FtF: With The Crazies and many of the films on your slate at the moment, you have developed a clearly defined voice within the horror genre. Is this just an accident or is horror a genre that has been close to you heart since childhood?BE: Well for me, ‘Genre’ movies are my real love: Horror, Sci-Fi, and the specific world of ‘Genre’ movies. As a kid, I think it was when I saw Carpenter’s The Thing that I really got hooked. I’m a huge fan of Kaufman’s Invasion of the Body Snatchers but it was really The Thing that got me. I have this memory of being in a packed movie theatre in Los Angeles and being absolutely terrified and not being able to sleep. For some reason I found that to be a really compelling draw into a genre movie. I think that is because I like horror movies that are ‘solid’ movies that really stand up on their own; that aren’t just about the kills but are also about the story and the characters’ journeys. Then when you add the element of horror it has the ability to sit with you for a while. I think it is a really interesting way to pull characters apart and explore their inner-core.

FtF: Hmmm, often quite literally! Well The Crazies is a perfect example of a horror film with a strong human story; but the thing that really stuck in my mind after watching the film were some of the excellent set-pieces (the combine harvester, the car wash, the truck stop, etc). Are these homages or just the result of throwing ideas around?

BE: Those elements really came from just throwing ideas around. I think the combine [harvester] scene was one of the first things that I threw out there while developing the movie. I remember thinking about the fact that it was going to take place in a farming community so you are thinking about what elements can seem horrific when considered in a state other than the way that was intended. A combine is really a giant, rotating sharp blade, so it is clearly a fantastic use of a farm-based, everyday piece of technology in a horror setting. The car wash also just came about when we were throwing around ideas about what was the best thing we could use where water is a possible threat when people are contained within a car. When I was a kid, in Los Angeles you weren’t allowed to ride through the car wash in a car, there was an ordinance against it. But then on the East Coast my friends that I had grown up with were all allowed to ride through the car wash and they all loved the experience and as a child I was very jealous that I didn’t get to do it. So I think maybe that’s where that one came from.

FtF: The film, like any good horror, is respectful of its heritage and pays tribute to the genre it is contained within. But then the appearance of ‘the infected’ is unusually subtle and realistic. Was that a conscious decision throughout the development of the project or just an aesthetic ‘make-up’ decision?

BE: Well that is a result of multiple factors. In the beginning, when the people are first infected, there is no physical manifestation of the disease. It is simply behavioural; it doesn’t affect the way they walk or anything so you would have to know the person when they are first infected to know that they are sick, otherwise you would think that this is just the way they are. As the movie progresses and the infected become more and more ill, the disease takes on accelerated physical manifestations; we researched real events to help us design the ‘look’ of the disease.

FtF: There were rumours that you would be remaking Cronenberg’s The Brood but then you turned the project down. Did you feel this was a film that shouldn’t be remade?

BE: Well I am a huge fan of The Brood; it was very risky and it took some huge chances. I don’t think nowadays you can do that film justice and push the edge as far as Cronenberg did.

FtF: So how do you decide, on a personal level, which horror films you would like to have a creative involvement in remaking, and which should be left alone?

BE: Well, two of my favourite movies, as I mentioned, are Carpenter’s The Thing and Kaufman’s Invasion of the Body Snatchers, and those are both remakes. And that gave me a great deal of confidence in my decision to remake The Crazies (as well as the fact that George Romero owned the rights and personally sanctioned it). But what is most important is you have to decide if you can make a good movie. I believe that the horror audience is the most sophisticated film-going audience, they are the real cinephiles, and they will respect you if you make a good movie. It doesn’t matter necessarily what the title is or what the remake is or what the original was; if you set out to make a movie that has a strong plot, strong characters, and real character journeys, and I suppose a real message to the movie, then you can pull it off. So I think the key is to make sure that the source material you are using will allow you to do all of these things and to first and foremost make a movie that is good.

FtF: What inspired you to create a remake of Flash Gordon?

BE: Well I set up the rights for Flash Gordon with Sony about a year ago. We optioned the Hearst comic books from the 30s to the present day. We actually didn’t even option the 80s version of the movie; this is very much a movie based on the original comic books and the original strips, so it’s not in any way a remake of the De Laurentiis movie.

FtF: Escape from New York is another classic movie that has piqued your interest. What is it about that project that inspired you to get involved?

BE: Well as a kid I absolutely loved that movie, and this is a direct remake. I was hired by New Line and Canal+ who are co-financing the movie; and they had a good draft and I hired a writer to do the final production draft. Hopefully in a few months we’ll have that draft done and then we’ll go to talent and start budgeting the movie.

FtF: Most of the films on your slate are specifically American (The Crazies is firmly rooted in the mid-West farmland, and Escape from New York speaks for itself). Do you prefer making films about America?

BE: Not necessarily, I actually just started developing a comic book, Blood of the Innocent, by a guy named Mark Wheatley, which is about Jack the Ripper. Specifically, it is about Jack the Ripper versus Dracula; it sort of twists history on its side and suggests that Jack the Ripper was actually fighting vampire brides and trying to prevent a vampire infection and chasing Dracula across England. I am certainly interested in the middle-American world explored in The Crazies, but the history and origins of great horror really are not from the United States, so I’m very interested in exploring other areas.

The Crazies is out on DVD and Blu-Ray from July 19th.

Tony Grisoni, the acclaimed screenwriter behind Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas and the acclaimed Red Riding trilogy, made his move into direction with his 1999 short film Vanished! A Video Séance. The Pizza Miracle is his third, and most recent, short; and it is a delightfully melancholy and warming tale about the unspoken, and often unrequited, sacrifices that we make for the people we love.

