Stuck for something to watch and not wanting anything too angst-driven, my sister and I decided to throw on 1997's Lost In Space. Given I worked at a cinema when it was released, I'd estimate this was probably my tenth viewing of the film, at least.
It holds up really well. I liked it when it first came out - enough to get the laserdisc and later upgrade that to DVD - and it's still a good watch. I do remember watching the original series on Channel 4 as a youngster, but not all that much about it. The movie has an epic scope, and several very dark moments for what is ostensibly a family film (discovering the graves of the three women in the future, and the Spider Smith). Most of the effects have held up well - the Spider Smith face was pushing animation at the time and is just about okay, and a lot of the Blawp shots always looked unfinished at the time, but the space and ship scenes still look fantastic.
William Hurt looks like he doesn't quite know how he got into the film, but still imbues Pa Robinson with his typical sincerity, giving weight to the obvious father-son stuff. He manages a couple of great "get your hands off my daughter" looks to Matt LeBlanc's Don West as well. Everyone was surprised at LeBlanc's solid work in a non-comedy role at the time, and it's a shame he never did follow it up properly - he plays the hero well. Mimi Rogers is perhaps the cast member least served by the script, only really getting a chance to express concern for everything. Heather Graham reminds you why she got so in demand so fast, and then makes you sad it all fell away so quickly (I do have a theory about people guest-starring on "Scrubs" and their careers nose-diving if anyone wants to hear it).
Lacey Chabert - despite her voice being in that period where it was trying to shatter glass in the surrounding area - makes a spiky Penny Robinson (and had the most hard, disturbing song on the soundtrack dedicated to her by Dirty Vegas) until the script grounds her with mothering Blawp for the duration. Jack Johnson is a fine, non-cloying Will who genuinely makes you believe in his IQ, and is matched by Jared Harris in his advanced age. Gary Oldman, though blatantly just there to pick up funding for Nil By Mouth (see also One, Air Force), seems to relish his ridiculous lines and role. On the laserdisc, the uncut crew gag reel delightfully shows him screwing up lines and swearing in front of Johnson in almost every scene, and also in his mo-cap for Spider Smith ("Stick that in ya fackin' computer and play with it!")
The story seems simple until all the time bubbles start popping, when you actually have to start doing calculations in your head to keep it straight. At one point, there was another bubble, in which they encountered a massive, aging Blawp and elongated the running time by 20 minutes but unsurprisingly that went in post. For what's supposed to be a easy, summer blockbuster, they took a few chances on the story.
The designs and look of the film are still great, and there's also a terrific score by Bruce Broughton, but despite the cast and all the US money behind it, with all those UK effects companies working on it, and the healthy dose of our own techno and pop mixed on the end credits (Fatboy Slim! Propellerheads! Space!) it bizarrely feels more like a British film, and all the more fun for it.
Tuesday 6 September 2011
Red. Simply.
I was looking forward to Red, and it didn't disappoint. I liked it from the low-key flirting start with an excellent Bruce Willis and Mary-Louise Parker on. A wish list of actors (Brian Cox and Karl Urban are always welcome at my house in particular) even down to the shorter parts, like Rebecca Pidgeon's icy Cynthia and James Remar's plot point and nice, showy, but pleasing direction.
Great script too, and I liked the actual bad guy flat out yelling he was the actual bad guy and no-one really noticing at the time. A fantastic punch-up between Willis and Urban that really looked like it hurt for once, and a climax which wasn't about massive explosions, and I was all in all very happy. Sequel, yes, but only if the same amount of care goes into it.
Great script too, and I liked the actual bad guy flat out yelling he was the actual bad guy and no-one really noticing at the time. A fantastic punch-up between Willis and Urban that really looked like it hurt for once, and a climax which wasn't about massive explosions, and I was all in all very happy. Sequel, yes, but only if the same amount of care goes into it.
Sunday 4 September 2011
Machete Don't Work
It was with a heavy heart I made my way through Machete, knowing that a lot of my filmmaking fervour, both before and after university, and now, is inspired by Robert Rodriguez. I didn't see El Mariachi when it first hit, but Rodriguez's "Rebel Without A Crew" book, and a segment he did on BBC2's long defunct Moving Pictures show, told me I could shoot a movie. I still use a lot of the things I picked up from those two sources today, particularly in terms of maximising shots. It also got me interested in editing, which is my main work today, and my favourite area of production. I still read "Rebel..." from time to time (actually I appear to have lent it to someone, so I can't right now). To be clear, I owe Robert Rodriguez a great deal, and enjoy a lot of his films.
But not Machete. The time for this film - if there was one - was a decade ago, a cheap, quick Trejo-filled thrill between the initial Spy Kids movies. Coming as it does after Rodriguez-rot has long set in, it's not funny anymore.
I get the B-movie thing that Rodiriguez and to a lesser extent, Tarantino, are trying to do, but there must be better ways. Planet Terror got away with it as part of Grindhouse, but the thought of paying to see that standalone as a night's entertainment doesn't bear thinking about, and so it is with Machete.
