The Phantom Menace (1999)

The Most Anticipated Movie Ever Made?

Quite possibly, although the likes of Gone with the Wind and Harry Potter were certainly just as as eagerly anticipated in their day. Neither of those films however, had fans who'd waited 16 years for the film to come along. As such, it was perhaps inevitable that they were going to be disappointed.

That is not to say that what came out in 1999 was a bad film: a perfectly reasonable one in fact, but its mere release became such an event that was greater than the film itself; people went to cinemas just to see the trailer without even bothering to see the film which followed it; actor Brian Blessed visited 10 Downing Street but all Tony Blair wanted to talk about was the new Star Wars film; fans who couldn't wait until its UK release date in July crossed the Atlantic to see it first hand on Memorial Day weekend.

Such behaviour was phenomenal and obsessive perhaps, but came from 16 years of expectation, so a good deal of context is required. This also happens to be a film that I had imagined 10 years before its eventual arrival on the screen, and any similarities therefore between my vision and the film that George Lucas eventually made in 1999 (and the subsequent episodes) will be indicated thus.

So as this is a rather more personal blog than most others on this page, readers who are solely interested in The Phantom Menace itself are advised to jump to the section titled "The Film". For the others, I crave your indulgence.

The Build-Up

In May 1987, George Lucas made a rare personal appearance at a Sci-Fi convention celebrating the 10th anniversary of the Star Wars saga. Among the many questions he was asked by worshipping fans and delegates were the following:

Q: "Will there be more Star Wars films?"
Lucas: "As long as enough of you support the films, there will be."

Q: "Will you return to the Star Wars universe?"Lucas: "Hopefully, I will some day be doing the next three Star Wars, but I'm not sure when. The next three would take place 20 or 30 years before the films they're celebrating here today. I'll do the first trilogy first. There are nine floating around there somewhere. I'll guarantee that the first three are pretty much organized in my head, but the other three are kind of out there somewhere."

Q: "Advice to young filmmakers?"Lucas: "Persevere. Work very hard, and always do the best at whatever you do, no matter how lowly the job seems."

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I remember reading that last quote in Starlog magazine and took it slightly to heart. It was in that autumn of 1987 that I made the significant step from school into college, often a mind-expanding, liberating experience for young people, where pupils become students, children become adults, and the foundations of political causes are often cemented. In my case, it was at the brand new Sixth Form College in Colchester, where among the subjects I was studying were some extra-curricular "Video Production" courses, encouraging "potential Spielbergs" to be involved in the film making process.

From this I was able to start pottering around with a video camera with friends, and at some point we needed people to step in front of the camera and act - so I started acting again, something I hadn't done since the age of 11.

So: I knew that I could act, and after a while discovered that I had an enthusiasm for making films as well. I'd also seen Return of the Jedi just a couple of months before, and from that bought some old back copies of sci-fi magazines from 1983, which included this last section from an extensive "Starburst" article:

"Having disposed of his central trilogy, George has to gamble on going back to the beginning, to the real Star Wars I, II and III. Starting all over, with Artoo and Threepio apart, new characters...before of course, come the Nineties, going on into VII, VIII and IX, which cover the rebuilding of the Republic."
The article seems unusually knowledgeable about the general future of Lucasfilm, as mapped out in 1983. For the time being however, George Lucas himself had put thoughts of Star Wars aside. There were two spin-off Ewok films and a TV cartoon series featuring the cuddly heroes from Jedi as well as the cartoon series Drioids (featuring R2-D2 and C-3PO), but no sign of the cinematic exploits of Luke, Leia, Han and company, or the late Darth Vader.

Shattering news came along in the autumn of 1988: Elstree Studios had been sold off to Brent Walker, a local businessman who chose to dispose of the site to whomsoever was interested. Five years later in 1993, half the sound stages were pulled down (including the mighty Star Wars stage specially built by Lucasfilm in 1979), and a Tesco supermarket was built over it. If Star Wars was going to ever be made again, it would be at somewhere other than Elstree.

Watching Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade a year later therefore had a certain bittersweet taste to it - the last film made exclusively by Lucasfilm at Elstree - and there was no sign of a new Star Wars film on the horizon.

The frustration mounted.

Then an edition of Film 89 featured a section on dedicated film fans, who included Star Wars fan Victoria Hills, who liked to dress up as Princess Leia and recite some of the scenes. There was also a devotee of The Poseidon Adventure, who had written his own unofficial sequel to the two Poseidon films.

This set me thinking: if Lucas was going to drag his heels so much, why shouldn't I write my own Episodes I, II and III? Influenced in part by some of the films which had appeared that year, such as Last Crusade, Batman and others, and also captivated by the plot of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (which the story of Darth Vader seemed to parallel), I set out some of the ideas into a basic synopsis.

I drafted a letter to George Lucas himself (right). The curt reply from Lucasfilm's office in Hertfordshire returned my letter, saying that they did not receive unsolicited mail, nor did they even read it.

I persevered.

From the beginning, I knew that the key relationships in the early episodes would between the younger Ben Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker, and Anakin and his wife - a character not directly involved in the saga up till now, but clearly of importance as the future mother of Luke and Leia. I remembered seeing The Accused at the time and felt that Jodie Foster would be the ideal choice to play this important role, and wrote the character of Abigail with her in mind. By sheer coincidence, I also later discovered that she was one of the main candidates originally considered for the role of Princess Leia.

As to Anakin, this was a trickier proposition to get round - to think of the right actor who could play a character immortalised under a breath mask, with all the physicality of Dave Prowse combined with a youthful resemblance to Sebastian Shaw. It was only natural therefore to think of a British actor in the role, and Jeremy Irons was the nearest (certainly in terms of height!) that would fit the bill. Secretly, I also wrote the role of Anakin with myself in mind - writer's prerogative if you will - and hoped and wished one day that if lucky enough, I would love to play the role of either Anakin or Obi-Wan - but felt too young for the latter (how wrong that was!)

Around this time (December 1990) at a film memorabilia fair in Camden, I met two Star Wars fans, Craig Stevens and Stephen Nelmes, and discussed with them my enthusiasm for the films and my fascination with how the first three episodes were going to turn out. The resulting conversation alerted me to the fact that there was still very much a Star Wars fan community of dedicated fans just simmering beneath the surface. Two years later, I wrote in Craig's UK Star Wars Fan Club magazine:

"As for casting decisions, it would be worth Ian McDiarmid reprising his role as the Emperor, especially as the make-up he wore in ROTJ made him him look eighty-seven! If they let him play the younger Senator Palpatine without make-up he'd be exactly the right age!"
It was therefore in the autumn of 1990 going into the spring of '91 that I set all these ideas and creative energies into overdrive, making my first proper "serious" film, Return to Ypres (a documentary about my family's visit to the battlefields of World War I), and also started writing my own personal Star Wars prequel trilogy.

Episode I: The First Encounter

In this, to keep audiences interested from the first, the story goes straight into an action set piece on the Tethoran system where Anakin Skywalker is a law enforcement officer and gifted pilot, who intercepts, after a long chase, a bounty hunter trying to assassinate Abigail Deraynor, daughter of Senator Oberon Deraynor, an influential figure in the Imperial Senate.

The Republic is in crisis, and while Oberon debates the situation in the Senate, Anakin is given the further task of escorting Abigail across the galaxy to safety in his ship The Black Hawk (an intended variation on the Millennium Falcon) to Alderaan via the Dantooine system. But Abigail as it turns out, has been in disguise for most of the mission, as extra security. The ambitious Senator Palpatine however, has a sinister emissary, Ludwig Atikeen, who is out to intercept Abigail and her bodyguard.

In the course of their adventures, Anakin and Abigail fall in love, and by the time they reach Alderaan, the reckless young Senator's daughter has persuaded Anakin to join her on an audacious mission to free the Kribuna system of its slave fortress. Her persuasion, as well as that of a Jedi from the Clone Wars whom Anakin meets for the first time: Obi-Wan (Ben) Kenobi (for whom I envisaged a distinguished namesake in the role: Ben Kingsley).

