Somnopolis

Director and writer Michael J. Bassett’s film of Solomon Kane has been seen and enjoyed. Part Hammer pastiche (in the model of Captain Kronos Vampire Hunter), part sincere update of Robert E. Howard’s pulp creation for modern audiences. It’s all lovingly presented on screen. Even the grime feels authentic and the actors wade through the purple prose as if their lives depended on it. There is a welcome lack of cynicism in this genre film, something unfortunately of a rarity these days. With an admirable level of detail (there are nods to the Puritanical movement and their escape to America; the English navy rules the waves, but the poor at home are impoverished and have dental hygiene issues; lonely corpses hanging from tree branches) this thankfully is not Van Helsing 2.

The Guardian review criticised the film for sticking to the over familiar ‘origins’ form. Personally I disagree. Given the lack of familiarity with Howard’s character, I think Bassett was correct to establish just where this Devonshire Puritan who is handy with a blade came from. FilmBuffOnline has a summation of the character’s journey from pulp novel to screen, which I am much indebted to.

Bassett happily does not condescend Howard’s hero by introducing sceptical notes as to his religious faith. Beginning in ‘darkest Africa’, evil is immediately shown to be a positive force in this story. The devil exists and immortal souls can be traded as currency. Encountering a creature known as The Devil’s Reaper during a ransack of a Moorish fortress, Kane just manages to escape physically and spiritually intact. The reason for his later fierce repentance is made clear in these early scenes. He is shown to delight in violence and death, smiling maliciously as he cuts down the defenders of the fortress.  When the demon tells him his soul is damned, Kane instantly responds that God will protect him. In this universe religion is not a matter of faith. Demons, vampires, sorcerers and witches are quite real. Belief in God is a talisman that the weak in body depend on.

Traumatized by the knowledge that the Devil is pursuing him, Kane tattoos himself with holy symbols and hides in a monastery. The monks eventually kick him out of the order, as his presence is like a giant cthonic neon sign that reads ‘DINNER!’ Offering cold comfort the head of the monastery advises him to ‘find his destiny’.  Bassett then allows Kane to discover another method of being a ‘man of god’. One that thankfully allows him to sever limbs.

After he meets the kindly Crowthorn family, fellow Puritans fleeing bigotry in England for America, Kane contemplates the settled life. Pete Postlethwaite and Alice Krige do fine work here as Mom and Pop Crowthorn, with daughter Meredith played by Wendy Darling from P.J. Hogan’s excellent Peter Pan (Rachel Hurd Wood). The Crowthorns offer Kane some small hope of a normal life and he sets about trying to protect them from the sudden rise in raiders abroad in the countryside. Little does he realize these marauding thugs are actually an organized army of demonically possessed warriors and following an encounter with a shape shifting witch, Meredith Crowthorn is marked by the evil sorceror Malachi (Jason Flemyng).

This draws the attention of the Masked Rider who leads the army sweeping the countryside. The Crowthorns are attacked and Meredith kidnapped. Kane is promised redemption if he succeeds in rescuing the girl from Malachi. This new purpose dislodges our hero’s funk and allows him to make use of those fighting skills (presumably learned by actor James Purefoy for his ill-fated casting in V for Vendetta).

Mention should be made of Purefoy’s efforts in the lead role. There was a danger, given his slight resemblance to Hugh Jackman, that audiences would once again think they are watching a prequel to Van Helsing. Purefoy’s efforts thankfully dispel any such notions. He gives the character a welcome injection of stoic humour, something of a relief after the legions of grim-faced vigilantes swamping the multiplexes of late (I’m looking at you Batman/Rorschach etc.). He also ably shares the screen with Postlethwaite and Max von Sydow, complimenting their performances. As I have said above, what I find most interesting about this film is the sincerity in its acting and writing, which combine to draw the audience into a story of devilry and swordplay. While there is a hint of the pantomime in Jason Flemyng’s Malachi – at one point he pounces on an innocent maiden with the relish of a moustache twirling villain – he never mugs for the camera in the style to which audiences have become accustomed. When the de rigueur CGI monster enters the fray it feels like a let-down. The flesh and blood actors have already done such a fine job of engaging the plot, that the Painkiller boss-fight is out of place in this surprisingly character-driven fantasy picture.

