FiLM: Civil War, 2024

This is a pretty good film. And the premise, of America going back to Civil War, no longer seems that far fetched. Particularly after Trump’s riotous mob-rule near-coup, not all that long ago.

One of the key things this movie does well, is bring all that global terrorism and proxy war business, which were all so familiar with imagery of, on TVs, computers, tablets and phones, right on home to roost. Back I n the good ol’ US of A.

And so it is that two of our key protagonists – the world-weary elder photojournalist, Lee Miller (Kirsten Dunst) and the younger aspiring photographer, Jessie (Cailly Spaeny) – meet at a scene of urban rioting, when a flag bearing suicide bomber charges into the melee.

Young hotness meets old n’ busted.

The film manages to stay almost completely neutral, most of the time, to such an extent it becomes – as is so often the case in real war – almost impossible to tell who’s who. Indeed, there’s a sniper scene, which heavily underscores this exact point, in case you weren’t getting the subtler cues.

It also points up the ways in which all ‘sides’ quickly descend into barbarism, during war time. Simultaneously both celebrating and yet shining an uncomfortable light on the detached-professionalism ideal, of the press. Or the press as it once was?

Nick Offerman, as the near orange POTUS.

Ultimately the film becomes a road trip: a group of journalists attempt to get to Washington DC, hoping for the gigantic ‘scoop’ of a presidential interview.

Besieged in D.C. the third term POTUS has not been interviewed – the movie opens with him rehearsing a chest-beatingly upbeat and patriotic to-camera soliloquy – in over a year.

Aspiring photojournalist, Jessie.

Jessie is just a kid. But also along for the ride is the elderly and morbidly obese Sammy, a veteran NY Times scribe. With two strong female leads, the yin to their yang is provided by Wagner Moura, as Joel, Lee’s writing partner, who’s cynical, and overly fond of booze and weed.

The sense of terror and chaos alternating with normality and tranquility features quite a lot. Sometimes in contrasting sections of the narrative, and at others, almost simultaneously; as during the sniper firefight, when natures’ flowers, in all their small delicate beauty, are blooming, regardless of human strife and folly.

An interesting moment…

The sound design was a bit ham-fisted, in places. At least to my mind. Shoe-horning some questionable musical choices into the movie, none-too delicately. And the use of occasional ‘deafening silence’, whilst as effective as ever, was a bit overplayed.

A WF encampment, near D.C.

This apparently had an humongous budget. And you see where the money’s gone. But it also looks like extensive use was made of very slick CGI. Nowadays that’s generally so good – hyper-real, almost? – that you really can’t tell where reality and CGI end or meet.

Perhaps the most powerful and disturbing scene is that in which an unnamed soldier (or we assume he’s a soldier, as he and his cronies are in battle dress), played by Jesse Plemons*, terrorises the group of journos, who have encountered some old friends/colleagues on the road.

This scene is kind of the fulcrum of the movie.

*Kirsten Dunst’s real-life spouse, and – or so I’ve read – a last minute replacement for the actor originally cast in the role.

In this short and grim episode, we get a glimpse of the horrifically brutal simple-mindedness that underlies so much human conflict, in the form of racism.

Sammy, played by Stephen McKinley Henderson.

In the end, against seemingly hopeless or insuperable odds, the journos – or some of them – reach the Whitehouse, just as the WF storm it, massacring a cavalcade of fleeing spooks and aides, mistakenly thought to be the fleeing POTUS.

And here the film reaches its rather grim denouement. What’s it all mean? Well, aside from the Babi Yar style massacre pit scene, the production team resolutely strive for neutrality, of opacity.

Troops pose with Presidential corpse.

But there are some cards on the table: the President is a third term despot. Racism is part of the ‘what kind of American are you’ conundrum. And our faces are rubbed in the extreme inhumanity, or perhaps I should just say brutality? Of war, which, despite the film’s themes/title, is never very civil, if you follow?

