains and superpowers. Something here can be salvaged. I recommend the producers do that and release it as a very different pilot episode. In terms of your own personal viewing experience, I suggest watching Madame Web with friends and/or family (unless you’re a loner like me), as the atmosphere will surely be very enjoyable indeed. You will all laugh out loud numerous times and throw popcorn or glass bottles at the screen. Madame Web feels as though it was written by notorious franchise-killers Alex Kurtzman and Roberto Orci, but it wasn’t. Unless they used pseudonyms. A true disaster, which is a shame for the thousands of people who worked on it with good intentions. I could go on endlessly about everything wrong with Madame Web, but there’s still one last film on the docket for today…

MEGALOPOLIS

“You hurt me!”

“I was kissing you, mother.”

Story of my life. Now I was expecting one of two things from Megalopolis, either it was going to be batshit crazy, or mind-bendingly tedious. As it turns out, it is neither. Instead, Megalopolis is a captivating tale of how little mankind has changed in two thousand years. Its allusions to ancient Rome are not in the fine print. Quite the contrary. They are stated upfront and outright. It doesn’t feel like an eye-rolling lecture on the immorality of greed though, at least it didn’t to me. What with its director being an out-and-proud epicurean, that point of view wouldn’t have been likely anyway. Megalopolis simply feels as though it is presenting the viewer with the facts and leaving them to make their own judgment. Legendary winemaker Francis Ford Coppola, in his first ever film, creates a glamorous world that few of us get to experience. But glamour comes with a price, which I’m sure the glamorous could tell you all about. The film is an epic melodrama in the very old fashioned sense of the word. While it lacks any globe-trotting, vast armies, or cities burning down, one could almost describe this as “The Modern Gone with the Wind”. For whatever that’s worth. I don’t believe discussion or comparisons to that 1939 film are allowed nowadays. It does exist though, and those wishing to erase works of art and their makers from history, for their own self-righteous pleasure, will have to try very hard to make us forget it. I couldn’t tell you what the plot of Megalopolis is, although it runs something along the lines of a struggle between elected power and personally-accrued power. Of wealth versus love. Or something. Coppola did well to fill his picture with young upstarts, who fortunately knew exactly what kind of film they were in. There isn’t a clash of performances here, as I’d expected. There is a wonderful unity at work here. Adam Driver mixes repressed energy with sudden bursts of passion. Aubrey Plaza actually plays a sincere character for once, with her BDSM seduction of a younger man being one of the film’s highlights. While I’ve seen many adaptations of William Shakespeare plays, this is the first film I’ve seen that actually feels Shakespearian. It only quotes him though, I do not believe it is literally based on one of his plays. We even get Shia LeBeouf playing a very puckish anarchist, with gleeful aplomb. Megalopolis, despite its reputation, is a very low-key affair. Well, low-key in terms of its performances and action. It is about decadent people, but is not decadent itself. Some of its characters are eccentric, but its writer, producer, and director is not. It is about people failing in their ambition, but succeeds with its own. You see, this is a work of fiction, not a documentary. It is clear to me now that some viewers do not understand the difference. This concerns me deeply. Still, if ever there was a movie to watch in a double bill with Blade Runner, this is it. Despite its allusions to the Triumvirate of Julius Caesar, Crassus, and Pompey, Megalopolis’ themes are more similar to the conflict between Cicero and Catiline. Catiline gathered a rebellion against Rome in a failed attempt to wipe his and his cohorts’ debts from record. Again, I wasn’t terribly sure of what was going on in this film, but I’m pretty sure that’s in there somewhere. Madame Web set the bar lower than a bar could possibly be lowered today, so perhaps I’m being much too generous with Megalopolis. Much like Madame Web, Megalopolis is a collection of scenes without a particularly driving plot. But, unlike Madame Web, it succeeded in captivating me regardless. Why critics went around telling people that this film is utterly potty and nonsensical is beyond me. It is a work almost beyond criticism. It does not require your approval, only that you stand back and admire it, like a miracle of nature. A striking sunset, if you will. Megalopolis is clever, beautiful, and emotional. Trust my opinion, not those of others. So there. I foresee a long and successful career for young Francis Ford Coppola. Perhaps he should make a film about a paranoid surveillance expert, or Italian-American gangsters, or retell Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness set during the Vietnam War. Erm, you get where I’m going with this. Oh and Talia Shire is still alive, apparently, which surprised me. It also seems as though she is channelling Ruth Gordon with her performance here, which I hope she would take as a compliment. It is certainly intended as one.

