More than other genres, the added danger with politics on screen is balance while staying on message. With The Iron Lady, we’re dealing with a figure just old enough to reach mythical status, but still recent enough to remain relatively fresh in memories. Margaret Thatcher was the UK’s longest serving Prime Minister since the late 1800s (and only female). Her years in office were defined by a no-nonsense approach to negotiations and a perceived iron-fist when it came to tough decisions. Rightly or wrongly, there is as much praise for Thatcher as there is criticism.

The paradox for some with the film, however, will be the very same thing that will likely bring them to the cinema in the first place. Saint or demon, Thatcher is an intriguing character. This is a film about the intricacies of human behaviour when our foundations inevitably begin to give way as age encroaches. In my mind, I found it difficult to reconcile a woman who oversaw the implementation of Section 28 with the frail lady presented to us. But isn’t that theme of contradiction rife throughout all our lives?

As a politician, Margaret Thatcher was unshakeable and impenetrable. Yet none of her political prowess could prepare her for the isolation that age and grief brought. For a lady so used to having things a certain way – her way – this became her private war. At least that’s how it is presented to us by director Phyllida Lloyd, reuniting with Meryl Streep after the radically different Mamma Mia!. Granted, the fact that this is an emotionally driven film means that there is little basis for much of the content in reality. But the film isn’t trying to push that angle.

Meryl Streep has developed an odd ability to create Oscar buzz simply for waking up in the morning. Personally, I can understand why. While I’m certainly not a fan of stuff like Mamma Mia! (the film equivalent of a jager-bomb), no matter what role she’s in, Streep has a god-given talent for relating to an audience and making them understand exactly what her character is feeling – and she does it without any hint of having to try. She may have the annoying habit of turning down important and serious arty films in favour of Julie & Julia, but you know what? The world loves her. And with a very large thanks to her breakdown in the kitchen in The Hours, so do I.

As Thatcher, Meryl Streep delivers yet again. She’ll probably be Oscar-nominated again, and I’d say deservedly so. Some moments do tend to get a little campy (especially a scene opposite the US Secretary of State), but just watch some clips of the real Thatcher. When she’s riled, she does slip slightly into angry drag queen mode (see below clip). From someone who’s tastes tend to lean towards quieter, more subtle films, I would have appreciated some more smaller moments in place of the at times blaring heart-string tugging and emotional cue cards, but that’s all in retrospect. As an experience, the film won’t have you discussing religion and politics at work. Unlike Thatcherism, it won’t divide audiences or incite tidal opinions. And that’s because it’s a human story, and we all relate to that. I was slightly sceptical about this film, but it lured me in and made me feel for a lady whose human side I otherwise probably wouldn’t have given much thought.

Team America: World Police turned him into an official punchline, but the real terror behind Kim Jong-Ill’s reign is less hilarious. Up to 3.5 million people have perished as a result of famine, with much of the country’s limited resources devoted to maintaining armed forces, including its nuclear program.

A few months ago, Free North Korea Radio apparently reported that two lesbians had been publicly executed due to “being tinged with capitalism”. The government allegedly went on to state that “they were badly influenced by capitalism from Japan and brought corruption of public morals”. According to various reports, the women were captured after it was discovered that they shared a sexual relationship in their house.

Officially, homosexuality is not against the law in North Korea, however there is clearly no acceptance or tolerance. Rather, its mere existence is suppressed. With the media being state controlled, no public mention is ever allowed, and it is apparently on a list of forbidden topics of discussion for anyone. One official government statement did refer to homosexuality, aligning it with capitalist values of the west; “…the DPRK rejects many characteristics of the popular gay culture in the West, which many perceive to embrace consumerism, classism and promiscuity”.

Shin-Sang-ok with his wife, Choi Eun-hee

Despite the rejection of all things western and capitalist, Kim Jong-Ill was apparently a big fan of Hollywood movies, with a reported collection of more 20,000 videos and DVDs. Some favourites included Friday the 13th and Rambo, as well as anything starring Elizabeth Taylor (Suddenly Last Summer…?). In 1978, he ordered the kidnapping of Shin Sang-ok, a South Korean director and Choi Eun-hee, his actress ex-wife with the intention of creating a film industry in his beloved north. They were kept separately in comfortable accommodation at first, however after an attempted escape, they were moved to a prison. Only after being brought to a dinner party did the pair learn of their mutual capture, and they were soon remarried at the suggestion of Kim Jong-Ill.