As soon as the film opens – with a crackling, antique credit sequence – we are almost transported back to that beautiful Provencal world of De Sica and Visconti. I say almost, because Grisoni’s playfulness is somehow evident before a single image permeates the screen, and the audience were already giggling in a knowing way as soon as the first title ‘The Madonna of the Eels’ appeared on screen over a grainy, stark seaside landscape. This opening vignette – about a young fisherman who loses the ability to decapitate eels (a necessary skill for his livelihood) after being haunted by an image of the Madonna – is pitch perfect. It teeters on the brink between melodrama and farce, but it never quite falls into either camp, remaining fresh and enticing throughout.

We leave this unfortunate young man, screaming blue murder at the haunting deity, as we are whisked away to the ‘present day’ funeral of Gianni, “The King of Pizzas’. Any darkening of tone is swept away when a female mourner quietly assures the deceased that his ‘package’ was the biggest she had ever taken, and the thought of it still makes her wet. Eventually an awkward middle-aged man peers over the coffin, seemingly baffled by what lies within. This is the chef’s son, Daniel, and he clearly understands his father no better in death than he did in life.

We are never told whether Daniel decided to take over the family business out of necessity or good faith; but whatever the reason, we next see him struggling through a pizza order in a dusty, cluttered North London Trattoria. In the filthy kitchen, his dead father seems very much alive as he fills the room with foul cigarette smoke and pisses in the sink. To describe any more of this enticing story would be to risk ruining its freshness and energy, but suffice to say that father and son struggle to see eye to eye while working together in the stuffy cucina.

The viewer is very much a part of the story, largely thanks to cinematographer Florian Hoffmeister’s wonderfully natural use of space and light, but also due to Grisoni’s confident mastery of language and dialogue. Gianni and Daniel speak to us far more than they speak to each other (and I hope I am not alone in suggesting that we all ‘speak’ to ourselves far more than we speak to those closest to us) and in criticising each other they unwittingly reveal what is most deeply wrong with themselves. Gianni is stubborn and arrogant; exactly the sort of man we would all love to meet in a pub but would hate to have for a father. He has about as much respect for Daniel’s feelings as he does for culinary tradition (i.e. not a lot!) and he is relentlessly critical of his son’s timidity. Daniel, put simply, is exactly how you would expect this man’s son to turn out.

This film isn’t exactly a biting indictment of ‘the sins of the fathers’, but it certainly nibbles in that general direction. A father is an enormous part of any son’s world, so it is no surprise that a father that refuses to be understood and doesn’t know how to be loved can end up with a bewildered son who doesn’t know how to live. But this cavernous theme is sweetened and enriched by the squelch of Marinara sauce, the clink of wine glasses, and the rustling of aprons as two grown men – one dead, one barely living – find a way to understand where their shared past disappeared to.

There is a final twist in the story regarding Gianni’s youthful tussle with the Madonna of the eels. His desperate and foul-mouthed rant is not a hollow one; he means to take action to save his starving family. Will he sacrifice his own soul and commit murder in order to save his loved ones? Or will he follow the cowardly path of Abraham and sacrifice them? Well I’m not one to spoil an ending, but if you have learned anything about Gianni from this review, you might be able to work it out.

The name Serge Gainsbourg brings to mind that peculiarly French brand of charming and sexually liberated arrogance. His music was playful and rude, his showmanship delightfully droll. Cigarette in hand, with croaking wisps of biting sarcasm, he encapsulated perfectly the laconic but immense passion of the French spirit. But behind this illuminated public persona lay an introverted and stubborn individual. Gainbourg’s stooping physique may have seemed, to his fans, like the sulking, lackadaisical haunch of a genius; but in fact it was the gait of a stubborn man ploughing forward through his life without a thought for the friends, relatives, and lovers he was leaving in his wake.

Gainsbourg was born to Russian-Jewish parents in Paris in 1928. His father was a bar pianist and his mother a soprano, but Gainsbourg was determined to become a painter and, after being expelled from school, he enrolled at the Ecole de Beaux Arts. He played piano in the bars and clubs of Paris to pay for his life as a struggling artist; and in 1958, after meeting the novelist and satirical songwriter Boris Vian, finally realised he was much more talented as a songwriter than a painter.

He gained notoriety writing the song Sucettes à l’anis for teen idol France Gall, which included the lyrics “Annie likes lollipops/ Aniseed lollipops/ The aniseed taste flows down Annie’s throat/ She is in paradise.” He began a passionate and famous affair with Bridget Bardot before falling desperately in love with British actress Jane Birkin on the set of Slogan in 1968. Their relationship was immortalised by the song Je t’aime… moi non plus, which topped global charts despite being banned on radio and being singled out by the Vatican for its explicit lyrics and use of ‘orgasmic’ sound effects.

The brightness of this glamorous and blessed life was dimmed by Gainsbourg’s excessive lifestyle. After suffering a heart attack in 1973, he announced he would fix the problem by “upping his alcohol and tobacco consumption.” He was untouchable as an artist, but unreachable as a human being. He blamed his fits of rage and waywardness on his alter-ego “Gainsbarre”; and as Gainsbarre began to take over, Gainsbourg’s life began to fall apart. Birkin left him in 1980, stating that she “loved Gainsbourg, but was scared of Gainsbarre”. He died, a recluse, in 1991, and the public outpouring of grief affirmed his status as a French cultural icon.

Joann Sfar’s lugubrious and ethereal film is a delightful, thrilling tour through Gainsbourg’s life. Sfar takes every facet of Gainsbourg’s life – from his rebellious but starry-eyed youth to his stubborn and lonely autumn years – and mingles them with a touch of Russian fairytale to create an evocative and pleasantly sporadic homage. Given the period of Gainsbourg’s fame, it would have been easy to turn this film into a New Wave homage with grainy jump-cuts and lots of bed-haired couples arguing in kitchens while smoking filter-less cigarettes. But while Sfar has paid tribute to this evocative period in French culture, he has also piqued out less obvious elements of the Gainsbourg legend (namely his Russian ancestry and love of folk stories) to create a magical and floating story with giant puppets and surreal Parisian rooftop settings.