Anakin is reluctant at first to engage in any "rebel" activity against the general wishes of the Republic, but is won round by Obi-Wan when he shows Anakin a mythical laser sword frozen in stone (Arthurian-style legend now). Kenobi demonstrates how the lightsabre - legend has it - only knows who is destined to use it. Obi-Wan himself tries and fails to prize the sword free, but Anakin, unaware of his own powers until now, uses the Force and suddenly the lightsabre is resting in his hand - the same lightsabre that his son Luke will also use in years to come.

This confirms what Obi-Wan had always suspected, that Anakin (whose parents died during The Clone Wars) is, in a sense, the chosen one, and decides to train him to become a Jedi, after the Battle of Kribuna where the slaves are freed by the rebel Republic fleet and an army of Jedi knights. During the battle Ludwig Atikeen is also killed by Abigail, but the real enemy has yet to reveal himself, as Senator Palpatine stands many lightyears away from Kribuna in the Kessel system, plotting his schemes against Senator Deraynor and his daughter, and now interested also in Anakin Skywalker. Episode I concludes with the wedding of Anakin and Abigail.

Episode II: The Rise of the Emperor

Poster design circa 1992, and 10 years later

Covering not only Palpatine's rise to power, but also his simultaneous seduction of Anakin Skywalker (who's having nightmare premonitions) towards the Dark Side, and is much more political, as Abigail is kidnapped by mercenary Luthan Kaspar (a character with Billy Crystal/Richard Dreyfuss echoes of Han Solo about him) and her father is murdered, just as Oberon is about to contest the leadership of the Senate with the eventual winner, Senator Palpatine.

In the ensuing struggle - which involves a Titanic disaster-style finale where the main Republic ship is destroyed and most of its passengers killed - Anakin tries to stop Emperor Palpatine (as he now is) directly, but has to overcome Palpatine's fearsome new associate Kat'sar (Pat Roach). Here was the dilemma - what exactly would make Anakin turn to the Dark Side? I thought to myself.....what would make me turn to evil? The answer: pain, and the suppression of it. Anakin therefore uses his anger to kill Kat'sar when the beast clings hold of an old wound (sustained by Ludwig Atikeen), and then despairs when he sees an image of Abigail in pain, but in reality it is the Emperor standing before him. Just as he is about to welcome Anakin to the Dark Side however, Palpatine is electrocuted (hence the energy bolts at the end of Jedi) and Anakin escapes heavily scarred, and crash lands on the sandbanks of the Trexel system, in limbo, with his future destiny in doubt.

Episode III: The Search for Luke Skywalker

Abigail has given birth to the two twins, Luke and Leia, and defied her own planetary system's rules on another reckless quest to find her missing husband. On the way however she is captured by a space pirate (Brian Blessed) and his band, as Luthan Kaspar quickly discovers when he too is intercepted in pursuit of her. She and Luthan team up to escape captivity and rescue Anakin, but the Empire is one step ahead of everybody, slaying the pirates, and it is left to General (later to become Grand Moff) Tarkin to lead an Imperial assault on the Trexel homestead where Anakin is being protected. This battle follows the primitive society versus technology theme (of Jedi) again, only this time the Empire wins.

Tarkin hands Anakin's body over to the Emperor, who uses his powers to revive him (see below), and in return for this life debt, Anakin finally joins the Empire under his new guise: Lord Darth Vader.

Whilst Abigail returns to the twins in declining health, Vader is given his first task by his new master to wipe out the entire Jedi clan, including Obi-Wan Kenobi. In the course of this he confronts some of his former colleagues and mentors (for whom I envisioned actors the stature of Anthony Hopkins and Liam Neeson making brief appearances).

Matters come to a head however when the Empire invades Tethoran, where the Emperor discovers that a son of Skywalker has been born. Palpatine orders Vader to kill every child on the planet (a la King Herod) to ensure the baby doesn't escape, which Vader does, even if that means having to kill his wife and child.

Abigail dies anyway - in her husband's arms - but not before Obi-Wan has persuaded her to separate the twins, with Luthan making the supreme sacrifice to get Leia to Alderaan safely, and Obi-Wan himself taking Luke to Tatooine, with the assistance of the children of Tethoran (including a very young Han Solo) who rise against Vader - the perfect blend of Spielberg whimsy and dark intergalactic warfare. I envisioned that Steven Spielberg was the perfect choice to direct Episode III.

There is also the famous and well documented duel between Obi-Wan and Vader, which here takes place on the volcanic generator high above Tethoran's capital city. Obi-Wan overcomes both Vader and his master the Emperor, and Anakin falls to the precipice of the molten lava, whereupon Obi-Wan pulls him back and begs him to come back to the good side ("Obi-Wan once thought as you do." - Vader to Luke in Jedi), and Anakin (like Luke in The Empire Strikes Back) chooses to fall into the abyss, to his presumed death.

Obi-Wan weeps for the loss of his apprentice and friend as well as his own failures, but manages to retrieve Anakin/Vader's discarded lightsabre and returns to the more important task of helping Luke get to safety before the Empire completes its invasion of Tethoran.

At the end, Obi-Wan successfully and secretly transports the infant boy to the Lars homestead on Tatooine, and the twin suns set as the camera rises up into space and the end titles - but the very last moment of this trilogy comes at the end of the credits, when a mask is seen descending down onto Anakin's scarred body, and thanks to the Emperor once again, the new Dark Lord of the Sith takes his first breath through the mask - now truly more machine than man.

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Breathless at the end of this mammoth task of writing, I was satisfied at least that I had done it the way I wanted to see the new trilogy to turn out, and eagerly awaited the real thing, if and when it came along.

In 1992 came the first new official Star Wars fiction, Timothy Zahn's Heir to the Empire trilogy - but a sequel , not a prequel. This, for me, was where the rot began to set in - with various elements introduced that cropped up in the prequels, such as the unpronounceable names and the misguided idea of trying to "quantify" the Force, which later developed into the idea of Midichlorians. As a novel of course, it was naturally written like one, with open endings instead of a good satisfying climax between episodes. The franchise however, was alive again and open for business.

A year later in 1993 came a seismic event for Lucasfilm (and arguably world cinema): Jurassic Park , for which ILM had done many of the ground-breaking new digital special effects, where entire worlds could be created out of nothing, persuaded George Lucas that he could now make the next Star Wars films the way he wanted.

Soon afterwards disturbing rumours circulated about casting for the new film. The first was that megastar child actor Macaulay Culkin (from Home Alone) was to play the young Anakin; the second, more popular notion which gained ground was that Kenneth Branagh was cast as the young Obi-Wan Kenobi. A third, much later rumour, but equally disturbing, was that young Ewan McGregor was being considered for Obi-Wan. Two years later to my dismay this was proved correct.

And then in 1997, Twentieth Century Fox were eager to persuade Lucas to re-release his original trilogy on its 20th anniversary, and he in turn persuaded them to allow him to "enhance" them. Thereby, Lucas was testing out his new digital FX technicians with challenges that they would soon be presented with for Star Wars: Episode I.

Events moved apace, and with time running out, I auditioned for the Central School of Speech and Drama (where Carrie Fisher studied in the 1970s), whom I think had practically made up their mind about me before I even walked in the room. Que sera sera, I thought. Meanwhile as the new film went into pre-production, so did the casting stories. Liam Neeson had been announced as having a major role, and a young American child actor, Jake Lloyd, to play Anakin. As to the choice of the young heroine Amidala however, I could have no complaints: I remembered Natalie Portman from Leon (aka. The Professional) as a very precocious 12-year old with a remarkably mature sensibility (in a similar vein to Jodie Foster), who seemed to perfectly suit the description given by Princess Leia of her real mother: "She was very beautiful, gentle and kind, but....sad."

In 1998, after much hushed anticipation and outside curiosity, a rough cut was made of the film, and the aforesaid trailer appeared in cinemas, with a surprisingly ordinary title:

"STAR WARS EPISODE I The Phantom Menace"

The lack of emphasis on the actual episode's title seemed disturbing, but as Lucas put it way back in 1987: "I see it as one movie."

