Dr Gribbles and the Beast of Blackthorn Lodge is a thrilling adventure for the young or young at heart.
If you enjoyed Uncle Flynn or George goes to Mars, you’ll love this exciting and slightly scary tale of monsters, spies and mad scientists, set in South-West England towards the end of the Cold War.
Here is the blurb from the back of the book:
September 1987.
Curiosity lands Tim Rawling in a world of secrets, spies and a desperate race against time.
The haunted house, the monster and the mad scientist are only the beginning of a terrifying adventure.
Tomorrow, my new novel Dr Gribbles and the Beast of Blackthorn Lodge will be available for digital download.
Print copies will be released on the 6th April.
If you enjoyed the adventures of Max Bradley in Uncle Flynnor George Hughes in George goes to Mars, you’ll love the slightly scarier journey taken by Tim Rawling in Dr Gribbles and the Beast of Blackthorn Lodge.
Here is the blurb from the back of the book:
September 1987.
Curiosity lands Tim Rawling in a world of secrets, spies and a desperate race against time.
The haunted house, the monster and the mad scientist are only the beginning of a terrifying adventure.
Marvel’s superhero mega franchise enters an interesting, self-questioning phase in Captain America: The Winter Soldier. In stark contrast to the fantasy of Thor: The Dark World this is a film informed by recent worrying headlines of NSA snooping, the Edward Snowden case, erosion of civil liberties and wars on terror.
Of course, it is still a superhero movie first and foremost, but what makes this such a satisfying one is the way directors Joe and Anthony Russo use the conspiracy thriller template as a hook on which to hang the big action scenes. Said scenes are tense, and surprisingly gritty – at least by this franchise’s standards. You may feel reminded of the Bourne movies more than once.
The plot itself deals with Steve Rogers aka Captain America adjusting to life working for SHIELD and life in the 21st Century (he has a list of things to catch up on which includes watching Star Wars). But before he has a chance to adjust too much, he finds himself at the centre of a murky and Machiavellian plot unsure of who to trust. Everything SHIELD stands for is called into question, and amid all of this lurks the mysterious, masked assassin known as the Winter Soldier.
I’d better not say anymore, in case you don’t predict the twists and turns as easily as I did. But just because I could predict them didn’t mean I didn’t find the film an immensely satisfying concoction. Chris Evans is still great in the lead, with Samuel L Jackson’s Nick Fury and Scarlett Johansson’s Black Widow as cool as ever. Newcomer Anthony Mackie is quite fun as the Falcon, and the great Robert Redford has a very significant role as SHIELD boss Alexander Pierce.
The presence of Redford obviously evokes memories of the great 70s conspiracy thrillers – All the President’s Men, Three Days of the Condor and so on – and amid the comic book fun there are some serious messages of sorts. Captain America pretty much spells it out by saying that SHIELD’s plan to launch pre-emptive strikes against perceived threats is not about freedom but fear, and it is through fear that people will surrender their freedom, hoping for security. Such a theme is extremely relevant given the kinds of current events I mentioned earlier.
That said, having touched on a serious point, the film quickly switches to running, fighting and blowing things up again. It is perhaps a little overlong, though all things considered, Captain America: The Winter Soldier is a superior addition to the Marvel canon. Don’t forget to stick around for one mid-credits scene and one post-credits scene.
One vital element needed to enjoy any piece of storytelling – whether in a book, a play or a film – is the ability to suspend disbelief.
This does not mean every event portrayed should be strictly realistic, complying with all laws of physics and with characters acting and responding in entirely realistic ways. Striving after realism for realism’s sake is nearly always a trap.
The late great director David Lean said that films ought to be feel like dreams, even when dealing with historic subject matter (such as TE Lawrence’s military exploits in North Africa). Just because Lean was dealing with events that really took place did not mean he could not lavish the subject with all the cinematic embellishment at his command. A Lawrence of Arabia steeped in gritty realism would be a dull beast indeed, but it does strictly adheres to its own internal logic, with all the majesty, poetry and occasional satire inherent in Robert Bold’s superb, spare screenplay.
