Superman (1978)

70 years ago this month saw the creation of a comic book character by Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster, that has gone through various permutations since, having to deal first with the Depression and the Second World War and then the Cold War and the nuclear threat, until 40 years later, after many radio, television and film (serial) adaptations, it got its big screen treatment courtesy of the Salkind family and effervescent director Richard Donner, with surely the definitive performance in the title role by Christopher Reeve.

Reeve's brilliant fleshing out of the character is the best thing about Superman: The Movie (as it was known at the time for trademark purposes), but there are plenty of other elements that make this a pleasing - if over-inflated – all-round entertainment package, which proved to be another big hit with 1970's audiences.

The tone of the film also had the ideal mixture of comic book heroism and big screen spectacle, a style which was only eclipsed 10 years later by Tim Burton's Batman, which made comic book movies much darker.

My own memories are of it being the only actual film from the 70s where I had to queue round the block outside the Odeon Aylesbury to get in – a true "blockbuster" then, in every sense of the word. At the time the only other film of this kind I had seen was Star Wars(qv), for which there were certain similarities: outer space setting, with the sole survivor of a destroyed planet, similar to Princess Leia and Alderaan – and indeed Margot Kidder's Lois Lane is just as feisty and plucky as Leia Organa.

Though seeming very similar in style to George Lucas's space fantasy, Superman was at least five times more expensive than Star Wars, but not quite as well made. It was, as described by Les Keyser, "the epitome of Supersell", and rather harshly by Leslie Halliwell as "long, lugubrious and only patchily entertaining…with too many irrelevant preliminaries and a misguided sense of its own importance." It's certainly quite a long haul for a film of this kind, and yes, the opening scenes do seem to hang around for a while before we finally get to the main action – but in a way, I love how the Krypton and Smallville prologues give you a flavour of the background of the story, with some useful character insights into the whole upbringing of Kal-El, aka. Clark Kent, aka. Superman.

I well remember watching the start of the film, in the cosy main screen at Aylesbury, watching the similarly cosy image of a black-and-white 1930's Daily Planet building with nostalgic revolving sign on a globe, then zooming upwards into space, where out rush giant blue credits - again, very Star Warsy.

The first actor's name we see on those flying blue credit titles however, is not that of Christopher Reeve, but of the two "star" names in the film, Marlon Brando and Gene Hackman - their contracts presumably stipulated they were billed that way.

Brando in fact has the main role for only the first 20 minutes of the film, but plays the role of Superman's father Jor-El (also with an "S" on his Kryptonian robes) with urbanity, clarity and Obi-Wan Kenobi-style authority. At the time I had no idea that he was a "Method" actor who tended to mumble and was very difficult to work with, nor that he had been paid an astronomical amount of money for just two weeks work; as far as I was concerned, he was the right man for this part, and played it well enough. It also has to be said that he had the ideal actors' director in Richard Donner.

Donner also coaxed an effective performance out of the other "above the title" star Gene Hackman, who by comparison with Brando at least gives partial value for money as Lex Luthor, cleverly combining devilish comedic charm with cold, clinical evil when it matters.

But that, ladies and gentlemen, is over an hour into the film. Before all this comes the spectre of the giant red Krypton sun onto the screen, and the mighty but vulnerable planet just below it, not long before its impending apocalypse, as predicted by Jor-El. He first of all however has to dispatch three revolutionary Krypton criminals (Terence Stamp, Sarah Douglas and Jack O'Halloran) into "The Phantom Zone", in quite a lively opening, followed by some slightly pompous scenes with the High Council, who are nearly all played by British actors (good ones too: Trevor Howard, Harry Andrews, etc.) who pay little attention to Jor-El's warnings.

All too late, the plaster-filled sets built at Pinewood (this in the days before CGI) begin to fall apart, and like Alderaan, the planet Krypton explodes, but not before Jor-El and his wife Lara (Susannah York) have safely sent off their only child, little Kal-El, into a Christmas Tree Star-shaped spaceship (intended as a prototype Krypton Arc) which scurries through "the 28 known galaxies", towards Earth.

Looking back to the 70s - in horror upon horrors, my old activity exercise book! – I could tell that the crash landing on Earth had a vivid impression on my memory, as also did the later rescue of Lois Lane from the top of the Daily Planet building.

Like the little spaceship, the film transports itself into another world; not the stylistic, oblique look of Krypton anymore, but a much more homely, believable environment in Smallville, with two excellent cameos by Phyllis Thaxter and Glenn Ford, who brings a great deal of world-weary integrity and fatherly dignity (more so than Brando) as Jonathan Kent, Kal-El's adoptive father - but for me much more of an Uncle Owen-type figure (another Star Wars connection.)

The evocative and beautifully shot Smallville scenes seem to be longer than they actually are, as though several Clark Kent "growing up" scenes had been cut, but this is not the case, it just feels that way. What there is however, is another good cameo by Jeff East as the young Clark Kent, who bears a useful facial similarity to Christopher Reeve (whose voice it is on the soundtrack.)

When the mood changes again, and Kal-El/Clark realises the call of duty (in the shape of a glowing Kryptonian crystal) by leaving Smallville and heading for the North Pole (more wonders worked by the boys at Pinewood), there is the brief return of Brando, introducing Jor-El to El Junior, explaining the job his son has to do on Earth. We get an ever so brief flutter of Superman's cape (45 minutes into the film), and then finally, in comes the third "world" of Superman The Movie: the Howard Hawks-style banter of The Daily Planet newsroom, in the great city of Metropolis (aka. New York, in all but name.)

Some of the dialogue for these scenes is really snappy and to-the-point, perhaps some of the best ever written for a fantasy film. There were a total of six credited writers during the lengthy pre-production (starting with The Godfather author Mario Puzo, whose heavy father-and-son synopsis was camped-up by Leslie and David Newman and Robert Benton), but apparently the best of the one-liners come from the pen of "Creative Consultant" Tom Mankiewicz (son of Joseph Mankiewicz), brought in by Donner late into production to give the film back some of its lost credibility.

If the witty (final draft) script of Superman tends to be overlooked, then so too is the wonderful cinematography of the late, great Geoffrey Unsworth (to whom the film is dedicated), whose distinctive texture to each of the respective worlds make the film every bit as bright, exciting and magical as it looks on the spin-off bubble gum cards.

All these different elements in the film are held together wondrously by John Williams's iconic score - another strong Star Wars connection - as well as production designer John
Barry. Barry's designs for Krypton and Fortress of Solitude are quite distinctive and recognisable, but his hideaway for Lex Luthor is a something else indeed: patterned on an
old subway station (the giant bookcase looks like it's always been there), as though the two designs were for completely different films.

Another forgotten aspect of the secret of Superman's success, is Reeve's brilliantly subtle and comedic portrayal of the adult Clark Kent, borrowing elements of Cary Grant comedies in the 30s and 40s (when he was also bespectacled), and creating a genuine character that is quite different in tone from Superman. Like with many portrayals of Jekyll & Hyde over the years, various actors have successfully put across the aggressive, dramatic side of the character, but fared less well with the gentler other half. Reeve is the only actor to have successfully nailed both.

It is more or less at the half-way point when SUPERMAN as we know him finally swings into action, rescuing the perilous Miss Lane from the top of the Daily Planet, and then foiling various petty crimes around Metropolis, with consummate charm and wit. I remember well Christopher Reeve's first "excuse me" line to a jive man, which got a big laugh in the audience.