There’s a couple of very good reviews of the film here, and here, that are both well worth a read.

Silver Apples, c. 1968.

FOOTNOTE: Music

The first very prominent bit of pop-culture OST programming, that slaps you in the face, is the rather brilliantly quirky ‘Lovefingers’, by Silver Apples. It’s an amazing piece. Esp’ so given it was released in 1968! But I’m not entirely sure it’s the best choice for that particular moment in the film. But maybe I’m wrong. Whatever! What I am glad of is that it’s there at all. Reminding me I need to check out Silver Apples in more depth.

CLOTHES/MUSiC: Funky Threads!

Arrived today.

Whilst digging all this groovy music from back in the day, I’ve also been cogitating on the funky sartorial thide of sings.

Collar up is good!
Uh-oh… have I lost it?

Or have I found it? What is IT? Poss’ my ‘mojo’? I decided, tempus fuckit, n’ all that, so let’s have a bit of fun. This is to be my special muso-funk outfit. Not for quotidian normality. But for musical fun only. And, very importantly, to be kept spotlessly clean n’ white!

I might will be addbig to this outfit. A polo/roll/turtle neck sweater. Some long beady necklaces, and a white or very pale cream sports jacket. What fun!

MiSC: Selfies Agogo…

Just now… enjoying bass therapy.

I’m not normally one for selfies. Images of me often disappoint and upset. Ah… vanity! I’m taking these partly ‘cause I feel less afflicted that way, and partly ‘cause I want to record sideburn progress and glasses repairs.

As well as documenting face fuzz furtherance, note the last of the four above photos; my glasses are quite a lot closer to horizontal/parallel with ye eyebrows. As opposed to the first two pics in this little gallery, where they’re really on the wonk!

FiLM/MEDiA: Duel, 1971

Fab titles!

Wow! What an amazing film. I love this so much, that part way through this viewing, I upped and ordered the 50th anniversary reissue DVD.

It’s a bit proto-Jaws – hence the clever homage image below – with an evil truck/trucker chasing down a hapless ‘ordinary Joe’. You barely see the driver: a quick glimpse, as vehicles pass; a hand, on the wheel; cowboy boots, as he walks behind the truck, kicking the tyres…

It’s the ol’ mystery multiplies menace gambit. And it works a treat. Playing on the minds of both the victimised car driver, and the viewer.

This is a clever and fun tribute!

It starts with a realistic enough scenario, one driver – salesman Davis Mann (Dennis Weaver), in his Red Plymouth Valiant – overtakes another; the dirty ol’ smoke belching truck. The overtaker thereby dissing the gruntle of the overtakee… if you follow? And follow is exactly what the ne’erdowell truck/trucker does.

However, this plausible quotidian scenario rapidly escalates into something more akin to Greek Myth. Mann is Odysseus, who just wants to get home, and the Peterbilt 281 big-rig is the Cyclops, or Minotaur, Harpy, or whatever, that just won’t let up.

Dennis Weaver, as David Mann.

Dennis Weaver is absolutely pitch-perfect as the ‘70s Everyman… literally; David Mann. Initially just baffled, he soon gets properly discombobulated.

His name and circumstances also make the movie a study in Mann-hood. He’s had an argument with his wife; he needs to score a contract for work; and now? He’s suddenly in a life and death fight:

‘… all the ropes that kept you hanging in there get cut loose. And it’s like there you are, right back in the jungle again.’

In this battle to reclaim his manhood, I love the way everyday commonplace scenarios – a stop at petrol station, a Diner, trying to help a broken down school bus – all suddenly become extremely sinister and menacing. It really is great.

The truck, a Peterbilt 281.

Spielberg’s eye for detail is phenomenal. The truck a – Peterbilt 281, so I’ve read – is phenomenal as an embodiment of unrelenting malevolence and evil. The red Plymouth is spot on – although I’ve read Spielberg actually didn’t care what make/type the car was, as long as it was red! – as the underpowered Everyman’s ride.