Visiting a sci-fi convention in London, a friend told me of the rough cut screening, where the insiders' view was that it was "awful" - thanks apparently to the new all-CGI character, so I was told. With all the little leaks that continued to emerge about the film's making, I decided that enough was enough. If I learned anymore there would be little of any novelty to see in the film at all - so I collected all the articles, TV interviews and reviews that I could find, and refused to look at any of them until I'd seen the film for myself.

One final gesture to my dashed hopes however, was to apply for a ticket to see the film's premiere at the Odeon Leicester Square. Fat chance. Nearly every Star Wars fan friend I knew was trying to get in too, or knew someone else that was going to.

Back to the original newsagent in Aylesbury.

In a Proustian spirit of reflection therefore, I went back to the place where it all started in 1978. The Dominion Tottenham Court Road no longer showed films, so I took my whole family on an outing to the Odeon Aylesbury to finally see the film for myself, on 31st July 1999, after 12 years and an extra two months of waiting.

The Film

Before the film began that afternoon, there were a monumental eight trailers for other blockbusters, including Jodie Foster in Anna and the King. Seeing the Twentieth Century Fox fanfare and those famous sloping letters revealing the words "Episode I" was a peculiarly nostalgic experience, although the cumberous scrolling titles about taxation to trade routes seemed a little clunkier (even by Star Wars' standards) than ever before.

I will however defend Lucas's much maligned use of dialogue in his films. It's usually quite serviceable and suits the situation and environment in which the characters find themselves. The bad, and I feel, unfair reputation Lucas is accorded, is I suspect down to general Media envy of one of the most successful film series ever made.

Regardless of the script, The Phantom Menace has undoubtedly the best cast of the entire Star Wars saga: a veritable international pot pourri, from Pernilla August to Brian Blessed (in voice if not in person), all of whom deliver the lines with Shakespeare-like reverence - the first of which is Liam Neeson as Qui-Gon Jinn, who anchors the film in what approaches the nearest to Alec Guinness-like gravitas (as too does Samuel L. Jackson). Ewan McGregor, as the young Obi-Wan Kenobi, utters the famous catchphrase "I have a bad feeling about this" in slightly archaic fashion, as the two Jedi knights remove their cloaks, but I love the slickness of the ships in space and the general style of the film. The production design is beyond compare: the Naboo designs for The Phantom Menace are the most successful of this trilogy to make it resemble a time set before Star Wars (Episode IV).

It isn't long however before Messers Jinn and Kenobi are hurled straight into an action piece when the Trade Federation try to get rid of their slightly unwanted guests, and the two Jedi avoid the meddlesome Battle Droids (less independent and resourceful than stormtroopers - but also looking more technologically advanced) and stow aboard one of the Trade Federation battleships about to invade Naboo.

There we see for the first time, the oddball figure of Jar-Jar Binks (voiced and modelled by Ahmed Best), about whom I'd already vaguely heard the advance publicity, and now saw him for myself. An irritating character but deliberately so, and to be fair all the Star Wars films have had their share of slightly irritating comedy sidekicks, from the droids C-3PO & R2-D2, to the Ewoks in Jedi, and even Yoda had his irritating moments. What's significant however is that Jar Jar entertains younger audiences worldwide - as I discovered when I later saw the film in Germany (one of nine cinema visits), and found the German kids were laughing at the exactly the same moments as the English ones.

Talking of Yoda, his seniority in the whole saga has ballooned from what was merely a stand-in character for Ben Kenobi (killed off in Episode IV), into an all-seeing presence in five of the six episodes, and his slightly preachy countenance becomes increasingly tiresome during the prequel trilogy, and reaches its zenith when the misguided step was taken (in Episode II) to turn him into a Jedi warrior (thanks to special effects). Just because ILM could do it, didn't necesarily mean that they should do it.

But I digress. Back to Naboo, where the two intrepid Jedi (and their "third Musketeer" Jar Jar) leap in to the rescue of Queen Amidala and her party, and aid her on a perilous quest across the galaxy to the Republic Senate (via a lengthy stop-off at Tatooine for a pod race), but the real Amidala is in disguise, with added confusion over the Queen's name. Is it Amidala, or Padme Naberrie?

At the time, I thought this was digital FX of two Natalie Portmans, when in fact the one on the left is young Keira Knightley.

It is Padme "the handmaiden" however who meets little Anakin at Watto(Andrew Secombe)'s junk shop in Mos Espa ("Is that the one who's going to become Darth Vader?", audiences gasped), and dreams of freeing slaves on the planet Tatooine, where he himself is one.

The pod race, which by means of the contrived plot is the centrepiece of the film, continues Lucas's lifelong passion for fast cars (also demonstrated in the Star Wars trench run and Return of the Jedi's speeder bike chase), although all the racers - bar Anakin - are CGI creations (one of the voices was allegedly Mark Hamill's) so the lack of tension and human interaction makes for a slightly unengaging 20 minutes of special effects. Kids however (and liberal-minded adults), loved it.

The most emotional moment of the entire prequel trilogy (as it turned out) is when Anakin says goodbye to his Mum (thanks once again to John Williams' beautiful arrangement of "The Force theme") - which was the fundamental reason for Lucas changing the age of the central character from 12 to 9 (and also now setting the story 40 years before Star Wars). The idea works well enough in this individual instance, but it also undercuts much of the drama for the rest of the trilogy.

Once free to leave Tatooine and begin his fateful quest, little Anakin joins the growing band of heroes on their way to Coruscant (renamed that thanks to Timothy Zahn), but not before the intervention of Palpatine's sinister emissary, Darth Maul - who livens up the action considerably as soon as he swings into action.

Indeed, the whole finale of the film features a quadruple battle that tries to top the climactic triple battle of Return of the Jedi, and pretty near succeeds. The highlight is the lightsabre duel between Maul, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan, and it brings out the best in John Williams (his "Duel of the Fates" theme), Ray Park and Ewan McGregor, who is suitably miffed and angry-looking when he stares Darth Maul in the eye after the demise of his Jedi master Qui-Gon. The first of many Jedi, I sensed, soon to be exterminated by the Sith. By the end of the dramatic Battle for Naboo, the heroes win through, with a Viking-style funeral for Qui-Gon, but the real villain of the piece has yet to reveal himself, as Palpatine looks on with the mourners in a nicely sinister closing shot.

Fans were disappointed that Darth Maul disappeared so quickly at the end of this film, yet I feel he'd served his purpose in a thuggish, blood-and-thunder sort of way. As for the film as a whole, critics who'd never held Star Wars with much regard in the first place sharpened their knives for this one - as also, sadly, did most fans - some of whom seemed to have forgotten that they'd grown up since 1977. Most of the flak was directed on poor old Jar Jar (whose further participation in the prequels was severely diminished), when I think the actual main weakness was the characterisation of the principals.

"Hey! We've just been to see The Phantom Menace!"

To see Anakin in his slightly younger form as little Jake Lloyd was to say the least, surprising. His fighting in the space battle over Naboo made little sense, and the decision to make him American was disappointing and also inconsistent, in view of Sebastian Shaw's dignified portrayal back in 1983 - as well as the general "British" intonation with which James Earl Jones was instructed to use for Darth Vader's voice.

"Vader" did show up, at the very end of the credits of The Phantom Menace, with that inimitable breath mask sound to reward audiences who'd stayed to the end. Others left the cinema weeping that George Lucas had supposedly ruined their childhood. But I enjoyed it, for all its flaws and slight reservations.

The many fans who were disappointed by Episode I hoped for better (and some got it) for Episode II, with Sebastian Shaw's younger form now in the guise of cherubic-looking Hayden Christensen in ATTACK OF THE CLONES (2002), set 10 years later (trying to cover the mistake of the character's under-aging first time around) but made only 3 years after Episode I, a much more political film than before, with Anakin and Obi-Wan in a long (and unbelievable) chase sequence pursuing a bounty hunter who has tried to assassinate Amidala. Soon enough, Palpatine uses his wiles to give Anakin the task of escorting Amidala to the safety of the Naboo system, where the inevitable happens. If the romance was disappointing (the film badly lacked a Han Solo-type presence), things at least started getting into gear with the sight of the mysterious clone planet Kamino (Episode II's one moment of genuine originality) and the climactic and frankly messy battle on Geonosis involving gladiators, the eponymous clone soldiers, an army of Jedi, and the "show-stopper", a lightsabre duel between Yoda and Count Dooku (Christopher Lee). One Episode late perhaps, the film concluded with the marriage of Anakin and Amidala.

