Reviews

After the remarkable success of Trainspotting, Irvine Welsh, set out on a conscious mission to weed out the type of popular vote that somebody like he could never be comfortable with. Praise the Lord because the product was a much darker, grittier second film called The Acid House, three short stories whose common ground is the Scottish working classes. In truth the third segment is actually a sprawling mess but it at least shows how horribly wrong some of Welsh's bizarre story lines translate to the screen. In spite of this, director Paul McGuigan, superbly brings Welsh's other two stories to life and it's surely praise indeed when one can exclude a full third of a movie and still class it as one of their all time favourites.

The first segment, The Granton Star Cause (named after a football team), is without doubt the most sidesplitting black comedy that this writer has ever seen. It follows Boab Coyle who is about to have a couple of days from hell. He loses his home, his girlfriend, his job, his place on the football team, gets a criminal record, and gets beaten up by a prison officer into the bargain. Welsh not only simulates real life brilliantly with these scenes but he also shows an immaculate contempt for political correctness and human nature in general as the selfish protractors of Boab's grief, all with their own agendas, insist on blaming circumstances rather than their saintly selves. His parents need space because they are going through `a dangerous phase'. His pretentious boss Rafferty tells him `it's important to remember it's not the person we make redundant, it's the post'. The police officers are perfectly understanding about a rape because `the hoor was askin' for it' but not so understanding about Boab smashing up a telephone box since one of the officers happens to be a BT shareholder! The hilarious coup de grace occurs when Boab, in the middle of drowning his sorrows, encounters a chain smoking, lager-drinking beardie who turns out to be God. It is here that one realises how much the Scottish brogue adds to the already colourful and entertaining dialogue (witness the brilliant Maurice Roeves: `that c**t Nietzche was wide by the mark when he said I was deed. I'm naw deed, I just dinnae give a f**k'). God takes his own self-loathing out on Boab, turning him into a fly and Boab himself then returns to haunt all those who caused him grief, lacing his ex-girlfriends curry with dog s**t amongst other things. But as if all that wasn't enough laughter for one day the film offers up a riotously funny finale whereby Boab catches his parents in the middle of a kinky sex role-play in the living room accompanied by Barry Adamson's suitably seedy The Vibes Aint Nothing But The Vibes. These ‘what goes on behind closed doors' scenes are really where Welsh excels himself, portraying them as he does with hysterical imagination. The sweat dripping from his every pore Boab Senior, reminiscent of a circus strong man complete with black leotard, is admitting to sexual liaisons with Dolly Parton, Anna Ford and Madonna as his wife Doreen punishes him for his sins with a strap on dildo. Mercifully (even for the most hardened of Welsh fans) she is saved from delivering the ultimate punishment (to `S***e in your mouth') when forced to answer the phone to her `pester' of a daughter Cathy. But before getting back to work on her husband she knocks the final nail in Boab's pitiful coffin, swiping him dead with a newspaper, the melancholic Nick Cave by now drowning out the proceedings perfectly.

The second segment, A Soft Touch, never quite lives up to the first but is still very good and shares many of its themes. The victim of the piece is the gullible Johnny who is married to the detestable Catriona, who in turn is screwing the equally hateful new neighbour from hell Larry. The only light in Johnny's life is his daughter Chantel, who as it happens isn't really his daughter at all. This is Welsh at his very darkest. It is his commentary on the frustrations and consequent suffering of the working classes. At times it shaves so close to the bone as to feel utterly depressing, an effect driven home by Beth Orton's Precious Maybe and Arab Strap's I Still Miss You. However there are enough comic moments to lighten the burden, most notably when the cocksure Larry is dancing by himself in front of a mirror to the strains of T-Rex's Hot Love. Furthermore, Larry's sheer atrociousness is a source of much amusement during the film even if the cruel mental torture that he inflicts upon his neighbour is beyond what any decent man should have to bare. The tense encounters between Larry and Johnny turn into a gripping survival of the fittest contest. In a tragic but wholly realistic conclusion Johnny welcomes the pregnant and rejected Catriona back into his life, reflecting the vicious circle that Welsh is so keen to portray.