Mann’s Plymouth Valiant.

Every single location, from subarban garage, to city, arid landscape, diner, and so on, is right on the money. Spielberg displays a Hitchockian attribute; a natural seeming ability to weave everything together just so. The right look, the right location, the right camera angle, and so on.

Chuck’s Café.

From a strictly real-world logical point of view, aspects of the movie might not hold up to forensic analysis. But that would be to miss the point – or the magic – entirely.

Okay, Spielberg does gamely attempt to address such matters, for example during the diner scenes, with Mann’s internal monologues, etc. Or when he stops at the lizard lady’s place and attempts to call the police.

But really this is a film that’s much more like a mythical poem than humdrum kitchen sink reality. It only needs to hold together on its own terms. And it does. Beautifully.

The Duel, in progress.

Nowadays we have terms such as ‘road rage’, to describe similar (if usually more mundane, altho’ not necessarily less terrifying) scenarios. And, with depressing frequency, since 9/11, we read of planes, boats, trains, cars, trucks, buses, whatever, being repurposed as instruments of lethal execution.

Seeking refuge…

But back to the film… the landscapes and the music are also part of the overall magic.* And Spielberg’s masterful decision not to have the truck full of flammable material explode? The mark of a master at work.

A young Steven Spielberg.

Originally limited to 75 minutes, due to its made for TV constraints, an extended 90 minute version was created, ‘toot-sweet’, for theatrical release. Such was the popularity of the TV show.

I’m not sure which format attained the distinction, but Duel won the 1972 Emmy for ‘Outstanding Achievement in Film Sound Editing.’ And you can hear why.

An unusually good review, marking the 50th anniversary of this film, can be read here.

Spielberg did this very soon after directing the superb Columbo episode Murder By The Book. He was already a master of directorial sleight of hand. Or should I say smoke and mirrors? There are plenty of those here:

All in all? Brilliant. Highly recommended.

MUSiC: Lowering Bass Action

Playing the ol’ Squier JB.

In the last few days I’ve started playing a bit of music. For the first time in, well, what must be at least a couple – poss’ longer – of years!

I wrote a song, on the ol’ classical guitar, which was a dustier than a dust storm in a dust bowl. That was a few days ago, now. And yesterday I got out the electric guitars: Squier Strat and Squier Jazz bass.

I do love my pedal board!

I even got out my ol’ pedal board, and worked on a loop of the Kool & The Gang number, ‘Summer Madness’. I’m rustier than the wreck of the Titanic. But at least I’m getting back into it.

Considering what a big part of my life music has always been, I think this a good thing. I was considering just jacking it all in. But I think that was depression speaking. We shall see, I s’pose?

BASS ACTION

Before, above the pencil line.

So, I can’t believe I’ve owned this bass for many years, and only now have I gotten around to lowering the action!

There are at least two aspects to lowering the action, at the bridge end. Initially I just used a 1.5mm Allen key to lover the saddles on the pairs of ‘vertical’ grub-screws. But that wasn’t sufficient.

So I had to really loosen off the strings, such that I could fully access, and flip, or rotate the saddles, using the long ‘horizontal’ Phillips head screws. As the saddle moves away from the bridge, as it’s Ona slight downward incline, the action is lowered.

After, below pencil line.

So it took a combo’, of both moving inwards, and downwards, to achieve the degree of lowered action I was aiming for. I wanted to photograph the process with a metal rule, to gauge the change in height. But I could’nae find one. So, needs must, it wound up being a sawn-off lolly-stick!

My little music station.

Lowering the action makes the bass a lot easier to play. And I’m not getting any unwanted side-effects, like fret buzz. So I’m very pleased with the outcome. Having not played at all for a good number of years, and even longer in terms of regular playing, unsurprisingly I’m very rusty!

FOOTNOTE – Web Knowledge

You can’t believe everything you read on’t internet. My Squier Jazz Bass requires 1.5mm Allen keys.

