5 Reasons Films Are Getting Better (Or, Are Old Films Getting Worse?)

This is a question that’s been bothering me for ages now. I have tended not to bring it up too much in general conversation, for the simple fact that it sounds like such a stupid thing to say. I have a Masters Degree in Film Studies, but bringing this topic up makes people look at me like a child who eats crayons.

But hear me out.

Are films getting better? Much better than older films? I mean, in pretty much every sense? Before you answer, consider the following :

1. Film is becoming a universally available and easily producible medium. Digital technology means that anyone with a camcorder and a pc can put their mini-opus together. Of course, that means a whole load of crap is produced, but for people with the ideas and the ingenuity, the opportunities to make your film is there. (The Blair Witch Project, Supersize Me etc)

2. We have seen some amazing films in the last decade. Just think of The Sixth Sense, Fight Club, American Beauty, Lord Of The Rings, The Matrix, Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind, LA Confidential, Saving Private Ryan, The Big Lebowski, The Prestige, Donnie Darko, The Departed…. I could go on. People talk about the Forties and the Seventies as “Golden Ages” of film; the fact is that we’ve been enjoying a Golden Age of film since about 1990, one that shows no signs of letting up.

3. Acting is getting better. Yes, it is. Granted, Marlon Brando and the Method school ushered in a vast sea-change in the art, but can you really tell me that there is any comparison between the stilted hamming of the 30’s and 40’s and the naturality of say, Edward Norton or De Niro?

4. Special effects. CGI is allowing directors to create images, nay, worlds from their imaginations. Compare the opening scene of Peter Jackson’s “Lord Of The Rings” to Ralph Bakshi’s 1978 disastrous version, purely in visual terms.

Jackson:

j

Bakshi:

j

There’s no comparison, right?

j

5. I think that a lot of older movies get more respect than they deserve solely because they’ve got a few decades on them; they can sport that miasma of age that seems to render them untouchable. For instance, I watched James Whale’s 1931 “Frankenstein” recently. This is considered a horror classic, and created the modern image of Frankenstein’s monster as a lumbering flat-top, bolt-neck behemoth (the image is still under the copyright of Universal Pictures). It also features the famous line, “It’s alive! It’s alive!” (voted the #49 movie quote of all time by the American Film Institute).

Frankenstein:

But, despite all of this, I thought the movie was pretty crap. I’m a big fan of Mary Shelley’s book, and I was appalled to see that the film discarded that story almost completely. The placement of American actors with thick American accents in the roles of German characters was atrocious. The tacked-on happy ending was painful. If that movie was made today, it would be a straight-to-video bottom-shelfer. All in all, I think that Kenneth Branagh’s 1994 version is leagues ahead of that version; it is far more subtle, believable and retains much more of the book’s poignant Oedipal themes.

But try saying that to any “serious” film fan or critic. I think I can safely say that if they don’t implode on the spot, they will subject you to a tirade of vitriol based mainly on the dogmatic clout of the film’s age.

(By the way, I have listened to film lecturers tell me that American Beauty is “implausible”, Lord Of The Rings is “juvenile”, and Titanic is “unwatchable”. I can tell you right now that if any of those films had been released 50 years ago – special effects notwithstanding – academics would today consider them cinematic landmarks. And in 50 years’ time, they will. But in academic circles at least, they haven’t earned their chronological kudos quite yet.)

The obvious counterargument is that movies are always made within the context of their times. And that our modern movies wouldn’t be here without them. Well, that’s true. But why, then, are there many older movies that totally transcend their times and context; that instead of being just a rung towards greatness, skip the queue and just are great? For example, “The Cabinet Of Dr. Caligari” (1920) or “Nosferatu” (1922) were hugely popular films when they released, and still stand as amazing horror films. They are subtle, creepy and beautiful – and in a different league totally to the American “Frankenstein”.

What I mean to propose is this….. What if more films are doing this today? What if more movies are simply obviating the constraints of context, passing “go” and hitting greatness? This may be a result of the sheer number of films being made. It may be because of studios becoming more liberal and independent. It may be because of the general freedom of information today as opposed to even a few decades ago. But the situation remains that we are, at least relatively speaking, being inundated with truly great films, and the trend doesn’t seem to be about to stop.

I will leave you with the immortal words of Peter Griffin: “I did not care for the Godfather….”

Irish Transport Prices Go Up AGAIN

I heard on the news this morning that CIE are putting up the prices of all of their services (Bus Eireann, Irish Rail, Luas, Dublin Bus) yet again. This has become something of an annual tradition in Ireland.

The media has been filled with callers and voxpops from commuters who say that these costs are totally unjustified. Why? Because there has been no improvement in the actual service.

At the same time, pay rises for managers in many semi-state companies (including CIE) have been announced. These are the CEOs of organizations rife with needless bureaucracy, “jobs for the boys” and virtually no accountability on anyone’s part. Since there is no real competition in the market (due to government monopolization and the stranglehold of the unions), there are no standards for service whatsoever. Drivers are often rude and abusive.

The buses are so filthy and the service so bad that when Aircoach (an independent company) began their route from Cork to Dublin / Dublin Airport, they reported that for the first few weeks, many consumers repeatedly asked if these were private VIP buses. Irish commuters were unfamiliar with regular, punctual buses, fair prices, courteous drivers and buses that weren’t covered in shit.

The other week, my sister got the train home from Cork to Kerry. She decided to take the train to get home faster, since the bus can take up to 2 hours. Guess how long the train took? 2 and 1/2 hours. That’s right, it took a half hour longer than the bus. That’s a train versus a bus, folks. That’s tantamount to defying the laws of physics (and, needless to say, it cost more).

