The Man Who Killed Hitler and then the Bigfoot

The Man Who Killed Hitler and then the Bigfoot,
Directed by Robert D Krzykowski,
Starring Sam Elliott, Aidan Turner, Caitlin FitzGerald, Larry Miller

Several things drew me to this film: it went down well at its FrightFest debut (always a good sign), it features the excellent Sam Elliott, and, well, come on, really, how could I resist a film with a title like that?? Other than those things though, I knew very little about this film in advance, which is something of a rarity these days, and I really didn’t know what to expect at all – high-jinks? Satire? Crazy silliness? With that title you can see why you might suspect that sort of approach, but actually no, this is a very unusual piece of film work that ploughs it own furrow, at its own pace and with its own style, and I applaud all involved for sticking to their approach, because it delivered an absolute wee gem of a film (and naturally some quality Filmic Moustache from Elliott!).

Calvin Barr (Elliott), is an older gentleman, a World War Two veteran now living peacefully in a small town in New England. As with many of us, as the years advance he finds himself more and more thinking of the past than the present, much less the future, and while his body may sit in his favourite armchair or the bar stool of his local pub, his mind is increasingly elsewhere, thoughts drifting back to his youth, to what he had to do during the war, and also to his pre-war life, the quietly satisfying peace of his small town, falling in love with local teacher Maxine (Caitlin Fitzgerald from Masters of Sex), with Poldark heart-throb Aidan Turner playing the younger Calvin.

It’s into this present-day, quiet, fairly lonely life that agents of the US and Canadian governments intrude, asking him to take on a new mission – the legendary Bigfoot exists, and appears to have become infected with a deadly virus that it is spreading. For now it is contained in an isolated wilderness area, but if it escapes this containment the disease will spread, and they have no cure – they are looking at a possible end of civilisation-level pandemic. No others have been able to track and kill the Bigfoot, none have returned, and so this former special operations soldier, the man they sent to assassinate Hitler, is the only one they can turn to, despite his age, he is, once more, tasked with defending civilisation.

And yes, he did indeed complete that mission and kill Hitler – and no, that’s not a spoiler, given it is in the title of the film! You may well wonder how is it that he could have assassinated the Fuhrer since that clearly deviates from recorded history – so is this an alternate history reality? A time-travel paradox or similar? Nope, and I am not going to spoil it for you by explaining how they can have had Calvin kill Hitler in the 1940s but still be true to history, save to say they do come up with an explanation that works fine, allowing the film its conceit of a soldier killing Hitler without contradicting real history.

However, those two strands of the narrative – the wartime exploits of young Calvin and the present-day mission to find the Bigfoot before it can spread the virus – are not really what The Man Who Killed Hitler is about, they are just the narrative framing on which Krzykowski paints a gently-paced exploration of a man’s life, his younger self’s hopes, his older self’s regrets, and the way life can change everything you wanted, everything you planned, especially where war is concerned. “I never wanted to kill a man,” Calvin tells his brother Ed (Larry Miller), “Even if he had it coming.”

As we see more memories of the wartime mission, and the pre-war courting of Maxine contrasted with Elliott’s older Calvin we piece together his story and how the war changed everything, taking him away from the woman he wanted to marry and settle down with, how it lead to this quiet, thoughtful man having to kill and discovering he was good at it, quiet, methodical, making him a good agent even though he hates the idea of it, how it was never the same again afterwards. There’s an echo here in older Calvin of William Munny in Unforgiven, an older man carrying a lifetime of regret for past deeds, although in Calvin’s case he was battling the forces of evil, not an outlaw like Munny, but killing still takes a toll regardless, even if in a righteous cause.

It’s not hard to see Calvin as representing so many young men who answered the call from small towns in America, Canada, Britain and so many other lands, young lads who had been brought up decently, who had been taught Thou Shalt Not Kill but then were forced to do just that again and again during the war to protect the free world. Young lads who came back as men who had seen and done too much (those that got to come back, at least), changed inside, rarely talking about it but forever altered by the memories and guilt. Elliott has a way of carrying a quiet, reserved, dignified air to his characters and that works perfectly in this role (so much so I wonder if the role was written for him?) – no anguished emotional outbursts here, instead Elliott signifies the inner turmoil of Calvin through tiny expressions and body language, some great acting craft here using such little movements to express so much of the character’s inner thoughts and feelings.

This is a wonderfully unusual gem of a film, a richly emotional palette of hope and regret, youth and old age, carried very much on the shoulders of Elliott’s quiet performance, unfolding a piece at a time at a satisfyingly gentle pace, slowly bringing us into the world of this reserved veteran.

The Man Who Killed Hitler and then the Bigfoot is released by Sparky Pictures on digital from April 15th, and on DVD and Blu-Ray from May 6th.

Leprechaun Returns

Leprechaun Returns,
Directed by Steven Kostanski,
Starring Taylor Spreitler, Pepi Sonuga, Sai Bennett, Linden Porco, Mark Holton

The original 1993 Leprechaun was a fun piece of horror laced with comedy, very much in the style of this mid 80s to 90s US horror flicks (and it also boasted a pre-Friends mega-fame Jennifer Aniston). Naturally like many other 80s and 90s horror flicks it spawned a franchise with another six outings over the last couple of decades, and like similar franchises (think what happened with Freddy or Jason) it was often a law of diminishing returns. Leprechaun Returns, made for the SyFy Channel, rather wisely appears to be ignoring the many sequels and instead sees our pint-sized folkloric nasty resurrected some twenty-five years after the original movie, even boasting an appearance from Mark Holton as Ozzie from the original 1993 film (a nice touch).

A group of students have decided to set up an eco-friendly sorority house off-campus in the rural farmhouse from the first film, an off-grid house with solar power and drawing water from, yes, you guessed it, the old well where the Leprechaun was supposedly killed and banished, and has been for the last quarter of a century, everything fine. Lila (Taylor Spreitler) is the daughter of Jennifer Aniston’s character from the first film, moving in with her sorority sisters to fix the old place up. She experiences some premonition-like dreams on the way there, but she puts this down to the stress of recently caring for her terminally ill mother, and continues her college plans and moving into the house with the others, unaware that the little, green, mean, rhyming monster has been awoken from his twenty five year slumber (in a pretty gruesome but darkly funny “rebirth” scene).

Lila heard her mother’s stories, but understandably never believed her tales of some murderous leprechaun with a gold fixation and a penchant for bloody killings, and her first encounter with the leprechaun (now played by Linden Porco) she is convinced for the first few moments that she is seeing things, it’s all in her head, stress from caring for her mother in her last days mixed with those stories she never believed in, but it doesn’t take long to realise he’s very real. Her sororoity sisters and a couple of visiting boyfriends, fairly understandably, think their new friend is crazy, but not for long.

This cracks along at a fair old pace, from the set-up and introducing the new characters we get to the rebirth of the leprechaun himself pretty swiftly, which is good as that’s when the fun begins! Bad rhyming and black humour mixes with some inventive blood-letting as the leprechaun decides some killing – and finding his precious gold, of course – will help to regenerate his powers (he has some ‘performance’ issues with his first attempts after his incarceration).