Eight years and seven films later, the couple escaped to Vienna for a film festival, seeking asylum at the American embassy. Kim Jong-Ill would remain convinced that the US had kidnapped the pair.

In addition to his “filmmaking” pursuits, the crazy dictator also apparently wrote a book, On the Art of the Cinema, though considering he also claimed to have invented the hamburger, the jury will likely remain out on that one.

Around this time of year, a few films are released and others recycled on the telly to cash-in on that popular consensus that we should all be practicing togetherness. Yet the most popular Christmas films often feature a barely disguised theme of utter despair. Frank Capra’s quintessential It’s a Wonderful Life is an obvious example.

Meet Me in St Louis is another one. Vincente Minnelli’s beautiful tapestry of a family in the early 1900s doesn’t aim for a melodrama or heartstrings. Instead, the drama is rather restrained, with the detail of family dynamics providing more than enough fare. Judy Garland introduced the world to the popular Christmas song Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas with a scene in which no Christmas song has ever been more pertinent.

While essentially not a Christmas film, Douglas Sirk’s All The Heaven Allows used Christmas as a method to illustrate Cary Scott’s (Jane Wyman) growing isolation. In a pivotal scene, Cary stares into the blank screen of her new television, which merely stares back at her with her own reflection.

Now, while all of these films do an excellent job at reminding us all of what should be important, something I always go back to at Christmas without fail isn’t actually a film at all, but rather a couple of episodes of a favourite television series. In an early Christmas special, Bewitched featured a story in which Darin and Samantha visit an orphanage to take care of a young boy during the holidays. Cynical and restless, he’s almost a portrait of Scrooge’s Christmas-past.

In a funny and heartwarming departure from the usual theme of the series, Samantha decides in quite a small minute to reveal her witch identity to the boy, and take him flying on a broomstick to visit the real Santa and discover for himself what Christmas is all about. The episode is spot-on perfect and really shows everything that this show is remembered for.

Again, much later in the series, Bewitched delivered another amazing special. But this time, things got political. Using a story written by a class of school kids, this episode dealt with some friends of the Stephens who happen to be black. Tabitha likes to refer to her friend Lisa as her sister, but as girl at the playground points out, she can’t be her sister because she’s a different colour. Worse, a client of Darin’s decides he’s too “unstable” to take care of his account when he mistakenly believes Darin to be in an interracial relationship.

In a scene that would undoubtedly have caused a stir in 1970, Samantha uses a twitch of her nose to make Darin’s racist client see everyone in the room as black – even himself. Later of-course, he sees the errors of his ways and makes a heartfelt apology, even joining them all for Christmas dinner.

Redemption, forgiveness, appreciation and generosity all culminate to counteract the enduring theme of loneliness that permeates all of the most loved Christmas stories. Is feeling all alone at this time of year one of our biggest fears? Do we respond to stories like these because they remind us of what’s important? It all seems rather schmaltzy when you think about it literally, but somehow, in all those months either side of December, we do seem to find it difficult to black out the distractions and hone in on what we’d like to be most enduring.

Lizabeth Scott was 23 when she made her first film, the war-time romance You Came Along. By 1957, she’d made 21 films. After starring with some of cinema’s most magnificent such as Kirk Douglas, Barbara Stanwyck, Humphrey Bogart and Elvis Presley, Lizabeth Scott turned off her spotlight and walked away. At just 35, she decided that was quite enough.

Molly Ringwald, Demi Moore, Phoebe Cates; they all had their days as leading ladies. Scott’s story is different. She entered showbiz a star – her name on the poster, prominently credited in the film. Undoubtedly, every one of her films was a “Lizabeth Scott film”. Even her last star effort, opposite Elvis Presley, gave her the leading role. So with her career seemingly just as alive as it ever had been, what could have caused Lizabeth Scott to switch it all off?

Unfortunately speculation is all we’re ever like to have. Though by most standards she’s still a rather obscure actress, there are few others who attract the kind of cult like following that Scott has. It is perhaps Scott’s reluctance to explain her departure that is at least partly responsible for her enduring appeal to so many. Aside from her many remarkable screen performances, Scott is also a rare example of a star who really couldn’t care less for that drug they call “fame” that so many others find addictive.

Turning 89 today, I think it’s unlikely that Lizabeth Scott will ever shine a light on what really happened back then. Instead, I think I’ll just watch Desert Fury for the millionth time and bask in the wonderful production design, bizarre gay subtext, excellent performances, and all-round unique film-going experience.