This left a lot of plot to be shoe-horned into Episode III, REVENGE OF THE SITH (2005), a film with as many good points as bad ones - regressing to a 12A certificate for the scene where Darth Vader slithers to the precipice of the molten lava pit (on the Mustafar system), as Obi-Wan weeps for the loss of his apprentice and friend, and retrieves Anakin/Vader's discarded lightsabre. One minor consolation: Steven Spielberg had directed (or rather "designed" on his laptop) some of the choreography for the lightsabre duel.

Other moments such as Anakin's nightmare visions of Padme suffering, and Vader's massacre of all the children in the Jedi Temple showed positive hints of the kind of grand climax this third chapter was aspiring to, yet the drama was still fatally compromised by the earlier decision to make the characters so young. McGregor once again had his moments (and beautifully underplays his awareness to Padme of the secret marriage), but still looks more like a maturing Padawan than the future Alec Guinness. Anakin also still resembles a boy by the time the famous mask is put over his head, but Christensen had at least worked hard enough with the role to get his Darth Vader moment. With the assistance of the Emperor, Vader takes his first breath through the mask, and out from it speaks the voice of - hey presto - James Earl Jones.

Two leaders of an Empire?

Revenge of the Sith was a watershed not only for Lucasfilm but for cinema itself, an indication of how techniques had changed since 1977: films were now franchises, celluloid had gone digital, and characterisation and performances had given way to special effects. It was tempting to think that Lucas himself had turned the way of the saga's main protagonist to the Dark Side of Filmmaking: once a brilliant independent film maker but now more resembling the sort of Hollywood studio producer that he had once fought against.

To give him credit, no-one (not even Peter Jackson) has managed to top his feat of creating six huge movies over three decades. Such a shame that he chose to abandon his original plans of making the third and last trilogy.

As for me, looking back to that day in July 1999 was a sentimental moment. Within three months the old Odeon Aylesbury had closed, and Lucasfilm chose to relocate their main studio location from Britain to Australia (at the new Fox Studios Sydney), so the inherent "British" style of Star Wars was gone - as also in 2000, was my acting idol Alec Guinness.

The Phantom Menace was beginning of the end of a dream, and in other ways the fulfilment of one. I knew by then that I would never be involved with these films, but had at least hoped that they would be made, and made well.

After leaving the cinema in Aylesbury that day, with the excitement of the film and the sound of The Duel of the Fates ringing in my ears, I was once again inspired to complete the final trilogy of films (Episodes VII, VIII and IX) in that distant galaxy, far far away.

Casablanca (1942)

For sheer all-round entertainment, there are few films which can top Casablanca. No favourite 100 list is complete without it, and with good reason. It's not just a classic romance but also a colourful melodrama with great cynical one-liners, and also one of the best ever war thrillers without ever having to need any soldiers or actual warfare in it.

As the old saying goes, it's better to have loved and lost than not to have loved at all, and that's exactly the thing about Rick Blaine. A man jilted at a station platform in Paris during its darkest hour (German occupation in 1940), he has wound up together with his loyal bar room singer Sam (Dooley Wilson) in the ramshackle cosmopolitan city of Casablanca, with his own highly successful nightclub, which is a bevy of hopeful asylum seekers (as they would be called nowadays) hoping to escape the Nazis from the French collaborators in Morocco, to get to the United States. To do that, they need exit visas to get to Lisbon. To get visas, most of them need to use the black market, most of whom meet at Rick's. As Captain Renault (Claude Rains) explains, "everybody comes to Rick's."

Everybody Comes to Rick's was the very title of an obscure stage play on which Casablanca was based, brilliantly adapted by the Epstein brothers and Howard Koch (with the added subtle creative input of producer Hal Wallis) into a film which was ultimately much greater than the sum of its parts, a glorious contradiction of the auteur theory and proof positive that, sometimes, when a studio film involves the collaboration of several talented people, the result is cinematic gold.

As often seems the case with classic films, certain legends and myths have cropped up about its making: for instance, early publicity stated that the leads were going to be Ronald Reagan and Ann Sheridan - Reagan at the time was a likeable leading man, usually to be found in the supporting role in a major Warners Brothers' feature; Sheridan likewise was an emerging new star at the Warner studio, but the truth is that this was just a bit of studio publicity intended to engender interest in the film.

From the outset, there was only ever one choice for Rick and that was Humphrey Bogart. Having stuck around at Warners for so long as semi-protagonists or shady adversaries for the likes of James Cagney and Edward G. Robinson, Bogart's career had suddenly gone into fifth gear with The Maltese Falcon, and suddenly (thanks to John Huston) the studio had a figure of world-weary cynicism that somehow perfectly suited the atmosphere of 1940s, and the role of Rick Blaine was tailor-made to suit him and his admittedly slightly limited but malleable acting range.

The reason why Rick is so embittered with the world around him becomes all too apparent when that reason just happens to wander into his nightclub , in the shape of the beautiful Ingrid Bergman as Ilse Lund.

"Of all the gin joint in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine."

There were other glamorous ladies considered for this leading role, and I daresay those who've played this sort of role in the years since, but none of them could have struck the right balance as Ms. Bergman. Her apple-faced beauty combined with a winning smile and a certain inbred Scandinavian conviction were perfect for playing a woman that would easily steal the heart of Rick Blaine. As Captain Renault (Claude Rains again, who has all the best lines) so aptly puts it:

"I was informed you were the most beautiful woman ever to visit Casablanca. That was a gross understatement."

At Ilse's side, to Rick's further surprise, is eminent anti-Nazi Victor Laszlo, as played by Paul Henreid, who had recently become a heartthrob of sorts opposite Bette Davis in Now, Voyager, so he seemed an ideal choice for the third part of this love triangle - a tough role to play, as most female eyes were automatically turned towards Bogart.

An added irony to the casting of Paul Henreid was that for a time he was actually suspected of

pro-Nazi sympathies (being Austrian) when he first came to America - something which friends and colleagues in the British films he had been working in quickly dispelled - whereas Conrad Veidt (as the smooth chief Nazi Major Strasser)

was actually a refugee from Nazi Germany. In the movies however, the two stand-off each against other as very different sides of the same coin.

Which way Ilse chooses to turn (Rick or Victor) is pretty well known by now, so I won't bore the reader with plot details, and save those that haven't seen the film to enjoy it unravel for themselves. The thwarted love of Casablanca (as too in Brief Encounter) is the fundamental reason for its classic status, but what's less celebrated is the tremendous range of ensemble characters. It seems to add to its power that some of those gathered within Rick's "Cafe Americain" were actual refugees from the Nazis, such as Helmut Dantine (as a young Bulgarian newlywed), himself another fervent Austrian anti-Nazi; ironically, in Operation Crossbow years later he played the ruthless commanding officer at the German rocket base in Peenemunde, taking over from his predecessor played by: Paul Henreid!

The Warner studio itself had politically gone out on a limb by speaking out openly against Hitler with Confessions of a Nazi Spy in 1939 - two years before the US entered the war - and they also took on a wide range of European emigres who had forcibly fled the Nazis in the 1930's, more than any other major studio. So the Warner "stock company" at the time included a whole bunch of European actors such as the ever-likeable S.Z. "Cuddles" Sakal as chief waiter Carl, Leonid Kinskey as flirtatious barman Sascha, a great comedy cameo by Curt Bois as a smooth-talking pickpocket, and of course, two of Bogart's co-stars from The Maltese Falcon, Peter Lorre and Sidney Greenstreet - the latter having just become a star in his debut film (at the age of 60), and whose cameo as Signor Ferrari in Casablanca is fleeting, but like the good actor he is, he relishes every scene.