LANGUAGE/MEANiNG/RELiGiON: To Revere

I was thinking about how mythological tales, e.g. Bible stories, may remain relevant, even after they have become in some respects – if taken literally – ridiculous (e.g. the The Fall, or The Flood).

This all got me thinking of many things. One of which was the concept of reverence. Looking at the etymology of the word, we may find this:

I find it interesting how, for a lot of folk these days, the concept of reverence has morphed from fear to love! ‘Re-Vere‘, or intense fear, leads to ‘respect’, and that, eventually, becomes love!

As bonkers as that might seem written down, and with the evolution of the meaning compressed into a few seconds, it kind of makes sense.

The why of this linguistic evolution tying in with why Christianity (and other modern monotheisms) have evolved into what they are now, suiting so well, as they do, adoption and usage by individual power figures, such as Emperors, Kings, and so on.

The lesson that we must fear the powers of Nature is thus transferred to the fear of powerful men (or women!). And over time that initial naked fear can evolve – especially when sedulously cultivated – into love. It’s almost like an ancient or primitive Stockholm Syndrome: to placate what you fear you start loving it.

Witness the abominable forelock-tugging love and respect for ‘our’ (not mine!) so called Royal Family. I always used to. S massively irked by the naked sycophancy on display in big old stately homes. But of course, what could be more natural than costing up with the biggest bullies around?

All of this thought was triggered by a thought along the lines of ‘just because something is revered by many [I was thinking of The Bible], doesn’t make it inherently worthy, in any way’, or something like that.

Roger Scruton.

I can’t recall exactly how all of the above eventually lead me to Roger Scruton (I think it was something about aesthetics and architecture, which came out of looking for a comical depiction of Charlie*, our current ‘King’), but it did.

*To illustrate the hypocrisy of a tax evading megabucks ‘royal’, pontificating on charity for the homeless, in one of his panacea stuffed with looted gewgaws.

I shall have to learn more about Scruton. Reading his wiki page has been interesting. I have a deep-rooted and abiding hatred of Tories and Toryism – what I call neo-liberalist disaster-crapitalism – and yet like Scruton, I really don’t like the middle-class hooliganism one sometimes encounters on the so-called left.

For Scruton it was witnessing the Paris ‘68 riots. For me – amongst many other things – I could say it was witnessing yobbish destructive behaviour during the Reclaim The Streets protests, in London, c. early ‘90s. That, and similar experiences elsewhere, really soured me on what one might term neo-Marxist ‘direct action’.

But all of these things I’m touching upon here, are of course massively complex. By which I might mean, for example, that in Paris ‘68 and London in the ‘90s, most protestors were actually very peaceful. So the small hooligan element besmirched a bigger, better ‘other’. But this post isn’t the place I’m going to unpack and explore such nuances or complexities.

Suffice it to say that, whilst I’ve obviously encountered Scruton before (and, if I recall correctly, taking something of a dislike to him for his obvious conservatism), this is the first time he’s really registered on my radar. And I do think I’d like to learn more about him and his thinking.

That’s something for another time and place, however.

MUSIC: Kool & The Gang

I just love these guys!

I’m having a major K&TG moment right now. At present, whilst I have a shitload of their stuff on mp3 somewhere, I only have the one album on CD, 1973s Wild & Peaceful. And what a beauty that is.

Cherish.

Yesterday I had an ‘episode’, listening to and learning to play their ‘80s hit ‘Cherish’. And that is wonderful piece of music. It reduces me to tears.

But their real heyday, for me, is from their first ‘69 release, up until around … maybe ‘76-‘77? Pre J. T, at any rate, when they were funkier, jazzier, less pop/disco, and much more soulful.

Summer Madness.

It’s amazing to see that ‘Summer Madness’, a B-side instrumental, has racked up (at the time of posting this) over 17 million views! Mind you, if I’m surprised by that, it’s pleasantly so. It is an absolute corker.

Can’t wait!