Okay, you know this isn’t Shakespeare, but so too do the film-makers, and Kostanski delivers a decent mix of dark humour (including some nice touches like the leprechaun taking in the changes since he was last above ground, like mobile phones and selfies, or making fun on an electric car) with the gore and deaths (I won’t spoil them by describing any of them – sure, you can see them coming, but that’s part of the fun in this kind of flick), and ignoring the previous sequels and leading right on from events years before in the original is a good move, as are the nice touches linking the new film to its progenitor. Porco seems to be relishing the role, wicked grin through the grotesque make-up as he delivers blood and bad puns and rhymes, and there’s also a small but welcome sub-theme on gender empowerment.

This is a fun popcorn horror flick, and with Lionsgate releasing this in a double-pack with the original 1993 film this is a good Friday night double-bill slice of horror – set up the snacks and drinks and sit back and have some fun!

Blossoms in Autumn

Blossoms in Autumn,
Zidrou, Aimée de Jongh,
Translated by Matt Madden,
SelfMadeHero

This collaboration between Belgian writer Zidrou and Dutch creator Aimée de Jongh touches on a subject we don’t see all too often – love in later life. We open with Mediterranea, a lady of mature years, dealing with something that sadly we all have to as we get older – losing loved ones to old age. She’s by her mother’s bedside as she passes, and within just a few pages the deeply emotional tone of Blossoms in Autumn is very apparent. Despite having just met this character and being introduced to her world I found myself very moved, my empathy stirred. It has been a slow decline over months before her mother breathed her last breath, and as anyone who has seen a loved family member fighting the inevitable will know, this unleashes a strange mix of emotions – your desire to have them continue to live battling with the feeling that this only leads to prolonged suffering, it is better for them if they just went now (and the guilt for thinking that way) – that pushes you into a bizarre feeling of unreality and disconnection from the everyday world around you.

So this is retirement? This empty feeling…

This scene cuts to Ulysses, a removal truck driver, carefully tidying his van for the last time – the firm he has worked for over decades is downsizing, and he has been given early retirement. For some this might be a gift, more time to enjoy life after work, but his wife Penelope (yes, Ulysses and Penelope, he has heard all the jokes) passed away some years before. Of their two children only one remains, a doctor, married but with no children of his own, so Ulysses doesn’t even have the option of playing doting grandfather to any grand-kids in his old age. Faced with an empty home and a forced retirement that isn’t his choice, he too is facing a moment of unwanted change, perhaps not quite the same as Mediterranea’s loss of her mother, but still a huge, emotional wrench, bringing with it a form of loss and grief too.

Some word have a bite to them. They dart out from the middle of a sentence, like a viper from under a rock… and sink their fangs into your ankle a little deeper with every syllable.”

Mediterranea, still dazed from her mother’s passing, leaves the hospital to take the bus home, her brother’s words about her now being the oldest member of the family echoing in her head along with thoughts of her own age and mortality. De Jongh’s art perfectly captures that wretched dislocation you feel during grief, of trying to do something as mundane and everyday as get on the bus but your mind and spirit are a million miles from the body that goes through these routines, part of you almost unable to take in the fact that the regular world is still going on, the planet still turns, buses still run, people are getting on and off with their own lives to run, oblivious to the emotional bombshell which has just shattered you inside, while outside you still go through all the normal motions.

Aimée similarly crafts some beautifully-drawn scenes with Ulysses, trying to fill his now long, empty, lonely days. Sure there are little fun moments, like hanging with a regular group of fellow supporters of his small (and not very good) football team, cheering and booing, their faces going from triumph to anguish, the post-match drink and talk of how much better it was back in the day. But those are the exceptions and stand in contrast to most of his time, alone at home, or walking by himself in the park. The latter is subtly handled, the expressions and body language she gives to Ulysses passing two other older men chatting amiably on a park bench (why doesn’t he talk to people like that, join in?) or seeing parents playing with young children in the park speaking volumes.

Their paths cross in the waiting room of the local doctor’s office (his son’s office, in fact), and these two drifting souls start to chat, in the way you sometimes do to strangers, which leads Ulysses to decide he has nothing to lose and follow up by visiting Mediterranea at the business she inherited from her mother, a cheese shop. She is surprised but happy to see him again, and she enjoys his candour when he admits since meeting her in his son’s office he has walked past her shop several times already, trying to screw his courage to the sticking place before finally coming in. From this small beginning something rather wonderful begins to blossom, at a time of life when neither really expected any such thing.

There are a myriad of very fine touches throughout Autumn Blossoms, not least the superb translation work by Matt Madden. Translation, like editing, is often an almost invisible job – handled very well it is all to easy for the reader to forget that someone other than the writer and artist had a hand in the work they are reading. Good translation requires far more than a literal swapping of words from one language to another, it also requires the delicate interpretation by the translator of not just the words, but the meaning and style the original language writer is trying to convey, then writing something in English which will carry that meaning in as similar a fashion as possible. Madden’s translation work is quite excellent, carrying the deep emotional undertow of the book into English in an elegant and deeply satisfying manner.

Other lovely touches abound, such as Zidrou and de Jongh arranging crossover cuts from Mediterranea to Ulysses, like the opening scenes I described previously, slowly intertwining their lives, or later, once they are just starting to see each other he finds out that in her youth she was a model and even appeared in a famous magazine, naked. Ulysses finds a vintage copy of the magazine in an old shop, but when he gets home he finds himself troubled, his desire to see what Mediterranea looked like déshabillé in her youth fighting with a sense of unease, that it is unfair, perhaps almost cheating on the older Mediterranea to do so. This cross-cuts with Mediterranea herself, viewing her naked body in the mirror, musing on age, on how that pretty young model could now be in this older woman’s body. It’s a lovely bit of cross-cutting, and again it reinforces the intertwining of both of their stories into one, or the way another, happier change in their life is viewed through a change to a much softer pencilwork, almost sepia toned artwork.

There’s a lot more in this rich, deeply emotional and satisfying story, that handles romance but without ever being sugary or saccharine, instead remaining believable, and laced with some of that humour that just comes out of everyday life and situations in places. A beautiful, warm, joyful story, deftly handled by a writer, an artist and a translator at the top of their game.

The Accountant of Auschwitz

The Accountant of Auschwitz,
Directed by Matthew Shoychet

The Nuremberg Trials, which put many Nazis in the court for crimes against humanity, took place some three quarters of a century ago now, but the echoes of those trials, of the legal precedents they tried to establish (that those who committed horrendous crimes like genocide would be held accountable) and the vile deeds they sought to punish have echoed down through the twentieth and twenty-first century, as we’ve seen more and more genocidal slaughters such as Rwanda or the murderous “ethnic cleansing” in the former Yugoslavia (and the trials in the Hague that followed years later). When it comes to the almost unbelievable crimes of the Holocaust though, we are very nearly out of the range of living memory, fewer and fewer who were there (survivors or perpetrators) are with us each year.