Internal logic is the key. Any story in any genre must stick to its own internal logic, not violating the laws of its own universe. Suspension of disbelief is easy when watching Star Wars, because the rules of a galaxy far, far away are rigidly obeyed. Complaining that the space battles don’t obey the laws of physics (audible explosions in space and so on) would be churlish idiocy. Frankly I pity anyone who can’t enjoy the film for that reason.
The question for writers is how far can credibility be stretched before it breaks? Truth is often stranger than fiction, which is why films like Lawrence of Arabia are able to get away with quite a bit that would feel unbelievable if the film were not based on fact. Other good examples of this principle include Clint Eastwood’s film Changeling, Touching the Void and 127 Hours. If it wasn’t true, we wouldn’t believe it.
Conversely, an action film has a very difficult balancing act. Stretch credibility too far and suspension of disbelief vanishes, along with any emotional investment in the characters.
Consider the original Die Hard. What makes that film an action classic is the way the audience senses the John McClane character could go under at any minute. Bruce Willis was not a huge star when he made the film and did not have the action movie baggage he now has, which meant audiences did not view him as another Schwarzenegger. McClane is trapped inside a high-rise building playing cat and mouse with extremely tough and well organised terrorist thieves. This incidentally is something he does in bare feet throughout (at one wince-inducing point, over broken glass). The many thrilling action scenes take place just on the right side of suspension of disbelief (for me – the one brief exception being when he falls down the lift shaft and manages to grab onto a ventilation shaft by his fingertips).
Compare that with the sixth Fast and Furious movie. That has spectacular stunts, unquestionably. But they are so ludicrous (and CGI enhanced) that it is simply impossible to buy into anything that happens, much less care about any of the characters. This is particularly true in the finale, as a plane is chased on a runway at great length. Whilst watching the film, someone actually calculated that considering the running time of the sequence and average speeds of the vehicles involved, that runway would have been about twenty four miles long! If that is what you’re thinking about when watching a film like this, then suspension of disbelief has well and truly gone out of the window.
Another problem that can ruin suspension of disbelief is when a scenario inappropriate to the genre is introduced into the story. For instance, during the second series of the otherwise excellent sports drama Friday Night Lights, a wildly misjudged stalker subplot is introduced. Not only does said subplot feel as if it has been crowbarred in from film noir, the persons involved behave in a manner that is completely out of character. All subsequent anguish and emotional complications fail to hit home, because the scenario is so utterly ludicrous.
I have used films and television to illustrate my point here, but the principle applies across all storytelling mediums. Although it can be difficult to pull off, suspension of disbelief is vital to telling a good story. The last thing any writer wants to hear is that the reader/viewer, say, didn’t think the love story was plausible, or that the action scenes were so ridiculous that emotional involvement was lost.
I’ve had that said of my own writing a few times, prior to rewrites of course. As Robert McKee says, never add vanity to folly by exhibiting your failures.
Brit prison drama Starred Up has had some very good reviews, but I must confess to being largely unmoved. It works reasonably well, but it doesn’t offer anything particularly new to a genre that struggles to avoid cliché.
The plot concerns nineteen year old juvenile offender Eric (Jack O’Connell) who is transferred to the adult prison where his father Neville (Ben Mendelsohn) is serving a lengthy sentence. The crimes of father and son are not specified, though clearly they are serious enough to warrant being locked up for a long time. A series of brutal incidents immediately make clear that Eric can take care of himself on the inside, but his actions rile those at the top of the prison pecking order, who see him as a threat. Consequently, Neville is instructed to keep his son in line, but because of their estranged relationship, Eric is reluctant to heed his father’s advice.
Director David MacKenzie makes an admirable fist of conveying the harsh, gritty claustrophobia of prison life, and the cast are all very good, but outside of the mildly interesting father/son dynamic I found very little about the film that truly grabbed me, simply because I’ve seen it all before in superior films. A couple of potentially interesting subplots develop – including one about an unpaid prison worker from a privileged background (played by Rupert Friend) who feels compelled to engage with the prisoners in group therapy, and another about corrupt prison guards who arrange “suicides” whenever a kingpin prisoner requests them to. But the former ends in a whimper rather than a bang, whilst the latter ends up playing out very predictably.
