Arts, Books, Culture, Drama, Films, Literature

Hamnet

FILM REVIEW

Intro: This film adaptation is based on Maggie O’Farrell’s deeply moving historical novel that reimagines the life of William Shakespeare’s family, specifically focusing on the death of his only son, Hamnet, and how that tragedy may have influenced his most famous play, Hamlet

In 1596, William Shakespeare’s only son, Hamnet, died at the age of 11. Sometime between three and five years later, Shakespeare wrote a play which almost shared the boy’s name, and which has since become one of the most lauded dramatic works in existence. The possible link between these two events was the subject of an acclaimed 2020 novel by Maggie O’Farrell.

Now comes this quietly astonishing screen adaptation – with a script sensitively adapted by O’Farrell and the film’s director, Chloe Zhao – and with Jessie Buckley as Shakespeare’s wife, Anne Hathaway, and Paul Mescal as Shakespeare.

As in the book, Hathaway is here called Agnes, the name she was given in her father’s will. Her husband, meanwhile, is no famous playwright yet – his name is not mentioned for more than an hour – but the educated son of a Stratford glovemaker keeps pootling off to a London theatre for work. Agnes, meanwhile, remains with their three children – daughter Susanna and twins, Judith and Hamnet – close to the ancient woodland with which she shares a deep and strange bond.

– In cinemas now

We see in this play that Zhao has swapped the Terrence Malick-like lyricism of Nomadland and The Rider for a less insistent style that allows the story’s emotions to naturally drift to the fore. These emotions are often tough – Agnes’s life, alongside her mother-in-law (a superb Emily Watson), can be hard, even before the plaque comes that will claim the life of one of her children. But there are also constant flashes of everyday wonder and joy, many of which we’re invited to imagine might have inspired elements in Shakespeare’s future work. (The twins often disguise themselves as one another for a game: very Twelfth Night.)

The slow start to this production is groundwork, and the sober visual approach puts a greater burden and expectation on Zhao’s leads, but they don’t so much rise to the challenge as spiral above it. Mescal has never been better, while as Agnes, Buckley seems to discover her character before your eyes: every moment she plays rings transparently true.

This is a category of film that is described as devastating, heartbreaking, even hard to watch – and at times it is certainly all of these things. But, without any doubt, it isn’t a downer, thanks in no small part to the sublime final reel.

Here, Agnes makes the journey to her husband’s playhouse in London – only for her grief to be both complicated and clarified by this play he has written called Hamlet, and is now staging with acutely moving variations on the same two-humans-swap-places trick that the couple’s children once adored.

One of these springs from the casting: the actor appearing as the young Danish prince is played by Noah Jupe – the real-life older brother of the child actor, Jacobi Jupe, who portrayed Hamnet in the earlier scenes.

The play’s speeches are raw and revelatory, despite being among the most worn in the English tongue: that sense of freshness is one of the film’s wildest achievements. What Hamnet leaves you with isn’t sadness, but joy – at the human capacity to reckon with death’s implacability through art, or love, or just the basic act of carrying-on in its defiance. It blows you back on to the street on a gust of pure exhilaration. 

Hamnet U cert, 125 min

Verdict: An exceptionally delivered adaptation ★★★★★

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Arts, Films

Film Review: Belfast (12A, 98 minutes)

REVIEW

SIR Kenneth Branagh has never made a secret of his early life. He grew up in Northern Ireland as the troubles erupted, and left at the age of nine when his working-class Protestant parents made the decision to move the family to England to escape the turmoil.

Yet, this has always seemed like a footnote to his story. With his largely autobiographical drama Belfast, for which he won a richly deserved Best Screenplay award at the Golden Globes earlier this month, he shines a spotlight on it for the first time.

Film trailer –

The result is a warm-hearted, wholly captivating film, firmly rooted in a particular time and place. It is also bewitchingly intimate, and in a way a generic tale – that of refugees through the ages.