As such it becomes all the more important that we have documentaries like the Accountant of Auschwitz, which records events around what may well be one of the last such trials of a Nazi for crimes committed during the Second World War, in this case a seemingly normal, frail old man, Oskar Gröning, the eponymous accountant. Looking at footage of this 94-year old man it is hard to picture him as the young man he once was, more than seventy years ago, let alone as a black-garbed officer of the SS working in one of the notorious death camps (one commentator noted seeing such a frail old man enter the court she felt sympathy. But then she recalled what he and his comrades had done, and that sympathy evaporated). But he did, and after a long, long time, justice finally reached out for Gröning.

Hate is a powerful weapon. And it was in the Second World War and it is today.”

Rainer Höss, anti-fascist activist and grandson of Rudolf Höss, commandant of Auschwitz told the film-makers, adding that the trial was important, not just to try and enact even belated justice, but to remind the newer generations of the horrors that went before and can happen again far too easily (we only need to look at the appalling rise in hate crimes in many countries to see how easily we can start down that road again). Höss also remarked that Gröning’s trial was important because it heard a lot of testimony not just from survivors of the camps, but from the perpetrator. When we have groups who wilfully ignore the huge amount of evidence and still try to claim there was no Holocaust, or that it was exaggerated, the importance of this becomes clear, and some credit must be given to Gröning himself who makes clear that yes, these things did happen, he was there in his SS uniform. And if he says that it is just that bit harder for the modern neo-Nazis to continue their Holocaust denial.

The film doesn’t just focus on this one trial, however, it attempts to place the proceedings into a much longer sequence of events, from the post-war Nuremberg trials to the quite shameful blind eye the new, post-war West German government turned to the many former Nazis who were allowed to go free and live a good life (indeed many ended up in charge of government, industry, the judiciary, so became the class that sets the rules and laws for such investigations and trials), and how the way the law was worded only allowed for very specific, hard to prove charges to be brought (such as a specific act of a specific person killing another during the Holocaust), which allowed many to escape any consequences for their actions.

There was also some element of collective guilt – how many fathers, uncles and grandfathers took part in these events? How much guilt by association does that create for the rest of the country trying to move on and rebuild? The few trials that did happen in Germany rarely convicted and those that did often gave remarkably lenient sentences (a soldier responsible for putting the Zyklon B gas into the fake shower rooms to gas victims to death got only three years). The Demjanjuk case, which some of you may remember from the news some years ago, helped to bring a change in the attitude in Germany. He was found guilty in an Israeli court where witnesses were sure he was “Ivan the Terrible”, but records found after the fall of the Berlin Wall revealed that he was not (although it transpired he had much other guilt, which he pretended ill-health to try and avoid answering for). Laws were altered to allow for trials that relied on more data and less on witness testimony (which had proven so unreliable in his case), and for those who may not have killed personally but were there supporting the whole process to also be held liable (such as Gröning, who rifled the belongings of those marked for death for valuables).

D-Day veteran Benjamin Ferencz is also interviewed – Ferencz was one of the chief prosecutors of the notorious Einsatzgruppen at the Nuremberg trials. They knew they could never hold every single person who contributed to the death camps to account – they numbered in the tens and hundreds of thousands, they would still be holding trials today, as Ferencz put it. Instead his idea was that they would set a legal precedent with the trials, to show that any country that committed such horrible acts would, sooner or later, be brought to justice and individuals responsible would face trial and judgement. The idea was not just to punish these vile crimes but to put fear into future evil-doers that they would always, sooner or later, be brought to account for their disgusting, inhuman actions (think of the vile Ratko Mladić finally brought to trial in the Hague).

Vengeance is not our goal, nor do we seek merely a just retribution. We ask this court to affirm, by international penal action, man’s right to live in peace and dignity.

Ferencz spoke these words at the opening of the Nuremberg trials, and the film-makers cut between this now frail, elderly but still strongly motivated man discussing his role and starting to recite his opening speech, which cuts to the archive footage of him in the courtroom in the 1940s, a nice touch. Alan Dershowitz, a former special prosecutor at the US Department of Justice who was involved in modern trials of historic war criminals, also gives some legal, historical and moral context to the trial of Gröning.

The trial itself is fascinating but also, as you can imagine, disturbing – some testimony is beyond comprehension, such as the cold-blooded murder of an infant in front of the mother, something Gröning witnessed a comrade do. I imagine most viewers will realise this horrific details is unavoidable, given the subject matter, but as with the powerful Night Will Fall documentary a couple of years ago (reviewed here), despite that I still commend viewing to people, because, dammit, we’re still seeing the sort of raw hatred of those judged to be “different” and where it leads, and we really, really need to be reminded of it, to learn from it.

The testimony of those who were there, whose ranks thin further each year, is vital, but also the film’s placing the events and their impact into legal and moral context for modern society, and, importantly, for future generations (and possible future perpetrators of such horrors) is extremely important, not only in making sense of it all, but in reminding us that we all, collectively, have to try to learn, to be better, and if and when some of us fail that others can and will deliver justice on them.

The Accountant of Auschwitz is released on DVD and Digital by Signature Entertainment from Monday 15th April

The Hod King

The Hod King,
Josiah Bancroft,
Orbit Books,

(cover art by Leino)

I described the first of Bancroft’s remarkable Books of Babel series, Senlin Ascends, as “an engrossing, intoxicating delight”, back in 2017. Now into its third volume (of a projected four, I believe), I stand by that description. There can sometimes be a tendency for series to flag slightly in the middle volumes, but both this new third volume, The Hod King, and the previous tome, Arm of the Sphinx, have been, for my money, even better than the first book. I confess, I am smitten with this series, its main cast – poor rural headmaster turned reluctant adventurer Tom Senlin, his missing wife Marya, the irrepressible Voleta, the strong, determined Edith, the mighty yet surprisingly tender-hearted warrior Iren – and its astonishing setting, no less than the Tower of Babel itself, each massive round floor its own “ringdom”, the mysterious upper levels lost in clouds, the original builders and the maintainer – the Sphinx – now almost legend and myth.

Having encountered the mysterious Sphinx in the previous book and finding that person to be far from a myth, our reluctant adventurers are now sent forth on new business – Tom, having overcome his accidental drug addiction, is removed from his former crew and sent ahead to the ringdom of Pelphia, where the missing wife he has been seeking to find and rescue is now known to be living (married to a noble of the ringdom and apparently content, her old life and husband forgotten). He has strict instructions to carry out business as a spy for the Sphinx, although it is made clear to him his personal goal of communicating with his wife, to see if she is truly happy in her new life or wishes to be spirited away, will be supported later by the Sphinx. Naturally Tom gets himself into all sorts of trouble fairly early on – we would expect no less! The question arises, however, when he goes off-mission, is he really breaking the Sphinx’s commandments, or is he merely doing exactly what the Sphinx expected and planned for him to do?