Why does this situation persist? I think it’s a combination of two things. Firstly, it’s our government’s complete lack of any guts. They refuse to take on the unions, because the unions can a) lose them lots of votes and b) hold the entire public-transport dependent population of Ireland hostage whenever they want. Secondly, it’s the Irish public’s dislike of standing up for themselves. As bizarre as this may sound, we seem to have a collective inferiority complex. When was the last time you saw someone talking back to a bullying bus driver or rail conductor? It never happens. We grumble and call up Joe Duffy, but what good is that on a practical level?

But the semi-state workers are well able to stand up for themselves, oh yes. One man alone can cause a strike to happen and disrupt the travel arrangements of thousands. Don’t believe me? It happened yesterday. That’s right, the day before CIE prices went up and CIE pay rises were announced, a CIE employee managed to bring the rail line between the two largest cities in Ireland to a standstill because – and get this – he asked for “a premium shift payment for specific inspection duties — and he launched unofficial action when that higher payment rate was denied.”

What??

Are they employing children? You don’t get what you want, so you can disrupt the plans of 2,000 people? If that was any sort of real company, that employee would have been fired on the spot. But no. Instead, this whining maggot is mollycoddled, and to hell with everyone else who is depending on the service to get to work, see their families, get hospital treatment etc.

This is bureaucracy gone mad, and symptomatic of a larger problem – we have start standing up for ourselves.

Don Crowhurst and the Golden Globe Race

In 1968, the Sunday Times newspaper organised an incredible competition. The “Golden Globe Race”, as it was called, was a round-the-world yacht race. The journey had to be done solo, and with no stops for repairs or supplies whatsoever. Anyone was allowed to enter, and no experience in sailing was necessary. But the most amazing part was this; noone had ever sailed single-handedly, non-stop around the world before. This wasn’t just a race; it was a test of the very possibility of the feat itself.

Nine sailors put their names down for the race. Almost all had completed lengthy voyages before, and knew well how to handle a boat. One man, however, was a much more unlikely candidate. Donald Crowhurst, formerly an RAF pilot and inventor, decided that he would attempt the oceanic circumnavigation. Though he was, at best, little more than a “weekend sailor”, he still managed to find sponsorship for his entry, including the purchase of the requisite yacht. The possibility of having an aspirant, untrained yet hardy Englishman win this international contest was a national romance, and drew huge media interest.

But any notions of romance were dispelled utterly in the face of the unrelenting ocean. The race finished up a veritable disaster; only one of the sailors who set out, Robin Knox-Johnston, actually managed to complete the journey. Five retired at various points on the route, and another’s boat sank (though luckily, he survived). Another, a Frenchman, somehow lost his yearning for human company while on the sea. After rounding the treacherous waters of Cape Horn, he decided not to race back to the finishing line off the English coast, but rather went on to attempt to circle the globe a second time (he eventually tired of sailing and landed the boat in Tahiti).

Crowhurst’s story, however, was utterly incredible – and equally tragic. Bound by financial obligations (his sponsor had made Crowhurst put up his own finances as collateral in the case of dropping out of the race), he set out on a boat that was obviously unready for such a massive trip. He experienced unremitting difficulties and constant solitude, all the time aware that if he returned home or landed anywhere he and his family would be ruined financially. But if he continued the race into the dangerous waters around the Earth’s lower latitudes, he risked almost certain death.

He decided instead on an act of subterfuge. Just off the coast of Brazil, he stopped sailing and let the boat sit. His plan was to wait until the other competitors had passed him on the home stretch, then join in as if nothing had gone wrong. Of course, he would not win the race, but he would avoid entering the most dangerous stretches of water in the world and still return home to a hero’s welcome – and some semblance of financial stability. In the meantime, he would send bogus coordinates to home base, and make up an entirely false log. This wasn’t a major concern, however; what panel of judges would assiduously check the logbook of the guy who came in last?

But the “meantime” was a long time to spend alone. Crowhurst spent a total of four months waiting to re-enter the race in the closing stages. In this time, his only contact with the rest of the world was via his radio, which was used to send tall tales of “record-breaking speeds” (also, at one point he docked briefly to repair damage to his boat).

Eventually, the remaining two competitors entered the final section of the race (Robin Knox-Johnston and Nigel Tetley). When Tetley heard the (untrue) report that Crowhurst had made huge progress and was only three days behind him, he pushed his already-battered boat to its limits, sinking it and almost losing his life.

Crowhurst was now going to come in second place. However, he was inevitably going to win the prize for fastest trip (since the boats had left on different dates) – which would mean his logs being carefully scrutinized by expert sailors. He would be found out. Not only that, but his actions had indirectly resulted in the near-death of one of his competitors. Crowhurst cut off radio contact altogether. His mind, already fragile from months of solitude and subterfuge, was pushed over the edge.

He never returned to England. His boat was found three months later, without him in it. Presumably, he had committed suicide by drowning. His journals and logbooks revealed not only the magnitude of the falsehood, but the places to which his tortured psyche had retreated: “The shameful secret of God… is that there is no good or evil — only truth… I have become a second-generation cosmic being…” His rationale for not returning home abandoned the vicissitudes of fiscal responsibility and became an almost Lovecraftian validation: “It’s a small sin for a man to commit, but it is a terrible sin for a cosmic being.”

It’s difficult to imagine the lonely torture that Crowhurst went through (it’s even more difficult to believe that solitary confinement is deliberately used in modern prisons to elicit such states of terror and paranoia in prisoners). It’s one of those rarely-recounted tales of derring-do that, when executed, goes horribly wrong at every turn.

 f

Crowhurst’s boat, the Teignmouth Electron, sits rotting on the Caribbean island of Cayman Brac to this day. His story is brilliantly told in the film “Deep Water“.