He has also taken an unusual route with the soundtrack, choosing to rerecord all of Gainsbourg’s songs using contemporary bands and members of the cast. Sfar has not attempted to entirely understand Gainsbourg or have the final say on his image; he has simply provided a fascinating and refreshing perspective on this overlooked and enigmatic icon.

When Richard the Lionheart is killed in battle, Robin Longstride and his band of weary men break away from the army and head straight for the coast. On route they witness the King’s second-in-command, Robert Loxley, being ambushed by a gang of French troops lead by a treacherous British courtier, Godfrey. After rescuing the crown and sneaking back to England to break the bad news, Robin decides to fulfil Loxley’s dying wish by returning his father’s sword to their family seat in Nottingham.

Loxley’s father begs Robin to stay, explaining that if anybody finds out his son has died, they will lose their land and find themselves at the mercy of the Sheriff. Robin agrees to masquerade as Loxley, an idea that Loxley’s wife, Marion, is not immediately attracted to. Gradually, as Robin helps to rebuild their shattered community, Marion comes to appreciate him; but trouble is stirring in London, as Godfrey worms his way into a position of power in King John’s court. Godfrey intentionally stirs up a civil war with the Northern Barons so that the English army will be distracted while his friend, Prince Phillip of France, invades from the South. And so the stage is set for Robin Hood to fulfil his heroic destiny; saving the woman he loves, and rescuing his noble countrymen from the greedy hands of tyranny.

If this all sounds slightly formulaic and emotionless… then I have pitched the story perfectly! Ridley Scott and Russell Crowe must have known, when they teamed up to make another historical epic about an outlawed warrior, that there would be an avalanche of comparisons to their genre-defining millennial smash hit Gladiator. All the masterful conveyance of tone and the eye-watering ferocity of the action sequences are recreated here in the forests and beaches of 12^th Century England (although not much has matured or developed over the past decade); but there is simply no emotional heart here, and the absence is made all the more disappointing when compared to the guttural tragedy at the heart of Gladiator.

As the global film community stumbles helplessly into the vortex of 3-D and all the other gluttonous vices that technology offers, there is something admirable about a summer ‘blockbuster’ that values small-scale fight sequences and realistic locations. Scott’s film is certainly a timely reminder that mere humans – without the shortcuts of CGI – can still make visceral and epic films that astound the senses.

Anyone hoping for an Errol Flynn throwback will be shocked and even terrified by this gruelling, bloody film. The feathered caps and bright tights of old are replaced by muddy, sweaty chainmail; and the gay old ‘Merry Men’ have given way to a band of outlawed, highly-skilled warriors returning home from war to a country they barely recognise. There is no denying that the ‘look’ of the film is masterful; but we have moved on from Gladiator, and all the integrity in the world cannot make up for the fact that this film is as damp and calcified as the cliffs that overlook the films fast-paced climax.

The acting is average; but when the acting is ‘average’ in a film with a cast like this, you know something is wrong. Poor performances have become a Ridley Scott trope as he tumbles into his winter years. He seems to have grown tired – or scared – of the questioning glances of his desperately confused actors; preferring instead to fawn over the stuntmen and choreographers that will garner him praise for his mastery of ‘action sequences’. The cast is enviable, and every one of them wasted.

The accents forced out by these A-list actors are cringe-worthy if you aren’t taking the film seriously, and downright distracting if you are. Crowe’s ear for dialects is usually impeccable, but here he sways maniacally between a leering Liverpudlian longshoreman (I hate alliteration, but I like that image), a timid Mancunian farmhand, and a gruff Berkshire nobleman. And yet, despite this inconsistent mash of identities, you spend the entire film constantly reminding yourself that this isn’t Maximus Decimus Meridius and he isn’t father to a murdered son or husband to a murdered wife. Cate Blanchett, Max Von Sydow, and William Hurt follow suit, so that the question that begs to be asked is surely, “couldn’t you have cast ONE English actor in a leading role?”

All things considered, there will be much worse films than this released throughout the summer. Ridley Scott is still a master of tightly edited action sequences; his attention to detail is enviable, and his confidence in his own ability means that we are treated to climactic battle scene with 1,000 real human beings (which is surely more evocative than 5,000,000 computer generated ones). But none of this makes up for the fact that this film lacks the powerful emotional underpinnings of it’s Roman older brother; and without a real story, no amount of colour grading can make up for the fact that this is still just the story of some men in tights.

TCR: How did a project like this leapfrog LA, New York, Chicago, etc and end up at your door in London?

MH: Bill is always someone that was thought of as culturally significant in the UK, and for some reason there had never been a full length telling of his story. There was a short documentary made shortly after he died which was just over 35 minute film. But it struck us that Bill had this amazing life which has this wonderful, almost Hollywood, arc to it in terms of his overcoming the drink and drugs and becoming very successful and then getting terminal cancer at the age of 32. It seemed that that story was something that people needed to know about because Bill lead this real life of meaning, and he was also a groundbreaking comedian who changed the way a lot of people saw what comedy could do. So I think that it was something we both believed that, as a story, had a wonderful aspect to it, over and above any personal interest that we have in Bill

PT: And it was one of the great, unmade bio-pics as well so we were fortunate that it came along for us to pitch at channels. Then it’s a case of making something that stands out. This began as part of a series for Channel 4. There had been a few documentaries in previous years, such as The Kid Stays in the Picture, that had used a more basic version of the animation technique; and Touching the Void was also this hugely cinematic documentary that didn’t feel like a generic documentary, so already we knew that the documentary form was evolving at that stage. And it was becoming more cost-effective to do it on computers, you didn’t need to employ Hollywood Studio or the more expensive Post-Production houses here [in Soho], regular animators can now do this. So lots of things all came together at that time to make this possible.