The rest of the crew returns to airship life, although not their tatty old ship, but the fully updated and restored flagship of the Sphinx, the State of the Art (I did wonder if that was a nod to Iain Banks?), with Edith, now fitted with a new “engine” by the Sphinx (a mechanical arm, making her one of the Sphinx’s “Wakemen”, a group of augmented beings spread through the ringdoms and, nominally at least, agents of the Sphinx), becoming captain, much to the approval of the rest of the group. They are to tour the ringdoms, to show off the gleaming, powerful ship as a form of diplomatic gun-boating (behold the power of the Sphinx) and they are to dock at Pelphia, where Voleta will be passed off as an aristocratic lady to this pompous society, in an attempt to contact Marya while also obtaining items the Sphinx requires.

Of course, no plans survive contact with the enemy, and it isn’t long before both strands of this two-pronged tale, Tom’s trials and Edith with the airship crew, start to unravel, forcing them to adapt to often brutal changes or perish. And then, behind the scenes – almost literally, in access shafts and trails hidden behind the walls of the ringdoms – there is another plot brewing, Luc Marat and his army of zealot Hods we encountered in book two have more going on than anyone, even the Sphinx, suspected, and who is the Hod King they acclaim in secret, away from the free people of the ringdoms? There’s a real sense of a mighty storm brewing here, of conflicting forces that have been hidden for many years about to erupt, which may dictate the future of all the people in all of the ringdoms of the Tower, or even, perhaps, if there will still be a Tower…

They’ll say no, no, no, women are weak. They’re foolish. They need looking after and direction. But I think deep down they can’t forget they came out of a woman, were nursed by a woman, and had their little minds sculpted by one as well. When they grow up, just the thought if it makes them uneasy. But rather than face their fear, they look for ways to dominate and possess us, to create proof we are weak and they are strong. I’ll tell you this: the harder a man brags about his thunderous escapades in the lady’s boudoir, the more frightened he is...”

This growing urgency in the narrative goes hand in hand with strong development and growth of the main characters (the huge, powerful warrior woman Iren is especially nicely handled), in a way I found most satisfying. As with the first two volume though, the intriguing characters (who I have totally fallen for) and increasingly complex conspiracies and plots, while a delight, are only a part of the pleasure of Bancroft’s writing – his way with words, his assured, lyrical descriptive passages (he was a poet before he was a novelist, and it shows in his beautiful way with words), and the mischievous sense of humour, and some nice gender moments (he has some very formidable female characters, often far more capable than the men, as the themselves note), all combine to make this one of the best forms of books – the type you can totally lose yourself in.

This review was originally penned for The Shoreline of Infinity, Scotland’s leading journal of Science Fiction

The first of the Books of Babel, Senlin Ascends, is reviewed here, and the second volume (Arm of the Sphinx), is reviewed here on the blog.

Thin Air

Thin Air,
Richard Morgan,
Gollancz

Welcome to Mars, soak.

For the first time in several years, and the first time since the well-received Netflix adaptation of his debut Altered Carbon, Richard Morgan returns to science fiction and, I am glad to report, delivers everything a Morgan fan could want. Since that powerhouse debut years back Morgan has enjoyed – relished, in fact – bringing a Hammett or Chandler-esque Noir quality to his science fiction, and with Hakan Veil, a disgraced former gene-tweaked deadly enforced for a mega corporation, dumped on the Martian colony and making a living anyway he can, he continues that tradition, mixed rather interestingly with elements of the classic Western in this High Frontier colony, but also suffused with a burningly angry take on unchecked market forces and runaway corporate capitalism, the vast inequalities it creates, the needless, grinding poverty and anger, and those who exploit it, on all sides of the political spectrum, from the holier than thou supposed revolutionaries to the oily “man of the people” governor in his superbling mansion (with more than a passing comparison to several contemporary politicians of our troubled times).

The details of the everyday life and troubles, from the disgruntled and often corrupt (some more so than others) cops and politicians in the vast colony city in the great trench of the Valles Marineris (crudely referred to by locals as “The Gash”) and gangs to the everyday colonists – many of whom, being several generations into Mars life, don’t see themselves as a colony any longer, they see themselves as Martians, and bridle at the oversight by Earth authorities (a fact played on by various political operators on Mars). And with an oversight committee coming into town from Earth, feelings are running high – some see it as an overdue accounting to hold the corrupt governor and local authorities to rights, others see it as outside influence in Martian affairs. And some suspect there is far more going on in the shadows than a simple audit and rooting out of corruption (shades of the current corruption crackdown in China), that there may be deeper, more sinister motivations behind the entire enterprise.

Freshly sprung from Bradbury police’s jail, police officer Nikki reluctantly hires Hakan, still “running hot” (his genetic tweaks include a hibernation cycle, from which he awakens sharp and ready for violence, a handy thing for his former employer who may have had him on ice on a ship sent out for months to intercept another ship and needed their people to come awake instantly and at full tilt), to be a minder to a junior member of the Earth oversight committee, Madekwe. She seems curiously compelled to investigate a minor missing persons case from several years before, out on the much rougher uplands (think the Wild West of Mars, complete with a Marshall service trying to maintain a rough law and order), and Hakan, while agreeing to take the job on, is left wondering what she is really looking for.

To discuss the plot any further would lead to spoilers, and besides, as with Raymond Chandler, the plot, which satisfyingly twists and loops around in conspiracies, political and economic intrigues and sheer bloody violence and double-crosses, is only part of the enjoyment here, much of the satisfaction also comes from the way Morgan tells the story. Like Chandler he has a gift for descriptive flair which manages to be both hard-boiled yet elegant and evocative. As with most of his previous works Morgan delivers some remarkable – and often very violent and bloody – action scenes, and yet this is no mere action-thriller, even the violence has a subtextual layer to it, from the political to the personal levels. And the view of life in the colony for the many is no mere adornment for background colour, there’s a feeling of authenticity, of a real community, of real people struggling to get by, and great empathy for the situation created by those at the top of the heap, over which the many have little control, despite the illusion of elections, and they all know it.

Despite the length this is a tight, fast-paced, high-octane read, with intelligent use of action mixed with some fine science fiction elements, adorned with colourful clothes from the Noir and Western genres for added atmosphere, unafraid to offer us main characters who are not heroic and commit questionable (or downright awful) acts, and yet beneath the powerful action segments, beneath the science fiction of a future Mars and genetically enhanced trained corporate killers, as with most of Morgan’s work it is about fallible, flawed people in a bad situation, trying to get through situations they didn’t ask for.