It is Clark Kent however, who first hears Lex Luthor's sonic calling card (another brilliant touch by Donner) whilst being given a dressing down by his unsuspecting editor Perry White (Jackie Cooper), paving the way for the big confrontation between the two arch enemies, two thirds of the way into the film.

Whilst Lex distracts Superman with his grandiose plans for world domination (to wipe out most of California in order to create his own real estate), these very same plans are actually being carried out. Superman learns of the plot, but Luthor has the measure of him, allowing Superman to deduce that the missile detonator is hidden in a lead covered box (that he can't see through), but revealing instead a chunk of deadly Kryptonite! (Another brilliant reprise of the Krypton theme by John Williams.)

"Mind over muscle?", Luthor teases, and like all master criminals in the movies, he complacently explains all his plans to the hero and then leaves him to die in the pool.

So - gasp! - is this the end of Superman, in his first feature film? For a time, it looks like the answer's going to be Yes, but Luthor has reckoned without his voluptuous mistress Eve Teschmacher (Valerie Perrine), whose mother lives in the town (oh brother, what a cop out!) where one of the nuclear missiles will fall. Quickly, she dives into the pool, gives Superman a quick kiss - for fear that he won't let her later - and throws the offending piece of Kryptonite off his neck. If this seems like a heroic touch from a nice girl after all, it should also be noted that she has also calmly and clinically set the codes for the missile which will destroy California.

The resultant earthquake which follows demonstrates where a lot of the budget was spent, including some great miniature work by Derek Meddings, with a very realistic depiction of the Golden Gate bridge coming apart and threatening a school bus.

Superman saves the kids, and a few thousand others, including Jimmy Olsen (Marc McClure) when the Hoover Dam bursts, but unfortunately is too late to save Lois, who sinks with her car into a crevice created by the earthquake (scenes that upped the certificate from "U" to "A" in Britain) and dies.

Reeve is very effective here in bringing out Superman's lonely despair, and decides to break his father's ultimate taboo of "interfering with human history". The twist of turning the Earth back to save Lois's life is contrived, but it does at least bring the story full circle, with both Jor-El and Jonathan Kent being a prime influence on Superman's decision - albeit two hours after those characters were last seen.

So from here the film winds down to a relatively gentle conclusion, with the evil Luthor now all too gullible to Superman's invincibility, and is dispatched off to maximum security jail - and to my shock, I discover his character is bald! (Remember, this was my first experience of the Superman legend.) The closing credits begin to roll - all seven minutes of them, something which I didn't know at the time, because I was already out of the cinema by then.

Other excesses, such as a "musical" number Can You Read My Mind? - which presumably on the grounds of Margot Kidder's vocal talents, is spoken rather than sung - are a little more noticeable, as also are unnecessary comedy scenes with Luthor's buffoonish sidekicks: his stereotypical henchman Otis (Ned Beatty) is described in publicity as "bumbling but scientifically brilliant". There's little evidence of that in the film, beyond a macabre little moment when he strolls calmly underneath Central Station, avoiding a trailing cop who is killed by a passing train.

All of these trifles meant little to me at the time however: it was just a darn good fantasy film, if only slightly longer than Star Wars, I felt.

Of the subsequent sequels that followed, only SUPERMAN II is worth any real mention, with the three Krypton villains glimpsed at the beginning of Superman The Movie coming back to wreak vengeance and rule the Earth, whilst Clark Kent (or does he look more like Clark Reeve?) is once again distracted, this time by his love for Lois Lane. Terence Stamp enjoys himself as General Zod, and this first sequel is the only one to properly take the Superman legend by the scruff of the neck and give it a good rollicking rollercoaster ride - and indeed, most of it was shot at the same time as Part I, by Richard Donner, with namesake Richard Lester ably filling in some of the remaining scenes, the way the Salkinds preferred it.

Whatever happened to Richard Donner? His previous experience on TV episodes of The Twilight Zone as well as The Omen demonstrated a director with a fine flair for bringing out the supernatural and making it seem convincing within a "real" setting. I have the feeling the maybe the experience of being sacked from Superman II knocked some of the creative stuffing out of him, and he has since settled upon relatively lightware fare such as the Lethal Weapon films. A recent DVD release of the "Richard Donner Cut" of Superman II has helpfully recovered some of the lost material for all to see.

Come to that, whatever became of Christopher Reeve? Well, as is well known, a riding accident suffered in 1994 paralysed him from the neck down, and so his true test of superstrength came with his efforts to fight the condition, and help promote stem sell research in finding an eventual cure.

It could be said that his career suffered the so-called "Curse of Superman" which also befell his namesake, George Reeves (suicide - allegedly by thinking he could fly), and others connected with the legend - Margot Kidder for one.

I prefer to think however that this career-defining role was a hard act to follow, and though none of his subsequent films are particularly bad to sit through (and certainly not Reeve's fault if they are) they can't possibly hold up a candle to Superman. In each of his other films, you're often expecting him to fly into action and overcome his character's problems in superhuman ways.

It is testimony to the impact of his performance, that when Bryan Singer remade a quasi-sequel in 2006, SUPERMAN RETURNS, many of the elements were borrowed from Richard Donner's film - with Brandon Routh in the title role carrying strong elements of impersonation of (or should I more charitably say, homage to) Christopher Reeve.

And there's one abiding lesson for all the ladies: there may not be any men in the world who can fly faster than a speeding bullet, but there are certainly many, many thousands of potential Clark Kents.

Those Magnificent Men in Their Flying Machines (1965)

Or: How I Flew from London to Paris in 25 Hours 11 Minutes, to give its full title - part of the 60s vogue in British cinema for eccentric, long-winded film titles that emphasised the playfulness of the whole enterprise. Those Magnificent Men... (which I will abbreviate thus for simplicity's sake) is a comedy first and foremost, but it's also a good adventure yarn with a romantic triangle sub-plot, and some breathtaking scenery when the vintage planes are in the air. It's also for me, one of those fun family films that I used to enjoy watching on television when I was younger, with a host of familiar faces, and a great, jolly score by Ron Goodwin.

It captures the excitement of air travel (the Space Age of its time) combined with the humour of those daring would-be aviators all over the world who tried and usually failed to reach the skies.

The film opens in this vogue, with the Twentieth Century Fox fanfare played as if by a small tinny band in an old Edwardian theatre, and the first face we see is that of "Neanderthal Man" Red Skelton, looking up at a seagull flying in the sky, and thinking of emulating the feat. But flying, as narrator James Robertson Justice points out, "was strictly for the birds." Falling flat on his face, this does not prevent the amusing Mr Skelton from trying the feat many other times in the generations to come, leading up to 1910, the period setting of the story. Playing around with history, several actual attempts at flying machines are topped by one such creation of Emilio Ponticelli (Alberto Sordi), who makes "what many people claim was the first long distance flight" - of about 100 yards, before coming down to land with a bump - as he will a few more times in this movie.

Mr Justice declares that "Man had conquered the air, and people everywhere were all agog about, those magnificent men in their flying machines", which segues in Ronald Searle's amusing title sequence (animated by Ralph Ayres). The film gets underway at last when Lt. Richard Mays (James Fox) of the Coldstream Guards - a future Biggles in the making - touches his plane down. His fiancee, the rebellious but delectable Patricia Rawnsley (Sarah Miles), is desperate for Richard to take her up into the skies. If their on-screen chemistry seems rather good, that could be due to the fact that off-screen James Fox and Sarah Miles were lovers at the time, and here co-starring together in a much more light-hearted film that their previous teaming, The Servant with Dirk Bogarde.