There was also Marcel Dalio - as Rick's smooth-talking croupier - who had fled his native France where he'd been a star of such notable films as La Grande Illusion and La Regle du Jeu. Come the German invasion of Western Europe however, Dalio was branded "the quintessential face of a Jew" and French Cinema's huge loss

was undoubtedly Hollywood's gain; in the scene where Dalio's wife, actress Madeleine LeBeau (who plays the disillusioned Yvonne, a rejected ex-lover of Rick's) sings La Marseillaise in the Cafe to a rousing chorus, the expression on her face (right) is more than just acting - you can see the sadness in her eyes for the country they love, borne out of personal experience as well as the whole political situation for France at that time.

That scene, with the two rival anthems (bragging Germans drowned out by the gallant French) is the quintessence of the film; it has everything: romance, intrigue, heart-pounding tension, excitement, and great music. Ironically, the Nazi anthem sung by Major Strasser and his cronies (Wacht am Rheim) was actually slightly frowned upon by the Nazis - the song was more in keeping with the Teutonic spirit of the First World War, not that this really matters.

Politically speaking, the film has largely a very US-centric view on WWII (it was America's War even back then): Rick's initial apathy and cynicism, which later transforms into definite action, can be considered a microcosm for the general American perspective on the war. As he says to Sam in a moment of drunken reflection:

"It's December 1941 in Casablanca, what time is it in New York?.........I'll bet they're asleep in New York. I'll bet their asleep all over America."

As far as any other affirmative action in the war is concerned, the most the British ever get a look in merely consists of a few bumbling tourists, very much in the P.G. Wodehouse tradition of 1930's Hollywood "silly ass" aristocrats. Not even the French get a very good showing, although Renault does at least discard a bottle of Vichy water - at the very end.

Basically, America is Rick Blaine and the film bubbles up to its most exciting moments once Rick springs into action, having simmered and watched over the intrigue for the first two-thirds of the story. In an interesting ad lib, Ingrid Bergman's character immediately goes to Victor's

side when Captain Renault tries to arrest him, but Rick suddenly turns on his slimy friend, and intervenes to help Laszlo escape.

Victor's parting words to Rick again echo the sense of American interventionism:

"Welcome back to the fight. This time I know our side will win."

One considerable improvement on the original stage play is that the climax is moved from within the cafe to the exterior of the airport, where Laszlo escapes but Strasser emerges on the scene to try and stop him, until Rick decides to shoot. In an interesting bit of "Han shooting Greedo first"-style revision, Bogart originally shoots Veidt without provocation (as seen in the film's trailer), but come the final cut, this was changed to Strasser drawing his weapon first. As the French police arrive on the scene seconds later, the observant Captain Renault suddenly realises that Rick's life is in his hands, and he senses the turn of the tide:

"Round up the usual suspects."

As I've mentioned already in this blog, the good captain has all the best lines, and likewise for Louis as for Rick, there was only ever one choice for the role: Claude Rains' most famous film role was his very first one, The Invisible Man (in which he was barely seen!), but his stock-in-trade in subsequent years became smooth-talking, charismatic antagonists - perhaps the early precursor of the smooth English villain so common now in Hollywood - and the best of all his smooth operators was Captain Louis Renault. And it is Rains, who walks off with Bogart (and arguably the film) into the mist of the end titles (and a reprise of La Marseillaise), at the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

Casablanca won the Oscar for Best Picture of 1943, and was also a case of happy timing - just before the Casablanca conference between Roosevelt and Churchill, and the American invasion of North Africa that year. Not only is it therefore a great film but also marks a turning point in world history, unfurled cinematically for all time on a soundstage recreating a foggy airport runway.

It's one of those rare films that caught the mood of the time perfectly, and seems to suit whatever subsequent time or mood the viewer is in (whether upbeat or pessimistic) through its many repeated viewings, for being well made, sharply scripted, rousingly directed (by the legendary Michael Curtiz), and colourfully played by an international cast, but immortalized largely thanks to the enshrined image of Humphrey Bogart.

The mighty Stockport Plaza (complete with original organ installation) was the perfect venue for showing an old classic

like this.

The Godfather (1972)

The famous profile of Brando that sold a thousand books, and several thousand cinema tickets.

My first experience of this gangster epic was in the mid to late 1980's, when The Godfather Saga(1977), was re-aired on TV, an amalgam of the first two Godfather films. There I caught sight of Marlon Brando's Don Corleone sat, illuminated in the rich golden hue of Gordon Willis's classic cinematography, listening to a fellow Italian immigrant (a moving monologue by Salvatore Corsitto) giving his perspective on the life they have cultivated for themselves in the Land of Opportunity:

"I believe in America. America has made my fortune. And I raised my daughter in the American fashion. I gave her freedom, but I taught her never to dishonor her family. She found a boyfriend; not an Italian............These two boys were brought to trial. The judge sentenced them to three years in prison - suspended sentence. Suspended sentence! They went free that very day! I stood in the courtroom like a fool. And those two bastards, they smiled at me. Then I said to my wife, for justice, we must go to Don Corleone."

This forms the core of the whole perspective of this particular Italian experience in America, of a good-natured but intermittently violent people who come to America to live the Dream, but when it starts to turn sour, they defend themselves to the utmost, especially where vengeance is concerned. Like it or not, no matter how they try to play by the rules, some can't help slipping towards the life of crime.

Little by little, as this TV series screened in the following weeks, I caught various glances and became increasingly aware of The Godfather. After one evening watching an episode, I saw a video cover for the film in the shops, and realised I had unwittingly watched my first adult (ie. certificate "18") film.

Coppola films the transference of power scene,
together with Brando's famous cue cards.

The one name that soon emerged after a few viewings was that of Francis Ford Coppola. Italian-American raised of course (his father Carmine was the son of an immigrant), Coppola was initially reluctant to take on the project, with all the stereotypical associations with the Mafia (the word is never used throughout the film) that it entailed. An influential independent film maker however, and a noted screenwriter (he had just won the Oscar for co-writing Patton in 1970), he needed the money after the recent failure of his fledgling studio American Zoetrope; with The Godfather, his career was well and truly up and running.

What Coppola very quickly imbued into his treatment of the story (together with original author Mario Puzo) was a sense of family honour and tradition. At the same time he also sought to dissociate himself from the whole gangster shtick by having them ultimately corrupted and isolated by their own power, as well as trying to make a statement about the inherent good nature of Italians (one character later openly expresses this sentiment at a Senate hearing - see below).










Several film-making friends of Coppola were extras in The Godfather Part II's Senate hearing scene - standing centre with a camera round his neck: future Star Wars producer Gary Kurtz.


I became attracted to the film initially because of the name Marlon Brando in the title role, whom I had seen in one other film at that time, Superman (also co-scripted by Mario Puzo). Brando isn't in the film very much, but his powerful presence makes itself felt throughout the film. It was here also where the famous Brando mumble came into play most effectively - although in truth only a small percentage of Brando's diction was ever mumbled or "naturalistic". Together with his haggard looking make-up (see right), he grabs every scene - or perhaps Coppola makes him - with an intensity and a power that is especially moving in the scene where he learns from his Consigliori Tom Hagen (the excellent Robert Duvall) that his eldest son Sonny (James Caan) has been killed.

If Brando pulled in the punters (though not necessarily the enthusiasm of Paramount Studios), then the one face that emerged out of Brando's shadow in The Godfather was Al Pacino. New to film, having done strong work in the theatre (under the tutelage of Lee Strasberg), Pacino's diminutive but steely presence makes its way gently into the film at first, arm-in-arm with Diane Keaton as his girlfriend Kay Adams (one of the few "outside" voices in the film) at his sister Connie's wedding, and though young and naive looking in these early stages, he nonetheless has that steely look in his eye, as he regales a story to Kay about his Family's methods of "making an offer [they] can't refuse." As the film progresses, that steeliness grows with conviction when his father is assassinated (another moving performance by John Cazale in the assassination scene), and Michael finds himself drawn into the Family Business that he had tried to avoid, in order to protect his father - again, family duty comes into play, and explains in a stroke (if not necessarily justifying) the reasons for the Mafia's brutal methods.