MH: And also, the Hicks family hadn’t spoken for 12 years. They had had offers but I think that they were very wary of going with people whose motives weren’t quite clear, and wanted to make lots of money. So they were quite cautious but I think they also felt that now is the time to put this story down as a historical record. They knew Bill’s story was important and they needed to tell it. So all of these things were coming together at the same time and we were lucky enough to be in the middle of that.

TCR: And you had organised Bill Hicks tribute evenings in London before hadn’t you?

MH: Yes, we had done some live events which involved comedians and then footage of Bill which I had sourced on the internet, but this was back when you bought VHS tapes. The idea of that was just a tribute night, ten years after he died, and that was when we first got in touch with Bill’s family so we had been in touch with them before taking a film idea to them. We just wanted them to know what was going on in the UK, and how their son was still being thought of. And that was our first contact with Bill’s family.

TCR: What was it like sifting through Bill’s enormous archives of footage and photographs? Did you already know what you were about to find or was that a voyage of discovery for you?

PT: We didn’t know at all. The animation side of things developed as we went along, so we just had to start at the beginning and build on it as the story developed. We knew it was going to work as an approach but we didn’t know, scene by scene, what it was going to involve. We didn’t know how much or how little the photographs would relate to the story we were telling; and as the story develops there are more and more constructed scenes that have to be put together to tell the story. All the interviews were conducted right at the beginning, but then you job is to uncover the real story. So you cant go in with preconceptions of what people have said and what you have read. Especially with Bill’s family where there is a very polarised view that has been presented before. The job is to put all of that out of your mind and really find out what the truth is.

MH: In terms of the archive, there was some amazing stuff that we found. We were aware that there would be some unseen footage, and a lot of the material is either Bill’s personal tapes that he had got out of the back of VHS camcorders, some of which were over 30 years old, or stuff that his brother Steve shot, and that’s the sort of shaky Handicam stuff towards the end. But I think the most affecting stuff was some of the voice-recorded tapes that Bill made for himself. He was alone quite a lot, and when he had no one to talk to he quite often spoke to a tape-recorded. And just the idea of that 18-year-old kid in LA scared about whether he is any good at comedy is very touching; and also, in a weird way, we felt that Bill hadn’t made that tape with any specific use in mind, and we were the ones that ended up using it so that was very strange. It actually felt, on some level, like he had actually made that tape for us; and it felt very personal. Obviously are job is to make sure everybody else gets to hear it as well because it gives a lot of insight into who he was as a performer and a person. But that was certainly one of the most interesting bits of archive, that these real little personal messages that Bill had left on little tape recorders, which were lying in boxes in his mum’s spare bedroom.

TCR: What was your experience of working with the Hicks family? Did you get a sense that they were trying to guide your depiction of Bill? Or were they as open as memory would permit?

PT: Well that’s kind of our job as filmmakers… to make sure that nobody ‘guides’ you. We had several days with each person and they were deep and emotional interviews. The family were very open about everything really. They were aware that there had been earlier depictions of Bill’s childhood, and obviously what you have is the mists of time, so you are asking people to remember things from a long time ago. But there was never any sense that they were really trying to portray him differently. But how did that seem to you?

TCR: I got the impression that they were entirely honest in their recollections of Bill; he has a public persona of being quite volatile and corrosive, and so I thought perhaps his friends and family might be overly defensive of his character, but they clearly see no reason to hide elements of his character or try to portray them in an insincere way. He was who he was, and the people who knew him loved him for it and clearly still do.

PT: Well yes, and you also have to remember that they have been portrayed by other people in the past. There certainly were words had in that household and Bill was certainly a fiery teenager, but with only that side of the story being told by friends who saw him shouting with his parents… I mean all teenagers shout with their parents! And this is certainly something that I have been aware of throughout my career, is that there is often a lot of pressure from broadcasters to go for the sensational. I mean everybody cried during these interviews, but we haven’t just pasted that across the screen. Now I know full well that if we had done that in a Sky doc and Sky had seen that footage, they would have insisted that I have everybody crying on screen. So obviously, if you’ve got a few lines about a kid shouting at his parents, that’s what you’re going to put in. But then all you end up doing is distorting the real picture, and your job as a filmmaker is to present an accurate and rounded overall picture, and that’s what we did.

FtF: Was it difficult to track down any of the people from Bill’s past that hadn’t been involved with his family and friends for a long time?

PT: Yes that was certainly an issue at first because we were just two unknown British guys. I suppose a lot of the early work happened with the family. It was a case of winning trust because I think they had a fairly strong idea of who we were and so they were willing to talk. Then it was a case of us building the project and getting broadcasters involved, because the family are approached by people all the time so they want to know that a project is realistic. Mary really helped by letting other people know that the family were getting involved with this project, but it still wasn’t until the last minute that everything really came together; literally the day before we flew a couple of people weren’t decided and it was only when we were on our way that they agreed. But of course what happens then is they meet you and you start doing interviews and you build up a proper bond, and trust gets established when they find out who you really are.

We did the interviews in quite an unusual way because we didn’t take any crew in, it was just the two of us. Because these people aren’t celebrities, and it’s very easy to put people off when you turn up with crew and lights, so instead we went for a very naturalistic set-up, with people sitting at home in their own environments. And we even started recording without the camera, so it’s just pointed at the floor, just to get people talking, and then we introduced the camera more slowly, which is why it comes across so naturalistically, but it is very easy to blow that.

TCR: How much did Bill inform your opinion? Did you look back at his famous routines and find you had a new perspective on them after interviewing his relatives and sifting through his archives of personal footage and pictures?

