Film Review: 1917 (2019)

Sam Mendes’ 1917 is undoubtedly an technically excellent film but the focus on format ends up detracting from the depth of the storytelling

“You’ll be wanking again in no time!
‘Wrong hand’.”

There’s no doubting the technical audacity of Sam Mendes’ 1917. With its ostensibly one-shot, real-time structure (with necessary caveats that it is neither), it is a bravura piece of film-making that elevates this movie from just your average Oscar-baity war flick (cf Dunkirk).

It is clearly a labour of love for Mendes, who directed, co-wrote (with Krysty Wilson-Cairns) and produced 1917, and whose grandfather’s own war experiences inspired the film. And its driving force, following 2 British soldiers tasked with delivering a vital message beyond enemy lines. Continue reading “Film Review: 1917 (2019)”

Review: ‘Master Harold’…and the boys, National Theatre

‘Master Harold’…and the boys proves nothing less than a modern classic at the National Theatre, not least in Lucian Msamati’s spectacular performance

“Things will change, you wait and see. One day somebody is going to get up and give history a kick up the backside and get it going again”

At a moment where a Tory Home Secretary chillingly grins while declaring an end to ‘freedom of movement’, the idea of reckoning with one’s legacy carries an extra pungency. That any of us might be able to do with even just a hint of Athol Fugard’s self-reflective elegance as in his 1982 play ‘Master Harold’…and the boys, is something to think about whether your last name is Patel, Pietersen or Parker.

Master Harold... is set in 1950, in apartheid-era South Africa, and is situated somewhere in the realm of semi-autobiography. Running in real-time on a rainy afternoon in Port Elizabeth, gangly teenager Hally is hiding out from his parents and hanging with their familiy’s two servants Sam and Willie.  They’ve got their mind on the upcoming ballroom dancing championship but as their young master goes through the emotional wringer, the limits of their friendship become all too brutally apparent. Continue reading “Review: ‘Master Harold’…and the boys, National Theatre”