I watched this as an eleven year old on its original broadcast on ITV back in 1988 and have to say that it absolutely scared me to death. I recently got the chance to see it again and, not only does it beat the pants of all the 40th anniversary documentaries, but it continues to make for absolutely chilling viewing. Forget The Exorcist, The Shining, Psycho or Jaws, The Men Who Killed Kennedy is real life and you come away from it feeling cynical about the world and wondering just who you can trust.

Far from being a good companion piece to Oliver Stone's JFK, as most reviewers claim, this is actually a stand out on its own and a far more historically accurate piece of work. While Stone's film is worth watching it definitely has its own agenda, uses a ton of poetic licence and portrays the corrupt Jim Garrison almost as a martyr to the cause. Garrison does turn up in this documentary but it would appear that producer Nigel Turner doesn't have much time for his much lambasted theories because there is no mention of the likes of Clay Shaw or David Ferrie at all and, if anything, this exclusion adds to the credibility of Turner's work rather than taking away from it. The superb DVD collection contains the original two-episode 1988 programme, three more programmes from 1990 that were cobbled together from the left over footage of the 88' show and an admittedly inferior, though still worthwhile 1995 sequel called The Truth Shall Set You Free. It appears that yet another three episodes, collectively entitled The Final Chapter, made for the US History Channel, have been produced for the 40th anniversary and I've already heard whispers that these are also well worth catching.

The assassination itself, filmed by amateur photographer Abraham Zapruder, has to be one of the most shocking images that the world has ever seen and, despite viewing it several times during the course of this programme, it's one that is impossible to become insensitive to. In eight short seconds it captures the eternal conflict between good and evil as Kennedy transforms from a smiling, dashing, beautiful symbol to a desperate one hanging on for dear life before being blown to oblivion. I doubt that I will ever see a more brutal real life slaying and, happening as it does to arguably the most popular leader that ever lived, makes it all the more tragic. But it is not just the content of this programme, but the way in which it is presented that makes it what it is. An eerie mood pervades throughout owing to a spooky narration, the subtle use of creepy background music and a vast array of stock footage that captures the moment perfectly.

Needless to say this documentary supports the conspiracy view and does so thoroughly. No stone is left unturned, all sorts of theories are examined and anyone with a remote involvement seems to be either mentioned or interviewed. While some of the sections, including the shooting from sewer theory, the attention seeking Beverly Oliver and even the now dated Badge Man theory should be taken with a pinch of salt, it's fair to say that quite a lot of evidence seems beyond question. For instance, can anyone really counter the argument that the autopsy photographs were faked after watching this programme? I doubt it and yet it is notable that documentaries on the lone assassin theory continue to use these photographs as their primary source of evidence. Furthermore the evidence that Oswald's nemesis Jack Ruby was ushered into the basement of the Dallas Police headquarters rather than sneaking in seems almost irrefutable. This is only the tip of the iceberg however. There are so many other unanswered questioned. Why was ink found on the deceased Oswald's hand shortly before his fingerprints suddenly turned up on the Book Depository rifle? Why did the names of 'The Three Tramps', found hiding in a railroad boxcar about to depart beside the Book Depository shortly after the assassination, go unrecorded? How could Oswald possibly have made it from the sixth floor maze of the Book Depository (where he also had to hide his gun) to the kitchen on the bottom floor, where he was witnessed unflustered by a Dallas cop, 90 seconds after the assassination? How did a man on the grassy knoll produce Secret Service identification after a cop had pulled a pistol on him despite the fact that no Secret Service agents were present outside of the cavalcade on that fatal day? Why is there no record of Oswald's twelve-hour interrogation in the Dallas Police headquarters? Even in the unlikely event that you're not convinced by many of the theories then the programme will still almost certainly serve its primary function of planting some seeds of doubt in your mind about the exact nature of the murder of John F. Kennedy.