Some have compared this with The Shawshank Redemption, which I find baffling. The film it most reminded me of was Jacques Audiard’s A Prophet, but again that was a much, much better film. In the end, Starred Up deserves some credit purely as a tough, gutsy, gruelling drama of life inside (with all due warnings about extreme bad language throughout, violence and so on). But ultimately I found it much ado about nothing.
Here is an excerpt from Chapter 1 of my upcoming novel, Dr Gribbles and the Beast of Blackthorn Lodge. I hope you enjoy it.
“Silence fell. Shadows and passageways suddenly seemed a lot more threatening, as though they might genuinely contain spectres or demons. Although he was hot from trying to force his way out, Tim began to shiver at the thought that the house could be haunted. No, that was ridiculous. There were no such things as ghosts. The Beast was nothing more than a myth.
Tim refused to accept that he was trapped, and began to look for other ways out. He searched the ground floor thoroughly, opening all the doors that weren’t locked and trying to break through the boards that were nailed onto the window frames. He found a couple of wooden poles and tried to smash through with those, but they simply broke in two, having succumbed to damp and decay. The rooms were mostly empty, with creaking exposed floorboards. Some had foul smelling carpets, and the odd piece of furniture. There were even a few old books scattered on the floor of one.
Despite all attempts to break out, Tim remained trapped. He tried the front and back door several times, but no amount of pounding and yelling did any good. He had yet to look upstairs, but didn’t want to risk climbing the rotten looking staircase. The idea that he might really have to spend the night in this place horrified him. He thought about how worried Rob would be once he was late for dinner, and his parents’ annoyance at the inconvenience he would end up putting them to. He imagined them irritably contacting the police and a search taking place.
That was when the roaring started.
It began as a low-pitched, muffled but loud growl. Tim realised in alarm that it was the same sound he thought he had heard when he cycled past the abandoned house earlier. What could it be? The house wasn’t really haunted, surely? Perhaps some kind of animal had got trapped inside. But what kind of animal made a noise like that? It couldn’t be the Beast. It couldn’t be…
Tim listened again, and the growling became louder. He then heard a great muffled crash, as though something had been pushed over. The muffled growling then became muffled roaring, as though the animal was in pain. The sounds were vicious, savage and froze Tim’s blood. For someone who didn’t believe in ghosts, Tim was on the verge of becoming a believer, as he couldn’t think of any rational explanation for what he was hearing. Were the stories of the Beast actually true?”
Dr Gribbles and the Beast of Blackthorn Lodgewill be available for download on the 30th March from Amazon, Smashwords and various other outlets.
Print copies will be availble to order from Lulu.com from the 6th April.
Any new Terry Gilliam film is automatically a must-see for me, so it was with some excitement that I approached The Zero Theorem – a surreal, darkly comic, cyberpunk inquiry into the meaning of life. Quite honestly I can’t make up my mind if I liked the film or not.
Set at some undetermined point in future, the plot concerns Qohen (Christoph Waltz), a data analyst at “Mancom”, who believes he will one day receive some kind of divine phone call informing him of his purpose in life. Referring to himself constantly as “we”, Qohen seems to not be operating on all cylinders. He is an obsessive isolationist living in a converted church, and he doesn’t seem to mind being under constant surveillance from his corporate overlord (Matt Damon, whose character is simply called “Management”). Because of his efficiency, Qohen is given a new task: proving a seemingly impossible equation entitled the Zero Theorem. Said theorem has previous caused problems for other employees, including his supervisor Joby (David Thewlis) who was subsequently promoted because he couldn’t analyse data anymore.
What follows is an examination of faith versus atheism, via virtual reality, twisted half-baked Christian allegories, cybersex and the regulation Gilliam weirdness. On a visual and subject matter level, the film has many of the director’s tics and trademarks; dystopian futures, corporate satire, a hatred for dehumanising bureaucracy, an iconoclastic treatment of religious belief, “Dutch” camera angles, spectacular sets, stunning art direction and so forth. Performances are good, not just from Waltz but also from supporting characters such as Bainsley (Melanie Thierry), a corporate prostitute assigned to assist Qohan, Bob (Lucas Hedges), Management’s sort-of Christ allegory son, and Dr Shrink-Rom (Tilda Swinton), a particularly amusing virtual psychiatrist.