On the cusp of the fabulous 1950s that turned suburbia into everyone’s idea of the perfect life, floundering musical star Dick Powel made one of the most brilliantly biting films noirs of all. In Pitfall, Powell stars opposite reigning queen of the genre Lizabeth Scott. He’s Jo! hn Forbes, an insurance investigator sent by his employer to visit the home of Mona Stevens (Scott). Apparently she’s in possession of some expensive gifts from her ex which may help bring about an embezzlement case.

Like all brilliant films, it’s not really about the literal subject matter at all. When John, married with children, lays eyes on Mona – a single model living alone – we know we’re in for something more. It could be another one of those “the other woman” type dramas, but the presence of Scott wouldn’t allow it. Something has to go bang. And it does.

It would be a shame to ruin this for anyone, so I won’t delve any further into the plot. The idea of the suburban gentleman betraying his family for a sexy model type is often explored, but Pitfall’s treatment is dif! ferent. It doesn’t preach, nor does it wrap things up in pretty paper at the end. Instead, we’re left with a bitter taste and a conclusion that even today forces the question of why our social values play out the way they do. That question of what happens behind the closed doors of those pretty houses is answered in a way that makes you wish you’d never asked. While holding up a mirror to the lives of every-people, Pitfall uses the femme fatale character to brilliant effect, playing with trust as if it were a kitten with string.

As we continue to become more apprehensive about John’s dealings Mona, we soon start to suspect that, in this particular situation, there may not actually be a bad guy. Maybe these are just two genuine people, trapped by circumstance and desire. And maybe the one headed for the pitfall isn’t who we all thought.

Having travelled to various places throughout the USA, Asia and Europe, I can say with reasonable confidence that Australian television ads are, well, not the worst, but in most cases, certainly millions of light-years away from being among the best. Recent years especially seem to have seen a big drop in quality; when was the last time we had anything as memorable as the old Vegemite ads, as terrifying as the Grim Reaper warning us of the danger of AIDS, or simply hilarious as “not happy Jan”? It seems the number of ads with next-to-no production value has skyrocketed, along with the loss of volume control (hello mute button) and, sadly, talent and wit.

With the success of the Aussie TV program The Gruen Transfer (a panel show dedicated to discussing advertising issues and dissecting the crap), and the US cable series Mad Men, I would argue that more than ever, people are interested in this craft that so many of us think we’re immune to. Every now and then, Mad Men allows Don Draper to step forward and show exactly why he’s the star of his show. Part of the genius behind this writing is that when real advertising techniques are used (as they often are), we’re allowed behind the image to see exactly why it works. It’s a fitting theme for a show with a backdrop of the manufactured society of the 1960s.

One stand-out moment in the first season featured a comparison between the advertising campaigns of two presidents; Kennedy and Nixon. Kennedy, in spite of all his political pow-wow, had gone with a catchy jingle that, while revealing nothing about his policies or plans, kept the viewer watching and prompted interest. Nixon, meanwhile, simply stared at a camera in his office and addressed the viewer; “I’d like to talk to you about taxes”. Hmm.

Sadly, it seems a lot of Aussie ad-makers could learn a lot from any given episode of Mad Men. Sure it’s fiction, but the idea of trying to understand the dynamics behind what makes a human do what it does certainly sounds intriguing, doesn’t it? A hell of a lot more interesting than a Harvey Norman commercial.

Farewell Louie, I always thought you were a stand-out amongst the boring majority of your peers. Your creator, Bryce Courtenay, and original voice, Ross ”Ted Bullpitt” Higgins, will surely miss you (as may Mortein). No doubt you’ll be replaced soon though, likely with an all-knowing and attractive mother who is concerned over the effects fly-spray may have on her 8 year old, while her husband of-course does something in the background that proves he is not very clever with truly hilarious results. Oh telly, you and your wacky ways.

This does of-course free up space for some of our newer ad creation, i.e. Rivers, that yoghurt ad where they fight over whether it’s “yoh-gert” or “yog-art”, and that new Channel Seven promo featuring one of the most lyrically sublime jingles of all time. Pay attention now: “are you, are you, are you, are you ready, get set, are you ready, get set, are you ready?”.