So a heart-felt genre picture that rescues Robert E. Howard’s canon from the steroidal musculature of the Governator. Bravo.

Waking once again in a strange place, with the smell of a sweet liquor and tobacco in the air, I raised my head to see a Swiss person guzzling redbull. Ah Sunday.

The only thing for it was to scalp my good friend’s dole money for the drinks I paid for last night (in fairness he insisted) totter out onto some strange street (all streets north of the Liffey are strange to me. And parts of Ballyfermot), and wander into the morning.

Yesterday evening I was at a going away do for a recently made acquaintance. I went to the bar and in quick succession met two former school mates from Colaiste Mhuire serving pints. There was the usual exchange of reminiscences, though even more abrupt due to the drinkers about us screeching their orders. The cruel grey hairs between the three of us were all the more apparent for the ten year since last we met. The quick verbal shorthand we use to crisscross these sudden encounters is really handy. Unfortunately I had seen a girl from school there on Friday, but I hadn’t spoken to her in so long, I had no idea what the given etiquette should be. “Oh hi haven’t seen you in ages!” and slowly there’s the dawning realization as to why. Is it polite to suddenly panic and run away? These things I wonders.

One last thing about yesterday evening. We found ourselves in the Viper Room. I haven’t returned there in five years, ever since an incident involving Rob Turner Kerr, some sambucca and an overweight lounge singer performing Chuck Baker standards. It’s small, cramped and it costs €15 to get in to enjoy its dubious charms. We found ourselves in the basement, round the dance area (though no one, to my recollection, danced). Unfortunately a hen party decided to pick a fight with the girls in our group. This continued for some time, an interminable stand-off, punctuating with threats like ‘My uncle is the manager here!’ Whatever that’s supposed to mean. After the dust had settled, thanks mostly to the doe-eyed diplomacy of Deirdre, one of the girls tried a line on me. It was bewildering. Only moments before she’d been threatening a friend of mine and now she was trying it on? I…hurm.

Anyhoo, all of this bled back into my brain this afternoon as I desperately searched for last nights episode of Doctor Who. Every site I tried failed me. They’re usually quicker with this kind of thing. Course then I tried youtube and surprisingly it worked. Perhaps BBC are being more lenient than Viacom as they’re attempting their own online programming.

The finale itself was more than adequate. Course the idea of Martha Jones being a one-woman saviour of humanity was a bit strange to take, but they explained it well enough. All of this seems to have been some way of justifying her presence in the show after the departure of Billie Piper. It seemed excessive throughout the series, but it finally fit when we discover this was Martha’s incentive for the lost year: to prove herself and live up to the Doctor’s expectations. The mystery of the Toclafane was neatly explained – swerving in a completely different direction from the predictions on various fan forums. Instead of being baby timelords or dalek hybrids, they turned out to be the ultimate fate for humanity. Plus a coda reveals the identity of the Face of Boe, which came out of nowhere.

But the most enjoyable aspect of the episode for me was the interaction between the Master and the Doctor. John Simm was running rings around the rest of the cast, but he was still generous in his scenes. Dancing to the Scissor Sisters as he tortures the Doctor and Martha’s family. He made being evil fun! Someone finally able to live up to Alan Rickman’s malevolence Once again we were treated to the Doctor’s sadness at being the last of the Timelords, his feelings of responsibility for their deaths and the destruction of Gallifrey. Even a psychopath like the Master is welcome company to him, as he’s desperately lonely. I really liked that touch and it excuses any of RTD’s usual deus ex machina plotting. Golum Doctor looked a bit odd though.

However, the geek moment of choice, the scene which warmed the cockles of my twisted nerd heart – was definitely the Flash Gordon send off. Shot exactly the same way, with a familiar hand coming into the camera’s view, plucking an abandoned ring and raising out of the shot to the sound of laughter. All I could think of was Max Von Sydow’s delightful creation – camp, perverse and almost permanently bemused.

So a fine send-off, complete with a call back to last year’s Xmas episode. Though if I’ve to put up with more Titanic, Celine Dion crap someone’s going to be hurting Christmas Day.