Gilliam’s films are not for everyone, and certainly this one – especially the finale – will frustrate many. Personally, I’m still making up my mind about the film. It appears to be a determined statement that there is no God and everything is meaningless. Or is it? There’s a little element of doubt thrown into the mix too, that perhaps suggest there might be a God after all. Or if there isn’t, perhaps it’s worth believing in one all the same to give one’s life meaning. Whatever the intention behind Gilliam’s deliberately enigmatic approach, it certainly provokes thought – if only thought as to whether the film has something interesting to say, or whether it’s a case of the emperor having no clothes. That’s what I can’t quite decide.
However there is one moment of background detail I absolutely loved: a wall of endless red circular strike-through signs detailing prohibited activities, which don’t just include smoking but ice-creams, cuddling and a whole raft of equally absurd things. As a comment on nanny state culture, this was highly amusing.
In addition to the general weirdness warning always appropriate to Terry Gilliam, I should probably add a warning for sexual content and bad language too. If you like his previous films, you might like this. If you don’t like his previous films (for the uninitiated, Time Bandits, Brazil, The Fisher King, Twelve Monkeys, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas amongst others) you almost certainly won’t like this either.
“Science Fiction is something that could happen – but usually you wouldn’t want it to. Fantasy is something that couldn’t happen, though often you only wish that it could.” – Arthur C Clarke.
Has anyone else noticed how easily people get confused between fantasy and science fiction? Yes, these two kinds of storytelling are related and sometimes intermingle to a degree, but they are different genres.
I once explained the difference this way. In Star Trek, the Enterprise goes to warp speed because of some confusing gobbledegook about dilithium crystals, quantum tunnels, inertial dampeners and the warp drive. In Star Wars, the Millennium Falcon goes to light speed because it can. How it goes to light speed is utterly, utterly irrelevant in a story concerned with fairy tale themes.
Let’s be completely clear on this: Star Wars is not science fiction. It is fantasy; a fairy tale that happens to be set in space. Perhaps the setting is what confuses people, but just because something takes place in space doesn’t make it science fiction. Consider Gravity as another recent example. It is a disaster thriller, not science fiction.
Science fiction is often referred to these days as speculative fiction. That is essentially what science fiction used to be at its core: speculation as to how technological advancement would impact humanity. Some of these advances have indeed come to pass. Jules Verne’s 20,000 Leagues under the Sea for instance anticipated submarines and nuclear power. HG Wells’ The Time Machine anticipated various world wars caused by technologically advanced weapons. 1984 speculates about a surveillance society with such alarming prescience that people often mutter “Orwell was right”. Huxley’s Brave New World by contrast is, I believe, even more prescient, where populations are deliberately distracted by pleasures, the media and a great deal of trivia to distract them from the real problems in life. But Star Wars is not concerned with where technology may take us. How can it be? It’s set “a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away…”
The possibility of contact with an alien race is another mainstay of science fiction, whether we are invaded by malevolent aliens intent on conquest (War of the Worlds), or if we meet aliens with more benevolent purposes in mind (Close Encounters of the Third Kind). But the world of Star Wars is populated by so many bizarre alien creatures that when one walks past no-one bats an eyelid. Their existence is a given.
Most science fiction also grapples with the question of what it means to be human in a world of rapidly advancing technology. This question is deep at the heart of science fiction movie classics 2001: A Space Odyssey and Blade Runner, as well as the short stories they are based on (Arthur C Clarke’s The Sentinel and Phillip K Dick’s Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep respectively).
In the above examples, artificial intelligence evolves to the point where it has consciousness and arguably even a soul. But in Star Wars artificial intelligence is strictly there to serve organic life. Robots are programmed to be good or evil (or very, very camp, in the case of C3PO). Technology has its place, but in the end it is human intuition (with a little help from the force) that triumphs – for example Luke turning off his computer when he destroys the Death Star. The victory of primitive Ewok weapons over superior but faceless technology is another example. Courage and imagination in the face of overwhelming odds are what wins the battle in Star Wars, not technology.