The unique theory offered up by this programme, specifically by Steve Rivele, is that a three man Corsican hit team carried out the assassination. Only one of the accused assassins (the deceased Lucien Sarti) is mentioned however because one of the others (Sauveur Pironti) threatened to sue Central Television for having an alibi on the day of the murder. Even so the theory seems sound and it would appear that Sarti's involvement, at least, is probable. Rivele turned his back on the matter after the Central fiasco but perhaps he summed it up best when, years later, he commented that attempting to dissect the JFK assassination is a subject that `eats your soul'. Not only were there some very dark forces in Dallas on that fatal day in November 22nd 1963 but since then it has become clear that there are quite a lot of glory hunters and money grabbers, either falsely claiming to be witnesses to events associated with the murder or developing yet more wild theories to be gobbled up by the media. American history's most controversial mystery then seems forevermore destined to make those who seek the real truth end up feeling sick to the pits of their stomachs. So, in summary, this is an excellent programme but it so powerful that I would actually go as far as to warn people who have a positive, happy outlook on life to beware of it because it is the type of thing that might just turn your world upside down.

As a long time snooker fan I'd heard whispers about this film for years and it was only recently after months of searching that I finally managed to get hold of a copy. It's true that only Channel 4 in its early days could throw up something as bizarre as Billy the Kid and The Green Baize Vampire. By the same token snooker was the most popular sport in Britain in the mid-80's so making a film about it and its rivalries (players, managers, fans and everything that they stood for) was perhaps less of a risk then compared to how it might now seem.

As sports films go it's not bad but neither is it great. Perhaps the most unfortunate thing about the film is that the real snooker world was throwing up its own unparalleled sporting drama at the time, be it the black ball finish in the 1985 World Championship between Dennis Taylor and Steve Davis or, more to the point, the riveting rivalry between Davis and Alex Higgins who really were like chalk and cheese. One had a squeaky-clean image, the other was a lovable rogue with a penchant for vices and they both hated each other's guts. The rivalry between Maxwell and Billy or indeed the players they are based on (Dracula look-alike Ray Reardon and new kid on the block Jimmy White) could never evoke the same passions and even then Phil Daniels and Alun Armstrong, talented as they are, are slightly unconvincing here. Like most young upstarts Daniels (resembling Dexy's Kevin Rowland more than Jimmy White) reels off a few cocky taunts but he's far from the booze fuelled, authority-hating and downright rude figure that Higgins was. The whole thing feels like little more than your token pre-match jibing session and it's not helped by the fact that the humour is laboured as well. Granted, the idea of both players having completely different sets of followers and standing for completely different ideals and generations is well handled but even then a far better illustration of this would be to witness the audience reaction when Higgins and Davis crossed cues in front of 3,000 people in the 1985 Masters at the Wembley Conference Centre.

In saying all this I think it's important to appreciate how difficult an obscure project like this must have been to tackle and those who did so obviously weren't afraid of trying something different. Furthermore even though this film ends up being something of a failure it does nevertheless contain enough flashes of brilliance to convince you that there is a really unique talent behind it all and one that has done or probably could do a lot better. Despite being entirely studio bound and having a limited budget, the whole thing is shot with real class and looks wonderfully expensive. I love the dimly lit snooker halls, Maxwell's creepy pad really brings those fantasy images of Reardon to life, there are a few memorable quotes and the costume department do a good job here too. It's also worth noting that there is none of that dodgy editing, typical of sports movies, whereby a player hits a ball a mile away from the pocket and yet it miraculously manages to reach its intended target. As for the music, well, it's a little bit uninspired and at times feels like it's fleshing out a script lacking in ideas but the film does open with an excellent jaunty sax sore, evoking shades of Francis Monkman's score for The Long Good Friday, and Billy launches his comeback near the end to the strains of a catchy little piece called 'The Fame Game'. Alan Clarke was, of course, the man behind it all and while this is ultimately one of his less memorable moments it was nonetheless an interesting little venture/ indulgence.

