Dune (1965 novel)

I don’t have enough fingers on both hands to count the amount of times I’ve tried reading Frank Herbert’s weighty 1965 ecological science fiction tome and not gotten past the first few chapters. I think the problem’s been my over familiarity and fondness for the David Lynch film adaptation which, whilst being frowned upon by many, is still in my top ten favourite films list after all these years.

So is the book startlingly different? Not really, which has been the biggest surprise for me. Would I recommend it to a friend? Probably not, it can be as clinical as a reference book without the factual hook to keep you riveted.

This is my second but first successful listen to the audiobook edition (after many paperback attempts), which mixes a straight reading with sporadic use of a supporting cast of character vocalisations (I’m guessing the extra actors only appear during the portions of the recording meant for the abridgement). I wisely opted for downloading the unabridged version onto my MP3 player rather than listening to the tapes, thereby forcing myself to concentrate in bed at night without the usual daytime distractions. I just couldn’t imagine myself ever getting through the print/e-book edition and I wanted to say that I’d read it, in whatever form, from cover to cover at least once before I died.

So, twenty years after my first try, it’s done.

One thing I really did like about Herbert’s writing style is how each chapter feels like the act of a stage play. They’re all very self contained and rounded at the edges. There aren’t great stretches of time passing or lengthy travelogues (these happen “off screen”, as it were); each chapter is set generally in one place and in one timeframe. The characters walk on, they talk/fight/think and they exeunt. It’s a very focused and direct way of delivering a narrative and might also be described as mimicking a string of short stories stitched together to create an anthology.

It’s worth arguing that history has mistakenly taken the main character of Dune to be Paul Atreides, however his mother, Jessica, shares just as much of the narrative, if not more, and her story is perhaps even more emotionally compelling than her son’s.

There have been complaints about the fact that the only homosexual character in the novel is the villain, but the book doesn’t imply that he’s bad because of his homosexuality. In fact there’s a matter-of-fact way in which his same-sex relations are discussed that is actually quite refreshing, although this may just be my interpretation. I sort of felt that if the bad guys can be cool about being gay then there’s hope for the good guys.

The book feels quite topically current, too, with it’s central story arc involving Caucasian capitalists attempting to ingratiate themselves and ultimately dominate/control a seemingly feral (but underestimated) desert dwelling race who have control over a politically powerful substance.

But beyond it’s space opera overtones it’s undertones are it’s strongest. This is a book about the brutal rites and rituals of a community surviving in a merciless environment and the perception of uninitiated outsiders that their violent but necessary customs are a form of madness.

Arrakis is said to train the faithful. Frank Herbert’s Dune, I think it’s safe to say, will train and reward the patient. Unlike it’s scorched and waterless titular planet the novel lacks warmth; and yet literately it can be as dangerously dry as it’s encompassing deserts.

I’m glad I finally got to the end though. I can see where people disagreed with the Lynch adaptation, but I can also appreciate why certain things were changed and compressed to make an entertaining mainstream movie. There’s only perceived fantasy in Dune the novel, whereas Dune the film takes it one step further to the mystical beyond.

The History of Titus Groan (2011 radio series)

I’d never heard of Mervyn Peake or of Gormenghast until William Gibson name-checked him on Twitter the other week as the closest thing he’d read to Tolkien. Being a curious sort I began doing some research and, after learning more, found it strange that a work of fantasy could involve none of the standard elements of the fantasy genre (monsters and magic and such). Peake’s Gormenghast novels are generally described as a “fantasy of manners” – a definition I couldn’t quite get my head around, so rather than starting on a book that I might not enjoy I looked into it’s numerous adaptations, in particular this very recent radio series from the good old chaps at the BBC.

In some ways I wish I hadn’t dug deeper. I wish I’d stayed clear where the world was much lighter.

But not in all ways.

This is a very disturbing and unsettling piece. If it’s faithful to the books then I’d say that Peake’s work is more Dickens than Tolkien, and not really fantasy at all. It's a turbulent cauldron of intentionally disorientating anachronisms; a jumble of time and space where nothing and nowhere is quite what or where it seems.

It’s a descent and an ascent into and out of madness.

It’s also bloody hard work, I know that for sure.

