Here’s an excerpt:

The concert hall at the Syndey Opera House holds 2,700 people. This blog was viewed about 13,000 times in 2011. If it were a concert at Sydney Opera House, it would take about 5 sold-out performances for that many people to see it.

Click here to see the complete report.

The film appears to take the form of an aggressive attack on the controlling syllabuses of a schooling system that has no time to inform its pupils of the alternative truths of life. It’s simple and powerful, humorous and disturbing.

Often Lynch is rebuked for constructing so-called ‘student-like’ productions. Like many filmmakers I’ve sat through a multitude of short films, and very few come close to displaying the sheer condensed volume of imagination that Lynch wields in this simple sequence.

As a beautiful reminder here is Lynch’s very first film, The Alphabet. The similarities between this and The 3 Rs are unmistakable.

Before you do I’d like to put a pitch in for my new blog on UK film culture which you can take a look at here, happy Lynching.

Ian Fielding is the Writer and Director of Wilby Park

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The Devil’s Experiment (1985) is the most serious of the six and makes use of the found footage style we have all got used to over the years. The camera first focuses on a woman dangling from a tree in a bag. We cut to the woman in a room getting slapped around by a group of men. It only gets worse for her as the men grow tired and move on to more painful and degrading things. Pouring maggots all over her, forcing her to listen to unbearable high pitched screeching sounds and getting a bucket of organs in her face. Even with the short running time it outstays it’s welcome but the ‘money shot’ at the end involving a metal spike and an eye made me cringe so the film did what it was set out to do.

Flowers of Flesh and Blood (1985) follows a man in a samurai warrior hat as he stalks a woman on the streets then captures her and ties her to his bed. This installment goes way beyond the first in terms of gore, he chops off all of her limbs while quoting poetry. Full time killer, part time poet. You’ll also notice the strategically placed bed sheet that covers her naked torso. I find it astonishing the Japanese can show this much torture and gore but draw the line on vagina. This installment didn’t outstay its welcome but wasn’t as visceral as the first.

He Never Dies (1986) scraps the torture aspect and indulges in the humorous side of suicide. I didn’t have subtitles for this installment which is a shame because it was one of the more (I say this lightly) plot heavy of the six. From what I can make out a man is having a terrible time at the office and decides to kill himself. To his own amazement he can’t feel any pain as he hacks into his wrist and finds out he can’t die. Inviting the two people that drove him to suicide to his home he scares them by disemboweling himself and cutting his limbs off leaving the two terrified workers to clean up all the mess while his severed head mocks them. This is obviously a step in the opposite direction for the series but it is a welcomed one. There’s only so much you can do with torture before it gets boring.

Mermaid in a Manhole (1988) tells the story of an artist who is finding it hard to cope without his wife who passed on. He finds a mermaid to replace his loss while walking around in a manhole and brings her home to paint her. As he paints his new found love she begins to grow ill and develop boils all over her body. They slowly start to burst showering the room with multicoloured pusswhich the painter uses to finish his masterpiece just in time for the mermaid to die. The man is alone once again but not before we get a twist ending that would make M. Night Shyamalan happy.

Android of Notre Dame (1988) is the worst of the lot. At this point my marathon Guinea Pig watching was taking it’s toll and I was struggling to keep it going. This story went back to the ‘woman on a bed’ scenario but this time a scientist is experimenting on women to find a cure for his ill sister.

Devil Woman Doctor (1986) was filmed as the fourth but became the sixth and final film. Thankfully this took the same approach as the third film and played it for amusement rather than try and disgust it’s audience. We are introduced to our host; a transvestite underground doctor with no license called ‘Devil Woman Doctor’. The doctor shows us seven cases of deadly diseases and how to cure the helpless victims. The diseases are beyond ridiculous but it’s fun watching the patients demise. A family (baby included) has a disease that can’t allow them to get upset otherwise their heads will blow up. It leaves the doctor no option but to yell abuse at them through a megaphone and watch the aftermath. Other cases include ‘Doggy Dog Frog’ disease (a man with a grotesque face on his stomach) and ‘Bloody Face’ disease (a man who sweats blood) among other deranged sketches.