PT: Well, everything in the film started with the material on stage, and I think it is fairly natural that that informs everything that is happening. One thing we had the benefit of was watching scores more performances than other people have seen. And often it’s the bits between the well-known routines where you really feel Bill, and a lot of those moments have ended up in the film. The essential job is to be true to that person; we obviously had these ten people telling the story, but the job is to convey who this enigmatic character is, and that counts for both the onstage material and the interviews. There is a subtle job being done by everything and so when you leave the theatre you can come out with a very strong idea of who a person is. Showing what Bill’s comedy was about, and who he was as a person, informs most of the storytelling. You start with a much longer version of the story that isn’t as coherent, and as you edit the thing down you cut the bits where Bill’s character isn’t coming across as strongly or the story is wandering of the track of his comedy developing; and the more you cut it down the more distilled a picture you get of this guy.

TCR: Did you ever worry about making a film that would appeal much more to Bill Hicks’ fans than the wider public?

PT: Well that is the advantage of being independent, in that you are free from that sort of pressure. I suppose there was pressure early on to include celebrities, but we knew that wasn’t the right approach because we were going for the people that really knew Bill. But one thing we were aware of from the start is that this film had to work for fans who already love Bill and for the people who have no idea who he is. But that is quite an unconscious thing that happens when you are forming every scene. You are just automatically aware of an audience and you are crafting it for that wider audience. There are things that particularly play to fans or play to the uninitiated; but it’s really just a great archetypal story, and our job is just to tell the story properly so that it will work for both camps.

TCR: Have there been any big surprises in terms of people’s reactions to the film at the North American festivals you have been to?

PT: Well one interesting thing is that we took a pole at the beginning of a screening and about a quarter of the people said they knew Bill quite well, so that means three quarters of the viewers had come along either to find out more or because they had heard it was a good film.  And that’s great because our job here is to get Bill known on a much wider map, and the festivals certainly seem to suggest that that is working. I was actually kind of expecting some kind of backlash, because the film received so many good reviews up front I was just expecting there to be a journalistic camp that reacted against that. I mean some people haven’t liked the animation and some people have thought it was too long, but overall it was a great reaction and people have told us they have never seen reviews like that for a documentary… ever!

MH: We have always been quite keen to find out what the audience make up was in each of the screenings and so quite often we’d do a poll and just ask how many people in the audience would consider themselves to be either a fan of Bill’s or someone that knew him quite well. That number has been fairly consistent, between 25 and 35% in the US (at the London Film Festival it was considerably higher), and that is very encouraging because that means people have either seen the reviews or the description of the film and decided it was something they wanted to see, or they have been dragged along by somebody who already knew Bill. And that is one of the stated aims or goals for the film is to try and get his word more popularised, and so that has been very encouraging for us to see the diversity of the audience make up. It’s not just for Bill fans, there is a very wide range of people coming to see the film.

TCR: Everybody talks about Bill’s performance at Just For Laughs in Montreal in 1991 as being a watershed moment for stand-up comedy. What are your memories of that event?

MH: Well I personally was just someone who had seen bits of this guy on TV, and then this full length performance, which really blew everyone away, and I think that it wasn’t just the material he was talking about – specifically the Gulf War, which at the time really made people, and especially English comedians, sit back in amazement – it was also the performance skill was so crafted and so adept. He was able to move between really filthy material and really quite sophisticated political ideas, and he could just seamlessly take you on these wonderful flights of fancy. I don’t think people were really ready for him; it wasn’t as if he had developed and grown in the UK comedy scene. People had no idea who he was when he first came over and he suddenly lit everybody up like a Christmas tree. It really was something that people were talking about. I remember people coming up to me asking if I has seen this guy, and that isn’t something that happens much anymore. People used to always talk about The Play for Today and Cathy Come Home and people would say “don’t you remember when…” about specific moments in television history, and everybody had seen them. And that Montreal performance was certainly one of those moments.

PT: We spoke to Bruce Hills, who runs Just for Laughs festival, and he recounted that at that time they were looking to do these one man shows in Montreal but they didn’t know who was going to do them. And Bruce Hills saw Bill in New York, doing over an hour of material on stage, and it just blew him away. And he made a phone call and said, “Right, I think I’ve got the guy.” And Bruce counts that as his proudest moment in terms of the world of comedy. And then Tiger Aspect were over there doing stuff for Channel 4 and saw Bill and got to know him there. And they then brought him back to the UK.

TCR: Web 2.0, and the rise of Youtube, has facilitated a huge increase in the number of people familiar with Bill’s work as snippets of his more famous shows receive millions of hits online. Was this a consideration for you as you started working on the project?

MH: Well I’m not sure that we thought about it in terms of now being a “good time”. I think this film is something that always needed to be made, because of who Bill was and because of the legacy and work that he left behind, and because of how important he is on a cultural timeline. Obviously it is gratifying for us that his most popular clips are getting 1.7 million hits because it means that more people get a chance to find out about him, but I don’t think we considered that as part of the reason for doing the film. It was something that sort of happened in tandem; the rise of Youtube was happening while the project was being made. But the great thing, as you say, is that it gives people a chance to delve into a bit of Bill in bite-sized chunks. I think that is something that Youtube does very well, if you are looking to try and find ten of fifteen new things and you’ve got an hour and you can watch two or three minutes of lots of different stuff. And I think we are hoping that people who have been intrigued enough to watch a four-minute long clip on marketing and advertising might now come along and find out a bit more about the man that came up with those routines and where he was in his life and what may have inspired him to go and do that.

American: The Bill Hicks Story is released in UK cinemas on 14^th May. Read thecollectivereview’s original review here.

This fine documentary opens with a simple but salient point: who do we pay to talk to us? Politicians? Perhaps. Pastors? Maybe sometimes… The answer is comics. Comedians are the only people to whom we offer our money and say, “please talk to me… make me laugh at myself and the things around me.” In an age of global hostility, fear, and repression of thought and individuality, the voice of the comic is more essential than ever. We need comedians to remind us how farcical life is; and to poke fun at the institutions and zeitgeists that too easily become writ.