In science fiction, when the question of what it means to be human is pondered, the genre in general does not allow for the existence of God unless he turns out to be a super intelligent alien of some kind. Whenever divine beings of any kind turn up in Star Trek or Doctor Who they are there purely to be debunked as frauds taking advantage of primitive civilisations.
Frank Herbert’s Dune provides a key example of this kind of thinking. In the story, the primitive Fremen have a prophecy about a Messiah being who will lead them to freedom against the various other planets who exploit their world due to the precious space travel enabling spice it contains. However, the only reason they have such a prophecy is because the Bene Gesserit Sisterhood deliberately planted the prophecy in their religion centuries earlier, because they have been manipulating bloodlines and experimenting with genetics to create such a being – a being they will ultimately control so they can control the flow of spice. The irony of the story is their super-being – the protagonist of the story, Paul Atreides – ultimately turns against the Sisterhood and really does lead the Fremen to victory. Yet there is nothing divine about his appearance. The whole set of events is the result of centuries of genetic engineering.
There are a few rare exceptions (the more recent version of Battlestar Galactica is arguably a case in point) but generally God has no place in science fiction. By contrast God, gods, mystical beings or even mystical energy fields are welcome in fantasy because they stand in for the intangible sense of divine purpose felt by the over ninety per cent of people on Earth who believe in a higher power of some kind. The force in Star Wars is a good example of this. It is not an allegory, but it can be made to fit just about every religious belief on the planet. Christians in particular have preached sermons off its key themes of good versus evil in classic David and Goliath fashion, as well as the overcoming of evil in oneself. Such themes are a mainstay of fantasy and fairy tale, and one only has to think of The Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter and the Narnia books to begin to understand what genre Star Wars really resides in. George Lucas even used the term “space fantasy” as a guiding concept when the project was conceived.
One of the ironies of the fantasy genre – when it’s at its best at any rate – is that the stories are not really about elves, orcs, dwarfs, trolls etc. They are about very deep spiritual themes including the obvious good vs evil/overcoming temptation biggies mentioned above, as well as friendship, courage, loyalty, sacrifice, finding one’s niche and so on. They can also contain much darker themes and stark warnings.
Charlie and the Chocolate Factory is a warning that children should listen to adults. Time Bandits, by contrast, is about how parents should listen to their children. Coraline is about appreciating one’s parents. The Wizard of Oz is about appreciating one’s family and home. Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs is about sexual jealousy. A Series of Unfortunate Events is about coming to terms with grief. On an even darker note, Pan’s Labyrinth is about the devastating effect of war on children.
I would argue the whole of The Lord of the Rings is about growing up, and Gandalf’s relationship to the hobbits is the key here. I don’t think Tolkien did this consciously, but to me it is clear that he is Gandalf and the hobbits are his children. The Hobbit was written when his children were still young, but The Lord of the Rings was written as they grew up (and in some cases went to war). The penultimate chapter The Scouring of the Shire (omitted from Peter Jackson’s films) is the most important part of the story because it shows how the hobbits can now fend for themselves and don’t need the constant supervision of a father figure any longer.
On a similar note, inherent in the first Star Wars film is the joy of leaving home and parental figures to discover your place in the world. However, inherent in the second film, The Empire Strikes Back, is the unpleasant discovery that having gone through the rite of passage of leaving home, life can be very tough.
To conclude, the concerns of science fiction and fantasy are clearly different. For those who still think Star Wars is science fiction rather than fantasy, consider the scene where Obi Wan sacrifices his life so Luke and the others can escape from the Death Star. The events are identical to Frodo and the Fellowship escaping from the Mines of Moria in The Lord of the Rings. The only difference is that the Star Wars scene takes place on a space station.
Star Wars is not science fiction. It is fantasy.