Watching all six films wasn’t easy going but luckily enough each film is around the 50 minute mark. That being said a lot of them could have been shorter. If this was the 80′s it would have made for a more intense viewing for sure but 25 years on and the shock value has almost evaporated. Flowers of Flesh and Blood might be too much for an average film viewer but we’ve seen much worse in films like Hostel. I would recommend He Never Dies and Devil Woman Doctor, as entertaining and at times funny but the others in the series have very little substance or replay value. Only a hardcore gore-hound could seek enjoyment out of the others.

Ben Simpson is the Co – Director of Patrol Men

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Uncle Boonmee is having it rough, he’s terminally ill with a liver complaint, undergoing peritoneal dialysis, and taking metaphysical and spiritual stock of his life as he drifts internally to embrace his final memories. His deathbed pilgrimage unfolds in surreal overlaps of biographical thought – the past lives of the title. These adventures include encounters with ghost monkeys (perhaps representing those killed in the war against communism, and Boonmee’s guilt in the part he played) and dead family members. We also have insights into his previous incarnations as a water buffalo and a catfish – and inner city vignettes situated in a bar, a prayer room and a sparse hotel dormitory. The intimation is that Boonmee’s odyssey is a consoling journey that leads him into a vast tranquillity and a cosmic peace with his own existence.

Many films find their form through the subjective state of their heroes. The bleak and violent jazz of Travis Bickle’s world, or the slow motion, sportsman-like time dilation of Raging Bull’s Jake La Motta, or the off-kilter and fractured editing of Shutter Island’s Teddy Daniels, to enlist a roll call of Scorsese reprobates. In these films the nature of the hero determines the tone and character of the on-screen action.

So what of Boonmee? Like in other dream-like films, for example Mulholland Drive, Mirror and Last Year in Marienbad – it is as if the protagonists (and therefore the film itself) are operating in a kind of theta-wave frame of thought. Theta-wave? As we engage in different activities, the wavelengths of our mental function change to suit what we are doing. These are separate, clear and distinct states, like gears in a car. In alpha state the human mind is at repose, perhaps in meditation, strolling through a garden, or resting after a hard task. The beta state is sharp, one of alert concentration, the state of a politician fielding debate on Question Time or a stand up comedian mid-routine. Theta state is much closer to the dream zone, it is often the state in which artists and business-folk discover their winning ideas. A person who is driving and finds they can’t recall the last five miles is in Theta state. To recognise and control these states within ourselves is to begin to engage in powerful levels of self-control.

In its beguiling and mysterious attitude towards an anthology of moments circulating a theme – Boonmee’s most appropriate neighbour may be David Lynch’s Inland Empire. Events unfold without the audience being given explicit guidance. It is this unpatronising approach that ensures that the film reverberates with a multitude of meanings personal to each spectator.

Boonmee’s objective is perhaps best summed by this letter sent by a woman from Gorky to the director Tarkovsky after the release of Mirror, he had been inundated with letters of cool indifference and heated vehemence on the supposed impenetrability of his film. ‘Thank you for Mirror… my childhood was like that… only how did you know about it… there was that wind and the thunderstorm… and how beautifully the film shows the awakening of a child’s consciousness, of his thought… And lord, how true… I felt for the first time in my life that I was not alone.’ And another letter from a teacher ‘The film is compassionate, honest, relevant… and everyone who spoke said, ‘The film is about me.’

Cinematically, Boonmee’s heartbeats could be traced back to the death-bed ruminations of Bergman’s The Silence or his Cries and Whispers. A more obvious literary precedent is the William Faulkner novel As I Lay Dying. The self-explanatory great American experimental novel that contains a five word chapter that states simply ‘My mother is a fish.’ Uncle Boonmee itself is no stranger to unusual flourishes. In one of the most incredible sex scenes ever committed to film a palanquin borne princess wades into a waterfall pool to have sex with a catfish.

This is a tasetful and elegant handling that rates up there with Henry and the girl next door submerging themselves into Henry’s bed in Eraserhead or the magnificent Naomi Watts ‘angst wank’ in Mullholland Drive, though all these are mere localised clitoral orgasms in comparison to the almighty body-shaking vaginal orgasm that is on display in Weird Science. I always like to think that the scene in Weird Science seems to cunningly represent the female and the male orgasm simultaneously. In the John Hughes film a party goer’s evening is interrupted when ‘weird science’ erupts through the house and a suction vacuum forcefully removes her garments and sucks her up a phallic chimney only to ejaculate her from its top – sending her flying into a nearby lake, legs kicking. It’s the kind of risqué visual pun that fits that type of cinema like a glove.

