Just Your Standard Change in Direction

This little old blog, already in its second incarnation, has been a veritable hodge-podge of things so far, from my ranting about my own inability to function in life, why other people can't function in life around me and a couple of reviews of woeful adaptations. But it is the last one that has been the most fun, especially when it came to dissecting the BBC's Dracula. 

So I have a brief announcement for you all, nothing too drastic, nor erring on the dramatic side, just a quiet little note to tell you that this whole adaptations thing is going to become something of a regular feature around here. A focus if you will.

I'm a literary-minded person with a serious passion for film (some might call it obsession, but I'm not here to argue semantics) and therefore, from this day forth, the primary reason for this blog existing will be for me to share with you all my opinions regarding different literary adaptations of books to film. Now, as this gives me a fairly wide scope, I can only hope that this will be going for quite some time.

That being said, there probably will be an occasional post about my afore-mentioned inability to function in day-to-day life.

Now all I need is a film to watch. Suggestions on a stamped addressed envelope please!

Dracula Schmacula

I'm going to come right out and say this straight away; Bram Stoker's Dracula is one of my favourite novels and I love it unashamedly. That's not to say it's a good novel. Because it isn't, not by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, I would go so far as to say it's probably the late Victorian equivalent of something like The Da Vinci Code, badly written, ludicrously over-complicated and somewhat overshadowed by the subsequent publicity. Despite all of this though, and unlike Dan Brown's "novel", it's a rollicking good read from start to finish with some of the most wildly melodramatic, hand-slamming-on-desk dialogue I've ever seen.

I am currently re-reading it for an essay I'm writing for my course (on anxieties surrounding evolution in the late Victorian novel if you wanted to know, but you probably didn't) and it sparked in me a desire to watch one of the countless adaptations that are on offer. So last night, off I popped to my DVD collection in search of Francis Ford Coppola's adaptation starring Keanu Reeves (winning the Worst Accent Ever award by a country mile, despite Winona Ryder's best efforts) and Gary Oldman chomping through the Gothic scenery. But, hidden at the back of the box, buried beneath the unusual combination of Battlestar Galactica and 10 Things I Hate About You, was the BBC adaptation of Dracula from back in 2006. I barely remembered it, other than that it had Marc Warren as the titular Count and a certain Mr Dan Stevens before he found fame as the dashing Matthew Crawley in Downton Abbey, so naturally decided to give it a viewing.

And oh my, what a viewing it was.

The BBC has been home to many a period drama over the years and it is something they are usually very, very good at. But this adaptation of Dracula is woeful to the point of laughable, and not in a 'so bad it's good' sort of way. It's just bad. To call it an adaptation is using the word in its very loosest sense. It takes some of the chief characters from the novel, makes the rest disappear and then writes them into a story that bears little to no resemblance to Stoker's original tale. Now I'm all for loose adaptations. Sometimes, if done well, they can be badly fantastic in their own right. As evidence for this, one of my favourite good-bad films is the Disney adaptation of The Three Musketeers which sees Charlie Sheen, Kiefer Sutherland and Oliver Platt bound around the French countryside with swords while Tim Curry snarls his way through the hammiest performance of Cardinal Richlieu you'll ever see. It's awful, but it has a very funny script and gets away with it because it's an enjoyable film to watch. The BBC adaptation of Dracula, however, makes that look like an Oscar winner.

Dracula the novel is built on various social anxieties that were plaguing the Victorians at the time of its release and amongst others, we've got immigration, technology and sexual relationships all appearing at various points. Around the latter half of the nineteenth century, sexually transmitted diseases were a bit of a worry and various social commentators were all het up about the prostitutes having it off with gentlemen and infecting them with all sorts of nasties. With all the bodily-fluid swapping going in Dracula, this is clearly a subtext in the novel with anyone drinking the vampire's blood becoming corrupted by it and basically transforming themselves into your standard prostitute stereotype. Stoker depicts human women as pure, innocent and lovely until the vampire women take over when they become sex-crazed maniacs, all heaving breasts and big hair. While this anxiety around sex and what it can do to your body is an undercurrent in the novel, the television adaptation decides to take this theme and proceed to beat you repeatedly over the head with it.