This six part dramatisation addresses the three completed novels of Peake’s planned ongoing series (that abruptly ended with some rough notes for a fourth and fifth novel scribbled almost indecipherably by Peake on his death bed) with two episodes for each book. It definitely feels like it’s aiming to capture the period drama fetishists with it’s bouncing score and inexplicable focus on inconsequential subplots involving social gatherings. But aside from this occasional (and perhaps understandable) pandering to the mainstream it’s a very unique, absorbing and compulsive listen.

The cast is very strong (with a few familiar voices here and there), although if you’re new to the Gormenghast universe like I am then it may take a while to fix on who exactly is who. It’s also narratively very loose, so concentration is required, especially with the florid narration and dialogue.

The main enjoyment I got out of this was a masochistic one. I often gleefully wondered just how much of it I could take. It’s an inky black experience that always threatens to plummet deeper into tragedy and despair without hope of a cheery reprise. It’s a roll call of one vile, deceitful, morally bankrupt character after another, all of whom leave you wondering who’s going to betray who next.

It’s an uncomfortable listen, but after finishing each episode in bed at night my mind was racing and I couldn’t get to sleep. I wanted to turn away from it’s gothic gloom but somehow I remained riveted just to see what happened next. It’s punishing but compelling.

Perhaps an apt summation of it’s tone would be to say that if it were made into a film it would most likely fall into the hands of Terry Gilliam (although secretly I'd like to see David Lynch give it a Dune-style retelling). It’s very Brazil in places.

Plus one hint/warning as to how dark the story gets is that David Warner features as the narrator (alongside the lovely Luke Treadaway).

Oh, David, so many people die in such weird and horrible ways when you’re involved (Straw Dogs, The Omen, Cross of Iron, Time After Time, Time Bandits, Tron, Star Trek VI, Titanic), don’t they? Bless.

I’m not sure whether this radio series has made me want to read Peake’s original books or not. I’m certainly curious to learn more about the Gormenghast traditions and rituals which this adaptation strangely leaves unaddressed (but makes it the central motivator for the titular character’s actions in the later episodes). But if it is as disturbing and traumatic as this radio series then I’m not sure that I want to invest that much time in it.

We shall see.

I’m certainly half tempted to try out the television adaptation which was made back in 2000.

The Lord of the Rings (1981 radio series)

This radio adaptation is certainly more faithful to the finer narrative details of Tolkien’s novels than Peter Jackson and Ralph Bakshi’s film versions, however it’s still not as exhaustingly comprehensive as some fans (including myself) would perhaps like to see or hear. During The Fellowship of the Ring it mercifully leaves out the hobbits’ strange encounter with Tom Bombadil (like most adaptations, although there’s an American radio version I’ve not heard that apparently takes the hobbits through The Old Forest), but it at least gives us more of what goes on at Bree and The Prancing Pony. I’d still like to hear or see a version that includes the Barrow Wights though, which is a very disturbing episode in the books.

The series bravely kicks off (after a quick prologue) with the very graphic torture of Gollum, which is made all the more upsetting by Peter Woodthorpe’s excellent and vivid performance, reprising his stand-out role (along with Michael Graham Cox as Boromir) from the Bakshi animated film.

Surprisingly and rather unfortunately the voice cast is often the least impressive part of this adaptation, although it’s not enough of a destructive influence to cause any permanent damage as there are still some very strong performances. I assumed that Ian Holm would be perfect as Frodo (after seeing him so memorably play Bilbo) but it wasn’t until I listened to this that I realised how reliant on the visual medium of film his acting style was. He has great movements and facial cues on screen, but these are obviously lost on radio and his performance often sounds jumpy and uneven. He also creates too much of a void between the moods he conveys. There’s no middle ground. He’s either being soft and poetic or screaming like a lunatic.

Sadly Frodo isn’t the only main character subject to a poor piece of casting. Listening to Robert Stevens as Aragorn is often a baffling and excruciating experience. Aragorn is meant to be mysterious and charismatic, but Stevens hams it up to such an extent that you can’t help but chuckle or cringe at his fey, wet-mouthed delivery. His timing isn’t all that great either and sometimes you can tell that he’s rushing his lines because he doesn’t understand the script or the character, which is a shame.

Bilbo here is played by the lovely John Le Mesurier, who is perhaps a little too laid back for the highly-strung, excitable hobbit. It makes sense that by this point in the story Bilbo would feel weary due to the weight and power of The Ring, but he often seems to share Stevens’ lack of enthusiasm.

Oh and I found the narrator Gerard Murphy a bit irritating too.

Okay, complaints over.