From start to finish, it is enchantingly done. It opens with colour shots of modern-day Belfast, accompanied, as the film is throughout, by the music of Van Morrison. As the picture proceeds, it morphs into black and white to show a contented urban scene in August 1969: children playing, neighbours in friendly conversation, a community happy and content with itself, and, a young boy, Buddy – engagingly played by newcomer Jude Hill – slowly making his way home.

And in an instant, everything changes. Rioters appear, hardline Loyalists bent on driving Catholics from the mostly Protestant neighbourhood. Branagh effects a powerful 360-degree shot around the bewildered Buddy as a nasty and violent tumult invades his innocent, carefree boyhood.

Soon there are tanks rolling up Mountcollyer Street, where Buddy lives with his Ma (Caitriona Balfe) and Pa (Jamie Dornan), older brother, Will (Lewis McAskie), and paternal grandparents Granny (Dame Judi Dench) and Pop (Ciaran Hinds).

Not giving actual names to the grown-ups gives a nod to the story’s universality. It allows the viewer to relate on a personal level.

Cleverly, we see something that is especially resonant in our own pandemic-blighted times: a new normal. Family and community life go on as before, but now poisonous sectarianism finds its way into everyday dialogue: “Daddy, are you not going to be a vigilante on our barricade?”

The essence of Belfast is this transition from peace to war in the context of a little boy’s life, and that of his family. A little like John Boorman’s charming Hope and Glory (1987). Some may be inclined to ask whether the ceiling has fallen in on Buddy’s world, except, significantly, it hasn’t.

Buddy has more pressing concerns than men with guns, such as a crush on a girl in his class and a minor shoplifting rap. The bitter strife stirring in the streets isn’t even the biggest headache for his parents; there’s an onerous tax bill to pay and growing evidence that Pop’s lungs are giving out.

The relationship between Buddy and Pop is depicted with irresistible tenderness and humour. “There’s nothing wrong with an outside toilet,” says the old man, “except on an aeroplane.”

Hinds plays Pop wonderfully, but it will likely be Dench’s performance that moves you to tears, as Granny comes to terms with Ma and Pa’s painfully conflicted decision to uproot themselves.

Dornan is terrific, too; and Balfe, beguilingly bonny even when her character is in despair, will surely be in contention to lift a statuette or two before awards seasons is done.

The seam of sentimentality that runs through the picture might be too much for some people. But it will take a hardened and stony heart not to embrace it, or to balk at the occasional whimsical flourishes, such as a High Noon-style stand-off between Pa and the Loyalist thugs trying to recruit him.

It is a very enjoyable film. Van Morrison’s mostly original score is great: Branagh contrives a nice homage by having Pa back a horse called Moondance and the decision to shoot in monochrome is a masterstroke. Not least, because when the family go to the pictures, for instance to see Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, the screen is fleetingly suffused in colour.

The cinematography presented in Belfast is a charming and effective way to show how the cinema enriches lives lived, especially back then, in shades of grey and monochrome film.

Another joy and key feature of Belfast is its brevity: just a little over ninety minutes running time.

Verdict: A small masterpiece ★★★★★

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Arts, Films

Film Review: No Time To Die (12A, 163 minutes)

FILM REVIEW

AT the start of this month, and at long last, the new Bond film opened and premiered in cinemas, almost two years late. The key four-letter word, however, is not late or even Bond – but long. At almost two and three-quarter hours, No Time To Die is the longest 007 movie ever. Your mission is to control your bladder.

As it happens, many enthusiasts will find no time to check their watches, let alone go to the loo. The drama pulsates from beginning to end, and never sags.

Film Trailer

Director Cary Fukunaga co-wrote the screenplay with regulars Neal Purvis and Robert Wade, with Fleabag creator Phoebe Waller-Bridge brought in to add a touch of effervescence and sparkle. Together, they fill No Time To Die with references, some direct, others mischievously oblique, to previous Bond films. Either visually or verbally, there are conspicuous nods even to golden oldies such as Dr No, From Russia With Love, Goldfinger, On Her Majesty’s Secret Service, Diamonds Are Forever and The Spy Who Loved Me. Devotees – a far nicer word than anoraks – will undoubtedly get a big kick out of spotting them.