UPDATE: Since I published this piece a few years ago, it has become by far the most popular article on this blog. Those of you who have read, enjoyed, agreed, disagreed, commented, or interacted in any way, thank you. Those of you who have since gone on to read other articles or, best of all, discovered my novels, thank you even more. Indie authors like me need all the sales, reviews, and publicity they can possibly get, purely to make a living, so it is really appreciated. If you’re reading this and are interested, I’ve penned several novels – chiefly gothic mysteries (for grown-ups) and adventure stories (for children). Some of these were self-published, and three of them – Spectre of Springwell Forest, The Irresistible Summons, and Phantom Audition – were traditionally published. Please find out more by clicking “About the Books” at the top of this page. Thank you again.
Wes Anderson remains as divisive as ever with his latest film The Grand Budapest Hotel. Some can’t abide idiosyncratic, surreal, playfully arch style. Others think he is a genius. Personally, I enjoy most of his films. As for this one, I need to see it a second time, but based on one viewing I’d say it stands a good chance of toppling Moonrise Kingdom as my favourite Wes Anderson picture.
At the centre of the film lies a stunning comic performance from Ralph Fiennes as Gustave H, concierge of the Grand Budapest Hotel; a plush, 1930s, art-décor establishment situated up a mountainside in the fictional Eastern European country of Zubrowka. He is surrounded by a quite brilliant cast that includes F Murray Abraham, Mathieu Amalric, Adrien Brody, Tilda Swinton, Willem Dafoe, Jeff Goldblum, Harvey Keitel, Jude Law, Bill Murray, Edward Norton, Saoirse Ronan, Owen Wilson, Lea Seydoux, and Tom Wilkinson. The film also introduces the wonderful Tony Revolori, whose Lobby Boy character Zero is taken under Gustave’s wing. Their relationship is at the heart of the story.
Quite honestly, The Grand Budapest Hotel is so densely plotted that I’d be foolish to attempt to explain it. Suffice to say, it contains a certain amount of flashing back and forth in timelines, an art heist, a murder mystery, a romance, and the threat of impending war amid all the chaotic and frequently hilarious action. The usual Anderson deadpan, offbeat humour is present and correct, and at times it is quite dark. But there are also surprisingly touching undercurrents in the odd couple relationship between Zero and Gustave, as well as in many of the subplots. The film is stunning to look at too. A triumph of production design and stylish direction, Anderson gives the film an almost fairy tale quality, and even has fun switching aspect ratios from time to time. He also references a lot of cinema history, including Melies, the Marx Brothers’ Duck Soup, Blake Edwards’ Pink Panther movies, and even recent serious films such as The Lives of Others.
Despite the quirky, hermetically sealed nature of Anderson’s world, there are moments of insight into the human condition that are all too easy to identify with here. Gustave may be as flawed, needy, and self-obsessed as the elderly women he seduces, but he is, at heart, a decent man despairing of a world sliding into militaristic tyranny. His kindness to Zero in particular, as well as his dignified, quiet disdain in the face of thuggish fascism is understated but unexpectedly poignant.
There is just enough swearing, sexual content, and violence to warrant a warning for those that would appreciate one, but quite honestly it’s hard to imagine anyone getting too offended by this. The characters are so much fun to be with that by the time the end credits rolled I found that I would genuinely miss being in their company.
It’s been an unusual year at the Oscars because by and large the right films were nominated and the right films won. The last time I recall being quite so satisfied was exactly ten years ago when The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King dominated proceedings. But there is a down side to the rare cases of the Academy getting it right. I have nothing to rant about.
Well, not quite nothing in this case. I have one or two quibbles as you will see from my assessment of the main winners.
Best Picture: 12 Years a Slave – I would personally have chosen Gravity, but 12 Years a Slave was an outstanding piece of work, and I don’t begrudge the win at all.
Best Director: Alfonso Cuaron (Gravity) – I completely, one hundred percent agree. The direction in that film was nothing short of mind-blowing. Now if the Academy can just give Christopher Nolan a directing Oscar next time he deserves it (he has on at least two occasions already this decade), I’ll be even happier.
Best Original Screenplay: Spike Jonze (Her) – No, no, no. Sorry I just could not suspend disbelief in that film. Yes, it was well-acted, well-directed and vividly brought to life visually, but the ideas in the screenplay had been done before and much more entertainingly in everything from Weird Science to Simone and even an episode of The Big Bang Theory. Moreover, there is no way it should have beaten the sublime Blue Jasmine, Woody Allen’s finest screenplay in sixteen years.