Although a certain amount of damage is already done by the casting of these key roles, the rest of the ensemble is magnificent and surely owed a great deal of praise. Michael Hordern was undoubtedly the inspiration for Ian McKellen’s Gandalf; a gruff but warm and loving wizard far more interested in people and relationships than magic and adventure. Bill Nighy seems to conserve his energy as Sam during the first third of the story before really cranking it up for The Two Towers and The Return of the King. Peter Howell and Andrew Seear are both hypnotic as Saruman and Faramir, respectively; they share a softly spoken intensity that is both riveting and frightening. My favourite voice on “display” though has got to be John McAndrew as Pippin, who’s voice I’ve just totally fallen in love with. He, along with Seear, has an effortlessly honest and natural quality to his acting, which is a great talent, but there’s also something more innocently seductive about McAndrew’s voice which I find very appealing.

But enough about my perversions.

A clever device the producers have come up with to summon the spirit of the epic battle scenes sprinkled throughout the second and third acts is to use operatic musical pieces instead of relying solely on atmospheric sound effects. It gives such raucous moments a more lyrical and poetic interpretation instead of just barraging the listener with a cacophony of sword clangs and arrow swishes. In fact music is a great weapon in the productions’ armoury and manages to go from being beautiful (the sweet violin sighs during the scenes of the hobbits travelling out of The Shire) to spine-tingling (the sharp and shivering notes during the trek through The Dead Marshes). It’s an integral and memorable component.

So apart from a few iffy acting choices this is really worth a listen. It certainly brings up the darker parts of the story and provides the odd genuine jump here and there. It also strikes a good balance between the lengthy original books and the fast-paced film adaptations.

The Hobbit (1968 radio series)

Oh I adore this adaptation.

If you ever want somewhere cosy and warm to hide then I recommend buying this, sticking it on your MP3 player as one long album, closing your eyes and disappearing off into a loving audio re-creation of Middle-earth for a few hours.

Paul Daneman is absolutely definitive for me now as Bilbo Baggins. He gives such a delightful reading as the reluctant hobbit thrown into adventures he’s not at all prepared for. He impatiently shares narration duties with the actual narrator, which is a brilliant device and helps create a more casual and fun tone to the piece. He’s arrogant but jovial; pompous but naïve. If I had only one wish then it’d be that the vocal characterisation had been tweaked just a little bit as he went along to show that Bilbo was growing up and becoming wiser, as the more serious political and emotional moments towards the end sound a little insincere.

Heron Carvic (cracking name!) as Gandalf isn’t as warm and grandpa-like as the William Squire, Michael Hordern and Ian McKellen Gandalfs, in fact it’d be quite fair to describe him as a slightly bad tempered Alec Guinness. But it’s not a nasty characterization, not by a long shot, as there’s a wonderful knowingness and sparkle to Carvic’s portrayal that’s very pleasing indeed. He’s stern and authoritative but humorous with it, so he’s never too mean or intimidating. Gandalf’s such a contradiction at times, I can imagine he must be quite a challenge to play.

The biggest surprise I encountered with  this version was that the cast seem to really love acting it all out and aren’t treating it like “a silly children’s story” at all, which a lot of people tend to scold The Hobbit for being. It feels more like a fan reading than a group of hired talent unfamiliar with the source material. I think that’s why I love this so much.

The production is also very absorbing. You really get the sense that you’re bouncing around from open field to mountainside and down into caves and out again into the talons of giant eagles. It’s really gotten me interested in the craft of radio play production.

The eclectic music is brilliantly other-worldly, even though it’s roots are clearly to be found in Celtic/folk rhythms. The dwarves’ Misty Mountain song is an oddball mix of counter-melodic instrumentation and deep, rumbling, baritone singing whilst the Goblin chants are percussive and full of sinister minor chords. It’s all very unique but somehow very familiar.

I read Tolkien’s original The Hobbit during my lunchtime breaks working as a debt recovery clerk for the local water board in 2001 and as such was left with a slightly negative memory of it (it was hard concentrating over the sound of Neighbours playing in the background on the cafeteria television), so listening to this radio version has helped restore my faith in it and wash away those unwanted associations. It also prepped me for the release of the new Peter Jackson film adaptation.

Has anybody else caught this version? What did you think?