To build my K&TG library, I’ve ordered CDs (from Japan; even with shipping the cheapest way to do it!) of Love & Understanding, Light of Worlds, and Spirit of the Boogie (oh, and a vocal Herbie Hancock album, Butterfly, released under the singer’s name, Kimiko Kasai).

I have often seen or heard of a band called Khruangbin. Today is the first time I’ve consciously checked them out. And it’s only on account of their covering ‘Summer Madness’…

DAYS OUT: This Afternoon…

Ryhall.

I’ve often driven past or through Ryhall. It’s a very pretty place. But, until today, I never really had the opportunity to pause and enjoy it.

View from the (very narrow) bridge.

Ryhall is the kind of place I dream about living in, one day.

It’s also been a fair old while since I had occasion to stop and look at – and enjoy – any ecclesiastical architecture. I managed two today. St. John The Evangelist church, Ryhall, and the remains of St. Leonards Priory, in Stamford.

Here’s the church:

St. John The Evangelist.

If IMHO eat, this was one of the duller churches I’ve visited. It’s in a beautiful village. And the graveyard is quite pretty. But the church itself? It’s a bit dull.

Inside there wasn’t much that caught my eye. The posh folks’ memorials, perhaps? And there’s one corbel carving that, quite literally, stands out. But compared with so many churches I’ve visited, this one’s a little lacking. The glass here would typifiy what I’m talking about.

Outside there is a series of tiny little heads and ornaments, carved into the stone. Some of which are quite appealing. And the scale abs style of this feature strikes me a little unusual.

Later the same day I was able to stop – to revisit; I’d passed the building earlier, whilst delivering – and briefly admire St. Leonards Priory. Or at least what’s left of it…

Some info’ on the place.

There’s an info’ board. And you can walk down to the river. I walked part the way. But it got very muddy. And I didn’t have suitable footwear. So I didn’t reach the Welland on this occasion. Poss’ worth a revisit, with Teresa?

It was interesting walking along the colonnade. And peaking into the empty interior.

The area around the Priory is quite pleasant…

Slight pano’…

You’d hardly believe you were in Stamford, looking at the above view. But turn 180°, and you will quickly see that you certainly are!

All in all, this was a very pleasant Tuesday. I did my work, which in itself I found enjoyable. And afterwards I was able to savour some of the attractions of the locality.

DAYS OUT: This Morning…

Out delivering… gorgeous sunrise.

Had a very positive morning today. Which is nice. First off, I felt well enough to do my early/long first shift. first such shift in a while, due to this goddamn cold.

The glorious sunrise out in the sticks and my fabulous CD collection conspired to produce a very pleasant natural high. I also started a new ‘daily gratitude’ thang… and had a lovely response from all the family (esp’ dad), which was wonderful.

Mum pointed out that I had t included nature in my gratitude list. I could’ve replied that that was ‘cause I was limiting the list to just ten things. But I didn’t. Instead I sent her some of the pics shown here.

I adore this view!

A couple of the things that make the current dispensation – mainly by that I mean working delivering for Amazon – more than just tolerable, but downright pleasurable, are the musuc I can and do listen to, and the beautiful landscapes I sometimes have the pleasure of driving through.

So… a very good start to the day today.

I then got home, and promptly fell asleep. But that in itself was nice. And now I’m at the depot, in Peterborough, for shift no. two. I do hope that’s second shift is as pleasant as the previous one? Of course, it may not be. And it has a lot to live up to! But one can live in hope.

MUSiC: Gil Mellé – More Film & TV Magic

It’s becoming increasingly clear to me that it’s a crime that there’s not a career retrospective collection of Gil Mellé’s film and TV soundtrack work.

Access the entire Andromeda Strain OST.

I’m going to have to explore this guy’s work more. It’s utterly fascinating. Here’s a short clip of the man himself. With an instrument of his own design…

Here’s a full album of electronic weirdness:

And, as promised in the title of the post, TV and film stuff…

And now we’re really talking… a whole OST: