Brighton Rock

"You wanted a recording of my voice, well here it is. What you want me to say is, 'I love you'. Well I don't.  I hate you."

Typical British seaside resort - scorchio!

You know the story: bad boy from the wrong side of the tracks meets good Catholic girl who straightens him out and softens him up, making him a better person and leaving the viewer with a sense of warmth and in adoration of the power of young love...*happy sighs*

Yeaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh, Brighton Rock certainly breaks that mould.

Rowan Joffe's adaptation of Graham Greene's novel is dark, bleak and thoroughly engrossing. Charting the spiralling demise of baby-faced teen gangster Pinkie, this noir adaptation gives a respectful nod to John Boulting's hallowed 1947 film, yet stays truer to the gritty, malevolence of the book. And it's clear from the get-go that things won't be looking up for the troubled soul anytime soon.

We're instantly thrown into the brutal, murky underworld of 1960s Brighton by night: where criminals tussle for power and wealth, and men are discarded like an unwanted half-gnawed stick of rock. By daylight, things aren't much better with the city on the cusp of a youth revolt and the threat of destruction by a generation of Mods and bikers lingering heavily in the salty air.

It quickly becomes apparent that Pinkie's attempts to scramble free of rival and overlord Colleoni's reign is a fruitless endeavour resulting in little more than violence and mutilation, and ultimately for Pinkie: self-destruction.

Pinkie is depicted wonderfully by the brooding Sam Riley, who shot to fame following his critically acclaimed turn as Joy Division frontman Ian Curtis in biopic Control.

"Pass me that goldfish and no-one gets hurt..."

Riley does "troubled soul" with effortless ease. The ability to evoke moments of sympathy for such a dark, malevolant character is no mean feat but Riley does so, convincingly. Thus the audience are drawn to him in the strange, inexplicable way as Rose, his poor, pathetic love interest, played by Andrea Riseborough.

"Extreme kissing": the next big thing in high-octane sports

The real tragedy of this piece is the doomed relationship between Rose and Pinkie. Drawn into events by sheer poor luck, the pitiful Rose becomes embroiled in corrupt events beyond her control, desperate for affection but constantly rejected. She is little more than a pawn in Pinkie's plan and she knows it, although dares not admit it; frustrating both the audience and Pinkie as he struggles to stifle her affections.

There does come a point at which it seems as though there is something more behind those dead, black eyes where it seems Pinkie may admit even a mild desire for her - and it is hinted at - but alas it never comes to pass.

Frustrating, heart-wrenching and utterly absorbing.

The definitive scene that steals the show in this cinematically stylish and violent thriller has to be the final scene with Rose, desperately seeking comfort, listening to the soul-destroying record containing Pinkie's malicious words of hatred to her. The viewer's heart will skip a beat along with the record...

The big names arrive, unimpressed by the lack of fanfare

Supporting cast Helen Mirren, as Ida, and John Hurt, as Phil Corkery, cast an element of jovial light onto this otherwise dark piece. However they are somewhat peripheral against this vast backdrop of violence and disillusionment in a changing time.

Cinematically slick and stylish, Joffe offers a return to classic film noir, with sweeping, vast cliff shots and shady characters skulking in the shadows beneath the salt-sprayed dreary piers. Hand-held camera shots also create the energy and immediacy necessary for the physical, adrenalin filled moments.

Martin Phipp's dark and creeping score intensifies the looming darkness and vein of dread that pulses steadily throughout the film, until the climactic cliff-top finale.

Brighton ain't the same. She's on the move...

2011: A Promising Film Odyssey

Specsavers 2011 Spring/Summer Collection

"I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked..." They just don't write 'em like that anymore, but apparently they can adapt 'em into partially animated feature length films.

Rob Epstein and Jeffry Friedman's potrayal of the 1957 obscenity trial held over Allen Ginsberg's celebrated poem, "Howl", presents the audience with a combination of archive footage, animated illustrations of the poem and some reportedly sterling acting from James Franco.

Not released in the UK until February 2011 this is just one of many literary masterpieces that I am simultaneously anxious and terrified of seeing translated to film.



Ok, maybe "terrified" is a tad strong, but if you haven't already gathered from my slaughtering of Scorsese's "Shutter Island" I really HATE it when an adaptation goes wrong. You know that feeling of intense disappointment like when you realise a celebrity is actually a total prat in real life and it totally taints everything else they ever do (yeah Christian Bale I'm talkin to you): you just want to ask why, jump through a portal in time back to a better, simpler place where ignorance reigned and everything was rosy. This is how I feel when I see an excellent book poorly adapted to film, so needless to say my anxiety levels are gradually rising with the impending release of various literary classics on the silver screen.

Next case in point, arguably the best novel of American 20th Century literature, F. Scott Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby.

Ahh, the X Factor has just started.

Now, when you entitle something as "arguably the best of a century" the bar has already been set inconceivably high, so it's little wonder that many (4 in total) have attempted to bring this lavish and tragic tale of wealth and desire to the silver screen in the past. Most notably, Jack Clayton's 1974 offering wound up being somewhat of a flop, atmospheric as it is. Even the radioactive Robert Redford and Mia Farrow couldn't bring this back from the brink of mundane.

Seems bizarre that a text so rich in imagery, full of characters absolutely dripping in pathos, in an era of extreme decadence could be anything other than a visual feast.

I refuse to be disheartened though, and I'll stand resilient in the hope that the upcoming film adaptation of the novel will do it some justice. With Leonardo DiCaprio as Gatsby and Carey Mulligan as Daisy Buchanan, SURELY I won't be let down - famous last words...

"Dear diary, today I met a boy..."

Hunter S. Thompson's novel The Rum Diary follows the soul-searching adventure of journalist Paul Kemp, writing, drinking and fighting his way around the Carribean. Brilliant. So when I heard this was being made into a film starring Johnny Depp (of course) I was delighted. That was about 3 years ago, so the fact they're finally in the post-production stages feels like like a long overdue treat. My only concern is that the hype has been building (in my head anyway) for so long now that it won't live up to expectations, but with Depp's dedication to Thompson's work and if "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas" is anything to go by, I shouldn't be let down. Roll on 2011...

My face is the same when I forget my travel scrabble

I must admit I don't have my hopes set high for this one, as I simply don't know how the spontaneous narrative structure of the novel will translate to film. I don't know if I want it to in fact. I am referring to the screen version of Jack Kerouac's defining novel On The Road. The largely biographical journey of Sal Paradise is now considered a crucial text of the Beat Generation, influencing generations of road-trippers on spiritual booze-fuelled journeys for years to come.

With Walter Salles (of "The Motorcycle Diaries" fame) at the directorial helm, Francis Ford Coppolla controlling production and a young and promising cast including Brit talent Sam Riley as Sal Paradise: in theory it should work.

I remain unconvinced.

Bob Dylan once said of the novel: "It changed my life like it changed everyone else's." Wonder what he'll make of the film...

(On The Road is due for release in 2011)



Novels that translated well to film:

• LA Confidential by James Ellroy
• American Psycho by Bret Easton Ellis
• The Godfather by Mario Puzo

Lost in Translation:

• The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold (awright Peter you like CGI, we get it! not always appropriate though eh?)
• Frankenstein by Mary Shelley (time and time again they've been more horrific than any monster)
• The Human Stain by Philip Roth (Anthony Hopkins as a black American...nuff said)