Patricia's stuffy father however, Lord Rawnsley (Robert Morley), forbids such ideas of his daughter flying, but is much more enthusiastic to Richard's idea of organising an air race between London and Paris, intending to show "that Britain not only rules the waves, but intends in future, to rule the skies!"

His bewildered liaison officer Gascoyne (Willie Rushton) is given the task of informing the rest of the world's aviators about the race, and the glittering £10,000 prize (in various other currencies), and a pretty rogue bunch they are too: the womanising Pierre Dubois (Jean-Pierre Cassel) who can't take his eyes off Irina Demich - as "Brigitte", "Ingrid", "Marlene", "Francois", "Yvette" and "Betty"(!) If the French seem eccentric, this is nothing compared to the batty, buffoonish Germans, led by Gert Frobe, who believe everything is possible with a book of instructions to slavishly follow.

Late into the international affair, as ever, come the Americans, as represented by Stuart Whitman as Orvil Newton, and his associate George (Sam Wanamaker), who just doesn't share Orvil's passion for flying: it isn't the going up that discourages him, but the different ways Orvil keeps finding of coming down!

The aforementioned Emilio Ponticelli is having similar problems landing, and vows to his children and long-suffering wife Sophia (Zena Marshall - a stunning take-off of Sophia Loren), that he will retire from flying - until he sees the irresistible offer of the big prize air race, and "like-a Caesar, we go to England!"Lastly, we have the Japanese pilot Yamamoto (Yujiro Ishihara), who responds to the task given him by his lord and master, with the astonished statement, in a beautifully polished English accent (dubbed by James Villiers): "ten thousand pounds!"

However, last and by no means intending to be least, comes the rascally Sir Percy Ware-Armitage(!), played gloriously by Terry-Thomas, and the undoubted inspiration of the cartoon character Dick Dastardly. "That bounder" Sir Percy is not only going to join the race but is going to win it, by whatever underhand means he can, with the unwilling help of his seedy, henpecked valet Courtney (Eric Sykes). Their scenes together are the best of the film - the ground-based ones - but there are many other amusing set pieces too, not least the Keystone Cops-style firemen, led by Benny Hill - one of a number of famous 60's TV stars who pop up in cameo roles. Others include Millicent Martin, John Le Mesurier, the aforementioned Willie Rushton, and the king of all the sitcoms at the time, Tony Hancock.

The scene where the firemen are being chased all round the airfield by the poor German pilot (Karl Michael Vogler) who can't get his plane to stop, always had me in stitches, especially when his own German troopers have to scurry away when the plane comes towards them. In to save the day however, comes the buccaneering Orvil Newton, who has quickly won over the lovely Patricia - who sees a chance in being taken up into the skies that her fiancee denied her. The love triangle that develops therefore, between Orvil, Patricia and Richard, reminded me in some ways of the similar Han Solo/Princess Leia/Luke Skywalker love triangle in Star Wars.

Orvil gets into hot water as a result, after a narrow escape when he succumbs to Patricia's pleadings and takes her up for a joyride. The stuffy Lord Rawnsley is enraged at first, but Patricia persuades him otherwise, and off Orvil goes with all the others, on the perilous quest to fly from London across the Channel to Paris.

Before that however, those two old rivals France and Germany want to settle a few scores. The Germans demand satisfaction for being made to look like fools (as if they weren't already!), but the impish French suggest "balloons and blunderbusses" as the choice of weapons! The resulting airborne duel ends with both of them landing in the sewage, as well as poor old Emilio again. The treatment of the various nationalities in the film is of course, amusingly stereotypical - particularly of the Germans - in an old-fashioned, It's a Knockout kind of way, but it has to be taken within the context of the film as a bit of fun, for all its xenophobia.

The race begins at last, with the shock early exit of the Japanese - thanks to the handiwork of that naughty butler Courtney, and the rascally Sir Percy, who also removes one of Orvil's wheels, but the "Yankee chap" still manages to land at Dover (the first set-off point) OK, and patches the damage up overnight in time for the next stage of the race, across the Channel.

The fiendish Sir Percy however, is at it again, ahead of everyone else by crossing the Channel at night - not by plane, but [boo, hiss!] by boat, smuggling his flying machine across the seas. His inevitable comeuppance however, comes along courtesy of the good old steam train - which looks peculiarly English for a French railway line, and there's also a beautiful continuity gaffe, when a 1960s cooling tower is clearly visible in back projection behind Terry-Thomas! In spite of all his skulduggery, you can't help feeling sorry for Sir Percy when he looks back and sees his flying machine torn to shreds travelling through a tunnel, and he amusingly cries "Blast!!!"

At the climax of the race in Paris, a tense moment suddenly occurs as Emilio, in the lead up till now, once again has the misfortune to have his motor explode, and it's down to the dashing Orvil Newton once again to save the day, at the cost of winning the race, which is won by Richard Mays - in 25 hours 11 minutes. All ends well however, as the two agree to share the prize money - but will they share Patricia as well?

On that intriguing note, the story ends and the film flashes forward 50 years later, to the sight of supersonic jets covering the same distance in 7 minutes. However, back at Heathrow airport, fog has held up all flights to Paris, and one annoyed passenger - hey, it's Red Skelton! - flaps his arms in anger, as if he's flying. But, hang on a minute, perhaps he's onto something here....and so the film ends as it began.

As I mentioned at the beginning, Those Magnificent Men... was one of those fun films that was always a family favourite on TV. Officially it's a comedy, but a breathtaking one, allowing for some moments of serious drama, and of course the wonderful spectacle of all those vintage planes, which set it apart from other comedies of its kind - including a sequel, of sorts, THOSE DARING YOUNG MEN IN THEIR JAUNTY JALOPIES (aka. MONTE CARLO OR BUST).

I've yet to see Those Magnificent Men in the cinema, but I'm sure it's just as much fun as on TV, and more, especially in glorious Todd-AO widescreen which makes the airborne sequences all the more breathtaking, set to the tune of that catchy score. Altogether now:

"Those Magnificent Men in Their Flying Machines,
They go up-tiddly-up-up, they go down-tiddly-oun-down.
They enchant all the ladies and steal all the scenes,
with their up-tiddly-up-up, and their down-tiddly-oun-down.
Up, down, flying around,
looping the loop and defying the ground,
they're, all, frighteningly keen,
those magnificent men, those magnificent men,
those Magnificent Men in Their Fly-ing Machines!"

Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade (1989)

First, a confession - which may come as a shock to the faithful, but I'll dodge the poisoned darts, evade the deadly spears, scurry away from the giant boulder, and press on just the same - I'm not a tremendous devotee of Indiana Jones. Back in 1981, my interests had largely turned away from cinema and towards sport (see The Empire Strikes Back blog), so the release of RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK that year largely passed me by. When I saw the film on video some years later, I found it to be reasonably entertaining and action-packed, but also with some shocking holes in the plot and a very nasty climax.

Historically it's also a little dubious, based on the real-life efforts by Hitler's scientists - not to rule the Earth - but to find evidence of divine Aryan ancestry from the earliest dawn of time. But what the heck, it was a cheeky enough way to have a daredevil American archaeologist fighting the Nazis, five years before the Yanks properly got round to it in World War II.

Comparisons with the Star Wars saga were perhaps inevitable - as many of the same crew were also involved with Raiders - but where Star Wars is a plot driven spectacle in a galaxy far, far away, Indiana Jones is largely, I feel, an action-driven series, where the story usually serves as the means of putting the hero (and the audience) through various breathtaking adventures.