Meanwhile, there is no doubt that Boonmee is a wonder, a majestical film that relates to a simple life in a balmy corner of the world, a life tangled up in the horrors of conflict but not defined by them. There are voices of descent, but if you try on the emperor’s new clothes, you may find that they fit you.

Other Articles by Ian Fielding

Ian Fielding is the Writer and Director of Wilby Park

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Directed by Quentin Dupieux (aka French electro house musician Mr. Oizo) Rubber would make an effective concept for a music video. A car tyre arises from the desert and embarks on a killing spree across a dusty America town. The tyre dispatches its victims by deploying psychokenetic powers, usually to explode its victim’s heads. These proceedings are observed through binoculars by a crowd of spectators based on a nearby hilltop.

Rubber’s self-referential, ironic and minimalist execution edges it into art house territory. This is a film of ideas, concerned with making the silly, lofty and the lofty, silly. In a pleasing opening sequence a police officer spells out to the audience the central theoretical premise of the of the film – that ultimately things can occur for no reason. ‘In Stephen Spielberg’s ET why is the alien brown? No Reason.’ This hints at a kind of exploration of randomness, whereas the film is more concerned with a playfulness concerning the nature of reality and storytelling.

As this is ultimately a film about ideas, expect to be quirkily amused rather than emotionally enraptured. It skirts around the outside rather than delving deeply into those big ideas. It doesn’t utilise the toolkit of drama to pull out any astonishing turns and so despite its aesthetic purity and playful heart, the film comes over as a little shallow, a little distant and lacking in true dramatic impact. There are hints of potential here though. I can’t help thinking that with a dash more deviousness or a stronger serving of soul that Mr Dupieux could develop into a serious cinematic pull.

Ian Fielding is the Writer and Director of Wilby Park

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Hobo (Rutger Hauer) has one dream in life, to buy a lawnmower and start up a new business. Unfortunately for him he’s homeless and lives in Scum Town. Riddled with every type of low life degenerate under the sun it isn’t exactly the ideal place to become a Gardner and when some masked men hold up a cashier at the ‘Pawn till Dawn’ Hobo has no choice but to part with his last $50, buy a shotgun and blast them all to hell. With a taste of justice Hobo’s hungry for more and starts cleaning the streets to the dismay of The Drake (Brian Downey) and his forever disenchanted sons who put a bounty on the Hobo’s head.

This is most akin to the cult films of the 80′s such as Street Trash on route through Tromaville without the hyper juvenile jokes that detract me away. The problem I have with Troma films are the characters are set to 11, they all have ADD constantly screaming at one another in hyper situations but there’s nothing going on around them. In Hobo with a Shotgun everything is turned to 11; environment, editing and the acting all working together to create a balance that never slows down until the end credits. The blood never stops flowing and there’s enough imaginative deaths to whet the appetite of the most hardcore gore fan. My favourite being ‘The Glory Hole’.

Seeing Rutger Hauer shooting the shit out of people, breaking down doors, eating broken glass bottles and a whole lot more is a sight to see in itself and at 67 he hasn’t lost his enthusiasm for the bizarre and trashy. He could very well be depicted as a Super Hero, the film has a comic book element to it, characters are black and white and Hobo even gets his own side-kick to fight crime with. A stunning looking prostitute (played by Molly Dunsworth) who together talk about the beauty of grizzly bears when they’re taking a rest from decapitating evil.

Watching Hobo with a Shotgun at Fright Fest was the closest I’ll ever get to the days of the midnight screenings on 42nd Street and I loved every minute of it. DIY effects, over the top lighting, great one liners and a montage that’s somewhere between Evil Dead 2 and Footloose. It’s what Grindhouse should have been and wanted to be. The Director (Jason Eisener) didn’t imitate a cult classic, he made one. In the Introduction Jason said, “We made this film without any rules, so you, the audience, should have no rules watching it. I like watching it without pants on.” and proceeded to take his pants off. That summed up the whole film in one action. Balls out horror.