For Lord Holmwood (Dan Stevens) has been infected with syphilis by his wayward father and his unwitting mother meaning that, when he comes to marry the sweet, virginal yet clearly gagging for it Lucy Westernra (Sophia Miles), he doesn't want to consummate the marriage. But rather than telling her about it and explaining the situation like a normal person, he doesn't do this. In fact, he utters the biggest clunker in the entire script,with Captain Obvious hat planted firmly on his golden locks: "Society does not speak of that which it fears". So through a blood-worshipping cult which has absolutely no equivalent in the novel, he decides to hire the mysterious Count Dracula (Marc Warren) who can apparently cure him through a simple blood transfusion (I know that attempting to create a sense of mystery around Dracula to a vampire-savvy audience is something of a tall ask, but the dramatic irony here has all the subtlety of a solid gold brick). 

Moving swiftly on, the original novel's plot is somewhat over-complicated but this takes it to new levels; in order to cover his tracks, Holmwood hires the innocent Jonathan Harker (Rafe Spall), engaged to Mina (Stephanie Leonidas) who is Lucy's best friend, to fill all the requirements that Dracula has in order to move over to England. Meanwhile John Seward (a criminally underrated Tom Burke) is madly in love with Lucy and desperate to find out why Holmwood is being all shady and talking to the man who used to be the uncle in The Queen's Nose (Donald Sumpter). All this leads to the inevitable conclusion of defeating Dracula, though not quite because, as Buffy Summers observes in her own Count encounter, he always comes back. I won't give you a plot summary of the novel because a) it would take too long, so I'll link you to this for reference and b) maybe it will encourage you to read the book itself because it's ace and rest assured, it's much more interesting than the mystical cure for syphilis shocker.

Tom Burke spends the entire thing looking slightly bemused at the fact he's found himself in a such a batty production while David Suchet's Van Helsing, arguably the most famous character in the novel aside from the obvious, is relegated to little more than a cameo role in which he basically does a slightly demented Victorian version of Poirot. But both Dan Stevens and Stephanie Leonidas have to be commended on managing to make me laugh out loud in supposedly dramatic and emotional moments. Stevens is a great actor, but here decides to play Holmwood as the short-man-syndrome type, in fine nostril-flaring form with lots of enunciated but ineffectual yelling. Leonidas on the other hand, veers so quickly from being silently morose to overly emotional bereaved fiance that it leaves you spinning.

But perhaps what annoys me most about this adaptation is that it takes what is a fantastic opportunity for horror, blood and Gothicky goodness into a soul-sucking (pun intended), angst-filled and curiously non-dramatic drama. There is already so much drama and a ridiculous amount of plot in the novel, nearly half of which I haven't actually mentioned, that to create an entirely new story just seems stupid. Also, in giving Dracula a motive, something which other adaptations also try to do, they take away what is most terrifying about him; he has no motive other than propagating his own kind, infiltrating England and conquering another country just as he's been doing for generations. A personal vendetta is much less dangerous and with Dracula, the narratives that result from this are pretty small fry. Curiously enough, one of the only aspects of the novel to survive this brutal assassination on its character is the way in which blood transfusions are carried out with gay abandon and little regard for blood types or sterilised equipment. Poor old Jonathan Harker doesn't even make it past the prologue (despite being a main character in the novel), but inaccurate medical practices get given an entire scene to themselves.

I know I've ranted on a bit about this adaptation but it's a little upsetting that it might be the cause of people wandering around with this version of Stoker's great novel in their heads or worse, that it encourages them not to read it. The novel has always been overshadowed by its subsequent transference to screen but when it is something like Bela Legosi's iconic portrayal, Christopher Lee's menacing ability to loom on screen or even something as daft as Dracula: Dead and Loving It, they all show the novel a far greater respect than this BBC production. Stoker's only famous work is one of the most adapted and imitated novels in English literature (which sadly makes it inadvertently responsible for Twilight, but I'll let that one go) and it really deserves a great adaptation because, when I get the urge of an evening to procrastinate with a film, I want to watch one that truly does the book justice. Sorry BBC, but this was one period drama that not only failed to hit the mark, it sailed past it and disappeared over the horizon, laughing maniacally at its own awfulness.

