No.182 – V For Vendetta (2006)

It seems very apt that I should start my journey with a film about a masked protester, trying to inspire a nation to rise up against a fascist UK government ruling by fear. OK, it’s not exactly a story for right now, but the message I took from V For Vendetta was one of a nation’s weakness and apathy letting the devil in the back door.

People should not be afraid of their governments. Governments should be afraid of their people.

I was surprised to see this film in the IMDB top 250 – I’ll be honest and say that I had dismissed it previously as another piece of comicbook-adaptation fluff. It is only recently that I have properly investigated Alan Moore’s work (seen as arguably the most influential graphic novelist of all time), and so I came to this film with heightened expectations.
I am starting back on this trail to film criticism again, so rather than write an essay on the themes of the film, and the social commentary contained within – I will just tell you what I really fucking liked about it.
Hugo Weaving – you know, Agent Smith from The Matrix – spends the whole film in the mask. We never once see his face. This is a brave move by the director, and an even braver move by Weaving (who proved braver than the team behind the atrocious Judge Dredd film) Luckily his dialogue is more charming freedom-fighter than pretentious student. In fact, if Arthur Scargill had had V’s zest for language and general bonhomie then the minor’s strike could well have ended very differently. The reverse of that is the always-brilliant Roger Allam as ‘The Voice of London’ – a right-wing commentator that Fox would kill to have on the payroll. The only mystery is how anyone could vote for John Hurt’s High Chancellor. He exudes so much malice and venom that I certainly couldn’t imagine him on The One Show talking about the last CD he bought.
The cast in general were excellent. Portman showed a genuine confusion over where her loyalties should lie, and Stephen Fry did a more than passable impression of the nation treasure that is Stephen Fry.
The only problem I had for a while was trying to place where I had last seen the majority of the British cast. Half the film felt like an epic US blockbuster, and the other half like a Channel 4 regional police drama – but  feel the very English feel of the film was not only loyal to the original text, but also one of the film’s strengths.
Overall, I am very happy with the start to my project. This was a film that not only made me think, but also entertained. All too rare in modern film unfortunately. A worthy member of the 250 club.

Oh my!

The Failed Critic watches the Top 250 IMDB Films

The Failed Critic is planning to watch all films listed in’s ‘Top 250 Films’ list (as of 15th December 2011), including re-watching those he has already seen (approximately 105 – although he may have fallen asleep watching a few of those).

He will be recording his rambling musings about these films – partly as a testament to this goliath task, but mainly to act as an outlet for his thoughts so that he doesn’t bore his wife with inane chat about Kurosawa while she is busy doing important things like making sure their child is fed, clothed, and not throwing herself downstairs.

The Failed Critic is, almost inevitably, a failed writer. He’s also a failed academic (ungraded Media Studies A Level, 3 weeks on a Film Studies A Level), although he did manage a year studying Media at University. A 32-year old husband and father of one, he is now into the third year of his mid-life kerfuffle (crisis is far too strong a word for the fluffy doubts we’re talking about here). Having ‘tried’ stand-up comedy, golf, and making friends – he is hoping that he can finally maintain a blog for longer than a month and renew his previous passions for film and writing.

Most often: In the living room. Preferably watching the film on Blu-ray, and sat in his favourite battered Ikea leather recliner with a big fuck-off pair of headphones. There will almost certainly be a whisky or real ale.

Rarely: As a treat, and as schedules allow, the Failed Critic may get to watch a few of the films in the rather lovely Phoenix Arts Centre in Leicester. Somewhere he can have a drink, but avoid the sight and sound of popcorn, teenagers, and cardboard cut-outs of Chipmunks.

Hopefully never: The local multiplex. In the highly unlikely event that they decide to show one of ‘the list’ – an afternoon off will be in order to try and see the film before the schools kick out.

In 2012, and beyond. A realistic schedule of two films a week means this will probably go on until at least summer 2014. Due to the Failed Critic’s busy work-life, frenetic home-life, and general flakiness and laziness, this is as likely to happen as a new Kate Bush album appearing in that same timescale.

A few years ago TV, with its convenience and less time-intensive needs, seduced the Failed Critic away from the first love of his life – film.Combined with the ever-increasing cost of going to the cinema, and the reducing value and enjoyment for the money involved, the Failed Critic just walked away. As his 32nd birthday approached, he realised that he had only been to see two films all year, and one of those was a re-release of Spielberg’s last great film (Jurassic Park). Not only did that film give him the same thrills as when he was 13, but he realised how much he missed those thrills.

Not only that, but for the last few years, he had only watched films he was pretty sure he would like. DVDs stacked up in their cellophane – bought on a whim, and then never watched due to the fear of spending two hours watching something he might not enjoy. The very same fear of failure that had paralysed him as a writer, and had led to many aborted attempts at hobbies as soon as he found them difficult.

Then in late 2011, two things happened.

First, he saw Inception. It blew him away.

He had forgotten the feeling you get when a film creeps under your skin, and keeps asking you questions. The memory of the experience you have had being your companion for the next few days. Asking you questions. Reminding you of short shots, or snippets of dialogue. Making you want to go online and soak up everything anyone has ever said about the film like a sponge.

Then, the Guardian published an extract of the latest Mark Kermode book. It was an abridged version of a chapter which was asking why blockbusters can’t be more intelligent, and blew away the myth that audiences demand their event movies to be popcorn-eating, mindless fluff. He bought the book, and then started devouring reviews, trailers, and articles in the same way his 18-year old self used to. It was magical. But that is when he realised that there was a major hole in his film education. The Failed Critic is far from being a movie snob (he unashamedly loves 300, Team America, xXx for example), but even he can see that certain films are important cultural touchstones, and that he needs to see them at least once.

He has remembered that spending two hours watching a film, any film, is rarely a complete waste.

“But hey, enough of my yakkin’; whaddaya say? Let’s boogie!”

Home of the Failed Critics Film Podcast and blog, gaming podcast Character Unlock, and cult film podcast Underground Nights