This review was originally penned for Shoreline of Infinity, Scotland’s leading journal of science fiction

Submergence

Submergence,
Directed by Wim Wenders,
Starring Alicia Vikander, James McAvoy, Hakeemshady Mohamed, Alexander Siddig

Submergence, based on the novel by J.M Ledgard, has what on paper sounds like a straightforward plot structure – two people, Danielle Flinders (Alicia Vikander), a scientist exploring the deepest parts of the ocean for life, meets James More (James McAvoy), a former Scottish soldier turned water engineer, both taking a break in a beautiful Normandy hotel before their next missions, she off to sea on the research vessel L’Atalante (a nod to the famous film of the same name, I would imagine), and he to Africa for a new water project. After some playful banter the two start to fall for each other, Danny at first reluctant, mostly married to her research, but drawn to James, with what could have been a brief, happy fling flowering into something far deeper. And then they are pulled apart to go their ways, but both now eager to meet once more, to develop their relationship further.

Except that while James did tell Danny he was a former soldier turned engineer, he didn’t tell her that his water engineer life is a cover for spy work for British intelligence, and he’s not going to dig wells in Kenya, but to Somalia, where he is soon taken prisoner by Jihadist terrorists. The film cuts back and forth between James, held prisoner in Africa, and Danny at sea, James clinging to warm memories of her face, her voice, her touch and dreaming of seeing her again, Danny, oblivious to his plight is growing increasingly anxious about not being able to contact him on his phone, their thoughts and dreams cross-connecting the two strands of their stories as they are separated.

As I said, the lovers brought together then pushed apart by fate is a fairly simple narrative device, but veteran director Wenders is not noted for sticking to the plain and simple – I must confess I have a huge admiration for his work such as Paris, Texas, Until the End of the World and, of course, the achingly beautiful Wings of Desire. And I appreciate that he rarely takes the obvious path, although I think perhaps this film is less unusual than many of his other works, in some way more straightforward and accessible to the non-Wenders initiate than some of his earlier films.

It is, unsurprisingly for one of Wenders’ movies, beautifully shot, be it the Normandy coast, the landscapes of Africa, the open ocean or the deepest, darkest places of the vast oceans. Even the prison cell takes on a strange beauty and symbolism – dark save for one shaft of light from a window high, high above, reached by a sloping shaft, it echoes Danny’s descent into the lightless ocean floor, and James finds himself musing about how he too has found himself in his own deep abyss, just like his lover. Orpheus and Eurydice, perhaps, except here it is Orpheus who is lost in the gloom of the Underworld.

I did have some issues with the film though – some of the dialogue felt rather stilted, something that should have been worked out better in rehearsals and editing, I feel, and for such a career-driven person it sometimes felt a little off that Danny becomes so emotionally churned up from not being able to contact James and wondering why he won’t reply to her. But I mostly forgive the film the flaws, because it is, as always with Wenders, a beautiful piece of work to watch, the gorgeous cinematography matched by having two very attractive actors in the lead roles, the music (by Fernando Velazquez) is wonderfully atmospheric, and a luscious compliment to Wenders’ rich visual tapestry. It’s an unusual love story, mixed with elements of the spy thriller, exploration and environmental change, with two gifted and very beautiful stars and luscious cinematography. While not ranking with Wenders’ best, this is still worthy of a couple of hours of your time. And let’s be honest, if you are already a Wenders fan, you know you’re going to have to see it, just because it is by Wenders…

Submergence is available from Lionsgate on digital download from March 4th, and on Blu-Ray and DVD from March 11th

Red Moon

Red Mars,
Kim Stanley Robinson,
Orbit Books

(cover design by Lauren Panepinto, art by Arcangel Images)

I’ll confess right away to being biased here: I think Kim Stanley Robinson is one of our consistently most thought-provoking and intelligent science fiction writers we have working today, and any new work from his pen is most welcome. In Red Moon we’re roughly three decades into the future, with well-established Moon bases – numerous nations have a presence, from Brazil to Britain, the Americans, the Russians, but the biggest player by a Lunar mile is China. Robinson imagine the vast monetary surpluses China already has today, much of which is invested in gigantic infrastructure projects, and plays that out on the astronomical scale with huge investment in colonising and exploiting the Moon. Among the various nation states there are also freebooting prospectors, 49ers in spacesuits and Lunar rovers and a form of free town, a domed settlement run on co-operative lines where the architecture takes advantage of the lower gravity (humans leaping and swinging from structure to structure like orang-utans).

American Fred Fredericks works for a Swiss technology firm, tasked with taking a special communications device to a customer, a senior Chinese official on the Moon. The device is quantum-entangled, it will only talk to its paired device back on Earth and is pretty much un-hackable. On the shuttle to the Lunar surface Fred meets a fellow traveller Robinson fans will remember fondly from Antarctica, Ta Shu, now quite elderly but still up for exploring a new destination for his much-loved travel shows. Ta Shu takes a shine to the awkward Fred (who is better with systems than people, it’s hinted that perhaps he is on the Spectrum), and when his young friend finds himself mixed up in a mysterious assassination of a Chinese official (which almost kills Fred as well), he does his best to help, which draws him into the orbit of Chan Qi, daughter of a high party official, who needs to get off the moon quickly after breaking the rules big time – she’s heavily pregnant.

Ta Shu, Fred and Chan Qi find themselves soon treading through a labyrinth of conflicting ideologies and movements, some local, grass-roots (Qi is involved with a people power movement across China), some internal party politics (leader succession time beckons and different groups want a different direction for China), and global conspiracies (America is even more in debt to China than it is today, but trying to compete and play the Great Game against a backdrop of economic chaos at home). It’s an incredibly rich stew of the political, economic and scientific, but as with his previous works Robinson is good at ensuring there is always a personal level here that isn’t overwhelmed by the events going on around the characters.

These are characters you come to love – the brave but brittle and testy Chan Qi, the awkward but trying his best Fred, and, for me most especially Ta Shu. There are some beautiful little emotional moments, such as Ta Shu meeting an old friend, who takes him to the best spot to watch the Earth Rise above the Lunar surface, after which the two old gentlemen, in the traditional, refined Chinese manner, each compose a poem for the moment. Fred forced into close contact with Qi for a long period on the run, has to deal with his problems in interacting with others, while Qi is slowly forced to realise that individual friendship is as important as the Great Cause she is fighting for.

Robinson, as he often does, uses his future fiction to address many of the ills of today’s world – the vast economic inequality (both individual and national level), the importance of equal rights for all, the problems of mass, illegal migration (although of a different type from what you may think), and weaves in an environmental aspect to it all. Red Moon also echoes his much earlier Antarctica novel (written after Robinson himself travelled there, part of a writer and artist’s programme by the National Science Foundation), not just in having Ta Shu, but also echoes its feel in some places, the Lunar colonies reminiscent of the scientific bases on Antarctica, the stark, barren beauty of the landscape also evoked by the Lunar surface. But at its heart this is less about the science or the politics but the people involved, and that is what makes it so compelling.