Bill Hicks understood the importance of this role from an early age. As a restless teenager – trapped in his Southern Baptist Texan townhouse with his all-American, college-graduate family – Hicks would sneak out and head for the only comedy club within a million miles of his home… the Houston Comix Annex. Hicks quickly became renowned for his clean, ‘high-school-kid’ brand of comedy and was taken under the wing of Steve Epstein’s fast-talking, hard-drinking comedy troupe, ‘The Texas Outlaw Comics’.

By his early twenties Hicks was already a legend on the Texan comedy scene, but he knew that his comedy could reach greater heights and deal with much wider issues than growing up in a Texan Baptist household. He began experimenting with hallucinogenic mushrooms, and would sit by a remote lake with a few trusted friends and explore the infinite possibilities of philosophy, consciousness, and existence.

This might all sound a bit heavy for comedy, and it certainly took Hicks a long time (and an almost fatal battle with alcoholism) before he really learnt how to incorporate his esotericism and staunch criticism of American society into his comedy routines. These routines – which began around 1989 with ‘Sane Man’, when Hicks was at the ripe old age of 28 – should be immortalised and filed away in the library of Congress with the works of Whitman and Hemingway. The raw simplicity, the fervent passion, the searing love for his common man that forced him to criticise society with all the spit and power he could muster, make Bill Hicks one of the most important spokespersons for Reagan’s America.

Hicks was a product of a forgotten generation of Americans, growing up in the 1970s, who couldn’t understand what had happened to the gusto of Johnson’s ‘Great Society’ or the purity of spirit and love that inspired the cultural revolutions of the 1960s. Vietnam had killed the American spirit, and everything that came after it further distorted and twisted the American Dream into a dogmatic society of thoughtless and unquestioning pawns who were free to do whatever they wanted… just so long as they wanted to do what they were told.

But no matter how much energy Hicks threw at his performances, mainstream America was not ready to hear his message. He achieved international fame and was cherished and idolised in Canada and his spiritual home, the UK; but he was criminally unappreciated in his beloved homeland, and was left to perform in the same old clubs on the same old comedy routes that he had been peddling since his teen years.

In 1993, just as he was beginning to achieve the mainstream platform he so desperately desired (not because he wanted fame, but because he wanted people to hear him) Hicks was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, and passed away within a year. He spent his final months touring, creating what many consider to be the finest and most passionate stand-up performances in the history of stand-up comedy. His friends could not understand why he had become such an unstoppable force; they didn’t realise it was simply the desperation of a great man to immortalise his message before he was dragged away from this earth.

Hicks’ last performance was, in his own opinion, the finest of his career. He was invited onto the David Letterman show (the only mainstream show to have shown him any support in his career) and delivered an extraordinary rebuke to America, largely based around the recent Waco massacre. The performance was cut from the final broadcast, and the network claimed that Hicks’ views were to ‘dangerous’ for mainstream broadcast.

Throughout his life Hicks was ignored and chastised as anti-American; but in fact, as with so many great insubordinates, it was his deep love for his country that inspired him to fight back against the forces of corruption and lethargy. It was too great a struggle in the 1980s, but in the 15 years since his death, the rise of the internet and a stuttering revival of American liberalism has allowed Hicks’ stock to rise. His fanbase is growing at an unprecedented rate, and DVD and CD sales have mushroomed inline with the growth of youtube and the revelation of previously unseen clips. The culmination of all this groundwork, and arguably the culmination of Hicks’ entire career, is this documentary.

In Hicks’ final days he returned to his family home and forced his mother to sit with him while he took her through his entire collection of photos and VHS recordings. When she asked him why he was doing this, he explained that someday, somebody might want to make a documentary about him.

15 years later, British TV producers Matt Harlock and Paul Thomas have graciously and expertly taken up the mantle. They have created an honest and simple documentary relying solely on the lucid and evocative memories of Hicks’ friends and family, and Hicks mountain of personal photos and video recordings. The Hicks estate have made it clear that this is the only time they will open up their lives to such a far-reaching project, and so this really is the final word on one of the most important men in the history of the American entertainment industry.

The film employs a revolutionary animation technique that allowed the filmmakers to animate old photographs, adding dimensions and colour and movement to them so that the viewer is transported into Bill’s world not just by the absorbing commentary, but also by the visceral images.

The live footage is also expertly blended into the narrative, so that Bill seems to jump out of the film and onto the stage to perform some of the material that has just been explored. This allows viewers to take a completely new perspective on material that may or may not be familiar to them. Hicks’ fans will surely relish becoming entangled in the trials and tribulations of his life while watching him rage against the dying of the American Dream, and they will feel so much closer to this complex and inspiring idol by the end of the film.

It is difficult to tell how this film will perform theatrically, but this critic certainly hopes that it will achieve the success that these filmmakers, and Bill Hicks, deserve. This wonderful film has recorded a life and immortalised a great man, and that is all one can ask of the cinema.

Dir: Jacques Audiard Cast: Tahar Rahim, Niels Arestrup, Adel Bencherif

Jacques Audiard is perhaps the only filmmaker working today whose cannon of films can be uttered in the same breath as those of Melville and Chabrol. Like those giants of the Nouvelle Vague, Audiard is a master of the thriller/ crime genre and has spent the best part of his career unpicking its tightly knit conventions and tropes to create some of the most affecting and unforgettable films of the past few decades.

‘A Prophet’ tells the story of Malik (Rahim), a French Arab of North African descent embarking on a six-year sentence in a French jail. The prison is ruled by Cesar Luciani (Arestrup) and his Corsican gang; so when they approach Malik with an offer to accept him into the gang if he murders an unruly Arab inmate, it is clear that this is not an offer he can refuse. Malik is made a lieutenant in the gang after committing the gruesome act – and we are not spared a single detail, from Malik’s agonising attempts to conceal a bare razor blade in his mouth to the pathetic gurgling screams of the unfortunate Reyeb.