Rodriguez's problem is that he's always been a bit scattershot with ideas, and he's not a great writer. He never was. He can come up with some funny lines, or good scenes, but when it comes to hanging it all together, it almost never works as a cohesive whole. Desperado, for all the great action, has terrible pacing. The first Spy Kids film worked wonderfully, and the second just about scraped by. But when Spy Kids 3-D came around, it kicked off the beginning of the end, when characters didn't enter the film for a good reason, but simply because they could pop into Troublemaker for a couple of hours greenscreen work and could then be matted into scenes later, never mind if it made sense or not. (One nice thing about Machete is seeing Rodriguez out on actual locations again - see, they still work!)
Also, Rodriguez has a tone problem. In the kids films, even the most evil villains are always redeemed (the idea in Game Over, that Stallone does all his bad stuff because he's searching for forgiveness, is ludicrous in an already ludicrous story) but in his adult work, you'd better not get attached to anyone, because they're very likely to be bloodily dismissed in a second. I barely made it through Machete's pre-credit sequence because of all the needlessly horrible killing. I don't mind any amount of murderous mayhem in a movie, but the wilfully horrible tone of - in this - Machete's wife being decapitated, coming after several hugely bloody kills, nearly put me off the movie. The "grindhouse" aesthetic isn't one I was raised on, and it's not for me.
Another problem is that Rodriguez sets up potentially great moments and then proceeds to fluff them. Don Johnson's Von is a loathsome villain, and you can't wait to see him get his, but when he does it's thrown away in a matter of obscure frames, whereas meaningless henchman are dispatched in loving detail. Similarly, Steven Seagal's demise is rendered laughable, both by performance and direction.
He's also forgotten how to do the wonderful action that made him to begin with. Gone is the smooth cutting, on come very distracting dissolves and shot changes that render two moments - April's revenge and Luz's reveal - complete duds.
It's fun seeing some of the actors do their stuff - Jeff Fahey looks and sounds great in particular, and Michelle Rodriguez seemingly finds the role she was born for, only to have the film flub it for her - and Trejo is a great leading presence. But it's all so horribly pointless, and you can't help but think the cast and filmmakers could be using their time to do something much better instead.
What are we left with? Will Once Upon A Time In Mexico really be Rodriguez's best self-penned movie? It's not amazing, but it flows better than the others. At this point, his best works appear to be From Dusk Till Dawn and the excellent The Faculty - both with outside writers and the second notably a hire job (or at least a favour for Harvey and Bob). He should perhaps take a break, look at his ideas, and then find some better writers to make them work before he goes to the floor.
But not Machete. The time for this film - if there was one - was a decade ago, a cheap, quick Trejo-filled thrill between the initial Spy Kids movies. Coming as it does after Rodriguez-rot has long set in, it's not funny anymore.
I get the B-movie thing that Rodiriguez and to a lesser extent, Tarantino, are trying to do, but there must be better ways. Planet Terror got away with it as part of Grindhouse, but the thought of paying to see that standalone as a night's entertainment doesn't bear thinking about, and so it is with Machete.
Rodriguez's problem is that he's always been a bit scattershot with ideas, and he's not a great writer. He never was. He can come up with some funny lines, or good scenes, but when it comes to hanging it all together, it almost never works as a cohesive whole. Desperado, for all the great action, has terrible pacing. The first Spy Kids film worked wonderfully, and the second just about scraped by. But when Spy Kids 3-D came around, it kicked off the beginning of the end, when characters didn't enter the film for a good reason, but simply because they could pop into Troublemaker for a couple of hours greenscreen work and could then be matted into scenes later, never mind if it made sense or not. (One nice thing about Machete is seeing Rodriguez out on actual locations again - see, they still work!)
Also, Rodriguez has a tone problem. In the kids films, even the most evil villains are always redeemed (the idea in Game Over, that Stallone does all his bad stuff because he's searching for forgiveness, is ludicrous in an already ludicrous story) but in his adult work, you'd better not get attached to anyone, because they're very likely to be bloodily dismissed in a second. I barely made it through Machete's pre-credit sequence because of all the needlessly horrible killing. I don't mind any amount of murderous mayhem in a movie, but the wilfully horrible tone of - in this - Machete's wife being decapitated, coming after several hugely bloody kills, nearly put me off the movie. The "grindhouse" aesthetic isn't one I was raised on, and it's not for me.
Another problem is that Rodriguez sets up potentially great moments and then proceeds to fluff them. Don Johnson's Von is a loathsome villain, and you can't wait to see him get his, but when he does it's thrown away in a matter of obscure frames, whereas meaningless henchman are dispatched in loving detail. Similarly, Steven Seagal's demise is rendered laughable, both by performance and direction.
He's also forgotten how to do the wonderful action that made him to begin with. Gone is the smooth cutting, on come very distracting dissolves and shot changes that render two moments - April's revenge and Luz's reveal - complete duds.
It's fun seeing some of the actors do their stuff - Jeff Fahey looks and sounds great in particular, and Michelle Rodriguez seemingly finds the role she was born for, only to have the film flub it for her - and Trejo is a great leading presence. But it's all so horribly pointless, and you can't help but think the cast and filmmakers could be using their time to do something much better instead.
