On the Road

In 2004, filmmaker Walter Salles brought to life the extraordinary travels of a young medical student named Ernesto Guevara in his stunning The Motorcycle Diaries. Flash forward eight years and Salles is doing the same again, taking the physical and philosophical journey of a young Jack Kerouac across North America and fashioning it for the screen in On The Road. An adaptation of Kerouac’s autobiographical novel, Salles could not have been a more perfect fit for the material, and the finished product is a stirring tale of a society changed forever; an amazingly crafted coming of age story which will no doubt remain as one of my favourite films of the year.


On the Road is the story of Sal Paradise (Sam Riley), a young man coping with the death of his father, a severe case of writer’s block and a burning desire to live with the mad and the crazy. He and his friend Carlos (Tom Sturridge) soon become intertwined with the life of a charming and beautiful ‘jailkid’ named Dean Moriarty (Garrett Hedlund), who, along with his teenage wife Marylou ( Kristen Stewart), have made their way to New York. The troupe spend some months balancing the pressures of their banal days with the always eventful and often frantic nights on the town; Sal stands by in a haze of marijuana, Benzedrine, alcohol and sex, keeping a watchful eye over the others, always there but never becoming too involved. Yet these accomplices, especially Dean, will change his life forever. Soon the streets of New York become too familiar, and Carlos, Dean and Marylou leave Sal behind as they begin their journey to the west. His life without inspiration, Sal resolves to follow his friends, and so begins his journey on the road. 

An ode to a time not so long passed, On the Road is excellence on all levels. As one could only expect from Salles, the road becomes so much more than simply the setting of this story, and the way he builds this journey in a cinematic sense illuminates Sal’s journey well. The hedonistic lives of Kerouac’s characters become so brilliantly alluring thanks to Salles, plotting each character's step along the expedition faultlessly. Reuniting with cinematographer Eric Gautier, the film illustrates the American road as a path of ferocious delight. Aurally, the film sends you back to another world, and it’s incredible to note the impact this has on the way one experiences the film; once again, Gustavo Santaolalla can be hailed as enhancing the impact of Salles’ film, the same way he did it for Salles’ Diaries. Jose Rivera’s screenplay also provides a failproof map upon which these character’s lives meticulously wander in and out of each other’s way, and he adapts the source material superbly. 

And yet one would not be wrong in thinking this film is the perfect vehicle for a generation of careers to be built upon, and the casting here is particularly exceptional. Stewart is an absolute marvel; her Marylou is the quintessential runaway teen bride, and she portrays Marylou’s turbulent coming of age with considerable aplomb. Riley is a great choice for Sal, seamlessly underplaying the role and crafting a crystal clear eyepiece through which the audience can view the story of the Beat Generation in full brilliance. Hedlund is courageous in his candid portrayal of our young delinquent, lacing his performance with considerable allure. Kirsten Dunst and Sturridge are also effective in their somewhat smaller roles.


Though at times becoming slightly uneven and perhaps a tad long, On the Road is a tremendous cinematic achievement. Salles turns the character-driven novel into a visual spectacle, without ever compromising the journey (both externally and internally) of his characters. With mixed reviews at Cannes, one has to wonder whether the audience was exposed to the same whirlwind of psychedelic drugs that this story’s characters were, because, quite simply, the film is a marvel. 

Beasts of the Southern Wild

Six year old Hushpuppy (Quvenzhané Wallis) and her father Wink (Dwight Henry) live in a small and forgotten bayou community called “the Bathtub”. The pair take pleasure from their simple lives; Hushpuppy attends a small school where she is taught the bare necessities from her teacher Miss Bathsheeba (Gina Montanna). She spends her playtime amusing herself with broken, old toys and she carves messages for the future on the inside of boxes which litter her shack-for-one. Her father is only a yell away, inebriating himself in his own shack after spending the day scouring the surrouding water for shellfish and various other sea life to feed the local residents. Life is as gratifying and serene as it could possibly be, exploring the wild scrub, living off the land and lighting up ferociously vivid fireworks with the other townsfolk; yet global warming is to significantly impact upon the community’s lives, and Hushpuppy is to be pushed on an affecting and personal journey which will change her life forever.

 So unfolds Beasts of the Southern Wild, the masterful directorial debut of Benh Zeitlin. A fully loaded, intricately crafted and absurdly dense story which explores a number of societal dilemmas in the most original fashion, the film is itself an extremely visceral and organic experience for any filmgoer. Told from the eyes of our six year old protagonist, the film offers an innocence and purity unlike any other story which dares to throw out such a heavy gauntlet to its audience. That gauntlet, a discourse of society’s most dark and innate problems, is handled in such a perfectly balanced way by Zeitlin, slipping in various references to a number of society’s most loaded and moralistic issues, notably those which affect the environment. The film certainly takes a strong standpoint but it never becomes overwhelming or zealous, and that is a credit to Zeitlin’s incredible talent.

Wallis gives what is an inspired and intuitive performance as Hushpuppy, and she singlehandedly wins hearts by navigating the audience through her character’s journey in a charismatic and beautifully natural way. The remainder of the cast are also effective, particularly Henry who contrasts perfectly with Hushpuppy’s radiantly virtuous nature. The film is edited well, with images of the polar ice caps melting interjected into the primitive beauty of the Bathtub. The cinematography is particularly affecting, and an extremely underplayed score is perfect for illustrating the even-handed tone of the film.

Beasts is a film of restrained beauty, never pushing too hard, but urging its audience just enough to enter the rudimentary world which Hushpuppy and her friends inhabit. Tying together the story of a young girl discovering her truth and a richly-fashioned subtext of significant resonance, the film is a thought-provoking and wonderfully enriching story, worth a watch if only for Wallis and Zeitlin’s capacity to balance the many priorities of a highly important and beautifully told story.

