We are inundated by entertainment. Ingulfed, immersed, overwhelmed.
Even when we think we’ve had enough we demand and expect more. The line between truth and reality is blurred. This means that we are confused when real life intrudes: a terorist act, an act of God, a man-made disaster, an argument with a friend, a personal achievement. When any of these happens, a common comment is to say ‘It was just like a movie’.
What used to be the basis for speculative fiction are now daily occurences. There is no need for Science Fiction anymore. A TV presenter becomes President of the USA. A clean-cut dictator threatens to launch a nuclear attack. TV channels boast of being first at the scene of the latest horrific event.
A routine editorial remit is ‘If it bleeds, it leads’. Now that entertainment is so precisely tailored to personal tastes and individual fetishes, consumption becomes an end it itself. So preferable is this to ‘real life’ that it becomes no just an escape but an alternative reality. Welcome to the modern world.
Uncanny Landscapes in 21st-Century British Cinema. The Pestilence in the Ditch by Lawrence Jackson (Edinburgh University Press, 2025)
The distinctive phrase chosen as the book’s subtitle comes from the author’s interview with Lila Rawlings, a film producer whose credits include Clio Barnard’s ‘The Selfish Giant’ (2013) and ‘Dark River’(2017). Lawrence Jackson uses the image to conjure up visions of “pestilent landscapes, through which lost figures wander.” In this provocative study, the British countryside on screen is envisaged as an impure anti-landscape rather than the place of benign beauty.
The films examined are shown to occupy a malign “disorientating interzone” inhabited by marginalised characters. From this it is argued that “What unites filmmakers and cultural historians of the new century is this shared sense that our present is a barren space where nothing grows.” This is a bleak but, in my view, accurate summary of the current state of British cinema.
I am beyond thrilled to report that my first book on British cinema and identity (both personal and national) has just been published.
After four years of work I feel satisfaction and relief (mixed with some trepidation) that it’s finally in the public domain.
You can see it, preview it and perhaps even buy it at the Cambridge Scholars website via this link . The price is a bit high ( it’s hardback! … it’s academic! 😉) but if you care to DM me, I would be happy to offer the option of a competitive discount .
A sample chapter is downloadable to get the flavour of the product so it would be redundant to repeat what is online elsewhere.As an alternative I have posted a short summary of my aims in each of the nine chapters whcih you can read on Substack.
Christopher Nolan’s films just keep on getting bigger. They work as spectacles to the point that how the actors perform and what they say is becoming of secondary importance. I fully expect his audacious free adaption of Homer’s The Odyssey to win numerous Oscars in 2027 but, unlike the equally brilliant Oppenheimer, this is not a film which depends on riveting central performances. The bearded Matt Damon is serviceable as Odysseus but his portrayal relies more on reacting that acting. The same could also be said of the rest of the cast. It’s the set pieces you remember rather than any nuanced delivery of profound dialogues.
Although this is modern cinema at its most staggeringly huge, it is epic filmmaking which is not without president. Cecil B. DeMille’s biblical epic, The Ten Commandments (1923) and Ben-Hur (1959) directed by William Wyler are two other examples. It’s the monumental scale and state of the art technical sophistication that takes Nolan’s vision to a higher level.
Making big films like this is good for keeping the theatrical experience of cinema alive. This really does have to be seen on the big screen rather than on an i-phone. Filmed entirely using unwieldly IMAX 70mm cameras,many critics have recommended that this film must be seen in an imax cinema. This is an elitist position as it pays little regard to the fact that only 41 cinemas around the world are actually screening it in this format.
I have little doubt that seeing the film as Nolan intended is an immersive experience although some viewers have complained that the loud soundtrack is even more overwhelming to the point that it drowns out the dialogue. Personally, I like the full-on effect this gives and both films easier to follow than many mumblecore movies.
With an eye-watering cost of $250 million to produce and an additional $125 million spent on marketing, some could see this as a high-risk venture but let’s not forget that this is Christopher ‘fucking’ Nolan. Unlike the tired superhero franchises, this doesn’t strike me as a cash-in project. The ambition behind it is personal rather than being fired by corporate interests. Success is already assured and the universal acclaim ensures that is that rare beast – a high-stakes critical and commercial achievement.
Samantha Morton steals the show as Circe
Paradoxically, for all the breath-taking visuals on display, the most memorable scene is due to exceptional acting rather than the special effects. Samantha Morton’s brilliant portrayal as the sorceress Circe comes in a sequence that only lasts about 10 minutes but has been justifiably praised as the highpoint of the film. This show-stopping performance could also make the case for having more English actors in the cast of Nolan’s film. Perhaps this will generate a spin-off movie based on Madeline Millar’s brilliant Circe novel . If Morton is the starring role then you won’t need the same budget of Imax filming. I’d be first in line to see this.
Lo straniero directed by Luchino Visconti (Italy, 1967)
L’Étranger directed by François Ozon (France, 2025)
These two films are seperated by almost half a century but are otherwise quite similar in mood. The source for both is of course Albert Camus’s 1952 novel which in English is generally translated as ‘The Outsider’. This is a kind of ur-text for existentialism.
In the afterward to the novel, Camus wrote of his Algerian anti-hero Meursault: “One wouldn’t be far wrong in seeing ‘The Outsider as a story of a man who, without any heroic pretentions, agrees to die for the truth.”
This is a neat sound bite but ignores the not irrelevant detail that this is also a man who killed an Arab man for reasons that are never entirely clear. Being blinded by the sun is his lame defence in the courtroom. Such a state of confusion might have accounted for one shot after being threatened with a knife but doesn’t explain why he then fired four more bullets into the lifeless body.
The Arab is basically a clunky plot device with racist implications. Camus doesn’t even bother to give readers the dead man’s name. The man’s anonimity is carried through to Visconti’s film but is partially corrected in Ozon’s version which ends with an image of the victim’s gravestone. In both films the focus is squarely on Meursault depicting him as a suave, elegant man of few words. Marcello Mastroianni has such a natural charm that it’s hard to think too badly of him. Benjamin Voisin conveys to cold-hearted detachment more convincingly.