Things do not improve for this unfortunate outsider, however, as he is slanted by the Corsicans (who call him ‘Arab’ and suggest he is only fit for belly-dancing and house-work), berated by the Arabic community in the prison for siding with the enemy, and haunted by Reyeb’s ghost as he lies alone in his murky cell. Malik teaches himself to read and, by carefully studying Cesar and the gang, learns to speak Corsican and slowly picks up the ins-and-outs of the gang’s operations. He also makes an ally in Ryad, a softly spoken man with the cold, dark eyes of a killer.

Malik works his way up the chain of command to become Cesar’s right-hand man and most trusted ally in the prison; and when Cesar organises for him to be released for one day (to check on Cesar’s interests on the outside) he uses the opportunity to start up a side-business moving vast packages of hasish with Ryad (who has since been released) between France and Spain. As Cesar becomes a more desperate and alienated figure in his cell, and powerful adversaries work up the courage to confront him, Malik benefits from all the new connections he is making.

One of the founding tenets of the Nouvelle Vague was an admiration for American film noir, and a mystical ability to inject that rigid genre with a flowing, intuitive, philosophical dimension. Melville, Chabrol, Godard, et al were open about their worship of Humphrey Bogart, John Huston, and the other legends of Hollywood noir; but they were all cineastes and academics who knew that the ‘camera-stylo’ could be used for so much more than Dashiell Hammett adaptations.

In ‘A Prophet’, Audiard has created an accessible and stomach-churning prison drama that the most cautious American viewer could enjoy. All the genre tropes are there – gang initiation, deceit, loyalty, criminal codes, corrupt authorities, car chases, gun battles – but these comforting and visceral moments only exist as sharp jabs to the stomach in what is actually a flowing, complex study of loneliness and masculinity. There is no attempt to validate Malik as a hero, he, along with every other character in the film, is a victim of the brutality they were born into. There is no hope, just a daily fight to survive and make tomorrow’s fight a bit easier. When Ryad develops a terminal disease, there is no despair or sadness shared between these two close friends, just an understanding that Ryad will be released from his bondage slightly sooner than Malik.

Having worked with some of the biggest stars in French cinema (namely Jean-Louis Trintignant, Mathieu Kassovitz, and Vincent Cassel) Audiard has chosen a relative unknown to lead this brutal character study. Tahar Rahim’s performance is without a doubt one of the most infecting and memorable performances of the year. He creates a perfectly conflicted and tragic figure in Malik: he is cold and toughened by a lifetime in the penal system, but he has a child-like vulnerability and a need for human connection. His friendship with Ryad is perfectly portrayed… a deep affection that can never be admitted by either party.

This is undoubtedly one of the finest films of the year. It is an inspiring proof that the genre conventions of American story-telling can be fused with the mystifying explorations of the human condition more present in European independent cinema, to create films that perhaps rise above both camps purely because they are capable of fulfilling the highest aims of culture and communication… to inform, educate, and entertain.

Hansen-Løve was inspired to create The Father of My Children following the tragic suicide of Humbert Balsan in 2005. Balsan was a prolific producer and one of the most respected figures in French cinema, and his suicide sent shock waves through the industry, but the fact that one of those waves resulted in this beautiful and touching film will surely stand as a testament to his spirited life.

The film follows ‘Gregoire’ (Louis-Do de Lencquesaing) as he struggles to keep Moon Films afloat. This is no colourful and romanticised vision of the film industry (as Gene Kelly and Pedro Almodovar would have us see it); it is a realistic and almost mundane insight into the artistic alienation and financial suffocation that great producers suffer from. Gregoire is a champion of artists, and is happy to take huge personal gambles to produce the work of filmmakers he respects, but it is a thankless job infested with conceited directors, dispassionate financiers, and unforgiving bank managers. Eventually the stress becomes too much to bear, and Gregoire shoots himself.

It is at this point that the ode to independent cinema ends and the Lorca-inspired tale of grief begins. Gregoire’s wife Sylvia (Caselli) enlists the help of Gregoire’s closest friends to save Moon Films and finish the films currently in production. It is a brutally pragmatic approach to grief and Caselli’s performance ensures that it is moving and subtle. The other focus of this exploration of grief is Gregoire’s sulking but passionate teenage daughter Clémence (Alice de Lencquesaing). Clémence is at that age where she is trying to distance herself from her parents, and having her father stolen from her at such a disorientating time makes her a fascinating study in repressed anguish. She escapes into the city of Paris, immersing herself in the cafes and cinemas that she loves; but it is clear that these adventures are far scarier than she would have wished without a father to return home to at the weekends.

This is not as tightly honed a film as some of the masterful European films released this year. Gregoire’s descent towards suicide feels slightly too assured, and the honesty of the film loses its way slightly as it rushes towards this major plot point. And after his suicide the film begins to lose its way slightly in the exploration of grief that perhaps proved a bit of a stretch for the young and relatively inexperienced Hansen-Løve.

But it is possible to forgive any of these structural flaws because of the wonderfully evocative and warm-hearted nature of the film. It is rambling, but it is sweet throughout; and it shares that effortless cinema-verite aesthetic and indescribable ‘watchability’ that comes so naturally to French cinema (I am thinking of Le Voyage du Ballon Rouge and Code Inconnu here.) It is a moving tribute to a great producer, but it is also a superb and sincere testament to the beauty that can still exist in the cinema.

Abu Dhabi is not currently the most inspiring of destinations, and when I wasn’t eating or reading I was searching for some crumbling remnants of pre-oil Arabian romance. This search was in vain, for the past has been obliterated in the gulf and replaced with skyscrapers and giant shopping malls. But a small exhibition on ‘Saadiyat Island’ in the corner of the Emirates Palace made me realise that it is the future, and not the past, that will come to define this indefinable part of the world.

