Saturday 23 October 2010

The Tao of 'Alien 3'

One cannot underestimate the power of rapport. It makes everything easier. Which is why I like to kick off my award winning workshops with a "getting to know you" exercise. The reason why this is so inadvertently entertaining as an "icebreaker" is that at this stage of proceedings people aren't quite sure where the boundaries of this new peer group are, so they tend to let slip a little more than intended, which is immense fun for all concerned. My top 3 "revealed and then instantly regretted quirky facts" are as follows:

1. "My left boob is bigger than my right."

2. "I have a physical aversion to Baked Beans. I'm not allergic or anything, they just freak me out."

3. "If I could be any animal, Basil, I'd be a tapeworm."

Riiiiight...

I also like to find out what the audience's favourite films are. You can find out a lot about a person from their taste in cinema. I'm a committed, card carrying contrarian and inveterate film snob, so you've probably guessed that I'd never offer 'Pretty Woman', 'Clueless', 'Die Hard' or 'Dirty Dancing' as my submissions for your consideration. Nope. The two I always cite as my faves are 'Ran' - directed by Akira Kurosawa, a retelling of Shakespeare's 'King Lear', which sets the tale in 16th century feudal Japan. And 'Alien 3' - directed by David Fincher - a study in existentialism which is officially the most hated movie in the 'Alien' franchise (even by the director himself "to this day, no one hates it more than me."). Both of which identify me as an insecure, pretentious tosser: a pretty accurate analysis, I'm sure you'll agree.

But I love the tone of 'Alien 3'. It looks beautiful. It sounds incredible (Elliot Goldenthal's atmospheric score melds seamlessly with the audioscape, it's difficult to tell when the score starts and the sound finishes). It's adult. It's provocative. It's arty. It asks you to have empathy for the wretched and the despicable. It poses questions about sacrifice and redemption. It credits you with a brain and allows you to appreciate the long, slow burn to the climax. Even at the time one could tell this was the work of a prodigious talent.

The recent release of Rashomonesque 'The Social Network' once again emphasises the genius of Mr Fincher. Back then, though, he was best known for music videos for Madonna and Aerosmith and sneaker ads for Nike. So, whenever he insisted on his vision in an attempt at something ambitious he was summarily belittled by the studio; “What are you listening to him for, he’s a shoe salesman!” and "Look, you could have somebody piss against the wall for two hours, call it 'Alien 3' and it would still do $30m worth of business."

I love that in a medium where the prime motivator is the selling of popcorn he attempted to create "a beautiful, delicate china cup," in a field full of beer mugs. It's commendable that in the wake of the mindless whizz bang shoot 'em up of James Cameron's 'Aliens' Fincher pulled such a spectacular left turn from the right hand lane in very heavy traffic for his debut.

There are those who label Mr Fincher an obsessive (there's a scene in the "Making Of" documentary available as a "Speshul Feature" in 'Zodiac: Director's Cut' where he makes Jake Gyllenhaal do 38(!) takes of dropping an exercise book on a car passenger seat. Even Stanley Kubrick would be prompted to suggest he's a touch picky), but I dig that he wants things right. In my personal, psychotic quest for perfection I use 'Alien 3' as my talisman. When everyone else is happy to shrug, and then drawl laconically "Yeah... That'll do," I'd rather aim for the exceptional. It means a hell of a lot of pressure and misery, but hey, life is just a series of heartbreaking disappointments with the promise of death, or so my Father said.

So, anyway, I'm a drummer for this band signed to EMI. The lucrative contract negotiations went on for an age, which means we need to get in the studio and get the album recorded pronto. The label choose the producer whose CV includes Diana Ross, Chic and Suede. We go in, record and then hit the road to build "the brand". Of course, playing the songs every night means that I've come up with a different, funkier pattern for the "big third single". During a week of proposed overdubs at George Martin's acclaimed AIR Studios (google it. You'll need incontinence pads. I've just had a look at some fotos of it online and I still can't believe I recorded there), I beg the MD to let me redo my drum parts (ever seen my pout? I call it "Black Magnum" and it's impossible to resist). He's sceptical. The drums are the first thing to be recorded and then every other instrument is layered on top. "It's not worth the risk, we could potentially lose the whole song," he says. "Besides, no one'll notice, Basil. It sounds fine."

But "fine" isn't good enough for me. What's the point of doing anything if you're not trying to blow people's minds? Finally, after much negotiation and the promise of physically impossible sexual favours, the "higher ups" relented.

Now I'm in a sumptuous drum booth in AIR. I'm staring at a poster of scantily clad models for inspiration (and when I say "scantily clad models" I mean "latex lesbian bondage"), and everyone on the other side of the glass is wondering what in the name of Tony Thompson I'm trying to prove. I put my headphones on, twirl my sticks and nod to the producer that I'm ready. "This is the biggest mistake of your life, take one," he announces in a malicious monotone. As the tape rolls and the lush guitar floats seductively into focus I close my eyes and repeat inwardly "Beautiful. Delicate. China. Cup."

I got it in one take. Come on, this is me. You didn't think it'd go any other way, did you? Afterwards, the flabbergasted producer pulled me to one side and said it was an absolute pleasure to watch me drum. "Yeah, I know. But how do I compare to Tony Thompson?"
"Oh, you're better than he is. Nile and Bernard would never let him do what you just did."
"I knew it. I just wanted to hear you say it."

I listen to that track occasionally for inspiration when I've spent a day having to deal with persons whose favourite movie is clearly something directed by James Cameron. Or whilst waiting for a "Thank you" for hosting an awards event (6 weeks and counting...). I've never been a fan of Mr Cameron's films. 'Aliens' was an abomination, a tawdry, brainless action movie for a world populated exclusively by Beavis and Butthead: a very bad joke after Ridley Scott's brilliant thriller. He may as well have had Bruce in a vest or Arnie mangling corny one-liners in a heavy Austrian accent. Dreadful. The filmic equivalent of 'Pride and Prejudice 2: Mr Darcy's Kicking Ass!'

Because Mr Cameron is unable to craft a narrative or develop characters his subsequent movies (apart from 'True Lies' which was so chock-full of negative stereotypes that it made the '50 most racist films of all time' list) are all love letters to technology and special effects. I've nodded off during 'The Abyss', 'Terminator 2', 'Titanic' and 'Avatar'. The last of these is barely a film: it's just a series of setpieces glued together with outrageous CGI. When Michelle Rodriguez slammed her Scorpion Gunship into the side of a mountain I stifled a yawn and then realised I was supposed to care about her character.

What I like about 'Avatar' a lot, though, is its subtext. It's right up there with 'Starship Troopers' in depicting America as a rogue state. Its succinct summarising of the invasions of Afghanistan and Iraq and the relentless expansion of America's Empire is a joy:

“This is how it's done. When people are sitting on shit that you want, you make 'em your enemy. Then you're justified in taking it.”
Bearing in mind he made the movie for Fox, the official cheerleader for America's murderous foreign policy, this is simply astonishing. A beautiful, delicate china cup.

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