As well as being fun, this self-reverence – given Bond’s background – serves a purpose: we might even call it naval-gazing. It reminds us of 007’s lineage, which is clever, because in many ways, one or two of them are downright startling. Daniel Craig’s James Bond bears an ever-dwindling resemblance to Ian Fleming’s creation, and indeed to Sean Connery’s original screen interpretation.

The transformation began in Craig’s first outing as Bond, Casino Royale (2006), and continued in his subsequent three. But for his valedictory outing, the writers, and Craig himself, have gone much further. Bond in No Time To Die is still a hardened killer but also 00-woke: lovelorn, sentimental, and every bit as touchy-feely as steely.

Yet there is plenty to enjoy for Bond traditionalists. Starting with a gripping pre-titles sequence, we are whisked back in time to a French-speaking household in rural Denmark. If you discern an anti-Brexit agenda at play, you will probably not be wrong.

Then we learn how, as a child, Madeleine Swann (Lea Seydoux) first encountered a creepy assassin called Lyutsifer Safin, who beneath his scary mask has a horribly scarred face. Thinking back to Spectre and Skyfall, a study of recent Bond villains could sustain a whole dermatology conference.

But there is reason for Safin’s disfigurement, and, in any case, he’s bent on ensuring that millions end up in an even worse state; he’s got his evil mitts on a devastating biological weapon that targets people according to their DNA and peppers them with bubonic boils, before killing them. Brutal.

Oddly enough, the weapon has been pilfered from an MI6 lab in London, where it was being developed for slightly more benign purposes. This is a great embarrassment for M (Ralph Fiennes), who is not at all thrilled when Bond comes out of retirement in Jamaica to lend a hand, uneasily joining forces with a new crack 00-agent (Lashana Lynch).

For the first half-hour or so of the movie, this plot may well leave you baffled: as hard as you may try to understand what is going on – try explaining why Bond leaves Jamacia for Cuba, where he finds himself in a nightclub with revellers dying all around him after the release of some sort of gas and aided and abetted by a rookie CIA agent (Ana de Armas). The exposition, however, comes later, with everything becoming clear, or clear-ish. If anyone tries to tell you No Time To Die is easy to follow, get them to take a lie-detector test. It’s a complicated script.

To help you, and hopefully without adding any spoilers, it’s worth explaining that Safin’s chief target is none other than Spectre, the shadowy organisation still run from a Belmarsh prison cell by Ernst Stavro Blofeld (Christoph Waltz).

SPECTACULAR

WHY do Safin and the incarcerated Blofeld hate each other? Well, the only person the latter will confide in is sexy psychiatrist Madeleine Swann. The cinematic playfulness of No Time To Die appears to extend beyond Bond; a reference even to The Silence Of The Lambs in parts.

Dr Swann and Bond were lovers until she betrayed him. Or so he believes.

And before that he lost another lover, Vesper Lynd. He is in emotional turmoil, which, for reasons that do take us into spoiler territory, only intensifies when he and Madeleine manage to put their differences behind them, leading to an explosive denouement at Safin’s sinister island lair.

Yes, happily there is enough Bond traditionalism in No Time To Die for the baddie to have such a lair, though it’s safe to say the ending is like nothing we’ve seen before.

What we have seen before are great stunts – and there are plenty more here, even if the most spectacular of them has already been seen by millions in the trailer. Swedish cinematographer Linus Sandgren, whose credits include the Damien Chazelle films La La Land and First Man, has done a fantastic job, too.

There is an abundance of talent on display, led of course by Craig, who has been a terrific 007 and will be missed. But the show goes on. Who will become the next and future Bond is a question for another day.

Verdict: Complicated and baffling, but exquisite and brilliantly choreographed ★★★★

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