This review was originally penned for The Shoreline of Infinity, Scotland’s leading journal of Science Fiction

Guantánamo Kid

Guantánamo Kid: The True Story of Mohammed El-Gharani
Jérôme Tubiana and Alexandre Franc
SelfMadeHero

Life in the insanely oil-rich kingdom of Saudi Arabia may be great, if you are rich and male and Saudi. If you are a teenage Muslim boy from Chad, though, you’re part of the large underclass that carries out many of the day to day jobs that keep that rich country going, and you’re unlikely to even get into school (“is he Saudi? Oh, sorry, the school is full”), so your chances to try and improve yourself and so hopefully improve your lot in life are somewhat limited. And this is how we meet young Mohammed El-Gharani, hustling his day job on the baking hot streets, selling items to passing cars with his Pakistani pal Ali (names, as you can appreciate, have often been changed here to protect people), in-between chatting about what they can do to make things better for themselves.

Ali comments that Mohammed is good at learning languages, he could get better work if he learns English. Mohammed recalls an older friend who struggles to get competent workers to staff his small computer repair service, and how he’d like to try that, if he could learn (Franc shows this in a lovely, simple cartoon fashion – a sweltering, sweating Mohammed selling his wares under the blazing sun next to the dream version sitting at a desk indoors with air-conditioning as he works). Ali has a relative back in Pakistan who may be able to help – he teaches IT work and he can build his English lessons while he is there, they will be happy to put him up while he learns, before returning to Saudi.

It is a well-meant gesture from a good friend, trying to help his buddy, but it will change Mohammed’s life in a way neither could have imagined. Mohammed will find himself in the wrong place, at the wrong time, after a good start learning in Pakistan (after overcoming all the obstacles to get there – the Saudis less than helpful attitude to anyone not Saudi regarding travel papers, his own family’s reluctance, money), a nice, happy time for this young man, finally feeling that he is seeing something of the world and improving himself.

Until, one day, the security forces simply arrest a bunch of people coming from the local mosque. Of course, the fact that the CIA was paying several thousand dollars for each “terrorist” suspect they hand over in no way influenced the Pakistani security forces at all, honest…

Despite being fellow Muslims, the security personnel here treat him and others abominably, beating and torture are the norm, and this is just the start; this is before he is even handed over to American agents, and finally flown hooded and manacled to Camp X-Ray in the now infamous Guantánamo.

Mohammed is in a no-win situation here, nothing he can say or do will change the mind of the obsessed investigators and interrogators – they start by assuming he must be a seasoned terrorist, I mean, why else would he be here?

“We have files on you going right back to the early 1990s when you were part of a terror sleeper cell in London!”

Um, hold on, Mohammed replies, I am fourteen, and back then I had never been outside Saudi and would only be about six years of age.

You’d think at this point the Americans would realise they had just had any old person passed on to them for money, clearly this intel is totally wrong. How could a fourteen year old boy who had never left the country before have been an active terror cell member on a different continent when he was six? Naturally the US intelligence officers realise their mistake, apologise profusely to the young boy and send him home with a handsome amount of compensation.

No, of course they don’t. They just keep asking him how he knows Osama Bin Laden, when he was active in Afghanistan and subjecting him and the other inmates to a continual regime of the too hot or too cold treatment, no food, or very poor food, abuse, beatings, even petty acts like spitting on his Koran (I’m not fond of any religion, but treating someone’s holy book like that just horrible and pathetic).

Mohammed may only be a wee, skinny lad, but he doesn’t like bullies, and he finds ways to fight back, sometimes metaphorically – singing that annoys the guards, he and other inmates shouting together, “dirty” protests (shades of A Sense of Freedom, except Boyle actually was guilty), and sometimes literally fighting back, physically attacking the guards. You may think the latter just makes his life harder, but when you are innocent, railroaded and abused, I think it’s fair to say many of us would find any way we had of hitting back at our tormentors.

This isn’t all suffering though, despite the subject matter, Tubiana and Franc do a lot to give us an impression of a real person – a young boy, full of dreams for his life ahead of him – suddenly snatched away and plunged into a nightmare not of his own making, over which the only control he can summon is resistance. We see his bonding with some of the other inmates, many of whom clearly have a soft spot for such a youngster dragged into this wretched morass, and their support helps his morale, some teach him bits and pieces, while some of the marines guarding the prisoners are not happy about the situation either and try to perform small acts of kindness to inmates like Mohammed, knowing he is innocent. (The African American soldiers seem especially sympathetic, not least when they see the racist abuse some other soldiers heap on the prisoners).

There are even moments of humour – as some CIA agents grill him, shouting “you fucker!” at him, he notes “thanks to the lessons, I already knew some English words. The Americans taught me the F-word…”

Guantánamo Kid takes us through the years of this young boy incarcerated in the camp, his suffering, his learning of very hard lessons, but also some small, sweet moments of triumph that keep him and his fellows going when it feels like all the world has forgotten them. Importantly, we also follow Mohammed after he is cleared and released, and how despite being found innocent he’s left with the stigma of having been a Guantánamo prisoner following him around, as he tries to rebuild his life and again tries to think, just like when he was fourteen on the streets of Saudi, how to better his life.

The book includes a postscript in prose by Tubiana, where he relates meeting Mohammed and learning his story, and his current status as of 2018.

If Guantánamo Kid was a fictional narrative it would be compelling enough, but knowing this is based on real events, and real events that were inflicted on a child, a fourteen year old boy who had harmed no-one (and that he was continually harmed even after it was so evidently clear he wasn’t what they claimed he was even in their own faulty intel), it has a lot of power. Few things can ignite anger more than burning injustice and bullying, and levelling those at a child is a thousand times worse.

But despite all of that, as I said, there are moments of humour and lightness here too, there are moments that will make you smile, and many that will leave you furious with anger, and, dammit, you should be angry.

World on a Wire

World on a Wire (Welt am Draht),
Directed by Rainer Werner Fassbinder,
Starring Klaus Löwitsch, Barbara Valentin, Mascha Rabben, Karl Heinz Vosgerau, Wolfgang Schenck
Second Sight Films

The world in a nutshell...”

Here’s a remarkably unusual 1973 film by famous (and often infamous to some) film-maker Fassbinder, an intriguing slice of science fiction that’s very much ahead of its time. Based on the novel Simulacron-3 by Daniel F. Galouye, this German language film (originally made for television and shown in two parts), a production I’ve heard mention in discussions about science fiction history, but never seen. World on a Wire (Welt am Draht, to give it its original title). The German government (or the West German government as it would have been back then) funds a cybernetics research programme which has developed a next-generation computer, which they intend to use to model events and trends in society.

That may sound fairly normal to our modern-day sensibilities, given organisations and governments have used detailed data on computers to run predictions, trends and modelling to help predict what resources may be required in the future – are birth trends indicating we will need more schools and teachers in a few years, for instance. Simulacron, however, is indeed some next-generation level modelling – this computer has created a virtual world, a small town of around ten thousand digital inhabitants (“identity units” as the programmers refer to them), all effectively living their lives, the programmers able to observe them, tweak their personalities and world. Modelling the real world, combined with some unusual anthropology.

The programme is a high priority for the government, but hits a stumbling block when the main creator, Vollmer, dies in mysterious circumstances (is it an accident or something more sinister?), his friend Dr Stiller (Klaus Löwitsch) is asked to take over the project, reluctant at first but soon persuaded by the oily Siskins (Karl Heinz Vosgerau). It’s just the start of his problems though – a a party hosted by Siskins his friend Günther Lause (Ivan Desny), the head of the project’s security vanishes, just after talking to Stiller about his misgivings about Vollmer’s death not being an accident. And I mean vanishes – one minute he is there in a chair in the middle of the crowded room at the party, Stiller turns away for something, turns back and he is gone.

It becomes increasingly peculiar after this – Stiller reports Lause’s disappearance to the company and the police, but only a few days later nobody even remember the man existed, and he is introduced to another man who is the head of security, and has been for years. Even the police detective he reported it to has no memory of Lause or of Stiller telling him of his disappearance. His regular secretary takes ill and is moved away, to be replaced by a new assistant appointed by Siskins, played by Barbara Valentin (one time paramour of Freddie Mercury), and he can’t help but feel despite her being very friendly to him, that she is perhaps there to keep an eye on him.

As he continues to investigate the death and disappearance while working on the Simulacron project, Stiller becomes increasingly agitated and disturbed – he has himself linked into the simulation, effectively riding one of the virtual people’s lives, to observe, but while there the entire street blanks out on him several times. A glitch or something else? A colleague discusses the “reality” of the virtual lives lived in the simulation, commenting on how Vollmer spent so long programming every aspect of humanity into them, wondering if it could create something akin to actual consciousness. And then he finds a record of Lause – not by name in the database, but by searching through descriptions, there he is in the Simulacron database, programmed by the deceased Vollmer himself.

This is a real slow-build into a series of increasingly disturbing concepts (it’s over three hours, you can see why it aired over two evenings, originally!) – Stiller starts to lose his grip on what reality could be. Is he the puppet master, the god of this virtual construction and the digital lives within, or is he another puppet, but a puppet who is starting to see some of the strings? Is he even real? He is so sure at the beginning that he is in the real world, crafting Simulacron, but as the discrepancies pile up he starts to wonder if the digital beings from Simulacron are somehow crossing over to the real world, taking over the bodies of the programmers who enter the simulation. Or is it even more complex, can he be sure he is the one running the simulation? What if he himself is in a simulation (and running a simulation?). It sounds like psychotic delusion, but really, how do any of us know, much less prove, that the world we see around us is real?

Bear in mind this is some three decades before the Matrix introduced the wider cinematic audience to concepts like this, this is pretty high concept for 1973, and really it’s still high concept today, in my opinion, because it is a great piece of drama laced with philosophy, and that philosophical question about the nature of reality and perception is, as the Matrix and others have shown, still one which perplexes us to this day, and is the subject of scientific debate too as our computing abilities become ever more powerful, it is a legitimate question to consider if a more advanced species could be running what we perceive as the real world and our lives as a vast simulation. How would we know? Imagine if that thought got into your head as it does with Stiller, how would it affect you? Would anything matter anymore if you thought none of it was real?

I can’t be alone in thinking nothing really exists.”

 

While the concepts are both disturbing and perplexing, the visuals are highly stylised – many of the actors move in a very unnatural manner, posed in scenes almost like carefully arranged mannequins in a display, many conversations are shot with one actor reflected in a shiny surface or through a distorted lens, scenes are framed in non-realistic ways (one actor on top of the stairs talks to someone below rather than walk down to talk to them as you’d expect). At first I thought this was mostly Fassbinder choosing a deliberate, non-natural style of acting and framing for his cast, but as the film goes on I started to feel perhaps it wasn’t just a style but a deliberate move to create a feeling of wrongness, that the people and places simply aren’t quite real, and it does add to the increasing sense of disconnection and confusion Stiller is experiencing.

This is a very unusual, thought-heavy slice of 70s science fiction, and while the look – many of the offices are designed to look ultra-modern, except what was ultra-modern in 1973 looks unbelievably kitschy and dated now – has not aged well, the concepts and the depiction of a man losing his grip on reality, and perhaps even discovering that there is no reality, remains very powerful and compelling, even in our post-Matrix world (the film even boasts a scene where Stiller exits Simulacron via a phone booth – sound familiar??). Here is a remarkable piece of German film and science fiction history by a major cinematic figure, lovingly restored by Second Sight, collaborating with the Fassbinder Foundation, and being issued in a limited edition packed with extras (featurettes, interviews, documentary, booklet and more), this has clearly been designed for the serious lover of cinema.

The limited edition Blu-Ray of World on a Wire is released on February 18th.

Ether returns

Ether #2,
Matt Garvey and Dizevez

I was hugely impressed with the first issue of Garvey and Dizeves’s Ether (reviewed here), an unusual Indy superhero tale that started out looking like a lot of other similar tales (right down to a suited, masked vigilante character who at first is very reminiscent of Watchmen’s Rorschach), only to then blind-side me with a twist I wasn’t expecting, and making me realised Garvey and Dizevez has quite deliberately set the first few pages up to look like previous comics to lull the reader into one direction then hit them side-on. It was, for me anyway, a very effective method. And it was a twist I simply couldn’t mention when I reviewed that first issue because it would have involved a major spoiler which came after the mask came off – frustrating as I really wanted to mention it, but knew I couldn’t! Well I am giving fair warning here that in order to talk about the second issue I’ll be mentioning some of that twist from the first issue – so if you haven’t read it yet and don’t want to know in advance, just take my word for it that these are bloody good comics and well worth your time and support, for everyone else the review continues below!

Our masked vigilante seemed very Rorschach for much of the first issue, a feared figure by the underworld, the police not exactly happy with those activities either (a world-weary detective at a horrendous crime scene – a child killing – points out he should have his officers arrest Ether). It was only in the last few pages that the mask was pulled away – literally, as our hero/anti-hero returns home after a very long, disturbing and violent night, removing the mask and suit to reveal a slim, androgynous woman greeting her girlfriend. I really hadn’t expected this, not just the gender (perhaps me showing a gender bias in that I simply expected it was indeed a man under the mask and sharp suit) but also the humanisation of Ether, or Sophie as we now know her to be. This is where she diverged sharply from that Rorschach-like vigilante writer and artist had lead us to believe she was – yes, she is clearly damaged by something to do what she does, but she shows far more emotional, human depth than the single-minded Kovacs.

In fact I think the humanity on display through the first issue was one of the aspects of Ether I found most appealing, and that applied to smaller characters like the weary police detective as well as the main protagonist, and it gave the whole thing much more emotional impact than I had been expecting. That emotional element continues right from the opening of the second issue, with the Morning After The Night Before – Ether has swapped her sharp vigilante suit and mask for a brighter but equally sharp business suit (no mask, or as with many superheroes, perhaps the mask is their real face and the face itself is a mask?), and is acting like nothing has happened.

