The Third Man: DVD Review

Writer Graham Green once claimed “there is no such thing as black and white, just black and grey”, a theory proved to perfection in his screenplay for The Third Man (1949).

Vienna, 1949. Armed forces are fighting a new war against greed, opportunity and the black market. Into this world stumbles pulp novelist Holly Martins (Joseph Cotten) in search of his friend, Harry Lime. Soon Holly is investigating Lime’s death, meeting his complex coterie of collaborators and trying to understand a world of shadows and lies.

The Third Man was the result of a collaboration perhaps even more complex than those depicted on-screen. A talented cast and crew were assembled in Vienna by British director Carol Reed and American producer David O’Selznick. It was the first British feature film to be shot largely on location, amongst the rubble of wartorn Vienna.

Using real locals as extras, the production team’s efforts ensured that Greene’s script was transformed from something individual into something unique.

The film starts as it means to go on: brisk, uncompromising and with a dash of gallows humour. Cinematographer Robert Krasker’s canted camera angles emphasise tonal shifts while director Carol Reed’s introduction of Harry Lime (Orson Welles) – a long shot then the reveal of that smirking, boyish face – is textbook enigmatic.

Though character motives can be oblique, the moral blacks and greys that permeate the film are encapsulated by Lime’s frighteningly-reasoned Prater Wheel speech. With a near faultless script, this is a treatise on motives forged in harsh times, a view of post-Holocaust Europe forever preserved in the aspic of film.

Finally, as Lime makes his escape, the city itself turns against him, drawing him into the sewers. However, Welles exudes such charisma in his too-brief screen time that on each viewing I still hope one day he’ll head up that street over there instead, run that bit faster, second guess those Limey flatfoots just this once. Maybe one day he will.

Extras

This 2-disc Region 2 edition includes a fantastic 90-minute documentary screened on BBC4 a few years back. Seeing the Vienna locations today, scenes from the film projected onto them, is slightly eerie, as if some giant tattoo has been imprinted on the skin of the city. An alternate opening narration and a few trailers round off the disc.

If you can afford it, it’ worth checking out the new Region 1 Criterion 2-discer instead. Lots of great extras, including a Steven Soderbergh commentary, make it a Third Man fan must-buy. One day…

Oz: Season 1

I’ve had a hard week. Arson, suicide, drug abuse, a prison riot and a few Nazis were involved, and the sight of a charred body put me off my tea last Monday.

If you lived in the UK between 1998 and 2005, and happened to be watching Channel 4 between around 11pm and 4am, there’s a chance you caught an episode of HBOs Oz. Considering that even dedicated fans had trouble tracking the series down from one week to the next, you did well.

Over the last few weeks I’ve been watching the Season 1 DVDs, eight hour-long episodes introducing Emerald City, an experimental unit of the Oswald Maximum Security Prison, or Oz. Here, rehabilitation is the aim, with Tim McManus (Terry Kinney) trying valiantly to maintain calm between the various factions – Latinos, Muslims, Aryans – that inhabit Em City.

Oz is hard going, partly because of the violence which permeates throughout each episode but also because of the complex allegiances created and destroyed every week. The writing is simply stunning, and what makes it even more remarkable is that one writer, Tom Fontana, was the scribe behind them all.

The cast are note perfect. Beecher (Lee Tergesen) is our eyes for the first few episodes, as his life falls apart following his incarceration, while JK Simmons as Schillinger is a character for whom the term ‘evil’ could apply if this wan’t too easy a label.

For something outside the norm, and the fact that you don’t now have to wait until after midnight to watch it, these DVDs can’t be faulted. Just don’t eat your tea while it’s on.

Remembering Jim Henson

Today is the anniversary of Jim Henson’s death in 1990.

I don’t remember exactly when I first saw The Muppet Show, but it started on ITV in the same year I was born. As that was July 1976 and it started in September, then there’s a good chance I was around when the first episode was on.

OK, that’s a bit of a stretch, but if everyone who claims to have watched the first episode of Doctor Who in 1963 had actually done so then the ratings should have broken all records for the time.

The show was loud and colourful, the characters all had unique personalities, the audience seemed to love it (though Stadler and Waldorf weren’t too happy about it all) and Pigs in Space was…well, in space, so therefore brilliant. Some of the jokes went over my head, but it was half an hour of insanity and made everyone laugh.

Somewhere around the same time I watched Sesame Street, which, though aimed at a younger audience than me (and I was about 4 at the time so obviously gaining great critical faculties) was still worth it for Oscar the Grouch.

A few years later came Fraggle Rock. With a glorious theme tune, great songs and another bonkers cast of characters alongside the late, great Fulton Mackay, this was another weekly fix of Muppet madness that I never missed after school.

The last great Henson series I remember was The Storyteller. Visually stunning, this combined mystery and magic like few other series had done, with ‘The Soldier and Death’ a particular favourite.

Jim Henson’s vision and ideas saw me right through my childhood and set sky-high standards for everything I’ve watched since. Henson’s characters never seemed to take themselves too seriously while, at the same time, their own universe was as real to them as ours is to us.

Whether the messages of understanding, friendship and talking vegetables had a major impact on my psyche is difficult to tell, though if I ever see a cauliflower I still have to check to make sure it’s not about to launch into song with that tomato next to it… cheers Jim.

Children’s TV on Trial

Following tonight’s episode of Smiley’s People (an oasis in the desert of dross on offer, though how I avoided ITV1’s Teen Boob Jobs: Too Much Too Young I don’t know) there was a lovely little trail for an upcoming week of programming from BBC4, Children’s TV on Trial.

As it says on the website:

“…a nightly look at each decade of the genre from the 50s to the present day – today’s youngsters will be delivering their verdict on the shows their parents or grandparents used to watch. There’ll be programmes about Blue Peter, Grange Hill, Jackanory and Saturday morning TV, and other highlights include When the Stranglers Met Roland Rat, an eye-popping look at some of the incongruously adult pop stars who have strutted their stuff on shows supposedly made for children.”

Sounds like a great week for vintage telly then. Unless ITV come up with something original that is…

Holding On

Back in 1997 I remember watching the first episode of Holding On on BBC One. It’s only taken me 10 years to watch episodes 2 – 8.

Following the tangled lives of a group of Londoners over the period of around a year or so – moving from one scene to the next can move the plot on 5 minutes or 5 weeks and it’s never entirely clear which one is which – Tony Marchant’s series is both engaging and infuriating at the same time.

While the performances can’t be faulted, with the brilliant David Morrissey on top form and Phil Daniels making a meal out of every scene he’s in, the sheer length of time it takes to get to the end of the series can seem a bit of a slog.

That’s not to say I didn’t enjoy the experience. Watching the plot(s) unfold and trying to work out how everything connects together is a rewarding, and being able to view the episodes back-to-back does help you reach that stunning conclusion that bit faster.

A fine series that I wish I’d stuck with back in ‘97.