This is a film that seems to get a pretty harsh time judging by the few reviews that I've read. Granted it's nothing spectacular but it did at least leave a lasting impression on me after seeing it as a youngster late one night on the BBC in the mid-80's. It's also worth noting that director John Laing received two awards for the movie soon after its release. What struck me upon watching it all those years ago was the beautiful location shoots and the very spooky atmosphere that permeated throughout aided by a chilling score and frequent nighttime footage. John Bach plays the dual role of identical twins Edward and Maxwell Scarry. Max, an anthropologist, has gone missing and is feared dead after going in search of a mysteriously disappeared tribe on a deserted New Zealand island. It soon transpires however that his disappearance coincided with the murder of a prostitute back on the mainland, for which the blame is fingered on Edward, who must now go in search of his brother to prove his own innocence.

Laing pays some nice attention to detail and is obviously quite a big fan of horror movies, even though this is as much a mystery as it is a horror film. Some of his ideas, such as Max's telepathic daughter, now seem dated but there are shades of The Wicker Man with the island setting and the hunted leading the hunter. The theme of good versus evil is quite nicely played out as well although perhaps it would have worked even better had Edward been a little bit more of a goody two shoes. Nevertheless it is as good a dual-role film as I've seen. That is partly down to the make-up department though more to do with the fact that Max only appears in the last few minutes by which point we've had ample time to build up a character profile of somebody quite nasty.

Like the previous reviewer I also loved this show during my childhood when it was continuously repeated on BBC during the early to mid 80's. It's important to emphasis though that this production has far more going for it than mere nostalgia. It really is without doubt the best and most spirited screen adaptation of both the Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn novels and indeed watching other interpretations have only ever served to highlight its strengths. Most notably the 11 hours running time prove that it's almost impossible to do justice to either of Twain's most famous novels in a 90-minute feature film.

The casting here is inspired with Huck, Tom, Jim, Aunt Polly and Injun Joe all given definitive portrayals. The Tom-Huck, Huck-Jim relationships are handled magnificently and it's obvious that they all care deeply for each other. Ian Tracey is a great actor and with his trademark subtlety he really breathes the part of Twain's most famous creation, while Sammy Snyders frenzied acting style suits Tom Sawyer down to the ground. For a kid's show Huckleberry Finn and His Friends really is very dark and gritty, particularly in the early episodes where the two fantasy loving youngsters are top of Injun Joe's hit list. Quite a lot of this section is shot at night such as the graveyard murder and one scene that I'll always remember is Huck nervously hiding in a tree above Joe and Pard as they close in to burgle the Widow Douglas. One wrong move and he knows he's dead. It's during these scenes that both Tracey's husky narration, brilliantly used throughout the show, and the unforgettable musical score really adds to the tension and atmosphere. Further such nail biting moments arise when Tom and Huck have to hide in the attic of the haunted house as Joe and Pard search for their treasure and also when Tom and Becky encounter Joe while lost in the cave.

Speaking of the caves the location shoots on this serial are absolutely superb. The costume department do an amazing job and, unlike other productions, Huck and co. really look quite grubby, just like they ought to. Although a previous reviewer points out that this is a West German production, I prefer to think of it as Canadian. It was co-produced by a Canadian company, mainly features Canadian actors and was shot in Canada including the Heritage Village Museum in British Columbia, which really is highly evocative of both the time and place that the novel is set.

The show covers all the famous episodes of both novels with the exception of the Wilkes episode, which is one that I've never been keen on anyway. The main difference between the book and this adaptation is that the series revolves around Huck throughout, even relegating Tom Sawyer to a secondary role during the first half of the show which covers his character's novel. This is no bad thing though bearing in mind how stunning Tracey's performance is. The one great misfortune though is that the series has been strangely forgotten since it left our screens in the late 80's. While the German dub has received an edited video release, the English version is sadly still awaiting one. Perhaps a DVD release might be the key to bringing this back to the public's notice. Until then Huckleberry Finn and His Friends must be content to lie in the vaults with the label of 'forgotten gem' attached to it.