Reviews

Ostensibly the film is about food and the preparation of food and how people get on with each other while preparing food.

But I don’t think that’s what the film is actually about.

An important character in the film dies part way through and another important character mourns the loss.

And now take a step back and ask – how does a filmmaker or an author show the depth of the relationship that existed for which the loss is now felt, the loss of the wonder of the other person?

So I think that the concentration on the cooking of food, the technicalities of making food, the technicalities which showed the characters and skills and attention to detail – all of these were outward manifestations of relationship.

Long protestations of love are in the end just protestations, but the ballet of their movements together shows something deeper.

I don’t know if it’s a novel way, but it’s a clever way of showing the dual experience of the everyday and a more subtle experience. The everyday experience of cooking something that’s essential to life, and the higher experience of joining with someone. Through that we can feel that the relationship is deep, founded on solid ground, and meaningful. So we can believe the loss is real.

There was another thread, which was that the food preparation was very real. We see them pull the guts out of a fish, and then out of a chicken. We see them scald the skin off the blackened feet of the chicken and scrape the skin off a sole or turbot. No neatly presented packages of food from the supermarket, because the film was set at about the turn of the 20th century and mass produced food was far off into the future.

So we get to look into a more raw, more real, more elemental past and to be wistful about what we have lost in the modern world. I think that’s what the film was about. It was about loss.

There’s a scene in the film Full Metal Jacket where a raw recruit joins the platoon and is instructed not to leave the path. He is of limited ability and unable to follow instructions. No sooner does he join the platoon than he leaves the path and is skewered in a Vietcong man trap.

In Apocalypse Now there’s a scene where the young soldier, hardly able to follow any orders, wasted on dope, starts shooting wildly. He is out of control, as much a terrified observer as an active combatant.

And in Forrest Gump the hero joins the army and miraculously manages to survive and do well despite being odd and below average in IQ. The way things work out well for him are fantastical. That’s a device used repeatedly in the film.

The war in Full Metal Jacket, Apocalypse Now, and Forrest Gump is the Vietnam War.

You might wonder how men of below average IQ ever got into the army. I knew that people from poor backgrounds, disproportionately black, were most likely to be drafted, but I didn’t wonder at all beyond that. I just watched the films.

Hamilton Gregory

But today I watched a talk by Hamilton Gregory, a man who volunteered for service in Vietnam. He was a college graduate, so he could well have avoided the draft. Many middle class young men did. They didn’t have to try hard; there were exemptions of which they could take advantage.

But Mr Gregory volunteered and as chance would have it, he was ordered to escort another recruit to Fort Benning in Georgia. That recruit was educationally subnormal. He didn’t know that America was at war. He didn’t know in which state he had been born.

Hundreds of thousands of men like him were drafted under Robert McNamara’s Project 100,000. That was the project under which young men of poor IQ were inducted each year.

Robert McNamara

Robert McNamara was the U.S. Secretary of Defence, so it was his call. The army couldn’t get people to go to Vietnam, So McNamara lowered the IQ requirement. He said that the army was one of the world’s best educators, and it could raise the IQs of the draftees. So people who were previously unfit to server were now fit.

In battle they were too slow to react, too slow to understand what was going on, two slow to formulate a plan. They were poor marksmen, erratic and a danger to themselves and their fellow soldiers. And they died in Vietnam at three times the rate other soldiers were killed.

Unofficially, the soldiers in McNamara’s Project 100,000 were called McNamara’s Morons.

Hamilton Gregory was so appalled by Project 100,000 that after the war he gathered evidence and wrote McNamara’s Folly: The Use Of Low IQ Troops In The Vietnam War. And that is what he was talking about in the video I watched.

So now I wonder whether the makers of Full Metal Jacket, Apocalypse Now, and Forrest Gump knew about Project 100,000 and whether they were making a reference to it?

Escape In The Mind

I didn’t really like Forrest Gump that much. I know there was some homegrown wisdom peeking out of that character, some humanity that would not be denied. But I wasn’t fond of the fantastical element because I knew that being saved and prospering is not what generally happens to people like Forrest Gump.

Sure, it has to happen by random chance to someone, even to a person with limited abilities. But still, it seemed like a cop-out, a way of making the audience think that things are good, when in truth they are not.