The 1931 film Mata Hari is not a historically accurate biopic, let’s just get that out of the way right now. But it does happen to be one of the most visually mesmerising and emotionally brilliant films you are ever likely to see. Mata Hari (real and fictional) rose to fame as an exotic dancer in Paris during World War I. While many would criticise her appeal for being borderline pornographic, there was scarcely a soul on the planet who couldn’t be drawn in by her seductive performances and poison-ivy-like aura. But fittingly enough, behind her beautiful exterior lay a rebellious streak. Mata Hari was a German spy.

Whether the real Mata Hari was in fact stealing secrets for the Germans is the subject of eternal debate. In any case, she was prosecuted for it in 1917.

Beyond the incredible real life Mata Hari, the film exists as something entirely different. As Mata, Greta Garbo floats through every scene like a distant apparition, letting only a select few even remotely close.

I will never understand why Ramon Novarro didn’t have a longer film career. For a while, during the cross-over from silent to talkies, Novarro was A-list gold. He was the star of the original Ben-Hur, and of-course had equal billing in Mata Hari alongside Garbo – arguably the most famous woman in the world during her time. Novarro’s performance in this film is a testament to why he was so popular at least for a while. His every line, every movement, even every small expression is so precisely in character. It’s impossible not to fall in love with him, as Garbo’s Mata Hari does.

Late in the story, as Mata is visiting a hospital, we get to see a snippet of her contradictions. Despite her insistence on doing everything her own way, regardless of the consequences, she can’t help but feel her own pain expressed through the face of a blind man. She leaves him her flowers, yet no sooner has she walked out the door that it becomes painfully clear that her “friends” may not be as close as she thought. Like many a worshipped celebrity, Mata Hari has made the fatal error of confusing friends with fans. Fans don’t know loyalty.

Often when watching films of generations gone, things must be taken with a grain of salt, understood in their context. Mata Hari isn’t like that; it’s a hypnotic vision all of its own. Ridiculously dramatic. Incomparable.

The very early days of comic books involved a lot of detectives and horror stories. But in 1938, with economic troubles rife and the world on the brink of war, attitudes were changing. Everything was changing. And so Superman was born, the world’s very first superhero.

From that moment, comic books were changed forever. But more powerful, I think, was the effect the new genre had on people. All people. Today, with films like Green Lantern blinding the masses with 3D effects and action-action-action, the reasoning behind the superhero is almost always ignored.

When times are tough, people need escape. It’s the core reason for MGM’s early success with the big Hollywood musical, and why they floundered when tastes changed. Throughout the 1940s, superheroes didn’t just entertain kids, they played a massive part in cheering the spirit of America and beyond during what was an incredibly tumultuous time. When Wonder Woman fought the Nazis, it wasn’t just a cool ass-kicking Tarantino-styled fun-fest. These adventures were created when the thought of Hitler seizing control was a terrifying reality. Laugh at Captain America as a corny relic of America’s over-patriotism and you ignore a character that lit up the eyes of many a youngster who couldn’t possibly understand the horrors of real war, yet still sought understanding of what was happening.

Today, more so than most other days, the view of the world is tainted by wars, fear, and a generation traumatised by an event that will always be unbelievable but true. Economic gloom lingers again, uncertainty starts to feel like the norm rather than something to overcome. In addition to countless other mediums, the superhero still inspires people to stop whatever they’re doing for a moment and look up at the sky.

Sometimes, I think the best moments in films like Superman is when all the ordinary people gather in support; Superman clutching Lois in one hand and a helicopter in the other, with a crowd below cheering. Unfortunately, disasters can’t be avoided so easily in real life. But the tendency for people to bond instantly in times of crisis, I think that’s real. The desperation to help in any way possible, and always wish we could do more, that’s real. All of this speaks to something real about human nature. And it’s why it has such a timeless resonance.

Last night, I caught a screening of the 1998 restoration of Welles’ vision for Touch of Evil, which he starred in and directed in 1958. Rarely does a film affect me the way this one did – in all honesty, I think my perception of film noir has changed forever.

I can recall the moment I fell for the genre of film noir; I was browsing the cheapo DVDs in a Target store in a rural Victorian town when I came across an $8 box set of 20 films said to be film noir. Most of them are, some of them aren’t, and a few of them are rubbish. But one of the films featured was Too Late for Tears, starring Lizabeth Scott, both of which have had an enormous impact on my brain.

As I began to seek more examples of the genre, I started to understand the many aspects that collide to create genuine film noir; why Double Indemnity is almost always considered the archetypal example, but also how failing to see beyond that film can result in missing many, many other angles to film noir.