Meanwhile her girlfriend Rubi is clearly upset, slumped over the breakfast table (some fine body language in Dizevez’s art conveying her emotions without words), as Sophie is all breezy, ready for the regular work day and pretty much oblivious at first to Rubi’s feelings, until she finally realises how upset she is, how frightened of this other vigilante life Sophie is leading, how dangerous it is. It’s a short but beautifully-handled scene – how would we feel if the love of our life was secretly risking their lives night after night? How would we feel if we knew that no matter how much they cared for us they simply wouldn’t walk away from that dangerous life? Garvey and Dizevez take that emotional aspect I loved in the first issue and ramp it up here.

There’s a lot more here, layers and conspiracies behind the crimes Ether is investigating, with the promise of more to come (some of it nicely riffing on current events, some of it hinting at some dark events from previous decades that the Establishment covered up so shamelessly for years), and some more gut-punching emotional moments too, but I just can’t go into those without risking spoilers. Suffice to say the first issue took me by (delighted) surprise, and I have been looking forward to the next instalment for too long, but when it did come, oh boy, it hit all the right buttons for me in terms of character, story and emotion. Dizevez’s art is again impressive – I love his depiction of Sophie (sans mask), this almost angelic, androgynous woman who looks like Tilda Swinton and David Bowie had a baby together, and again there are some lovely small touches, like Sophie on the packed Tube, ensuring an oblivious bloke doesn’t just take the last seat when a pregnant woman is standing (not all heroic acts are huge or committed by masks at night).

Emotional depth, a story that is developing more complexity with hints of more to come, lovely attention to small details and beautiful artwork that handles the domestic, personal, intimate moments as well as it does the vigilante superhero elements, really, what more can you ask for?

Ether is available from Matt Garvey’s Big Cartel online shop now

The Boys in the Band

The Boys in the Band,
Directed by William Friedkin,
Starring Kenneth Nelson, Robert La Tourneaux, Frederick Combs, Cliff Gorman, Laurence Luckinbill, Keith Prentice, Peter White, Reuben Greene, Leonard Frey

If there’s on thing I’m not ready for it’s five screaming queens singing ‘happy birthday’.”

Here’s an unusual slice of cinematic history for film fans: an early work from a director who would go on to be one of the major American helmers, William Friedkin (The French Connection, The Exorcist). The Boys in the Band also stands out as one of the first mainstream movies about gay culture, with an all-gay cast of actors, still not exactly a regular occurrence today, remarkable for 1970. Adapted from Mart Crowley’s hit Broadway play (Crowley adapted it for a screenplay himself), it also boasts the original stage cast. The film was, unsurprisingly, controversial at the time (and since), not just with more conservative audiences uncomfortable with gay culture being so openly displayed, it also split some of the gay community, with some angry at the way it portrayed gay men, others were delighted to see gay lives being portrayed on the big screen.

The plot revolves around a birthday party for Harold, one of a circle of friends, all gay men in New York, with Michael (Kenneth Nelson) setting up his apartment for the party and welcoming his other friends who arrive one by one. Birthday boy Harold is the last to arrive, fashionably late (one can’t help but feel deliberately so, especially given his prickly character), and a good bit of the running time actually passes with the friends exchanging gossip and small talk, mixed with barbed comments, until he arrives. Despite being a circle of friends it is clear there are a lot of cracks and a lot of tension in this group too, and those are heightened by Michael’s straight friend Alan appearing during the party (he has known Michael since college and doesn’t know – or claims not to know – that Michael is gay).

And Harold arrives. Harold the thirty-something gay Jewish man in his green velvet suit and tinted glasses, a tongue barbed like a rose bush and with a dry, often cruel wit that’s like Oscar Wilde lines shaped into a rapier, perhaps the one person in the group who has an even sharper (and oft-times nastier) wit than Michael, and he takes savage delight in reminding him of that fact as the evening progresses. The party passes through stages rapidly, from a happy period as they prepare for the evening (comments are exchanged, but they feel like banter rather than nasty at this stage), then it starts to become uncomfortable with Alan’s arrival, then when Harold appears the comments become sharper, nastier, confessions come, arguments, secrets revealed.

In many ways the film shows its theatrical roots – the vast bulk of it is all set in Michael’s apartment, and you can see how that worked well for a stage performance. The thing is that apartment is essentially a crucible in which the different friends and their simmering passions and resentments can come to the boil, there is no need to open it out to other locations that cinema can use, and it is to Friedkin’s credit that he understands this and resists any attempt to insert unnecessary settings or imagery, he shoots around the apartment and the cast, putting us right in there with them.

It can be argued that despite the all-gay cast the film (and play) suffer from having too many stereotypes (the sashaying overly effeminate one, the straight acting one, the super promiscuous one, the gorgeous but dumb one etc), and while there is some truth to this, as Mark Gatis notes in one of the disc’s extras this was one of the first times these types were shown so prominently in mainstream cinema (Gatis is interviewed in the extras as he is acting in a revival of the play), and as he further points out, those characters aren’t claiming to represent every different kind of gay person, but they do make a good selection to try and shine a light into a group that hadn’t been featured much outside of underground cinema till then. And of course this pre-dates the awful horror of the AIDS crisis a decade or so later, and even pre-dates the events of Stonewall, and we have to take it in that context.

Those barbed one-liners and comments are one of the jewel’s of Crowley’s script, they flow pretty much from the start – Michael showing Donald to the guest room, pointing out he got him his own toothbrush as he’s sick of Donald borrowing his. “How do you think I feel?” retorts Donald. “Oh, you’ve had worse things than that in your mouth…,” replies Michael, archly. Or Michael commenting about “tired fairies” and “screaming queens” at the party night, Donald asks good-humouredly “Are you calling me a screaming queen of a tired fairy?” “Oh I beg your pardon, there will be six tired screaming fairy queens and one anxious queer,” responds Michael.

The lines just keep flowing like that and had me smiling and laughing at their tartness, but as the party goes on the comments become increasingly cutting and painful, it almost seems like they hate each other (in one very emotional scene Michael sobs that they have to learn to stop hating themselves so much), and yet… And yet there is far more going on here; while those vicious, bitchy lines escalate from nasty barbs to poisonous harpoons there is also a feeling that they are all still connected, still friends, that they need each other, that they can only be this dysfunctional around each other in a way they can’t in the rest of society (and isn’t that the case with many of us and our friends? Only around them can we really be that vulnerable or wrong-headed and yet still be accepted). Each of them exposes their weaknesses and wishes, and for me that took them past any “stereotyping” and made them real people that I could emote with and empathise with.

This is a delight of sharp-toothed wit, a rare early mainstream cinematic exploration of queer culture and lives, and an important entry on the film-roll of a major director (Friedkin says that it is one of his films he is still very proud of), and for all those reasons it’s great that Second Sight are bringing it back to film lovers. You’ll find yourself saving some of those biting one-liners to use yourself at some point.

The Boys in the Band is released by Second Sight on Blu-Ray (with a bunch of extras, including the aforementioned Mark Gatis interview, and commentary from Friedkin and Crowley), on February 11th, some fifty years from the debut of the play.