The Subtle Art of Being Clumsy

Romantic comedies, formulaic as they are, seem to have a go-to personality trait for their heroines that is supposed to inspire sympathy for their central character. That is, of course, clumsiness, which almost immediately elicits gasps of 'aww bless' for a woman who, up until the moment of falling on/into/over something, has actually been little more than a selfish, vacuous airhead. But hey, she fell over, that automatically makes her endearing!


The subtle art of clumsiness can appear in male characters too but it does appear to be mostly the female ones, for that added element of slapstick comedy when they inevitably get caught up in a dog lead/spill something stainable on their potential date's crisp white shirt/slip up in front of their new boss (Delete as appropriate).

Although not a romantic comedy, the most recent use of this character trait has been in the po-faced Twilight franchise; a key trait of Bella Swan's is that she's clumsy. Because that means she goes from being a two-dimensional character with all the personality of a herring to a two-dimensional character with all the personality of a herring who falls over a lot.

As a person for whom this happens all the time (as no doubt my flatmates would tell you) being clumsy really isn't as fun as it looks in the movies. Often, it's painful, embarrassing and never actually leads to you meeting that cute guy you see at the bus stop every Wednesday. It just makes him laugh under his breath and carry on listening to his iPod. And that moment when the heroine oh so hilariously dumps a convenient dollop of ketchup on a white blouse? Well that's a standard Tuesday night in the world of Becky Lea. Or how about when she stumbles in the street in her gorgeously over-priced high heels? In reality, this is usually a pre-cursor to a sprained ankle or blisters. Then again, if I'm having a really good day, it could be both.

So why is this such a valued trait for your romantic comedy heroine? Is there a formula to it? A way in which you can trip over your own feet, fall flat on your face and still look cool?

Probably not. Not in reality anyway.

I'd like to think that this clumsiness seemingly inherent in all of these rom-com heroines from Bridget Jones to that one in the Shopaholic film that I've clearly committed to memory, is just an attempt to make her more endearing. But I also can't help thinking that there's something a little more sinister at work because, after all, a typical rom-com plays out a little bit like a fairytale. You've got your heroine trapped in a tower, or in this case, unable to walk into an office without tripping over something, and who is always there? The prince charming, ready to sweep her off her feet gallantly, mop up the coffee she's no doubt spilled all over herself and generally starts to take care of her. And this is where I begin to have an issue. It's all part of this constant need to show that women need to be rescued.


These women seemingly can't function without a man there ready to catch her when she over-balances due to the sheer amount of shopping she's carrying. It's an amazing trend in romantic comedies that once a heroine has been helped out by her blatantly obvious love interest with her winning ability to crash into things inappropriately, they're suddenly able to walk down a street without the teeniest hint of a wobble. They've been rescued from the Leaning Tower of Imbalance and get to be all princess-like with their ruggedly handsome hero.


But I don't need rescuing thank you very much. I'm fairly sure that even if someone did manage to catch me, I'd probably drag them over too and it would be nowhere near as good as the orange juice moment in Notting Hill.


So I will continue to spill drinks, fall over and generally make an idiot of myself unwittingly for as long as I shall live. Granted, I would not object if Ryan Reynolds did appear to help me up but I would not suddenly feel 'complete' if he did so.


In fact, I'd probably just fall straight back over again.

Roses are red, violets are blue

Ah Valentine's Day.

For many, February the 14th will be a day of romance, chocolates and ridiculously mushy (and terrible) poetry. For others, it will be day to retreat from the world, bemoan your singleton status and start deciding whether or not to get a cat. I'm currently single and my normal reaction is the one previously mentioned (except the cat part, I'm allergic). But this year, the day of hearts and flowers has approached quickly and I've yet to restrain myself from ripping apart a Valentine's Day card in some vain attempt at making myself feel better.

Instead, I'm looking at the positive side. Valentine's Day is actually a pretty good time of year to be single when you think about it and here are my reasons.