Ben Simpson is the Co – Director of Patrol Men

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The Glasgow Film Festival has been invaded by Frightfest – could you ever imagine the London Film Festival including a genre segment in their bill? No, me neither. High props to Glasgow for opening their doors and hearts to the hordes of drooling horror fans, many of whom have travelled not only from England, but Germany and even Australia [somebody must have really wanted to see Little Deaths].

So, first for me is the latest Korean export, I Saw the Devil. Having already screened across the Atlantic, most notably Toronto and Sundance, the film has already earned a lot of buzz from critics and genre fans alike. Despite my high expectations, Kim Ji-Woon managed to surprise me with a whole new level of filmmaking. ISTD combines the clinical attention to detail as seen in Zodiac, the fierce psychological examination of a serial killer as seen in Silence of the Lambs, but injects it with a hyper kinetic quality, not unlike Christopher Nolan at his finest.

Thematically, the film is strong, playing with the concept of revenge and repetition; raising the question of when does revenge become unfulfilling? Kyung-Chul [Choi Min-sik] is a depraved serial killer, with no sense of morality or empathy; in real life this man deserves to be punished, in filmic terms, he deserves to die. However, for our ‘hero’, Soo-Hyun [Lee Byung-hun], death is not enough. Instead, he plants a tracking device into the killer and proceeds to beat him within an inch of his life, before letting him go and repeating the process.

I Saw the Devil not only boasts an engaging script, fine performances, pitch-perfect direction and high drama, but it also delivers on a primal splatter level as well. The deaths are messy and disturbing. There is a moment when Kyung-Chul shares a car ride with two shifty gentlemen. There is an air of Hitchcockian tension, especially as each man looks as dangerous as the other. This tension is broken when Kyung-Chul unleashes his rage, repeatedly stabbing the driver and his accomplice. In all my years of watching horror films, I have never witnessed such fury with a knife.

Much like Oldboy, ISTD has a westernized flavor. Aesthetically, both films evoke the spirit of David Fincher, whilst ISTD also takes a direct cue from No for Country Old Men. In the way Tarantino is happy to pinch bits from European cinema and make it his own, the film wears it influences on its sleeve, confident enough in its own originality. Kim Ji-Woon is friends with Park Chan-Wook [Oldboy, Sympathy for Lady Vengeance, Thirst] and Bong Joon-ho [The Host, Mother] and collectively, the trio represent an exciting new wave in Korean filmmaking. All three directors have a knack for taking typical ‘genre’ cinema and elevating it way beyond the norm. This has to do with their impeccable technique and understanding of cinema.  Personally, I’m keeping my eyes on these filmmakers, as I am expecting even greater films to come.

David Campion is the Co – Director of Patrol Men

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Every year an English film plays FrightFest and the vast majority are a waste of time. So bad you fear your eyeballs will develop cancer (Dead Cert, Isle of Dogs and 13hrs just to name last year’s crop) and this doesn’t disappoint. Little Deaths is an Anthology piece with three stories that relate to the darker side of sex and death. The first major problem is that only one of these three directors can direct.

First up is House and Home, Sean Hogan’s (writer of Isle of Dogs) feeble attempt. A homeless girl is enticed into a couples’ home. She is bathed and fed and then at the dinner table, the couple poison her wine. The tramp wakes up tied to a bed and the sexual torment begins. The direction and narrative is so painfully dull and lazy that even a cum shot to the face and a golden shower fails to spark any repulsion or anger. Just when you think it can’t get any worse the twist comes a long. At least it can’t get any worse…

Andrew Parkinson’s Mutant Tool wasn’t much better, it manages to make a film about a caged Nazi monster with a huge cock that dribbles out semen into a bucket boring. Instead of focusing on this cum beast we get laborious scenes of what the scientists use the semen for. Hardly getting a peek at the monster feels like such a huge waste of effects. Plus you forget the story almost immediately after it finishes. Andrew Parkinson might as well of filmed the monster masturbating for 20 minutes.