That brutality, when it comes, is beautifully wrapped up within the general brooding stylish sumptuousness of the film. Typical is the infamous horse's head in the bed of studio head Jack Woltz (John Marley) - based loosely on Harry Cohn - or the demise of Luca Brasi (Lenny Montana) who arrives at a swish nightclub run by the rival Tattaglia family, who are in cahoots with the sinister Sollozzo (Al Lettieri). Luca pretends to want to join the Tattaglias, but they're onto him, and he is suddenly stabbed and throttled (in a manner mimicked in Return of the Jedi for Jabba the Hutt's demise), and the subsequent Sicilian message is sent back to the Corleones, together with Luca's discarded bullet-proof vest: "Luca Brasi sleeps with the fishes."

At three hours, The Godfather was long, but totally absorbing, and also something of a ground-breaking film, for which THE GODFATHER PART II (1974) followed up by being even more innovative, extending the Corleone Saga another three and a half hours, intercutting between Michael's increasing power and isolation, to scenes originally cut from the book detailing his father Vito's rise to power, as played stylishly and meticulously by Robert De Niro.

The De Niro scenes in Little Italy in the early 20th century, settling down to a life in the brave but spartan New World, have a delightful sense of fin de siecle nostalgia (accompanied by Nino Rota's superb music), and it is perhaps the one "prequel" to most successfully explain how its main character grew into the infamous figure he later becomes.

Michael Corleone continued to rule with a saddened iron fist in the underrated THE GODFATHER PART III (1990) - perhaps 16 years too late after the first two, but Pacino nonetheless gave a superb performance of King Lear-like gravity, and supporting him this time was Andy Garcia (as Sonny's illegitimate son Vincent Mancini), very much in the mould of the younger Michael, as the heir to the Family crown. Coppola once again was on top form, although having cast his own sister Talia Shire in a key role back in 1972, he ended up repeating the trick for Part III when Winona Ryder pulled out of the important role of Michael's daughter Mary, and so Coppola (for whom Michael was becoming something of an alter ego) naturally cast his own daughter Sofia, who received the biggest flak from the critics for her slightly perfunctory performance. At least she was keeping it in the family - she isn't at all bad actually (and has since become an acclaimed director - with a little more help from Daddy), and has in fact been an ever-present (like Pacino) through all three Godfathers: it was baby Sofia who was being christened in the church (right) during the brilliant climactic montage of the 1972 film.

I saw The Godfather in the cinema for the first time on a 1994 re-release at the Lumiere cinema in St. Martin's Lane, London. Even then, only 22 years after its release - in the groundbreaking 1970's - it made me reflect already that they just don't make films like that anymore. Maybe we need to give them an offer they can't refuse.

And honourable mention goes to...

At this point in the New Year, a chance to mention some of those that I could have included in this list of 100 favourites, and therefore deserve some sort of recognition all their own:

_______________

The Accused (1988)

The first "adult" (ie. "18" certificate) film that I saw in the cinema, classified so because of the harrowing matter-of-fact rape scene at the end. As a legal thriller the plot's pretty one-dimensional, the real intention being to make a powerful statement about general attitudes towards rape victims. It also introduced me for the first time to the re-emerging talent of Jodie Foster, shedding her "child star" image to become one of America's best actresses.

The African Queen (1951)

I'm slightly amazed I haven't included this in my original 100 list. Bogart and Hepburn made for unlikely screen chemistry but were a perfect example of opposites attracting beautifully. The moment when Bogart's Canadian (changed from Cockney) boatman realises Ms. Hepburn's Rosie is still alive - and incriminates himself in the process - is one of the most joyously affecting moments in cinema. And all this in torrid conditions when director John Huston (who's also on top form) was more interested in shooting elephants than movies (as the film White Hunter Black Heart suggests.)

The Age of Innocence (1993)

Martin Scorsese's subtlest film, still rich in texture and with a great cast (many of them Brits) headed by Daniel Day-Lewis (now a Scorsese favourite), Michelle Pfeiffer and Winona Ryder.

A.I. (2001)
Steven Spielberg's requiem to Stanley Kubrick is one of the strangest versions of Pinocchio you're ever likely to see, but its timing (not long after September 11th) was eerie, and I felt very haunted about the fragile state of human existence when I walked out of the cinema that afternoon.

Alien (1979)
Can't say I really liked this film at first - Ridley Scott is just too manipulative both of his audience and his actors - but watching the non-director's approved "Special Edition" in 2003 was an eye-opener, restoring the missing scene with the ill-fated Captain Dallas (Tom Skerritt) giving the character a much more satisfying "closure" and for me, elevating the film towards the level of a classic which it is generally regarded.

American Graffiti (1973)
Some would say this is George Lucas's best film: certainly his warmest and most nostalgic, with some of his best ensemble cast performances, from the likes of Ron Howard, Richard Dreyfuss, Charles Martin Smith (a dead ringer for the young Lucas), and Harrison Ford - whatever became of him?

An American Werewolf in London (1981)

I sometimes wish there were more directors like John Landis who would come over here and make stirring pastiche comedy horror films, when we British are just a little too austere or too hard-edged for that.

The Angry Silence (1960)

Filmed partly in Ipswich (at the Ransomes tractor factory), and I remember seeing it at the Ipswich Film Theatre because of the local connection. A little dated perhaps (a more po-faced version of I'm All Right Jack), but its potency for the time still comes across. Richard Attenborough follows a familiar personal theme of his - social injustice - as the worker who is ostracised by his workmates (and worse) for walking through the picket lines for the sake of his young family.

Apocalypse Now (1979)
"The best ever film about Vietnam", shot shortly after the end of the conflict itself, is too expensive, too noisy and makes little sense - much like the war itself, some thought. However, nothing that Francis Ford Coppola does is ever dull (or wasn't up till then), and among the film's supporting players - in perhaps his last "obscure" role - was Harrison Ford (as "Colonel Lucas") just after he had finished making a film called Star Wars. I had the good fortune to see the "Redux" version of this film at the Empire Leicester Square, cementing its place as a near-favourite.

Arachnophobia (1990)
Jaws for arachnophobes; one of the best monster movies of recent times, playing on people's widespread fear of spiders, without overly manipulating the audience or turning too nasty. My Mum watched five minutes of this on video, until the scene where a spider leapt straight on the camera lens, and she was gone: a true test of a scary, but fun, film.

Awakenings (1990)

Robin Williams and Robert De Niro give powerful performances as doctor and unconscious patient respectively, in a story based closely on fact. De Niro as always is excellent (the first time I'd seen him in a film that was less than a '15' certificate), but the real revelation is Williams as the doctor (based on Oliver Sacks), completely shedding his funnyman trademark, and playing a genuinely warm, vulnerable, sympathetic human being. The ending is also refreshingly unsentimental.

Babes in Toyland (1934)

One of my favourite Laurel & Hardy features, although not necessarily one of their best comedies. Here they are the heroes (comedic ones of course) "Stannie Dum" and "Ollie Dee", at the house of the Old Lady Who Lived In The Shoe, helping Bo Peep and Tom-Tom the Piper's Son to overcome the evil Barnaby (an excellent sinister performance by William Brandon), in what was perhaps the only "crossover" L&H film where they dabbled into the fantasy genre. Three versions of this operetta have been made, but this one is the best.

Back to the Future (1985)

The appeal of this time travel comedy came to me late, in the 1990s (after the success of Who Framed Roger Rabbit), so I went Back to the Past to see it in Rep at the Ipswich Film Theatre. Not only is it a nostalgic evocation of the 1950s and a lively comedy fantasy, but also demonstrates how older people are never quite what you thought they were when young.

Battle of Britain (1969)

This would have been one of my top 100 favourites, but the battle scenes in the air are just too confusing (how does Michael Caine die exactly?), and the film also feels rather 1960's instead of 1940's. Laurence Olivier however gives my personal favourite performance of his, as Air Chief Vice Marshal Dowding (the first real-life character Olivier played that was still alive at the time), and the stirring music was composed by William Walton - controversially replaced by Ron Goodwin. The DVD has both scored versions of the film.

Before Sunrise (1995)

Ethan Hawke meets Julie Delpy on a train travelling through Europe, they chat amiably and decide to walk around Vienna together; that's the plot in effect, refreshingly free of "drama" or any sensationalist aspects, and rekindling the notion of romance in a very real, engaging way. I defy anyone not to relate to such a situation in real life. Together with its sequel BEFORE SUNSET (2004) where the two characters meet up again in Paris, this duo are a couple of minor classics.