INDIANA JONES AND THE TEMPLE OF DOOM came along three years later, and this was even more unpleasant than Raiders, with delicacies including monkey brains for dessert, and a screaming dumb blonde heroine (who later became Mrs. Steven Spielberg).

However, come 1989, Steven Spielberg and George Lucas realised they had overdone things a bit with Temple of Doom, and decided to come back on track with the old formula of Indy fighting Nazis. Having searched for no less than the Ark of the Covenant in Raiders, this time the only thing left higher to search for was - what else? - the Holy Grail. And this time, as the publicity said, the man in the hat was bringing his Dad.

And here was Spielberg's masterstroke. As the series had been conceived by George Lucas as an American answer to James Bond, Spielberg's feeling was that the natural cinematic father of 45-year old Harrison Ford, should be the 58-year old Sean Connery.

Not many people would have thought of it straight away, but Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade is a delight from the moment these two first appear on screen together. Connery's enthusiastic, wholehearted and slightly self-mocking performance enlivens the proceedings immeasurably, and also gives his co-star some meaty acting competition, bringing out the Harrison Ford that I remembered from the Star Wars films. The two of them were also a commendable father and son duo, who managed to defy the narrow age difference between them with great aplomb.

What precedes their pairing, is admittedly almost a carbon copy of Raiders of the Lost Ark (with even the opening school lecture scene re-staged), with the exception of an exhilarating prologue featuring River Phoenix as the young Indy, on his first scouting adventure. Phoenix was a suggestion of Harrison Ford's, having played his son in The Mosquito Coast with uncanny similarity. His tragic early death of a drug overdose deprived the world of a young star whose afterglow has since been of great help for the likes of Brad Pitt and Leonardo di Caprio. It also led on to a spin-off Young Indiana Jones TV series with Sean Patrick Flannery.

But I digress. Back to The Last Crusade, which begins in earnest when the seemingly benevolent New York millionaire Walter Donovan (Julian Glover) invites Dr. Jones to his swanky apartment to examine an ancient tombstone giving the (partial) details of the location of the supposed resting place of the Holy Grail itself. You just know however that Donovan will turn out to be a rat, because he's being played by an English actor in an American film.

Indy tells Donovan that he's picked the wrong Jones for the task, as the Grail is more the domain of his father, Henry Jones. The trouble is, Donovan has already hired Jones Senior, who has since gone missing, at the hands of - whaddya know - the Nazis. Indy therefore follows the trail which leads to Venice, then onto Germany, and ultimately the Holy Land itself.

Not only is Indy bringing his Dad, but also his old friend Marcus Brody (Denholm Elliott) into the film, confined to just an "M"-type figure at the beginning and end of Raiders, but here fully integrated into the action, and with the amusing extra touch of being like a fish out of water once out of his natural museum environment. Brody arrives in the Holy Land, knowing (according to Indy) "a dozen different languages. He'll blend in, disappear, you'll never see him again. With any luck, he's got the Grail already."

Cut to Brody walking through the street market, wondering if anyone speaks English! Luckily another old friend, Sallah (John Rhys-Davies) is on hand to help.

Once in Venice, Jones is introduced to his father's assistant, Dr. Schneider, who is, hey presto, a beautiful blonde played by Alison Doody. After a close run-in with Turkish guardians of the Grail in the sewers of Venice, Jones Junior is eventually re-united with Jones Senior, who promptly breaks a rare Ming Dynasty vase over his son's head - assuming him to be a Nazi. But there's no harm done - the vase was a fake! And we're off and running.

The obligatory female interest turns out to be a femme fatale Nazi (well, she was Austrian after all), for this is really a father and son's adventure, and Connery gleefully enjoys sitting in the side-car of his son's motorbike, stealing glances - and scenes - quietly dismissing every moment of derring-do that Indy perpetrates. Ford to his credit, relishes the opportunity to react to such put-downs, and the two make a great pair.


One touching little moment later on in the film, which exemplifies not only their relationship, but many father and son relationships in general, is when Indy is fighting on board a German tank that is just about to fall over the edge of a cliff, and seems to go down with it. Henry and the others stop for a moment in mournful reflection, until they realise Indy is standing among them looking down at the wreck. Henry joyfully embraces his son as they display a moment of emotional bonding, then just as quickly Henry lets go of Indy and encourages him to keep moving, " why are you resting when we're so near the end!"

The ending itself, with an ageing Medieval knight who is the last custodian of the Grail (straight out of the English theatre seemingly) is a little ponderous, although the shock of seeing Henry shot cold-bloodedly in the chest by the scheming Donovan is a startling moment. Donovan inevitably gets his come-uppance (in the film's one moment of genuine nastiness) after the misguided Dr Schneider has selected the wrong cup of eternal life (which gives the opposite effect) for him. The last remnant of Donovan's shrivelled body is his swastika badge. Once a Nazi, always a Nazi it seems. Well, you can just shoot Sean Connery in the chest like that and get away with it, can you?

Elsa Schneider fares little better, hungry for the Grail in spite of the fact that it cannot be taken beyond its resting place, and she tumbles (to her death?) down a mountainous chasm. Indy has similar desires for the Grail soon afterwards, but after a little paternal wisdom from Henry, he decides to let it go.

At the end, the remaining four intrepid heroes ride off from the temple entrance (in reality the ancient city of Petra) away into the sunset. It seemed a suitable conclusion to a series that had neatly come to a full stop at the end of this fun third episode. After all, once both Henry Jones Senior and Henry Jones Junior (for that is Indy's real name!) have tasted the Cup of Life, what else is there left to conquer, now that they're both immortal?

The recent INDIANA JONES AND THE KINGDOM OF THE CRYSTAL SKULL however, has given the series fresh impetus, with an all-star supporting cast including Cate Blanchett, John Hurt, Ray Winstone, and the welcome return of Karen Allen (from Raiders) - but crucially missing the comedic touchstone that was Sean Connery.

I first saw Last Crusade in the cinema that summer of 1989, during those wistful days when Lucasfilm fans were waiting (seemingly endlessly) for the next Star Wars film. In the absence of Episodes 1, 2 and 3 however, we had to make do with this climactic [we thought] conclusion to the adventures of Indiana Jones, and a pretty rousing one it was too. It was also, rather poignantly, the last blockbuster to be shot exclusively at Elstree Studios.

I've since seen the film several times - more than any other in the Indy series - and it's still just as much fun to watch as it was the first time, whenever Ford and Connery are on screen together.

The Passion of the Christ (2004)

Mel Gibson has often surprised me. The first occasion was when the news broke out, to the world's astonishment and (initial) incredulity, that he would be playing Hamlet in Franco Zeffirelli's 1990 adaptation. To everyone's further surprise, he played the role confidently and clearly, and came through with flying colours, with an excellent English accent (his Antipodean upbringing probably helped) and no sign at all of his Mad Max / Lethal Weapon image.

Then to my further surprise, it turns out that he is not actually Australian, but by birth a New Yorker, having moved to Australia when very young. On that basis his view about the English - in films such as Gallipoli, The Bounty, The Patriot and especially his Oscar-winning Braveheart - can be put into perspective.

And then the final, most surprising facet of Mel Gibson's personality, was to discover that he was a devout Roman Catholic, with his own special chapel high in the Hollywood hills that celebrates the traditional Tridentine Mass. From this multi-layered background, he made his most notorious and most profound film, The Passion of the Christ.