I love gritty noirs like Detour, lush and faithful examples like Double Indemnity, melodramatic noir such as The Strange Love of Martha Ivers, and of-course amazing and nasty little gems like Too Late for Tears and Scarlet Street. Yet, as I discovered last night, I am very far away from understanding every facet to this amazing cinematic movement.

Orson Welles’ Touch of Evil came at the tail-end of film noir’s classic era, released in 1958. Other film noirs from this period, such as 1955′s A Kiss Before Dying, have left me wanting slightly more. My suspicion is that, by the 1950s, people began to understand film noir a little too much, and the genre thus became a little self-conscious.

Any assumptions about Touch of Evil will do no justice. That’s because the film is entirely unpredictable, and 100 percent original. From the opening scene, beginning with a continuous 3 minute, 30 second tracking shot, you’re drawn into not a ‘web of intrigue’, as many noirs would have marketed themselves, but more of a deserted and dusty hell on the border of the USA and Mexico.

Charlton Heston is Vargas, a drug enforcement official for the Mexican government. His wife, Susie (Janet Leigh), is American – a pairing the raises a couple of eyebrows. The drama begins with a bang when a car explodes as it travels across the border into the USA, just metres from Vargas and Susie. As the American police arrive to investigate, Vargas begins to notice various inconsistencies in the evidence uncovered, namely by police Captain Hank Quinlan, played a by a grotesque-looking Orson Welles. The implications of a Mexican threatening to derail the career of an accomplished American policeman provide for some fiery confrontations.

Yet, while the plot commands your attention, it’s the visuals and setting that really set the film alight. In the way that Wolf Creek and Friday the 13th exploited remoteness to make you feel afraid, Touch of Evil creates a completely new world where there is really no escape from the dusty monstrosity that is the border-town. From scene one, there is a slow-building feeling of tension and dread. It becomes especially apparent when Janet Leigh is taken to a motel outside of town to escape the harassment of the locals, only to find herself in an even more horrifying predicament.

Welles was a has-been in the eyes of Hollywood studios by 1958, but the talented legends of the time still held great respect for him. It was Charlton Heston who suggested Welles as director, and both Marlene Dietrich and Zsa Zsa Gabor took tiny roles simply to work with the renowned filmmaker. Janet Leigh was especially appreciative of her experiences working with Welles;

“It started with rehearsals. We rehearsed two weeks prior to shooting, which was unusual. We rewrote most of the dialogue, all of us, which was also unusual, and Mr. Welles always wanted our input. It was a collective effort, and there was such a surge of participation, of creativity, of energy. You could feel the pulse growing as we rehearsed. You felt you were inventing something as you went along. Mr. Welles wanted to seize every moment. He didn’t want one bland moment. He made you feel you were involved in a wonderful event that was happening before your eyes.”
Source: New York Times, 18/09/98.

Touch of Evil fell victim to talentless studio executives in its day. After Welles submitted his finished product, assured that his career in America was back from the brink of nothing, Universal proceeded to cut the print to pieces. The studio re-shot scenes, chopped away running time, and crudely ran the credits and title over the top of the now famous prolonged opening shot. Released as a B-picture, the film came and went, and was forgotten. Thankfully, film lovers years later knew what a masterpiece it was and it has since been restored as close as possible to the description given by Welles in a 58 page memo originally sent to (and largely ignored by) Universal’s head of production, Edward Muhl.

Regardless of how close the film is to the original intention, the Touch of Evil we now have is by far one of the most superb and disturbing film experiences I’ve ever encountered. While it’s certainly film noir, it’s unlike any other noir, or even film in general, that I’ve ever watched.

While her family was clearly a loving one, Grace never really seemed to find true satisfaction. After becoming a princess, her husband Prince Rainier banned her from taking any further roles and furthermore outlawed the screening of any of her films in Monaco. For a lady who had not so long ago won the Best Actress Oscar, that must have been an enormous void to have to fill.

Eventually she began consuming her time with duties familiar to any public figure; charities and other worthy causes. She even arranged an annual Christmas celebration for orphans.

Her marriage clearly had its issues, and royal life was no doubt rather different to her initial perception. In spite of this, she somehow managed to keep her aura of distant beauty. Never a common sight in the sticky pages of tabloids, Grace kept her icy head high through whatever troubles she faced.