Golly, I suppose that’s that for my third ever reported movie marathon, after Roger Corman's Poe Cycle and the 1980s masterpieces of Goldie Hawn! It wasn’t a slog as I’d feared, since all three films were different enough to keep me interested. I’d recommend them all, but for very different reasons. I can only hope I have made those differences clear. Today has proven that age cannot wither middle-aged actresses or elderly directors. It also proves that you can’t just turn the pilot episode of a TV series into a feature film and get away with it.

Only David Lynch was allowed to get away with that.

Do stay in touch, darlings.

Toodles!

P.S. And I’m totally changing my name to “Wow Platinum” ASAP!

The Whittling Post Digest - Issue 13

Much to my chagrin, spring has finally sprung in deepest, usually-darkest Sheffield. This means sunlight. And sunlight means I can’t see my damn television screen. If you throw in a pre-existing eye condition, then you’ll understand why I’d like to invert my sleep pattern so that I’m awake at night instead. I guess I could just buy blackout curtains, but who honestly has the time?! Still, I’m trying to get some culture vulturing done, even though being on the top floor of a block of flats means the sun is constantly in my frigging face. At the very least, I’m managing to stay off the bottle. Think it’s been about a month now.

The following items of pop culture are not helping my long road to recovery…

INLAND EMPIRE

Now that the world is falling apart due to his death, I thought I’d sit down to watch David Lynch’s final film. Made 19 years before his death, this period of time is, along with John Carpenter’s retirement from the industry, an example of how much of a pain in the arse it is to get a film made in Hollywood. I haven’t gotten far yet, perhaps only half an hour in, but so far it’s all reassuringly Lynchian stuff. Meaning “weird”. I stopped at the point I did, because I had started watching it a little late in the evening and wasn’t terribly convinced I would be able to get to the end of its near-3 hour runtime in one session. And I would like to do it in one sitting. I guess I’ve failed already by going on hiatus, but at least I stopped as soon as I felt incapable of continuing. I shall endeavour to return to it and write a full review! This review will most likely include a lot of questions from myself.

PRE-HISTORY PODCAST

Ah pre-history, before the birth of the jerk who invented work and the open plan office. I really enjoy learning about a time before life got so complicated and, most importantly, before I was born. That was when the world really turned to shit. I’m guessing this podcast, spanning only 2 years, was something to do over the pandemic lockdown for its presenter. Well, thank goodness for Covid, because I’m totally hooked on this highly engrossing and detailed look at the time before humans put pen to paper. The presenter, who merely introduces herself as “Jane”, has a very gentle speaking voice, which comes as a refreshing change from the unnecessarily-animated historians I’ve listened to previously. The subject is exciting enough on its own, folks, you don’t need to liven it up! There are some fascinating things I’m learning, which I certainly didn’t pick up from the Cro-Magnon book I read, which did seem to waste a fair amount of time. In the Pre-History Podcast, there are no fictional interludes of early-man’s adventures about the untamed landscape, it’s just facts, facts, and more facts. Perfect! I really wish I’d gone into the history profession now, but it took me 40 years to figure out that I liked it that much. Sigh. I can’t get anything right.

ANIMANIACS

The first collection of this Warner Bros animated show has just arrived in the post. I don’t believe I watched much of it on its original run, but I’ve been meaning to track down a hardcopy ever since. The 90s was an incredibly subversive decade for animated shows. These shows were shown to kids, even though they really wouldn’t been approved by the kids’ parents. But they’re cartoons, right? So what could be inappropriate about them?! Well, everything, apart form the lack of strong language. The 80s had the best action-adventure cartoons, which all the writers involved must’ve gotten sick of towards the end, so they started to fuck around in the 90s. This was good news for teenagers such as myself, who were somewhat exhausted by the uptight Thatcherite society around them. Whereas the UK had Britpop and The Big Breakfast to mess with the establishment, America had Ren & Stimpy, Cow & Chicken, Hey Arnold, and Animaniacs. I mean, there’s a Goodfellas reference in there, for the sake of goodness! What well-behaved kid would get a joke about Goodfellas?! Love it. Love everything about it. I didn’t realise each episode of Animaniacs was actually divided up into three separate shorts, but this makes sense due to the titular three’s fast-paced screwing with the system. Many are just musical numbers. Onwards! 