From my own point of view as a Roman Catholic, The Passion was not a new story. Born into a Catholic family in 1971, I was baptised on Easter Sunday at Westminster Cathedral (right), where along each column of the mighty main chapel, are the Twelve Stations of the Cross - as there are in most Catholic churches - telling the story of the crucifixion. They tell in effect the story of Jesus's suffering, that "Good" Friday, in sometimes harrowing but absorbing detail. I always find it moving to walk through a church and see each one of these twelve scenes, which are re-enacted in church every year on Good Friday.


In 1996 Colchester Theatre Group performed their own version of The Passion as written by English poet Tony Harrison (the second of a trilogy along with The Nativity and Domesday). This particular theatre version of the story was a semi-modernised production where the players were dressed as craftsmen and women, as the traditional players in a Passion play used to be.













In the production I played one of the four soldiers who arrest Jesus and eventually crucify him. As part of the semi-modernisation of the piece, for the crucifixion itself, instead of using a hammer and nail, we used an electric DIY drill to give the harrowing effect of Jesus being nailed to the cross.

I remember how the Essex County Standard reviewed this touch, saying that the use of a drill brought the 2000-year old story bang up to date, and also brought home the sheer brutality of a crucifixion. It was with this mental baggage in mind, that 8 years later I approached with great curiosity, Mel Gibson's The Passion of the Christ.

Jesus died on the cross at the age of 33, which was also the age of actor Jim Caviezel when he took on the challenging role. Whilst a reasonably good actor with a handful of successful films under his belt, he was certainly no star; nor indeed was Maia Morgernstern as Mary, whom Gibson had spotted in a (forgettable) historical/sci-fi epic Nostradamus in 1995, and hunted high and low to find the woman who could be his Holy Mary, Mother of God. Indeed, nearly all the cast are relative unknowns, the only well known name (apart from the director) being Monica Belucci as Mary Magdalene, who commendably understates her role without ever diminishing her own attractiveness which fits in with that of her character.

The surprises continued. Gibson's first, most innovative move was to use old Latin and Aramaic as the principal languages with subtitles. This may have baffled some multiplex audiences unaccustomed to "foreign" films, but it's also worth noting that it increased the worldwide appeal of the film in countries outside of America.

The next, much more trumpeted surprise on the cards, was that this was to be not just another Biblical epic with a crucifixion scene.

I can remember when I saw the film at the Stratford Picture House in East London: the traditionally hardened East End audience started to laugh as the film opened - as most audiences nowadays would at this sort of "sword and sandals" entertainment. The laughing quickly stopped half way through.

The violence is uncomfortable, and most definitely not for the squeamish, but I found it powerful and cathartic. From my point of view Jesus's suffering on the cross was His way of taking on all the sins of the world, in order to redeem it. That means a lot of sin for him to have to take on.

So it follows that the punishment meted out to him is severe, barbarous, and in all truth, persistent enough to believe that the real Jesus Christ would not actually have survived such a butchering.


Much has been made of the anti-Semitic overtones (especially the controversial Biblical quote "let his blood be upon us" which was spoken but not translated), but little fuss was made about the greater amount of sadistic anti-Roman sentiment in the film (with the exception of a sympathetic portrayal of Pontius Pilate.) This has to be put into perspective: in a story such as this, there are protagonists and antagonists. The history speaks for itself, so the Romans and Jews are by necessity the antagonists. Who ever complains about the anti-German sentiments in so many war films? Or the anti-Red Indian element in so many Westerns?

And, as has often been used in defence, Jesus was himself a Jew. To criticise the story is really to criticise the New Testament, although to be fair, Gibson covered some of the scenes in much greater detail than the Bible ever did.

The occasional flashbacks to the Last Supper and other notable events in the New Testament were added as an afterthought. One of my favourites is a semi-comedic interlude where carpenter's son Jesus constructs a tall table for stools, which Mary chides "will never catch on!" This unexpected modern touch has the great knack of making Jesus a more accessible human figure, avoiding the easy trap of making Him overly pious. Another good flashback device is used in the moving scene where Peter denies Jesus three times, intercutting with his earlier vow to follow his Lord no matter what. As a result, you realise the anguish of Peter's denial.

There were those who felt that the film should have concentrated much more on these flashback scenes than the crucifixion, but again this is missing the point. "The Passion" is translated as meaning "suffering" and is all about Jesus's dying on the cross.

During another semi-flashback is perhaps the most powerful scene of the film for me. Mary is afraid to venture into the Mob that are tormenting her son on the procession up to Golgotha. Gibson brilliantly intercuts this with an image of the child Jesus falling over and hurting himself, to which the mother rushes over to comfort him, and likewise [and I'm weeping as I type this] she finds the courage to fight her way through the crowd and talk to her son, in a scene which embodies the power of maternal love, and the curiously powerful relationship between Mary and Jesus. And I credit Mel Gibson for having the skill (or perhaps the manipulation) to move me to tears.


I watched the film for the first time in the spring (near Easter time) of 2004, with the sound of the fine music (by John Debney) during the end titles rousing me, using a number of semi-spiritual musical sources (including Ennio Morricone's score for The Mission). The CD soundtrack is enjoyable enough in its own right to capture the flavour of the story.

In an age when so many films are being castigated for their perceived anti-Catholic sentiments, the hoo-ha about The Passion of the Christ seemed a little ironic, to say the least. I remember the tremendous fuss over Martin Scorsese's The Last Temptation of Christ, because of the use of a dream sequence in which Jesus steps down from the cross and marries Mary Magdalene. Again, this was taken out of context. Similarly, Monty Python's Life of Brian was taken to task by certain Christian organisations. It should also be noted however, that among many Roman Catholics it is considered a very funny film - and it's about Brian, NOT Jesus.


A double irony was that The Passion of the Christ, one of the most violent films ever made, was also one of the most successful (with foreign subtitles to boot), and also played in some American churches to full houses of the faithful.

I don't belittle the passions of the devout who adore this film as Deliverance, nor those who cannot stand the film's provocative stance and violence. It is an experience as well as a film, and one that I would not repeat often. But in so many other ways it is a powerful memory.


Here was a film which had a doubly profound impact on me, as one who had not openly embraced the Roman Catholic Church for some time, but had more recently become a devotee of the cinema. The two came together in perfect unity, a symbiosis of film and the faith, that assimilated many of my feelings about the subject.

I've never known a film to polarize opinion quite so much as this one. There is almost no middle ground: you either love it or hate it. For those who can take the violence and the sadism, and are prepared to treat it with an open mind, I would strongly recommend it.

The Passion of the Christ was something of a prodigal film, and also one of the most remarkable achievements of cinema in recent days. A controversial classic.

Brief Encounter (1945)

For Valentine's Day a romantic choice is required, and for me it's a close run thing between Casablanca and Brief Encounter, but as we've got a David Lean centenary coming up, I'll plump for Brief Encounter, and leave Casablanca for another time.

Back in 1945, David Lean was a relatively unknown but hard-working film-maker with a limited amount of high acclaim in British films. Britain was also rather different in 1945, especially the period just before the war, which this marvellous film ostensibly deals with.




Its setting may be old and antiquated, but its themes are universal, no matter what the time or the place, which in this case was austere Middle Class England, and though undoubtedly set in the South (just listen to awll theuse stiff upper lip accents), its main location was actually in the North of England, at Carnforth in Lancashire, because its railway station had a long enough platform with an underground ramp exit, and a station clock. It was this railway station (combined with Watford Junction because it had lots more fast trains) that gives Brief Encounter its distinctive atmosphere.