Bitch is a breath of fresh air. Just by the first shot you can tell the director (Simon Rumley) is leagues above the two directors that play before him. A dark tale about domination and fear, Simon gets some powerful performances out of the actors while being both subtle in his storytelling and successful in creating a living environment for them to populate. Bitch has a completely different look to the DV-like quality of the first two films. It is raw and life-like and brings a dark, uncomfortable and cold tone to the film. Ultimately though it’s too late, after the atrocious segments before it nothing could save this car wreck of a film, which is a shame because Simon Rumley’s Red, White and Blue was one of my favorites of 2010. If it wasn’t for the third segment this would have played like a 1st year film students project. Go and watch Trick R’ Treat instead or if you really want to see a new-ish English anthology film go with Cradle of Fear. It’s not that good, but I’d watch it over Little Deaths anytime.

Ben Simpson is the Co – Director of Patrol Men

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Dino De Laurentiis, the late, great producer of Blue Velvet once said that to be a man you need three things. Heart, brains and balls. In looking at the Coen brother’s new film True Grit, I’ll be focusing on balls.

True Grit. The background is spiritual pollution, the bloodthirsty acquisition of the west. The book is Charles Portis’ classic take on the western novel. The characters are the tough and weather-bruised products of their environment. They meet death with equanimity, resort to brutality with laissez-faire matter-of-factness and treat each other as straw dogs, with little more than money, justice and the need to survive binding them together.

The film contains stirring feats of heroism, which serve as the flags to the measure of its character’s constitutions.

Mattie Ross (Hailee Steinfeld), the astonishing 14 year old Presbyterian with a smart mouth and steady nerve is a monster of progress and logic who is driven by a powerfully centered emotional force – the need to exact retribution upon the man who killed her father.

The moment when Mattie frees herself from the keeper of the river ferry and crosses the water on a swimming horse amazes and charms us with her spontaneous resourcefulness. Bravery is not trait-like, it only emerges in special circumstances like this.

J. ‘Rooster’ Cogburn (Jeff Bridges), cranky, robust and raw, is a true veteran of the plains, corrupt, forgetful and above the law. There’s a sense of old school masculinity in the way he lets his soul play out, it’s like Johnny Cash’s voice, timeless and forged in the fire of primal humanity, as fixed as the North Star and attached profoundly to the earth. This is not a man of wit and stealth but a man of straight talking simplicity, clear means and closely guarded pride.

Cogburn turns on the physical courage when he rides fearlessly into a gang of four outlaws, facing them head-on, reins in mouth and two pistols blazing, facing the fray in confidence. Though elsewhere (especially in Mattie’s eyes) he is shadowed by vice.

Psychological bravery means acting against our natural inclinations and facing fears which may not have any social  implications. This includes overcoming personal addicting habits, irrational anxieties and harmful dependent relationships. So as Cogburn turns to drink, he looses his bottle and the film throws its own quiet anti-drinking campaign. Mattie loses her faith in him (not in the least because it is a reminder of the circumstances surrounding her father’s death) and Cogburn looses face as he rides onward drunkenly through the day boasting and singing to himself.

Moral Courage is the ability to act rightly in the face of popular opposition, shame, scandal, or discouragement. The prime cinematic example is James Cagney in Angels with Dirty Faces. Who on his death bed, his appointment with the electric hair, acts like a cowardly, sniveling wretch before all the criminal kids who idolise him so that they don’t follow in his footsteps, completely annihilating his reputation in a swoop.

Cagney’s display is the polar opposite to Nietzsche’s vanity bravery: ‘One never dives into the water to save a drowning man more eagerly than when there are others present who dare not take the risk.’ For me, Cagney’s is the greatest act of sacrifice in cinema.

So what is true grit? Is it not a kind of bravery on tap? Pure internal focus and resolve. Like the characters in this film who have it embedded into their bones. A necessary state to get by in a tough universe. A thought that makes Mattie an even more formidable character considering it takes time to build such resolve.

Cowards die many times before their deaths;
The valiant never taste of death but once.

Julius Caesar (II, ii, 32-37)

You will be hard pressed to find a film that doesn’t contain a moment of bravery, ranging from the foolhardy to the heroic. Bravery is the key catalyst to progress in life and so it is with film.

Ian Fielding is the Writer and Director of Wilby Park

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It all started on Three Kings. Supposed battles with crew, scrapes with extras, and a blow up with everyone’s favourite liberal, George Clooney; say what you will about David O Russell, but the guy has heart. Speaking of heart, it was his next project, existential comedy I Heart Huckabees, which really sparked debate, when a video leaked of him kicking off at veteran actress, Lilly Tomlin. Both artist’s are obviously having a bad day, Tomlin herself is irritable and stressed, but after remaining silent for some time, O Russell lets spew a volcanic diatribe, resulting in pure YouTube gold.