1). You don't have to worry about the expense of it all. Whether in a long-term relationship or still in that honeymoon period where all you want to do is tell the world that you're in a couple, it is a day to demonstrate how much you love that person holding your hand. This will most likely come in the form of a gift. It could be ostentatious, subtle or slightly pretentious but it will cost you time and money.

2). Speaking of costing you money, if you decide to go out for a romantic candlelit dinner, chances are you'll go to a restaurant that you've both been to before and really like. Only this time, it will be a set menu and it will cost you approximately three times the price of a normal meal there. For no apparent reason other than it's Valentine's Day.

3). Then, if you're single, there's all the discounted stuff you can take advantage of and DON'T have to share! For example, today I bought a Toblerone for only £2. That's all the triangular chocolatey-goodness that is entirely for me. And don't even get me started on the ice cream offers.

4). There's no real need to make an effort. Sure if you're in a relationship that you don't feel you need to make an effort because you're so loved up it doesn't matter, that's great. But if you're single, you can spend the entire day in your pajamas, watching TV, eating the afore-mentioned discounted chocolate and not have to worry that you're about to spend a fortune on one day of the year that places emphasis on making it extra lovely for that special person in your life.

So before you tear up that one Valentine's Day card you got from your mum, or rush out to buy yourself a feline companion, just think it isn't actually that bad to be single on Valentine's Day. Yes you may have to put up with that schmooshy couple indulging in outrageous PDAs on public transport and you may want to pop every heart-shaped balloon that comes your way. But, you'll have saved a ton of money by not being in a relationship [unless you spent it all on ice cream].

That being said, I'm off out to get blind drunk with friends and forget what day it is.

REVIEW: Wuthering Heights

The cold winter nights are always perfect accompaniments to a Bronte novel and as the evenings draw in and the windspeed rises, Andrea Arnold's adaptation of Emily Bronte's Wuthering Heights is the latest to hit the big screen.

For those who don't know the story, Wuthering Heights follows the stormy relationship between Cathy Earnshaw and Heathcliff, a 'gypsy' boy adopted by her father, following it from their childhood friendship, through their doomed love affair and the consequences it has for those around them. Running wild across the moors together from children to adults, a deep bond forms between the two characters. However, after an accident at Thrushcross Grange, the Linton family residence, Cathy is raised in a more civilised atmosphere and chooses to marry Edgar rather than attempt any sort of romantic attachment with Heathcliff. Overhearing her intentions, Heathcliff leaves, only to return years later as a wealthier man, intent on wreaking revenge on Hindley Earnshaw, his main tormentor and on Cathy herself, for choosing Edgar instead.

First of all, the film looks beautiful and the Yorkshire Moors setting of the novel is well realised through Arnold's direction, especially in the wide shots that show the vastness of the landscape in relation to the characters wandering through it. It is perhaps through the cinematography that the film is most faithful to the book, with the violence and changeability of the weather, both visually and aurally emphasising these themes of Cathy/Heathcliff relationship. In terms of sound, rather than relying on incidental music to create the mood, Arnold uses the wind across the moors or the sound of rainfall to punctuate scenes. Whilst this is very atmospheric, it does have a rather negative effect on the dialogue, meaning that when characters speak, which in itself is sparse to begin with, it can be a little jarring. For me this can also be attributed to the screenplay itself. It felt too modern for an adaptation of a Victorian novel, using profanities and modern phrases that works against the rest of the film, pulling you out of the situation rather than drawing you in. The conflicts between Hindley and Heathcliff are the best examples of this; often, the language used sounds more like a confrontation in a street or a bar fight than the meeting of two lifelong enemies. Similarly, the dialogue between Heathcliff and Cathy never really evokes a sense of the extreme emotions that this relationship creates. They are supposed to both love and hate each other to the point where violence between them is inescapable, be it emotional or physical. Without this, it all falls a bit flat.