The cast was exemplary. Celia Johnson was an old pal of Noel Coward's, and at the time a regular in David Lean's early films as a director. She was the matriarchal figure in This Happy Breed, and an excellent and moving Captain's wife (to Noel Coward's Captain) in the very successful In Which We Serve. Come the time of Brief Encounter therefore, there was one obvious choice as to who should play Laura.

As for the part of the handsome doctor Alec, a new actor had just arrived to films named Trevor Howard (who had appeared in Rep at the Colchester Theatre Royal among others), and who had just the right sort of handsome dignity that British cinema liked back in the 1940s. He may not be today's idea of a matinee idol, but at the time his following became huge after this film established him as a romantic lead. What a shame that in later years his career spiralled into a series of red-faced, over the top characters, when his thoughtful subtlety was so much more compelling.

The Master himself, Noel Coward, adapted his own play Still Life brilliantly - set originally in just the station buffet - elaborating the restrained but passionate love affair that begins in the most mundane of circumstances: a piece of grit caught under the eye - a common danger on steam railways in those days. Although the show belongs to the two principals, there are those who also get their scenes of fun in between, such as Stanley Holloway as the station master flirting with Joyce Carey as the lady behind the bar.


Cyril Raymond as Laura's husband is among the characters added to the film adaptation (only referred to by name in the play), and is suitably staid and respectable, and blissfully ignorant of his wife's affair, until perhaps at the end, when he has the most moving line of the film: he has an inkling that Laura is a little saddened by something, so he leans down toward her and says: "thank you for coming back."

One jolting moment just prior to that, is the climactic reprise of the beginning of the film, when Alec has just left Laura at the station buffet, only this time seen from the perspective of the tormented Laura. In a fit of madness, she hears a train whistle, and the camera swerves towards her unnervingly, as she contemplates falling in front of the train - and only just stops herself from doing so at the last moment.

On its own Brief Encounter is not a classic because of Celia Johnson, or Trevor Howard, or Rachmaninov, or even its trains or the young whipper-snapper David Lean, but a combination of all five. And somehow romance is always more compelling when the lovers are prevented from consummating their unrequited love.

The recent stage presentation of Brief Encounter, at the same cinema in Haymarket where it was first shown in the 1940s. No mention of David Lean on the billboard.

Enchanted April (1991)

Back in 1996, I was trying to carve out a proper future career for myself. Having stuck around in temporary employment for a time, and also having dabbled in local drama to practice my acting skills, it was time to consider what I really wanted to do which was become a film-maker. At the Panico post-production workshop in Falconberg Court in London (where many of the tutors had worked on the Monty Python films) I was given my chance with an intensive 5-week course which involved learning some of the tricks of the trade from the experts, and at the end of it we were all able to shoot our own short film.

In the midst of all this, I was therefore seeing a lot of London during that eventful summer of Euro '96, and one of the places I happened to pass by was The Comedy Store just off Leicester Square, where one of the loyal members of that troupe was Josie Lawrence, now famous for appearances on Whose Line is it Anyway? on Channel 4.

The film-making course, alas, didn't lead up to much - the evening when all our respective bits of film were showcased on the big screen (at the De Lane Lea recording studios), I was stuck on the trains outside Ilford, and arrived too late to see my little bit of celluloid history - but the experience had been an enlightening one, and in tribute to that watershed of a summer, I watched two films on video: Time Bandits - dedicated to the many backstage boys at Panico - and Enchanted April, in tribute to The Comedy Store and Josie Lawrence.



Mike Newell's TV film features Ms. Lawrence in a welcome straight acting role, after many previous years renowned for amusing improvisation on Whose Line...? including her astonishing ability to improvise songs. She is one of just four [non-singing] majestic ladies in this pleasant semi-travelogue drama, the other three being Polly Walker, previous Mike Newell veteran Miranda Richardson, and Lady Olivier herself, Joan Plowright. All four get to show off their acting chops and play genuinely rounded characters, who are all charmed by the magic of the Italian Riviera.

Not that the men don't have a say in things as well however, with the excellent Alfred Molina as Josie's husband Mellersh Wilkins, and the always wonderful Jim Broadbent as Frederick Arbuthnot, married dutifully to the loyal but slightly demure Rose (Richardson), and therefore enjoying an alternative lifestyle as author "Gerald Arundel", and coincidentally lusting after fellow guest Lady Caroline Dester (Walker). The story was covered in a largely forgotten Hollywood film version of the book in 1935. The 1990's version however fits in much more with modern times and gives stronger emphasis on the characters, even if this does ever so slightly depart from Elizabeth Armin's original novel in some ways (the character played by Michael Kitchen was originally a much more immature fellow.)

The opening scene of the film, for starters, sets the story in its historical context: it's 1919, in a grey, sober London still coming to terms with the loss of life in the Great War, where Lottie Wilkins (Lawrence) sits depressingly on the bus, until her eye suddenly catches an advertisement in the newspaper:


"To Those Who Appreciate WISTERIA AND SUNSHINE. Small Medieval Italian Castle."


Struck by the prospect of such an experience, she races over to her club (for these are downtrodden but also well-to-do ladies) to seek out the advertisement for herself, and where one fellow club member, Rose Arbuthnot (Miranda Richardson) has also seen the ad, and the two decide to advertise for two other women to join them to help finance the trip (to the self same house in Portofino as described in the novel.)

The grey of London then switches to the sunny Italian Riviera, where after a slightly bumpy journey, Lottie opens the shutters and sees for the first time the exhilaration of the Italian Riviera. It's a delightful moment, encapsulating the experience of being somewhere totally new, as if in another world, captured well by Rex Maidment's cinematography and Richard Rodney Bennett's pleasantly invigorating score.

The ladies escape to this idyll, but their essential Britishness remains. In one evocative scene Rose sits on a rock in perfect pose under an umbrella as shield from the sun, whilst Lottie lies back on a rock and lets her long hair spread out, both of them in thoughtful repose

What I like especially about the film is how it uses its evocative setting to actually solve plot complications, rather than create them. The holiday itself is a means of reconciliation for all these lonely, slightly jaded characters. In so many films the couples (especially married couples) have a journey of discovery and ultimately break apart and choose new paths in life: here, the already married couples find themselves and each other, as the landscape affects them all in their outlook on life.

In one poignant little scene, Joan Plowright sits by herself in melancholy reflection, and looks for all the world as thoughtful as her late husband, Laurence Olivier, as she reflects that all her dead friends (the great poets) are not worth listening to tonight, "good things they say, many of them....But they've one terrible disadvantage. They're all dead. I'm tired of the dead. I want the living!"


Just then Lottie comes up to her and gives her a comforting little kiss on the cheek. It's a scene which typifies the simple tender sweetness of the film.

Enchanted April popped up on television in 1991, but just a few weeks later came the worldwide cinema success of Howards End, and Miramax eyed the possibility of a good cash-in on Merchant-Ivory's success, with another English Heritage-style drama, and so the film received a cinema release in America. As a result, Peter Barnes's script and Joan Plowright were subsequently nominated for Oscars, and so the film reached a much wider (and deserved) audience than had hitherto been expected.

All the four ladies are attention grabbing, but for me the one that holds it together is Josie Lawrence.

In many ways, it's a film which speaks about the joy of holiday and how it refreshes the mind and the soul.

The Lord of the Rings (2001-3)

At around Christmas and New Year, a new tradition had started for film fans: the December fantasy movie, a trend begun in 2001 with the release of THE FELLOWSHIP OF THE RING - about which this blog will mostly concentrate, because that was the one film of this particular trilogy which had the biggest impact on me.