Best Adapted Screenplay: John Ridley (12 Years a Slave) – I’d have gone for Philomena personally, but again a fine win for 12 Years a Slave.
Best Actor: Matthew McConaughey (Dallas Buyers Club) – An excellent performance, even if it does tick a lot of Academy friendly boxes. I personally would have chosen Chiwetel Ejiofor’s extraordinary performance in 12 Years a Slave, and I’m astonished Tom Hanks wasn’t nominated for Captain Phillips, but yes, still a worthy win and not worth getting too upset about.
Best Supporting Actor: Jared Leto (Dallas Buyers Club) – I personally would have gone for Michael Fassbender in 12 Years a Slave, but again, a very good performance in a very good film, and I don’t begrudge the choice.
Best Actress: Cate Blanchett (Blue Jasmine) – Yes! Yes! Yes! Blanchett has been one of my favourite actresses for years, and it’s great to see her win an Oscar for this career-best performance.
Best Supporting Actress: Lupita Nyong’o (12 Years a Slave) – Hurrah! One of the most astonishingly committed performances in recent memory, Nyong’o’s truly mesmerising turn is a completely deserved win. I’m so pleased this award didn’t go to Jennifer Lawrence’s (admittedly amusing) performance in the entertaining but overrated American Hustle.
Best Animated Film: Frozen – No contest really. If you didn’t see this wonderful animated gem last Christmas you missed a treat.
Best Original Music Score: Steven Price (Gravity) – My favourite score of last year, so a well-deserved win.
Best Original Song: Let it go (Frozen) – Good, although I would have been just as happy if “Happy” from Despicable Me 2 had won.
Best Cinematography Emmanuel Lubezki (Gravity) – Bit of a controversial choice this one, not because Gravity didn’t look fabulous (it did), but because I think cinematography ought to be exactly that. So much of what one sees in Gravity is CGI, so by all means give it every visual effects gong under the sun, but for me cinematography should be about capturing something real, not something on a blue screen that then has CGI components added and is graded and art directed in post-production to within an inch of its life. I would have given it to Roger Deakins sterling work on Prisoners. Those grim, rain-swept, November, Midwest landscapes really added so much atmosphere and tension to an admittedly overheated but nevertheless first-rate thriller.
Best Editing: Alfonso Cuaron, Mark Sanger (Gravity) – A no-brainer.
Best Production Design: Cathering Martin, Beverly Dunn (The Great Gatsby) – Actually, I’d have given this to The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug. But Gatsby looked great too, and it’s great that the most unfairly critically mauled mainstream film of last year actually won something.
Best Sound Editing: Glenn Freemantle (Gravity) – A no-brainer (although All is Lost was another very worthy contender).
Best Sound Mixing: Skip Lievsay, Christopher Benstead, Niv Adiri, Chris Munro (Gravity) – See above really.
Best Visual Effects: Tim Webber, Chris Lawrence, David Shirk, Neil Corbould, Nikki Penny (Gravity) – Yet another Gravity no-brainer. In fact, the most no-brainer no-brainer of all the awards Gravity won.
Best Foreign Film: The Great Beauty (Italy) – A decent win from a slightly odd selection of nominees (Denmark’s The Hunt was released later in the US than in the UK, hence why it was nominated).
Best Documentary Feature: 20 Feet From Stardom – I’ve not seen this, but I’m very surprised The Act of Killing did not win.
One last quibble: Generally I was pleased the good but overrated American Hustle went away empty handed, but it should have won at least one award: Make-up and Hairstyling, as it contained the most monumental, landmark comb-over in cinema history. Shockingly it wasn’t even nominated in that category, but I suppose since the Academy got so much else right this year, I’ll add my congratulations to Adruitha Lee and Robin Matthews who won for Dallas Buyers Club.
Overall, I expect this year to be a blip in the Academy’s long and proud record of outright injustices.I look forward to a far more vitriolic rant next year, when I expect business as usual at the Oscars.
Simon Dillon Books 