My main criticism of the film though is the rejection of the supernatural aspect of the book in favour of the raw, gritty presentation that we are given. Although the story does lend itself to this sense of the primitive, by stripping back the ghostly elements, Arnold's more realistic interpretation loses some of the dramatic atmosphere that makes Wuthering Heights the popular novel it is. Heathcliff is so conflicted because he is literally haunted by Cathy; their relationship is so strong and so essential that they cannot be parted even by death. We get a hint of this towards the end of the film with the token reference to necrophilia. The embodiment of this problem is the building that is used for the Heights itself. It is white and clinical, sparsely decorated and lacking the darkness and shadows that the novel emphasises. It also leaves out one of my favourite moments of the novel. It is Cathy's appearance at the window, clamouring to be let back in to the Heights and into Heathcliff's life. This appears in a form of translation in the film, with Arnold using the repeated image of a branch tapping at a bedroom window but, had you not read the book, the moment does not carry the same significance. The tumultuous relationship of Cathy and Heathcliff is one of the most passionate, most famous in all of English Literature, but this presentation of it is curiously lacking in emotion.

This is partly due to the depiction of Heathcliff himself. By focusing primarily on the development of the Cathy/Heathcliff relationship, the film presents a watered down version of him. Although he's often seen as the brooding Byronic hero, he is incredibly cruel, violent and manipulative and the film only really hints at this, using quick scenes of him hanging a dog or hitting someone to briefly demonstrate his character. This serves only to suggest the lengths to which Heathcliff would go to satisfy his need for retribution, but never really goes far enough to demonstrate just how awful he is. Both James Howson and Soloman Glave (Young Heathcliff) give fairly good performances in their debut film roles, capturing the alienation of the character very well whilst, again, only hinting at the violence and torment within. But therein lies the problem. There seems to be a reliance on the audience to have read the book so that whilst you are watching the film, you have prior knowledge of Heathcliff's machinations. Had I not been aware of this, however, I'm not sure if the subtle performances would have carried the same meaning.

Also, the casting of Howson, a black actor, caused a bit of a furore when it was first announced with fans divided between thinking that it was actually quite faithful to the book and those who thought it was a bit too much for them. I was personally in the 'faithful' camp as the details of Heathcliff's origins in the novel are sketchy at best; he's found by Cathy's father in Liverpool and is described at various points as having a "dark complexion" and as a "gypsy". Therefore, Arnold's casting makes a lot of sense and is one of the more positive aspects of the film, emphasising Heathcliff's isolation from those around him. In terms of the other performances, Kaya Scodelario of Skins fame, puts in a decent performance for the older Cathy, depicting the capricious nature of her character well and providing a decent foil for Howson's Heathcliff. Sadly though, the other performances fall a bit flat, especially Hindley Earnshaw who isn't so much the other main villain, but more of a chav in Victorian dress. Similarly, Nelly, a central character in the book, is relegated to the sidelines, appearing every now again to support or insult Heathcliff, depending on which is required.

If considered as a film within its own right and separated from its inspiration, Arnold's Wuthering Heights would be a brilliant exploration of alienation. However, as an adaptation of Emily Bronte's novel, the emphasis on presenting a raw, more realistic version of the story serves to lose a lot of what is central to Wuthering Heights. The relationship between Cathy and Heathcliff is not one that solely affects them, but serves to destroy the lives of those they come into contact with. Arnold's focus on the development of the relationship, rather than the consequences of it means that the film never really feels complete. It is a snapshot of the novel, a collection of scenes that look very beautiful but never quite string together to make a love/hate story that captures the imagination.

All I Want For Christmas Is...

People to stop celebrating Christmas too early.

Now, I never intend for this blog to get ranty and I would much rather talk about things I love than things that irritate me. However, there is one thing that, at this time of year, really grinds my gears. I am writing this entry on the 4th of December. That' s only 21 days until Christmas as my employer keeps reminding me, which means that it is now acceptable to start winding up to the present-giving event of the year. Before then, it's just a little tacky.

One aspect of my job is to speak to the majority of the customers I serve and as I am not particularly inventive when it comes to small talk, I usually ask them what they'll be doing with the rest of their day (that way, if they don't want to talk to me, a blunt 'no' will shut me up). I was working on Sunday the 6th of November, which for those keeping count, was 48 days until Santa throws himself down chimneys and reverse-burgles everyone. I asked a gentleman that very question. His response was: "Nothing much, just going to put the Christmas tree up and get the decorations sorted".