Its release was highly anticipated by fantasy film fans; the advent of special effects, which had steadily grown during the 1980s and taken a giant leap with the arrival of digital technology in films such as Jurassic Park, meant that old barriers were being broken and potential new frontiers of storytelling could be reached, where epic works of fiction that were once deemed too imaginative to be adapted onto film, could now be considered. It was time to return to the work of Tolkien, provided someone could be found who could manage such a massive undertaking.

Step forward the Lord of the Ring-bearer, who came not from Middle Earth, but from Down Under.

Peter Jackson was not by any means the first to attempt to adapt J.R.R. Tolkien's epic fantasy novel: John Boorman had collaborated with Tolkien himself for a time, in the hope of creating a live-action version of the saga in the 1970s, which fell through ultimately (partly because of Boorman's intention to slash the story down to an economical one hour and forty minutes), but soon afterwards came an animated version of the story, directed and supervised by Ralph Bakshi (see Film Review blogpage), who had at the time notably made the first adult "X" rated cartoon feature, Fritz the Cat.


The 1978 film had its pros and cons, and only attempted to tell part of the whole story of Frodo Baggins and his quest to destroy the mighty ring of Sauron. But Peter Jackson was taken with the film sufficiently to want to know more about Tolkien, and 23 years later, the result is in some ways, a "live action" remake of the Ralph Bakshi film, with certain images directly imitated in The Fellowship of the Ring - but also with far more meticulous attention to the huge, sprawling narrative of the book, and the benefit of 21st century digital technology to help bring it to life.


Being already an acclaimed film maker in New Zealand, and becoming noticed on the international scene with Heavenly Creatures (the film debut of Kate Winslet) and The Frighteners (a useful warm-up for further films with scary special effects), Jackson was just the man to be able to tackle head-on with typical Antipodean energy the challenge of putting Tolkien onto film properly. His full-blooded adaptations of all three volumes of the novel (which was clearly influenced by the horror of two world wars) always allow the right amount of pathos without ever letting the special effects dominate too much.

But, ye Gods, on hearing some of the publicity build-up to the first film, I discovered that The Fellowship of the Ring was to be THREE AND A QUARTER HOURS LONG - and this is just the first of a trilogy.

Okay, the quality of a film should not necessarily be determined by its length - as Alfred Hitchcock once said "the length of a film should be directly proportionate to the endurance of the human bladder." In comedy a film that is longer than 90 minutes is frequently pushing the endurance level of its audience. The average drama can probably sustain itself for the first two hours. But any special effects fantasy film which exceeds three hours - with no intermission - is frankly, overkill.

By a coincidence, that same winter also saw the release of the first Harry Potter film, at an overlong 150 minutes for children and their parents to sit through - and it still cut several scenes from the book, to the younger audience's dismay.

If Warner Brothers' Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone seemed long, then what was to follow from New Line Cinema would feel like an absolute eternity.

Nevertheless, armed with a lot of curiosity and a certain amount of trepidation, I persuaded my sister Catherine to come along with me and see the film at the Odeon Colchester, as she was sufficiently intrigued by the concept to pass up her plans to have a special pasta lunch that Saturday, in favour of the 3 hour-plus marathon in Screen One. At the end of it, I think she would probably have preferred the pasta.

But the fans were hooked.

What is so impressive about the first film, to me, is how it sets its sense of time and place so brilliantly in the first few minutes, from the softly atmospheric prologue (narrated by Cate Blanchett) explaining the history of Middle Earth, and the subsequent build-up to the discovery of the one ring "to rule them all." All of the best (and worst) elements of the trilogy are demonstrated here: a fine sense of medieval whimsy and the scale of the battles, with Lord Sauron batting off literally thousands of Elf soldiers, until his sword arm (containing the Ring) is miraculously hacked off by King Isildur, who subsequently takes possession of the Ring, until it corrupts him, and the ownership of the Ring eventually passes into the unlikely hands of Bilbo Baggins (Ian Holm), at which point Tolkien's story begins proper.

The title caption sets out Peter Jackson's intentions from the start too: this is to be "The Lord of the Rings" as one film, and this is the first part, "The Fellowship of the Ring".

Seconds in, and we see the Luke Skywalker-ish hero, Bilbo's cousin Frodo (Elijah Wood), the quintessential innocent sitting under a tree in the Shire, when he hears the approaching sound on a horse and cart of his old friend Gandalf (Ian McKellen), and sits down beside the wizard on the front seat, like a child - of adult Hobbit size. The transition is seamless, and the viewer is instantly transported into Middle Earth without any sense of fakery.

Soon afterwards, Gandalf is knocking on the door of his old friend Bilbo, who is turning away all intruders in the midst of his hectic preparations for his "eleventy-first" birthday - except that is, for very old friends. The two are thus re-united, and the sense of nostalgia is immediately evoked from The Hobbit, a story which I've never seen on film, but instantly recognised the characters' relationship, having read the novel at school when I was 11.


The birthday party scenes that follow are perceived by some to be the weakest of the trilogy, but they have a sense of light relief about them (in the light of what's to come), before Bilbo unexpectedly disappears - literally - to take "a long journey", but not before Gandalf has persuaded him to leave the Ring behind, into the custody of Frodo...

...and from there the story suddenly swings into dramatic fifth gear, with the return of Sauron's power, and his sinister and demonic Ringwraiths riding out towards the Shire in search of the Ring, and the stage is set for one of the most epic chases in fantasy literature.

On the advice of Gandalf, ringbearer Frodo heads out of the Shire altogether, with his loyal servant Sam Gamgee (Sean Astin) and two other close Hobbit friends, Merry (Dominic Monaghan) and Pippin (Billy Boyd). Gandalf himself meanwhile sees the stormclouds gathering over Mordor, and goes to his old friend Saruman for consultation. As Saruman is played by Christopher Lee however, this can only lead to something sinister. Sure enough, the two old wizards are duelling each other ferociously, in a style that reminded me of Christopher Lee's memorable head-to-head confrontations with Peter Cushing in the classic Hammer films.

The highlight of the film for me is the ensuing race towards the ford by the Ringwraiths in pursuit of the wounded Frodo - who has been stabbed by one of them - with Princess Arwen (Liv Tyler) riding him to safety on a white horse in a thrilling chase scene, daring the black riders with the bold line "If you want him, come and claim him!" Tolkien purists grumbled at the diversion from the book in having Arwen riding the horse at all, when her character is basically depicted (by Tolkien) as a lady-in-waiting rather than an action girl, but Peter Jackson, attuned to more modern tastes - and sensibly in my view - gave Liv Tyler's character some backbone and helped to bring out the drama.

Thereafter, the film slightly soft-pedals as the cured (but not totally) Frodo is reunited with Gandalf and, equally unexpectedly, cousin Bilbo, together with the rest of his Hobbit friends, at the castle of Elrond (Hugo Weaving), who soon summons the other leaders of Middle Earth united against Sauron, for an urgent conference.

The strength in depth of the film's cast is demonstrated here, with the brooding, disillusioned Aragorn - son of Isildur - played very well by Viggo Mortensen, Legolas by the soon-to-become hot property Orlando Bloom, the dwarf warrior Gimli played suitably rumbustiously by 6-foot John Rhys-Davies (another brilliant trick of special effects), and the determined but doubtful Prince Boromir played by Sean Bean, whose presence in the film and untimely death towards the end makes one sorry for the loss of his character in the rest of the trilogy, and also gives the ending a suitable amount of poignant reflection.