FUTURE MARATHON (continued)

Along with Animaniacs, the discs for my intended big-budget-flops-of-2024 marathon arrived today! So, perhaps tomorrow or the next day, sleep permitting, I shall be suffering: Borderlands, Madame Web, and Megalopolis. I’m quite excited/frightened, but life is pain, right? I’m also planning a dance movie marathon, featuring Footloose, Flashdance, Electric Boogaloo, and perhaps Dirty Dancing (if I can be bothered). Why do I do this to myself, you ask?! Well, I’ve quit booze, so something has to destroy my brain cells!

Right, that’s all the nonsense I’ve been up to over the last 48 hours. I best get back to experiencing all the artistic and not-so-artistic wonders out there that await me!

Do stay in touch, darlings.

Toodles!

The Whittling Post Digest - Issue 12

Well, I am writing today in the confident hope that my drinking days are behind me. Three years after I plunged into grief-fuelled, full-blown, full-time alcoholism, consuming a litre of whisky a day, I finally hit a brick wall. You see, the thing that was supposed to be fun, was no long fun. Simple as that. It’s also a lot of work being a dedicated drunk. More work than I was willing to put into it. So, as long as I haven’t fallen off the wagon by the end of this sentence, this is a fresh start for me. Something deep within my soul has just had enough. This fresh start also means I’m back taking in a lot of popular culture, which means I get to write more posts for you fine folks! I’ll also be going back and rewriting a few [story corner] entries, as they were dashed out under the influence. Bless. Drunk Jim is gone for the time being.

So… onwards!

RKO 281

Hmm, a film about a rich old white guy bullying the rest of the world to satisfy his own megalomaniacal desires. Gee, I’m glad that doesn’t happen in this day and age! Oh wait. Anyway, why RKO 281 was a TV movie and not theatrically released Oscar-bait is beyond me. It certainly deserves to be seen on a large screen. The old school 4:3 television aspect ratio gives the frame a level of intimacy 1.85:1 or 2.35:1 would not. Just ask Stanley Kubrick. RKO 281 is about the war of egos between Orson Welles and William Randolph Hurst, over Welles’ semi-biographical motion picture about Hurst, Citizen Kane. I get the feeling the film was British-made, which may explain the television production (we don’t have much of a film industry) and the inclusion of many British actors or US expats. If so, besides some of the bad American accents, you’d never suspect it. While Liev Schreiber’s presence onscreen usually unsettles me, he does a sterling job mixing the talent and arrogance of Welles. James Cromwell is ably menacing as Hurst, although the film goes to great lengths in showing the impact Citizen Kane had on Hurst’s personal life. Failing to note that he, himself, was a private, profit-making gossip-mongerer of the worst sort. John Malkovich is reliably perfect as writer Herman Mankiewicz, so I don’t have much to say about him here. Malkovich is beyond criticism at this point. Melanie Griffith is engrossingly sympathetic as Hurst’s mistress, and Roy Scheider is just the cool motherfucker his always is. Damn, I miss that man. RKO 281 takes great pleasure in recreating sets and shots from its cinematic subject, which surely must have won an award or two. I’m amazed the director, Benjamin Ross, didn’t become the biggest thing in the word after this, as his directing of the actors and camera is pitch perfect and inventive. A genuine treat!

RAZORBACK

I was just over halfway through this visual feast of a film before I had to take a break. Without a doubt, it is the most depressing movie about a killer pig there ever has been or ever will be. I shall return to it once I am emotionally strong enough. Why is this film not more fun?! To be continued…

GILMORE GIRLS

I bought the boxset of this US television series thinking it would be a straight comedy, but it appears to be more of a stodgy melodrama with some levity thrown. I’d heard good things, but I really don’t know if it’s my thing. It does have Alex “Lois Griffin” Borstein in it though, so that’s a selling point. Still, I get the feeling that, if I can’t get past the second episode, it may end up collecting dust on my bookshelf along with the detestable Community.

THE NAKED GUN REBOOT

No.