Ben-Hur (1925)

The original and best version - chariot race included - of Edgar Wallace's yarn about a rich Jew who is affected by the life of Jesus - amply demonstrating why biblical epics were so much better in the silent days. I saw this version the first time at the Royal Festival Hall, with Carl Davis live on stage conducting his own stirring score with the London Philarmonic Orchestra.

Big (1988)

Tom Hanks' best performance - relatively early in his career - capturing expertly the personality of a 12-year old in an adult body. There were several Hollywood "body-swap" films at the time for some reason, but this one is by far the best, thanks to a decent script and Penny Marshall's sympathetic direction.

The Big Country (1958)
The distinctive opening music by Jerome Moss instantly conveys the atmosphere of the Wild West, and the story's a gripping mixture of Shakespearian feudal tragedy and Cold War allegory, as Gregory Peck inherits an ongoing conflict between the upstanding Tyrrells and the gruff, bullish Hennesseys (Burl Ives is on great form as their boss.)

The Big Red One (1980)

My favourite of Mark Hamill's films outside of the Star Wars saga, as a rookie member of Lee Marvin's platoon in the US Army 1st Infantry (hence the title), who discovers on the field of battle that he cannot bring himself to kill another man (and who hasn't wondered about that?) until however, he visits his first Concentration Camp, and decides to shoot a German soldier using all his bullets. Samuel Fuller tells the (autobiographical) story of war in a no-nonsense, truthful fashion, as neither the glamorous or horror-filled environment it is often perceived to be.

Blade Runner (1982)

Ridley Scott's cult sci-fi is a triumph of design over story - not much of which makes any sense: Harrison Ford's Marlowe-ish cop Frank Deckard hunts down robot "replicants", whilst Rutger Hauer as their leader decides to hunt Deckard down too. The 1991 "Director's Cut" vastly improved on the original's happy ending (lampooned in Brazil), but I confess I still miss the much derided narration.

The Blue Lamp (1950)

Ealing's classic crime drama. The word "bastard" was used in a British film for the first time because it was describing a man who had shot PC George Dixon (Jack Warner) who became a jovial enough figure to be revived for the long-running TV series Dixon of Dock Green. I sometimes wish that Britain could make more films like this - gritty crime dramas with a careful moral compass. Then again, I wish Britain would make more films. Period.

The Blues Brothers (1980)
Loud, noisy and action-packed - like some of the numbers (with several notable guest appearances by Ray Charles, James Brown, John Lee Hooker, Aretha Franklin, etc.) - this was perhaps the dying gasp of the Hollywood film musical, in very modern clothes. By the time I came to it (decades after first release) it was already a cult item, and a frequent slot at 11pm on Saturday nights. John Belushi and Dan Aykroyd had echoes of Laurel & Hardy or Abbott & Costello about them (although both those comedy pairings were better), and their onetime soulmate Carrie Fisher was at her feistiest (outside of Princess Leia) as a vengeful beautician at the "Curl Up and Dye" Salon.

Chicago (2002)
Rob Marshall's musical high heels and lethal ladies extravaganza, quite faithfully adapted to the screen and heavy with influences of Bob Fosse and Cabaret, which I found nostalgic. It brought Catherine Zeta-Jones her first Oscar, and helped me through a slightly difficult time at the beginning of 2003 with its cheerful cynicism and flambuoyant style. Also the first film I saw at the new Odeon Colchester multiplex.

Citizen Kane (1941)
Every critic features this on a 100 Best list, so I suppose I have to as well. It’s more a film that I admire and respect than adore, however. Orson Welles’s cinematic tricks are wonderfully inventive (thanks also to Gregg Toland’s superb photography), but tricks just the same, more than plot, and Welles himself enjoys being the centre of attention just a little too much. That twist ending is great, but even that was out of compromise between Welles and fellow writer Herman Mankiewicz.

Dad's Army (1971)
The feature film of the classic TV series followed a fashion for rushing out variably amusing spin-offs of hit comedy shows in the 1970's, and was admittedly a little overstretched in its thin plot (the first third was merely recycling the first TV episode), but the regulars were all present and correct and on good comic form. I've since visited some of the locations used for this film, including the lovely village of Chalfont St. Giles, the Dover Cliffs, and Littleton Church - just outside Shepperton Studios (see pictures).




















The Devil Rides Out (1967)
Christopher Lee's favourite Hammer film, cast against type as the dynamic hero battling Satanists, which makes his presence all the more effective with the horror confronted, epitomised by Charles Gray as the smoothly ruthless Mocata. The cast in Terence Fisher's commendably straight-faced drama also included Paul Edington and Sarah Lawson.

Digby the Biggest Dog in the World (1973)
One that I first enjoyed on children's TV in the 1970's, then happened to see at the Ipswich Film theatre years later, its humour and its quaintness undiminished.

Empire of the Sun (1987)
Time has withered my impression of this Spielberg epic, especially in the light of his subsequent masterwork Schindler's List, but this is still a sumptuous work, a little languid in parts, with the drawn out scenes in an internment camp reminiscent of an episode of Tenko, but the young Christian Bale is excellent as the boy who treats the war as one big adventure - at first - and Spielberg and J.G. Ballard seem as one in terms of the film's imagination.

E.T. The Extra Terrestrial (1982)
Apathy and partial jealousy prevented me from seeing this film on its first release. As the Empire Strikes Back blog will explan, I'd turned away from the cinema, and the notion that this was an even bigger film than Star Wars also prompted a certain amount of antipathy. Curiosity and the skill of Steven Spielberg's direction won me over in time however (the video release didn't come along until as late as 1987.) Despite a certain amount of cloying sentiment and parts of the film that lag, it is by and large a classic of entertainment, and so simple yet so grand in its concept. I finally got round to seeing E.T. in the cinema in 2002 - a partially revamped "Special Edition" which thankfully didn't change too much, and helped blow away the blues of the Queen Mother's death at the time.

Eroica (2003)
It doesn't seem to me that there's been a really good film about my favourite classical composer, Ludwig Van Beethoven: Immortal Beloved had a stab at it, but dwelt on speculation and the women in Beethoven's life, although Gary Oldman gave a good account of himself. But this BBC film is perhaps the closest it has come so far to a decent biopic. The real star is the 3rd ("Eroica") Symphony itself, played in its entirety throughout the film.

Etre et Avoir (2002)
A beautiful French documentary about a small country pre school, all about the joys of early learning and the first building blocks of life. One typically charming moment is where a pet tortoise crawls slowly through the classroom while the snow rages outside. I can see why teacher friends took up the profession after seeing this film.

Evita (1996)
After 20 years waiting for a film adaptation of Tim Rice and Andrew Lord Webber's hit stage musical, Alan Parker did a more than creditable job, and even more surprisingly he etched out a suitably spirited star performance from Madonna, in perhaps her one and only film to effectively unite her talents as both actress and singer. This was also the most recent case of a full blown cinematic opera, and the wall-to-wall music (in Dolby Digital sound) made for a full-blown cinematic experience - together with a trailer for the 1997 Star Wars Special Editions, it's one I remember vividly.

Falling Down (1992)

I'd often wondered what it would be like to do a film about an ordinary everyday man taking his own personal revenge on the world around him (especially during the 1980's.) Michael Douglas's "D-Fens" wasn't quite that "ordinary", as plot details later reveal him to be psychologically disturbed as well as unemployed, but it was a compelling performance in a wry black comedy action drama, where he rampages across urban LA pursued by Robert Duvall's retiring detective (on his last day of course). "I'm the bad guy?", Douglas ironically asks as he and Duvall showdown at the end. I borrowed some of Douglas's look for a similar character I played in a stage play, Nasty Neighbours in 1995.

Flash Gordon (1980)
This is a cult favourite, and although hardly in the same league as Star Wars (George Lucas himself tried and failed to secure the rights to Flash Gordon years before), it has many exuberant elements such as Max Von Sydow's majestically evil Ming the Merciless, a young Timothy Dalton as dashing Prince Barin, the stunning Ornella Muti as Ming's daughter, and a sountrack by Queen. Brian Blessed thinks it's the greatest film ever made (so a friend tells me), and you can't can blame him, as he gives such a hearty performance as Vultan. Director Mike Hodges was brought into this typically overblown Dino de Laurentiis production of a comic strip - and that's exactly how he chose to make it.