"Clarice, the world is more interesting with you in it."

In misty woods nearby Quantico, Virginia, a small-statured lone FBI trainee is fighting her way through an obstacle course; climbing the rope, she pulls herself up and over, and on she runs, resolute on conquering each hurdle which lay ahead of her. It is her true grit which typifies this young woman; her determination is fierce, and she assures herself that this approach will help advance her from a life which has so often tested her. It is an eloquent means of introducing us to this, the most intriguing of female protagonists, and it certainly sets the tone so well for what will be Clarice M. Starling’s greatest test yet.

Historically, the sole female protagonist is an alien in the world of film, especially of the select few which have been honoured with film’s greatest prize; sure, there are plenty of examples of films where the female’s plight is so intricately combined with that of the male protagonist – we have to care about her then! – but, with the rare exception (Gone with the Wind, All About Eve, The Sound of Music), the lone female protagonist is so often neglected by Oscar. Here is another of those rare examples, a film which would be an enjoyable but fairly empty exercise if it were not for its extraordinary female lead.

Indeed, The Silence of the Lambs’ greatest accomplishment is found in its subtext, and Starling as a character is a rare gem, the perfect embodiment of that subtext. This is a film which relies so emphatically on the power of its female hero to grab its audience and allows her to explore so meticulously the position of the female in contemporary society.

The film centres on the investigation into a string of murders and the subsequent manhunt for the elusive serial killer known to the authorities as ‘Buffalo Bill’ – a nickname, we find out later, given to him because he likes to skin his humps. The FBI desperately wish to solve the murders and believe a psychopathic genius in custody has clues needed to crack the case; and yet, this incarcerated psychopath, Dr Hannibal ‘The Cannibal’ Lector (Anthony Hopkins) will not help. That is, until the FBI strategically dangle the perfect bait in front of him: the furiously determined, highly intelligent and yet incredibly precarious Starling (Jodie Foster).

Director Jonathan Demme’s love for Starling is unwavering; it’s clear she has significant hurdles to overcome in the pursuit for success and he emphasises this seamlessly. She (both literally and figuratively) runs in another direction to her colleagues in the male-dominated Bureau; where they succeed in one arena, she will make her mark in another. The relationship she shares with her mentor is particularly indicative of her solitary quality; their interaction is marked by Starling’s wariness from the start, and as her importance in the investigation heightens, she (appropriately) reprimands him for his chauvinistic handling of her. Other male contemporaries look at her in a sexually degrading manner; she is the foreign, the unknown and, in many ways, the unwanted. Oddly enough, the exception to this rule is her dealings with Lector; he is respectful, courteous, endearing. This is why their interactions are by far the most absorbing of the piece: he is the only one allowed to be her equal.

Yet Starling’s finest moments are not those where she proves herself to be an exemplary agent-in-training; instead, it is when the audience are allowed to see her vulnerability. Demme and especially Foster offer Starling as an incredibly exposed hero, and though she is in many ways extremely brilliant, she is also broken. Lector exposes Starling in a way no other character does in this piece, and their interactions are captivating and incredibly electric. Their rapport is like no other; Lector, a sociopathic killer, shows no regard for human life, though in spite of this there exists incredible awareness and care for Starling, and she is equally as captivated by him. Their exchanges are wonderfully well-written, witty and brutally honest, and in this, Ted Tally succeeds like no other. Once you add Foster’s incredible depth and Hopkins’ amazingly chilling characterisation, these moments become the best cinema has ever had to offer.

Perhaps the most ironic thing about the reputation of this film is that it almost always centres on Hopkins and the hypnotically unsettling behaviour of his exotic cannibalistic killer; yet this film is a love letter from our director to Clarice. Demme’s craving to reach Clarice’s inner core is as strong as our antagonist’s coveting of his prey; as Bill raises his arm to touch Starling during the film’s incredible climax, Demme too reaches forward through the lens, yearning to give her his love and adoration. Foster perfectly brings to life this amazingly dense creation; her understanding and insight into the role is unlike no other performance ever given, and she courageously wears her own personal vulnerabilities for everyone to see. Though Demme flawlessly guides Starling through this journey, it’s Foster who truly embodies the film’s ethos.

Hopkins also delivers an incredible performance; though not given as much screentime as Foster, he certainly is incredibly memorable as the haunting Dr Hannibal Lector. The ultimate antihero, Hopkins perfectly illustrates his character’s psychopathic tendencies while also offering us the ultimate counterpart to Foster’s Starling. He pairs her helpless ambition with his unabashed contempt and thus forms a bond so strongly forged, it becomes formidably difficult to forget. Ted Levine’s Buffalo Bill is perfectly balanced between these two, a victim just as much as a killer, each side expressed vividly; his snub is egregious.

Thomas Harris’ source material for this film can at times be incredibly dry and to-the-point, the subtext, while existing, is sometimes clandestine, and the novel itself is quite cold. Tally’s adaptation brilliantly fills in these flaws; his characters are far richer, the subtext is elucidated better without ever becoming obtrusive and the plot is better assembled. While staying true to the novel, he literally recreates Harris’ novel in a much denser fashion, and it shows. Demme flawlessly assembles all these brilliant pieces together in such a wonderfully complimentary fashion; his helming of this piece is an absolute wonder and he balances each element perfectly.

In the words of a wise woman, “it can be about the performance and not the politics”. This was a film released in February by a soon-to-be bankrupt production company. It is a dark, often brutal crime thriller with horror-like elements (it was the first, and remains the only film that can be considered ‘horror’ to win Best Picture – though whether it sits comfortably in that genre is something else worth considering). And yet here we are, twenty years later, discussing its incredible and utterly worthy win. It seems it was just too good to ignore.