Visit the official website here.

‘Saadiyat Island’ is the proposed cultural province of the Emirates; it is their attempt to coax the Western world’s cultural elite out of their comfortable nests in New York and Paris, and brave the dusty, desert heat. I was sceptical when this plan was first explained to me: Sydney has always struck me as damning proof that no amount of money or architectural prowess can buy culture, and this seemed to me a similar attempt, albeit on a larger scale.

But after wandering around the exhibition I found myself overcome by the passion and determination with which the Emirates have pursued this objective. In the last forty years they have transformed a gathering of bivouacs and pearl divers into a bustling, torrential marketplace of international corporations. They have shifted the planet on it’s axis, and reminded us that if the West is to survive into the new millennium we must appreciate that we are only the ‘West’, and there is now an ‘East’ to be dealt with.

Abu Dhabi is at the centre of this new global commercial and cultural world. They have a vast proportion of the world’s oil, and an ideal location between the US and China for stopover flights and the transfer of commodities. Throughout history, it has been commercial centres and transport hubs that have created great societies, cultures and artistic movements. Egypt, Crete, Ionia, Athens, the British Empire – all of these world-changing societies were founded on commerce and geographical advantage. Maybe now it is time for the Gulf states to lead the world forward, and Saadiyat Island is a magnificent and shimmering statement of intent.

The Island will house a Guggenheim Museum (designed by Frank Gehry, who also designed the Bilbao museum), the first outpost of the Louvre (a project that has been officially and gratefully sanctioned by the French government), an indescribable Performing Arts centre, and outposts of the Sorbonne and New York University to attract young artists and thinkers.

Just watch the short film clip in the ‘Louvre’ section of the website to get an idea of the magnanimity of this project. This is no mere Opera House; Abu Dhabi is shattering expectations, and building a cultural epicentre so epic that the Western world can only ignore it at their own peril. This might be Sydney on a larger scale, but the scale is so large that they might just succeed… and I for one hope that they do.

There are two things that upset me about the ‘09’ year of each decade. Firstly, I am confused by the global conviction that this constitutes the end of a decade. As far as I am concerned, a decade begins in year ‘1’, not year ‘0’. Of course, either option is equally viable; but surely this impenetrable ambiguity should completely remove the need to celebrate the death of one decade and the birth of another?

My second annoyance is a direct result of the first… the abhorrent and feverish proliferation of ‘top ten films of the decade’ lists. Top ten lists are nothing more than arbitrary attempts to recall and compress our favourite memories in order to free up more space for the next decade. Quantifying the mystical and romantic beauty of the cinema is a disastrous exercise; and it saddens me to see so many otherwise respectable film critics doing just this.

Even The Times, who had the decency to extend the list into a ‘Top 100’, have as their top five:

1) Cache

2) The Bourne Supremacy / The Bourne Ultimatum

3) No Country for Old Men

4) Grizzly Man

5) Team America: World Police

One European art film, one big budget action series, one US indie, one documentary, and one animated comedy. Very… very convenient indeed; but I defy you to find a human being on the planet who honestly agrees with the list. Also, and with the exception of Team America, none of these films was made in the first half of the decade. Think on it.

I therefore refuse to turn my back on the hundreds of less memorable – but equally important, moving, and revelatory – films that I have watched this decade by creating such a list. I will, however, compile a list of other ‘Top Ten’ lists from more trivial and whacky branches of life, thus removing myself by one degree from this heinous activity. And so I present to you my ‘Top Ten ‘Top Ten of the Decade Lists’ of the Decade… List’.

1) Top Ten Most Influential Internet Moments of the Decade

There can be no doubting that the internet is the biggest hit of the decade, so a reminder of the leaps and bounds we have taken over recent years seems like a harmless and worthwhile idea to me.

2) Top Ten Most Unwinnable Arguments of the Decade

The same questions that have plagued us for centuries still didn’t get answered during the first tenth of the third millennium… maybe next year!

3) Top Ten Conspiracy Theories of the Decade

9/11, avian fly, tsunamis: these were all unspeakably horrific events for the global community, but imagine how much more scarring they were for the pot-smoking youths who still check under their bed to see if Reagan or Elvis is waiting to get them!

4) Top Ten One Hit Wonders of the Decade

The end of a decade is always a good time to look back at the people that we should never have heard of…

5) Top Ten Hockey Fights of the Decade

I dont approve of violence, but that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy watching it in a sporting arena between consenting adults. Watch these gargantuan skaters reeking damage on each other in the name of sport.

6) Top Ten ‘David Letterman’s Top Ten Lists’ of the Decade

Mostly an excuse to use the phrase ‘Top Ten’ again, there are some genuinely funny lists in here. Watch out for Napoleon Dynamite reading the ‘You know you’re not the coolest kid at school when…’ list.

7) Top Ten Goals of the Decade (Soccer)

Some film fans cloak their love of the beautiful game for fear it will bleach their intellectual visage. I was just such a film fan, until I heard Werner Herzog proclaiming his love for Joe Cole. Now I brandish my blue colours wherever I go. This is a pretty good selection of goals from across Europe, at both club and international level.

Top Ten Most Infamous Businessmen of the Decade

When 9/11 happened, nobody could imagine any other event defining this decade… but we were wrong. We didn’t need Bin Laden to destroy our financial institutions, these trusted members of our own clans did it for us.

9) Top Ten Political Scandals of the Decade

Everybody loves a political scandal, they are always less costly and more debauched than financial scandals. Unfortunately this is only an American list, and however filthy those Washington-types think they are, they will never live up to the Conservatives blue background (who forgot about Profumo?!)

10) Top Ten Worst Dining Trends of the Decade

A ‘top nine ‘top ten of the decade lists’ of the decade list’ would have looked pretty stupid, so this fairly boring list made it in just to bump up the numbers… at least I’m honest!