ELECTRONICOS FANTASTICOS

My new favourite band. I am talking to you less than 24-hours after discovering them. YouTube threw up one of their rehearsal videos, which I couldn’t look away from. I’m not sure what bizarre gadgets they’re playing, but they’re certainly not traditional instruments. As far as I can tell, the band is from Japan, but I dearly hope they tour the UK as soon as possible. Their music is 8-bit meets glam meets my very happy ears and is about to change the face of pop music… forever! Frustratingly, they only have the one single, featuring three tracks, on Spotify so far, but I’m guessing there’s plenty more esoteric jams on their YT channel. I WANT MORE AND YOU WILL GIVE ME MORE. Here's the video that inspired my new obsession.

LOST HORIZON

I’ve started audioreading James Hilton’s source novel for Frank Capra’s 1937 classic piece of cinema. I think I may have finally gotten through the whole film, as Capra’s work usually sends me to sleep. Not out of boredom, but there’s a tranquil quality to them that guarantees to sedate me. I must have tried watching It’s a Wonderful Life three times before finally getting to the end. And I still didn’t like the movie. The Lost Horizon novel is charmingly old fashioned and the reader a delightful eccentric. I can’t work out whether some of his decisions as a narrator are based on him wanting to infuse some acting into the dialogue, or just his own madness. Who can say.

FUTURE MARATHON

Due to the “baffling” lack of interest in the writeup for my day of Goldie Hawn films, I thought I’d go ahead and do it again! This time, I’ve decided to do three recent big budget flops. Both critically and commercially. So, Ill be watching: Borderlands, Madame Web, and Megalopolis. I’m not sure when this will take place, but I know it will hurt my face more than a charging killer pig. You are welcome to join me, just so long as you bring some dips. And you are housetrained.

Right, I guess that’s all for my big comeback post! I have some tiresome personal admin to deal with and the need to feed myself. I’m still getting used to my new sober routine, so please do honour me with your patience. Thank you for sticking with me during all my crazy.

Do stay in touch, darlings.

Toodles!

GAK has gone!

So I was lying in bed last night (steady!) scrolling through the nonsense YouTube usually recommends to me, when I came across a video posted a week ago discussing the closure of Brighten-based musical equipment shop Guitar Amp & Keyboard.

Cue stunned gasp!

At first claiming to just be “closed for maintenance”, it has now been confirmed that GAK has officially gone into administration. This is very sad news for UK and, I assume, international musicians, as it was a very popular fixture of the music scene. Even guitarist John Squire from The Stone Roses sold his second-hand gear through them, I believe. At least, they sold one of his acoustic guitars a few years ago.

Sigh, the one time I didn’t have £10,000 on me!

I unfortunately never visited GAK in person, having never found myself anywhere near Brighton. However, their online store has given me, or “gave me” since I should be talking in the past tense, so much joy over the years.

And now it’s gone.

After my parents divorced in 2001 and I started to listen to slightly edgier music besides classical, I also picked up the guitar again. I had learned for a few years as a kid, finally giving up at around 15-years-old due to, well, simply not being interested in guitar music. It made perfect sense to me at the time, even though I regret the decision now.

If your “hobby” becomes an agonising chore, then perhaps you should call it a day.

Then, in 2004, having forgotten everything I’d learned as a teenager and knowing even less about electric guitars, I scoured the internet for where to purchase one. I eventually settled on GAK, who’s website became like a Bible to me. Even if I didn’t have the money to buy a guitar, I’d still trawl their site to increase my knowledge of electric guitars and the mountain of peripheral gadgets. It was laid out in a simple list design (something smartphones have generally killed off) and was joyfully comprehensive!

My first electric was a Fender Mexican Standard Stratocaster, which I absolutely loathed. My first amplifier was a Marshall transistor effects combo thingy, which I loved. Both came from GAK, who I continued to go through for the next 20 years. I’m a bit fuzzy on what my last guitar from them was, but, based on my email records, it seems to have been a semi-hollow jazz guitar with one pickup at the neck.

GAK was always a reliable company and I now regret never making the effort to pop down to Brighton for a shopping spree and maybe to hit the gay bars. It is “the San Fransisco of England”, after all.

Goodbye, GAK, you will be sorely missed by so many poor souls afflicted with Guitar Acquisition Syndrome.

Do stay in touch, darlings.

Toodles!