The Hitchhiker’s Guide To The Galaxy (radio series)

My first experience of THGTTG was the book omnibus (at that stage only a trilogy in four parts) which I found very funny and a great ode to the wonder and infinite possibilities of science fiction. I actually assumed that the books were where it all started so I was most surprised recently (when I was bought the whole collection on disc) to find that it actually all started here, or there, on radio.

Listening to it for the first time I was amused to find Arthur Dent being played by the guy who plays Sir Walter Raleigh (“Oh, Sir Walter, really!”) in Blackadder which took some getting used to (I kept imagining him in stockings rather than a dressing gown) but Geoffrey McGivern as Ford Prefect (I thought it was Ford Perfect for years, even thought it was there in black and white) has a very cute voice, which keeps me going.

I think the one thing I’ve found disappointing is how very “Radio 4” (now an adjective in it’s own right) and pleased with itself it sometimes sounds. When I originally read the book it felt like Douglas Adams had a genuine love and interest in sci-fi whereas the Radio 4 production team’s take on his play feels like a piss-take of sci-fi and almost mocking in tone. It just sounds like a lot of posh people stood around with Martini’s guffawing about how silly sci-fi fans are.

Then again, that was the sound of the BBC back then and it’s only fairly recently that there’s been a little more regional diversity injected into the Beeb’s “voice”.

Niggles aside, the stream of consciousness humour and core themes of probability and the meaning of life, the universe and everything punch through the slight air of snobbery to keep me going as I listen in bed at night. I’m on series two at the moment (where Arthur and Ford have become almost supporting characters to Zaphod) so let’s see how I get on.

I’ve still yet to watch the television series (with a similar cast, I believe) although I’ve seen bits of the film starring Bilbo Baggins, so I think I’ll get both on DVD to compare/contrast/pontificate.

Bottle Rocket - film review

A fun and quirky feature debut by Wes Anderson, with “fun and quirky” being his stock in trade, that feels more like a low-budget training ground for a fledgling artist than a great accomplishment in its own right.

And yet it’s the second attempt at the story, after a short film outing.

Taken into the general context of cinema at the time, this must have seemed like just another mid-90s lowlife/gangster/caper black comedy, which had been all the rage since Reservoir Dogs came out. Tiresomely so. But, out of context, it’s a rather heartwarming tale of two nobodies trying hard to do nothing in particular and getting nowhere in the process.

Aww.

The early signs of Anderson’s technical trademarks are all in place, including whip-pans, POV shots, bird-like physical mannerisms, and Owen Wilson, as are his thematic ones, such as emotional turmoil, unrequited love, spiritual boredom, and Owen Wilson. However, its dramatic rough edges, comedic misfires, and dismal location cinematography all remind us that Anderson’s best work was yet to come.

Sparsely engaging, but still above its peers.

Do stay in touch, darlings.

Toodles!

RIP Tony Scott

The work by South Shields’ very own Scott brothers, Tony in particular, is what led me to notice style in cinema for the first time. In short, it led me to notice that there was something unique to look out for with every filmmaker. Tony’s work was so outrageously flashy, with its striking neon colours, filtered skies, smoke-filled rooms, and particular editing beats, that it was hard not to be woken up to what a director could leave as a trademark.

That is what I now take from cinema, and take with me into every film I watch. I look for a style and a visual pattern. I want to be seduced by framing and lighting in its simplest and showiest of forms. I don’t require them to be great philosophical works, or to try my patience, I just require them to do what film was invented to do: to show me something interesting.

In every film I watch, I look out for at least one shot that’s like no other, and which may reveal to me what a love of cinema the director has.

Tony Scott’s movies were an orgy of these moments. They were addictive and compulsive viewing, because every shot had some decadent design to it, and every scene had a nakedly joyful quality, much like a street carnival or kinky burlesque. But there was also a liberalist approach to Mr Scott’s contrasting characters. His heroes were often tortured, down on their luck, but intelligent, with an inner strength. Whereas his bad guys were simply bad, brutal, and greedy to the core.

This showed Tony’s sympathy for the lost souls and wayward spirits of this world, including a merciless aversion to corruption and privilege.

Although he has inspired many other directors over the years, his work has stood out amidst his lesser copyists, mostly due to his own work being that of a soul who just loved to capture images on film.

And loved to make them as bright and colourful and as entertaining as he could.

Tony Scott’s style and fingerprint will last in cinema for years to come, entertaining armchair critics such as myself and inspiring real filmmakers forever.

May he Rest in Peace.