These heated confrontations seem to be sparked by what makes O Russell special. He works in a loose, semi-improvised manner, giving his work a sense of urgency and spontaneity. However, there seems to be a communication failure somewhere between the great man and his accomplices, and this is his downfall. It’s no mystery why it’s taken six years for his next film, The Fighter, to be released.

Now in his fifties, it would appear the director has calmed down and possibly developed a new work ethic. The evidence of this new ethic is apparent in The Fighter, which is a lean, perfectly staged, exquisitely acted and directed piece of cinema. With a modest budget [somewhere around the $35 million mark], an ensemble cast [including a scenery chewing Christian Bale] and a very tight schedule [33 days]; The Fighter looks and feels like an effortless film.

Taking a very typical, cliché ridden underdog story and trying to inject it with a sense of vitality and importance is no mean feat. In fact, the boxing genre is one of the hardest to excel in, being overshadowed by both the archetypal underdog story, Rocky and the artful triumph, Raging Bull.  These factors, along with long history of the film [four writers, two directors, endless star changes], should point towards cinematic disaster, so why does The Fighter work???

The Fighter is very much an examination, not only of character ambitions and family dynamics, but societal demands. First, the location. Lowell, Massachusetts is the perfect urban setting to raise a fighter, as it proves “livin’ ain’t easy”. The residents of this predominately working class community are vocal in their thoughts and opinions about the characters, giving Micky Ward [Mark Wahlberg] the ‘underdog complex’. He’s passive, which for a boxer, is a pretty useless quality. Now let’s examine the family. Mother Alice Ward has not only produced two fighters, but seven ‘monstrous’ sisters. Seemingly growing up in a grim fairytale, Micky has to deal not only with a firecracker mother, but a former glory, now-turned-addict brother, who still manages to soak up all of the family’s admiration. This lack of love and nurture has obviously had a negative effect on Micky’s confidence, which could be a direct reason for his ‘stepping-stone’ reputation in the ring.

Dicky Ward [Christian Bale] is like a vacuum, demanding all of the attention from almost every character in the film. Interestingly, outside the realms of the film, Christian Bale is doing the same, receiving award nominations across the board and being the cast/crew member most likely to pick up an Oscar. I like to think his performance is in retaliation to The Dark Knight, where Heath Ledger picked up all of the accolades for his supporting turn as The Joker, while Bale had to play it straight. Now in the ‘joker’ role, Bale relishes every moment he is on screen, perfectly playing a waster way beyond his prime.

Amongst all this chaos, O Russell keeps a tight handle over the script, never deviating away from the all important structure. However, unlike more ‘mainstream’ affairs, The Fighter has a sense of truth. The supporting characters aren’t mere obstacle blocks, but living, breathing people. Occasionally flawed, but always likeable, each actor takes the character to a place of familiarity, enabling the audience to not only identify with them, but to emphasise with them as well.

Stylistically, O Russell has always had plenty of tricks up his sleeve. He moves the camera with pace, never restricting the moving shots to dollies, but employing vehicles to give them speed and excitement. However, his genius comes within the ring. Rather than competing with the untouchable Raging Bull, O Russell chooses to shoot the fight scenes using ‘video footage’. He captures the brutality within the ring, but from a perspective everybody is familiar with. Even when it comes to using slow motion he doesn’t sell out by using 35mm for a smooth finish, but allowing the jerkiness of the ‘HBO’ style to shine through. The direction in the film is non fussy and kinetic.

Whatever your opinions are of David O Russell, past or present, you really can’t question his integrity. As a successor of the ‘Sundance Kids’ stable, O Russell has established himself as an auteur. Much like Aronofsky [the once director of The Fighter, now billed as executive producer], O Russell’s next project is distinctly ‘Hollywood’. He is in talks to direct a feature based on the popular video game, Uncharted. So, in two-three years time, will two of the better ‘indie’ artists be battling it out for summer box office? Personally, I’m looking forward to Oscar race between Brett Ratner and Michael Bay.

David Campion is the Co – Director of Patrol Men

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