This merry band, including of course those pesky Hobbits, join together to help Frodo in his daunting quest to take the Ring into Mordor - the only place where it can be destroyed - and the Fellowship of the Ring is thus formed......

Two epic films later, the quest to destroy the Ring is finally achieved, but not of course without lots of thrills and spills, and the breaking up - or in some cases death - of our heroes along the way. In the course of the first stages of this epic quest, Jackson was able to utilise some of the spectacular and multi-faceted locations of his native New Zealand, that were ideal for his vision of Tolkienland.

It's not too difficult to spot some of the similarities with other films such as Star Wars (George Lucas was clearly influenced by Tolkien in writing his fantasy space saga), with the Obi-Wan Kenobi-ish Gandalf making a dignified but unexpected "death" at the hands of the mighty Balrog. I think it's fair to say that Ian McKellen readily stepped into the shoes of Sir Alec Guinness, who would otherwise have been probably the ideal choice for the role, say, ten years previously. The loss of Gandalf is further emphasized by the eventual arrival of our remaining heroes to the sanctuary of Queen Galadriel (Cate Blanchett), who says with mournful recognition "he has passed into shadow", and any film which has an actress the quality of Cate Blanchett waiting in the wings to make a belated cameo appearance, has to be special indeed.

At the end of the three hour onslaught of action, noise, special effects and pathos, I was pleased that Jackson had chosen to ironically finish it with a relatively straightforward image (alluding almost to European/arthouse cinema) of Frodo and Sam sailing away on a single boat towards Mordor, leaving the story in limbo but nicely poised for audiences to anticipate the follow-up - which they did, eagerly.

THE TWO TOWERS duly came along the following year, which I saw with friends and fans at the Odeon Leicester Square, and a mounting sense of expectation after the acclaim and success of the first film. Happily this second instalment was less than three hours long - by one minute. The Odeon Leicester Square, being what it is nowadays, had me bracing for a bombardment of digital stereo sound, especially during the later battle scenes.

After the ads and trailers were over, the lights dimmed, the curtains opened, and the BBFC certificate displayed the film's title, to the delighted whoops and gentle ripples of applause from fans in the audience.

Jackson kicks off the second film with another stirring flashback, as Frodo dreams about the fate of the unfortunate Gandalf at the hands of the Balrog - keeping this in mind for later when the wizard will make an unexpected return as "Gandalf the White". Ian McKellen is well into his stride in the role by now, and in general The Two Towers allows for a deeper study of the characters, and contains for me the best performances in the trilogy, particularly by McKellen and also Bernard Hill, as the despairing King Theoden, who eventually rises out of the spell cast upon him (by Saruman), and defends Helm's Deep from literally thousands upon thousands of Orc soldiers.

The most celebrated aspect of The Two Towers however, much more so than the Battle of Helm's Deep, was the creation of the character of Gollum, that could only be created effectively (as Tolkien described him) using CGI. For this, they also hired the services of a relatively unknown but brilliantly energetic British character actor, Andy Serkis.

Gollum, for me, is an irritation - the same as, in their way, the Ewoks, Yoda and even C-3PO & R2-D2 were in the original Star Wars trilogy - but this I suppose was Tolkien's (and Peter Jackson's) intention. On nearly every occasion when the story looks to be moving along nicely, in both The Two Towers and The Return of the King, he pops up annoyingly, but thanks to Serkis's brilliant interpretation, you also see the character's schizophrenic torment with his alter ego Smeagol. I watched some behind-the-scenes footage recently with Andy Serkis filmed in a leotard, with visual reference points for the CGI animators to work on, and found his performance to be touching, real, and to be honest, much more believable than the emaciated character created - brilliantly - on computer.

For the second time in the saga, I made a customary visit to the toilet when the natural intermission point came, and caught up with what I missed when I saw The Two Towers again a few weeks later at the new Odeon Colchester. As I was with a friend, the second time round I restrained myself from taking another self-imposed intermission, and sat grimly through the whole 2 hours 59 minutes - at the end of which Saruman is briefly humbled, but the bigger fight is still to come: Ian McKellen's resurrected Gandalf paraphrases Churchill, declaring "The Battle of Rohan is over, the Battle of Mordor is about to begin."

THE RETURN OF THE KING begins in unexpectedly gentle fashion, flashing back to the prologue of the story, and the sight of Smeagol fishing, and played movingly by the real, undigital Andy Serkis, who is quickly corrupted by the Ring's power, and compelled to commit murder for it, a path of darkness that leads him inexorably down the road to becoming the monstrously parasitic Gollum, from which point the story resumes where The Two Towers left off.

Thanks to a churlish local magazine article, a major spoiler in the plot was revealed to me about one of the main characters (having not read the novel at the time), when I admit my enthusiasm for this saga was flagging. But having gone this far, it would have been foolish not to go through with the rest of it and see "the third part" of this one film. I waited until the Easter of 2004 for the inevitable event, once it had come round to the superb Electric Palace in Harwich.

At the end of the third and final 3-hour marathon (which stretched to 4 hours on the Collector's Edition DVD), I was pleased that Jackson had at least faithfully used the last line of the book as the last line of the film, at the end of an epic 4-year journey for both audience and crew -principal filming having taken the better part of a whole year, with constant subsequent revisions of certain scenes. I can remember (if you'll forgive my name-dropping here) talking to Ian McKellen's sister Jean (a doyenne of local amateur theatre in Colchester) about how she and her husband had spent their holidays in New Zealand with Ian during filming.

Sadly Jean died in 2002 before the completion of the trilogy, but Christopher Lee fulfilled his one wish (as he stated when receiving a BAFTA fellowship award) to live long enough to see The Return of the King. Unhappily for him however, his own character Saruman was inexplicably missing from the cinema version of ROTK - and only dedicated fans were able to see his cameo on the Collector's Edition DVD the following year - and so the dark epilogue to the book is lost, where the Hobbits return to the Shire to find it enslaved.

Otherwise what is left in the third and final instalment is more of the same: bigger and, arguably, better than the first two (the Academy Award voters certainly thought so, giving ROTK a staggering 11 Oscars - typical Hollywood sycophancy after the comparative lack of awards for the first two films.)

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As a 3-part whole, The Lord of the Rings is not, for me, a great film. I was initially totally captivated by The Fellowship of the Ring, but felt beaten into submission by the end, through the sheer amount of noise and action to have to put up with in one sitting. In some ways, that first instalment pushed the boat out so far (particularly with Howard Shore's overbearing score), and set the bar so high, that it left the following two episodes with simply too much to follow.

It's certainly a landmark film (how could any trilogy that length not be?), influential enough for Hollywood to have churned out other CGI fantasy "franchises" such as The Narnia Chronicles, His Dark Materials, and the contemporaneous Harry Potter saga. And in fairness, it's a much more interesting and self-sustaining saga than the recent Star Wars prequel trilogy.

Whether or not Peter Jackson will slip into the realms of becoming another George Lucas (ie. a promising director who basically slipped into producing special effects) remains to be seen: his subsequent work has followed in a similar semi-digital vein, with another huge remake of King Kong, and his current plans include producing a remake of The Dam Busters, no less. I sincerely hope that in due course he moves on to more arresting material like Heavenly Creatures, because he is far too prestigious a talent to be left just remaking other people's work.

Technically, The Lord of the Rings is also a remake, but full marks to him for giving fans of the book the adaptation they had been yearning for.

With thanks to Mark Richards for Leicester Square photo.