Quarrying films
One fink, dey say, leads ta anavver.
Kit narrates Iain Banks’ final novel, The Quarry. Kit’s a
big lad, he lives with his dad in a house on the (creeping nearer) edge of a
quarry. His dad’s dying of cancer. As the dust-jacket, and, on the early pages,
Banks puts it, Kit’s “on the spectrum that stretches from ‘highly gifted’ at
one end to ‘nutter’ at the other”.
I’m about halfway through the book, (hands up who thought: "and more than halfway to the 'nutter' end of that spectrum, too) and there’s a uni
reunion going on. Kit talks the reader through the films Hol, now a film
critic, has nagged him into watching. Some foreign, some black and white, some
even black and white and foreign and silent. They include:
Citizen Kane,
which I’ve not watched, and I should, and sooner rather than later.
The Wages of Fear,
about which I know nothing, but will find out.
Seven Samurai,
which I’ve watched and enjoyed, but that was a seriously long time ago.
The Thing, which I
don’t rate, a rare thumbs down, I’m not usually one to have downers on films.
Point Blank, and Taxi Driver, and Chinatown, and Fargo
Delicatessen, a
film with –isms, including surrealism and cannibalism, a MM recommendation, one
I’m glad I listened to, because it’s wonderful in many ways.
There’s more, then there’s:
“However – to end on an upbeat, life-affirming note – we agree
on the wonderfulness of Jaws, The Searchers, Leon
There’s a list not to be argued with, although the shark in
Jaws does look a bit dated now, but there’s compensation in the “I think we
need a bigger boat” line that lends itself to misuse as much as the ‘walk this
way’ gags.
So the book has provided a list of films to check out, or
revisit.
Abdullah Ibrahim
Today I listened to Blues for a Hip King, from 1988. Mellow,
soulful jazz, a great morning album to slowly crank up the day, a collection of
original compositions and covers of classics like Blue Monk.
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