From Beyond the Grave (1973)

One of my favoruite Peter Cushing films, even though he's mainly a linking device as a sleazy antiques dealer to a series of dubious customers who await grizzly ends to their ill-gotten gains, in what I think is the best of Amicus's horror compilations. Among the stories were David Warner and Ian Ogilvy compelled to commit murder by ghosts hidden within the antiques, Ian Carmichael and Margaret Leighton hamming it up in the comedy segment, and both Donald Pleasence and his daughter Angela in a macabre little tale of murder with Ian Bannen and Diana Dors.

Galaxy Quest (1999)
A wonderful fusion of spoof and homage to Star Trek, as Tim Allen, Sigourney Weaver and Alan Rickman play former TV sci-fi actors now reduced to doing the convention circuit, until they are hurled into a real life Galaxy Quest and have to call upon the strengths of the characters they played. Anyone who's been to a few sci-fi conventions or sat through a few episodes of Star Trek will recognise the jokes.

Gallipoli (1981)

The first video rental I saw (courtesy of my Dad) in the mid-80's was this rambling but powerful - if anti-British - war drama about two friends cajoling each other into joining up to fight the Turks at Gallipoli in World War I. The final image of youth lost on the battlefield (to the music of Albinoni's Adagio) is as heart-rending as they come.

Gremlins 2: The New Batch (1990)

The first Gremlins had something of a 1980's feel to it, with some of Spielberg's sentiment tinged with darkness and Joe Dante's enthusiasm for horror pastiche: the sequel choose not to top it, but instead piled on a whole series of in-jokes and a typically surreal moment when the Gremlins get into the projection room (or the video machine, depending on your viewing media), done in a general healthy atmosphere of 1990's niceness. Composer Jerry Goldsmith even puts in an appearance, and the credits are presided over by Bugs Bunny, Porky Pig and (mostly) Daffy Duck!

Hannah and Her Sisters (1986)
The first Woody Allen film that I got round to seeing, and it's a clever mixture of wit and pathos (although Crimes and Misdemeanours was even cleverer.) The cast included Carrie Fisher, Barbara Hershey, Diane Wiest, Max Von Sydow, and of course, Mia Farrow, and Allen himself, who's on great form, and also as director selects some great music (mostly jazz). Need I say more? It also showed me for the first time that Michael Caine can really act when the right script comes along. The scene where he tells Hershey he loves her, and senses an element of reciprocation, is easily identifiable.

Howards End (1991)

The best, certainly my favourite of all the Mercant-Ivory period pieces from the 80s/90s which, regardless of their artistic merit or lack of contemporary resonance, always had the indellible stamp of quality. The ever reliable Helena Bonham Carter played a feisty English rose, and the film did wonders for the career of Emma Thompson, whilst I strongly related to the character of Leonard Bast (Samuel West), and E.M.Forster's novel did have something to say about the class system which still strikes home with society today.

Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1955)

The original and best version of Jack Finney's Body Snatchers short story, with Kevin McCarthy conveying a gripping portrait of gradually mounting terror as he sees all that he knows around him transformed into cold-hearted strangers inhabited by aliens. Director Don Siegel creates the maximum amount of horror and suspense with the least amount of gore or special effects. A "happy" ending of sorts was added by the studio but frowned upon by most fans, although poor Kevin surely deserved some sort of recompense after all his rushing around; come the 1978 remake, he was still warning the citizens of San Francisco of the oncoming danger.

The Manchurian Candidate (1962)
This is one of the most terrifying films ever made. Though the plot is crazy, it's too scary not to believe it couldn't happen - especially with all that we now know about Communist infiltration and attempts at brainwashing during the Cold War. Frank Sinatra is the traumatized Korean War veteran who can't understand why he so idolizes fellow veteran Laurence Harvey - a war "hero" who is prepared to kill indiscrimately at the merest gentle request from the true villain of the piece, Angela Lansbury. Jonathan Demme directed a variable remake updating the story for the Iraq War, but there's no way he could have topped the sinister atmosphere John Frankenheimer created for the original.

Mars Attacks! (1996)

Released coincidentally (and unfortunately) the same year as Independence Day, which celebrated the American Way, whereas this Martian invasion trashes it. The fact that the film flopped is testament to the fact that an all-star cast and an overconfident prodcution team are no guarantee of box office success, although Tim Burton clearly was having a ball, as too were Jack Nicholson (in 2 roles a la Peter Sellers in Dr. Strangelove), Glenn Close, Pierce Brosnan, Martin Short, and others (even Tom Jones). Natalie Portman as the President's daughter is left behind at the end of the devastation to reward Lukas Haas as the gawky hero who has discovered the secret weapon (and it's a hoot) to destroy the Martians - much more fun than the resolution to Independence Day. At the time I first saw it, I felt this was going to become a cult classic.

One Hundred and One Dalmatians (1961)

Back in the 1970s like most kids I was brought up in the cinema on a regular diet of Disney films, most of which were the classics from the 1940s. This one resembled a 1940s classic too, except that to my later surprise, I found that it was a much more recent entry in the Disney canon. The moment when a crook accidentally grabs hold of a cat's neck instead of a wine bottle delighted me at the time, I remember. I also secretly enjoyed Stephen Herek's live action remake (he of Bill & Ted fame) in 1996 with Glenn Close, Jeff Daniels and Joely Richardson, with Hugh Laurie and Simon Williams as Laurel & Hardy-style crooks.

The Phantom of the Opera (1925)

The great Lon Chaney in probably the most famous of all his many cinematic rogues, and the best (Andrew Lloyd withstanding) of all the adaptations of Gaston Leroux's novel. The scene where the Phantom's hideous face under the mask is revealed still packs a hell of a punch. Imagine how it felt for audiences in 1925.

Poltergeist 3 (1988)

No great classic in its own right, I freely admit - following the law of diminishing returns as sequels go - with only Heather O'Rourke reprised from the original family of Poltergeists 1 and 2. But this was the first horror fim I saw in the cinema. On a wet afternoon in the Odeon Colchester, it had me hiding behind my seat with terror on many occasions. The scariest (and saddest) thing about was the end credit: a tribute to Heather O'Rourke, who died after the making of the film, at the age of only 13.

The Road to Perdition (2002)

This was the last film I saw at the old Odeon Colchester, and it has a suitable feeling of pathos about it. Sam Mendes is a good theatre director, who I find as a film-maker is overrated. Certainly American Beauty was, but here his poetic touches add something to this gangster saga approaching Greek tragedy, as Tom Hanks plays the hitman who grimly has to take vengeance on his father figure of a boss (Paul Newman) because his real son (the psychopathic Daniel Craig) has murdered Hanks' family. Newman and Hanks are moving and powerful, and even the OTT presence of Jude Law can't spoil this from being a classic.

Seven Days to Noon (1950)

I remember first seeing this on the telly one random Thursday afternoon, like the average British film you'd see every now and then, only this one drew you in more and more. Part of its effect is how someone as humble looking as Barry Jones could set the whole of London on Red Alert, as he threatens to blow up the capital with an atomic device if the arms race is not stopped. The Boulting Brothers crank up the tension and also provide many moments of ensemble character light relief.

2046 (2004)
A futuristic paean to nostalgia and lost memories by Wong Kar Wai (his first American road movie My Blueberry Nights was a less successful but nonetheless interesting variation on the subject.) The title refers to the year when Hong Kong will complete its transfer from the UK over to China, so it's a suitably melancholic time to reflect on past and future. The Sars virus broke out in Hong Kong at the time, abandoning the original production, so Wai rejigged it into a sequel to his previous film In the Mood for Love, with Tony Leung as a womanising but reclusive writer who pens his futuristic 2046 novel. A film better for general atmosphere than overall content, and it also has a great soundtrack CD that I often play.

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.....and I'll think I'll have to stop there, as there's still another 50 near-favourites that I still haven't yet mentioned, and believe me, there are probably another 100 out there that I could have further enthused about, that I may well have missed out!