I'll leave you to ponder that for a second and check back to the date on which this event occurred.

Yes, it had only just been Bonfire Night and this man was already looking ahead to tinsel and baubles. I'm all for festive spirit and the holiday season, but for me, this is just a tad early. Oh who am I kidding? It is far too early. Too the point of being ever so slightly obscene in its earliness. What ever happened to keeping Christmas magical? You start looking forward to it this early, the event itself becomes an anti-climax. Sad to say though, this is a symptom of how commercialised Christmas has now become and I know this is said every year but it is starting to suck the magic out a little for me. In the supermarket I work in, Christmas stock comes in on the 1st of September (116 days still to go). I heard "A Spaceman Came Travelling" on the in-store radio in the middle of November and decorations have been going up from around the same time. If every high street shop and supermarket are going "LOOK IT'S CHRISTMAS! BUY THINGS!" then everyone is going to start looking ahead a bit too soon.

Now, I'm all for belting out 'All I Want For Christmas Is You' at inappropriate volumes in public, but does no one else think this is much more fun and exciting when Christmas is in fact only, for the sake of argument, around 6 sleeps away? Or putting the tree up on Christmas Eve when all your family are back together so that Christmas can finally begin? Or there's that thrill you get from doing your Christmas shopping at the very last minute because you hadn't any ideas until now (don't kid yourself, I know it's not just me).

Wizzard may have wished for Christmas every day but it would become boring and lose any magic it still has left. I'm not the most festive person in the world, but I'm also not a Scrooge. I like Christmas and, contrary to popular belief, I enjoy spending it with friends and family. But let's save Christmas and all its quirks for the proper time, during advent, when you can sing Christmas songs to your heart's content, tinsel everything with gay abandon and drink and eat heartily because hey, it's that time of year.

It might just be worth it to keep that magic wrapped up for a little while longer.

Blog 2: Rise of the Sequel

As you have probably guessed from the previous subject of this blog, one of my chief delights in life is watching things be it TV or film. There really is nothing like the buzz of excitement when you sit down to a film that you have been eagerly awaiting for months. One of my favourite moments of a cinema trip is the pre-film trailer sequence, in which anticipation for future blockbusters is ramped up with the rising, inspirational music and the teasing 30 seconds of footage that just doesn't reveal enough. Maybe this doesn't happen for you but I have to say, the viewing of a new trailer is one of many little film-related delights in my life. Yet I cannot help noticing that this sense of excitement hasn't appeared for a while in my sadly infrequent cinema trips and I am curious as to why this is.

The feeling I get when I see most film trailers at the moment is indifference, the sense that I will probably watch the film in question at some point in the future but I will not actively pay the price to see it on the big screen. I think this can be partially attributed to the types of films coming out this year. A quick glance over the summer schedule for 2011 reveals that this is a season packed with sequels and prequels with Harry Potter's final installment, Transformers: Dark of the Moon, Final Destination 5 and Rise of the Planet of the Apes on their way and also, the previous releases of Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides and The Hangover 2. With all the biggest blockbusters of the summer being either a sequel or a prequel to further films [one could argue that both Thor and Captain America slot into this category as both films will be fed into the upcoming Avengers movie], it would seem to any non-Earth resident that moviegoers are obsessed with watching the seemingly endless goings-on of robots in disguise, drunken pirates or boy wizards. However is this really the case?

In terms of Harry Potter, the sequels were pretty much inevitable and rightly so - it is a story that must be viewed as whole, even though most people I know refuse to acknowledge the existence of the first two films. In the case of Pirates of the Caribbean, the initial, seemingly general consensus, including my own opinion, was that another film was simply not needed. Now don't get me wrong, I am a huge fan of the first three and have not yet seen the fourth so comment will not be made upon its quality. Indeed, the first film was a complete, joyful surprise; an original take on the pirate genre, which was languishing in the Hollywood doldrums after the woeful Cutthroat Island. Johnny Depp's performance was fantastic, Geoffrey Rush had the best pirate accent since Tim Curry and Orlando Bloom cut quite the dashing Errol Flynn-type figure. A surprise hit all over the world, it was a blast of fresh air in a year that also included a multitude of sequels including the dire Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle and Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines. Then the Pirates sequels came along. I for one did enjoy both on a surface level; visually they were both beautiful, the jokes were amusing and Johnny Depp swayed drunkenly all over the screen. But scratch beneath the surface and you discover plot holes, repetitions and scripts so hastily put together it is no wonder that they made no sense, not to mention bloated running times that led to cinemas scheduling an interval for At World's End. I cannot help considering that, had they left it with just the first film, it would have been a permanent symbol of originality and a classic example of the summer blockbuster. Now it joins the ranks of films like The Matrix, where a smart, well crafted and importantly, an original film was ruined by unnecessary sequels.