Reality

In contrast, there’s the film Brazil. It’s fantastical in that the world depicted in the film is odd, odd like in a Kafka novel, but yet near enough for us to be able to recognise it. Life could be like that with just a bit of a shift sideways.

There are the scenes in Brazil where a ninja appears out of nowhere to save the main character. He does so repeatedly. He sweeps in just when things look bad. But in the final scenes, in the end we see that these rescues were an illusion, an attempt by the main character to escape mentally from the horror of torture.

Brazil is depressing. The baddies win and there is no redemption. It’s 1984 in film. But I can live with that more easily than being fed a diet of heroism from characters that were three times more likely to die in war than their fellow soldiers.

What did I think of the film? It was depressing. It’s the story of Judy Garland. It’s the story of a woman with a wonderful voice who was starstruck with her own stardom. It’s the story of a Hollywood mogul who gave her a tough time when she tried to break out of the straitjacket existence in the movies that she signed up for.

It’s the story of a woman who loved her children but would not seek help to get off the pills she had been on since a teenager. The pills were forced on her by her mother. She had pills to keep her thin, pills to get her up, and pills to get her to sleep.

So give her a break, she was messed up.

Yes, OK. I give her a break. But it wasn’t enough for a film. It was a dramatised documentary. And it was all about her, except for the scenes with the gay couple in their flat trying to make a meal for them and her and enjoying the poignancy of each others’ company. That was nice.

When one of them falls asleep on the sofa late at night, his partner talks about how his partner was in prison for homosexuality, and says ironically and knowingly and wistfully that since the change in the law it appears they didn’t do anything wrong all along. Nice social commentary.

Renee Zellweger was very impressive near the end when she moved around the stage. I mean she was impressive irrespective of what character she was supposed to be playing.

And she captured some ‘Judy Garland looks’ and those almost black eyes. But, it didn’t amount to a film. And if it did, it was depressing. No redeeming end, just a very British bit of cake in a cafe with Bernard Delfont’s uptight personal assistant and a nervous band leader.

The worst part of the film were the credits, the credits in gold sparkle against a black background. They seem designed by someone who thought that we the audience would be so stricken by the emotional intensity of the film that we would stare spellbound at the names as they came up sparkle by sparkle and then faded, slowly.

Except that the snail’s pace at which the sparkles sparked and faded was not emotionally charged; it was ponderous.

The names of the producers and the associate producers in sparkles just had me wondering when the lights would go up in the cinema. In fact, I thought, did someone associated with the film insist that venues keep the lights down until those names had passed and the rest of the credits could begin?

The 2014 film Still Alice follows the descent of Alice, suffering from early-onset Alzheimer’s disease.

She is, of all things, a linguistics professor at a prestigious American University, and when the film starts she is starting to go downhill. She is only 50 years old.

Alice has early-onset familial Alzheimer’s. The ‘familial’ factor means it is hereditary. And as we learn in the film, one of Alice’s daughters tests positive for the gene.

So in addition to the descent of Alice, there is a long-term ‘death’ sentence hanging over the head of the daughter.

And Alice’s husband has to deal with this tangled situation.

As the film progresses, Alice becomes more incapable. She becomes incapable of even carrying out the plan to kill herself that she formulated earlier.

She promised herself she would kill herself when things got really bad.

She got the pills ready, but now she can’t recall what she was supposed to do.

By the end of the film, she can’t speak and she can’t do very much at all.

Vegetables

Today I chopped a parsnip and put it into some soup. I used our little Kenwood thingy to chop the parsnip up very small, and when I served up the soup my wife Tamara asked me whether it was rice that was in the soup.

I told her it was a vegetable and she asked me what it was. I couldn’t remember the name and I had to reach inside the fridge and hold up a parsnip so she could see it. She said ‘parsnip’.

For a few seconds I felt as though I was hearing the word parsnip for the first time. Not only did I not know it was a parsnip, I was learning parsnip anew.

Then after rolling the word around in my mind, I got back into the swing of things. And the parsnip went back to being a parsnip.

But for those few seconds I had an intimation of what it must be like to be Still Alice, but slipping away.