Now you're probably thinking that it is common knowledge that sequels are never as good as the original film and for the most part, I think this is correct. Most sequels either attempt an unsuccessful replication of the formula that worked in the first film or attempt to do something entirely new that doesn't quite work. Iron Man 2, when considered alone, was a fairly good film but it did not expand much on the first other than to cement the relationship between Tony Stark and Pepper Pots. Then there's the inevitable 'it's a lot darker than the first' trope that is mainly associated with the Harry Potter series but is also employed elsewhere. For example, after the wholesome family, Nazi-bashing fun of Raiders of the Lost Ark, Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom was significantly darker and more gruesome [and is technically a prequel]. The banquet scene in particular sticks vividly in the memory. And in terms of Indiana Jones, one only has to look at the fourth film in the series to see what happens when the writers decide to drain almost everything good from a formula that worked. Yes I am still bitter about this. Returning to the idea of sequels getting darker, this is something that has actually worked on several occasions. One such example is of course, The Empire Strikes Back, one of the finest film sequels ever produced. It took the idealistic story of the first film and expanded it to become a grim depiction of what happens when our heroes don't succeed.

The Empire Strikes Back is a classic case of the sequel exceeding the original. And, in order to maintain a level of optimism in this post, it is also necessary to look at sequels that did work. The Bourne Trilogy and Christopher Nolan's Batman films are two such recent triumphs of successful sequel film-making. Paul Greengrass did a fantastic job of continuing the story of Jason Bourne after Doug Liman's Identity established Bourne's struggle to find himself as it were. In this case, it is a good exhibition of 'if it ain't broke, don't fix it' with each film sticking fairly well to a similar formula; Jason Bourne doesn't know who he is, is chased around various cities, outwits everyone concerned and eventually learns a little more about his past. But the important thing here is that Greengrass didn't produce a carbon copy of the original film, he added in more threat, different, often better set pieces and produced two sequels that increased in quality from their predecessors. In contrast, The Dark Knight didn't have a formula to stick to because Batman Begins was very much an origin story of Gotham City's decay and how Bruce Wayne became the Bat. Therefore, when Nolan came to creating a sequel, he was able to just go headlong into the world of Gotham's favourite vigilante with one of the scariest adversaries created in recent times and in doing so, arguably created one of the best comic book films ever.

So yes, sequels can be a good thing when done correctly and I am more than happy to sit down and watch a sequel if I feel it is going to elaborate and continue what has gone before. But I do not want to be continually fed big budget sequels that are simply a cash cow for the production company, which I sneakily suspect is the only reason behind films such as Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen and Dark of the Moon. The first Transformers was an ok action film. The second one was giant robot balls. I certainly don't want to be fed these sequels at the expense of other, more original films that would also attract an audience if marketed correctly, a film such as Inception for example. Again, it was a breath of fresh air, a thriller that did not assume the audience was stupid and continually played with expectations whilst delivering great action scenes throughout. It remains to be seen whether this would have been made or publicised quite so much had Christopher Nolan not been at the helm but it was something different, a standalone film enjoyed by a multitude of audiences.

Sadly, however, whilst these sequels continue to make obscene amounts of money [Transformers 3 has just hit the $400 million mark], major production companies will stick with these films rather than risking investment on something new. Then again, I can only hope that some of the sequels coming out this summer or in the next couple of years will be good continuations of their respective stories rather than hollow attempts at grabbing people's money. And on that note, I bid you adieu. I'm going to watch Inception... again.