What are we left with? Will Once Upon A Time In Mexico really be Rodriguez's best self-penned movie? It's not amazing, but it flows better than the others. At this point, his best works appear to be From Dusk Till Dawn and the excellent The Faculty - both with outside writers and the second notably a hire job (or at least a favour for Harvey and Bob). He should perhaps take a break, look at his ideas, and then find some better writers to make them work before he goes to the floor.
The Big Lebowski...2?
Oh how many people, not least the Coen Brothers, laughed when Tara Reid got the wrong end of a soundbite stick and announced that a second outing for the Dude was in the works earlier this year. It did put me in mind that I should take a second look at the original Lebowski though, given I last saw it a decade ago.
I'm never sure with the Coens. I love Raising Arizona, I LOVE The Hudsucker Proxy and remember Fargo as one of those watershed independent's in the 90s when I was teenagey and bright-eyed. Since then...hmm. Nothing against them, but I'm not always with them either. O Brother, Where Art Thou? is gorgeous to look at, but saved as a watch only by the superb performances, otherwise it meanders all over the place. The Man Who Wasn't There is again a lovely piece of film, but seems unsubstantial afterwards. I greatly enjoyed Intolerable Cruelty and don't care if that's an inflammatory statement, but will go with the crowd on The Ladykillers, which was doubly insulting being both a bad comedy and an Ealing desecration. (I thought Tom Hanks was superb, though.)
No Country For Old Men...eehhhh...honestly, really...I didn't care for it. Like all Coen films, it's beautifully made and contains many great performances, but it's really hard to give a shit when pretty much everyone gets killed and the whole thing is wound up by unrelated voiceovers meditating on the world and I end up thinking it's a pointless exercise in nihilism.
So, at my sister's request to see more Jeff Bridges movies - and how can I not honour that given how much I love the man - I looked at The Big Lebowski again. I'd forgotten a lot - the elegiac Sam Elliot voiced opening for one, Philip Seymour Hoffman for another - and did, mostly, enjoy seeing it again. Bridges is of course transcendent, seemingly going for easy stoner presence, but with a constant, working, befuddled mind beneath all the laid-back vocal bluster. But though I enjoyed the film, it's parts seemed to hang very loosely. Julianne Moore seemed to have been given a tape of Jennifer Jason Leigh's Amy Archer and asked to emulate, and John Goodman's character - not the actor - but Walter himself, was a constant irritant. and I just wanted The Dude to kick him to the curb a lot sooner.
The story is Hammett and Chandler run through an easy-going man's view, but still, nothing actually happens. The Dude is bounced from place to place until he makes the crucial leap about funds and until then the narrative threatens to drag on forever. It's a very slow two hours, punctuated by stellar scenes and moments yes, but ultimately content to wander around, like The Dude himself. That may be the intention, but like No Country and O Brother, it's an intention that just doesn't thrill me.
I've yet to see True Grit, but I am looking forward to it a lot.
I'm never sure with the Coens. I love Raising Arizona, I LOVE The Hudsucker Proxy and remember Fargo as one of those watershed independent's in the 90s when I was teenagey and bright-eyed. Since then...hmm. Nothing against them, but I'm not always with them either. O Brother, Where Art Thou? is gorgeous to look at, but saved as a watch only by the superb performances, otherwise it meanders all over the place. The Man Who Wasn't There is again a lovely piece of film, but seems unsubstantial afterwards. I greatly enjoyed Intolerable Cruelty and don't care if that's an inflammatory statement, but will go with the crowd on The Ladykillers, which was doubly insulting being both a bad comedy and an Ealing desecration. (I thought Tom Hanks was superb, though.)
No Country For Old Men...eehhhh...honestly, really...I didn't care for it. Like all Coen films, it's beautifully made and contains many great performances, but it's really hard to give a shit when pretty much everyone gets killed and the whole thing is wound up by unrelated voiceovers meditating on the world and I end up thinking it's a pointless exercise in nihilism.
So, at my sister's request to see more Jeff Bridges movies - and how can I not honour that given how much I love the man - I looked at The Big Lebowski again. I'd forgotten a lot - the elegiac Sam Elliot voiced opening for one, Philip Seymour Hoffman for another - and did, mostly, enjoy seeing it again. Bridges is of course transcendent, seemingly going for easy stoner presence, but with a constant, working, befuddled mind beneath all the laid-back vocal bluster. But though I enjoyed the film, it's parts seemed to hang very loosely. Julianne Moore seemed to have been given a tape of Jennifer Jason Leigh's Amy Archer and asked to emulate, and John Goodman's character - not the actor - but Walter himself, was a constant irritant. and I just wanted The Dude to kick him to the curb a lot sooner.
The story is Hammett and Chandler run through an easy-going man's view, but still, nothing actually happens. The Dude is bounced from place to place until he makes the crucial leap about funds and until then the narrative threatens to drag on forever. It's a very slow two hours, punctuated by stellar scenes and moments yes, but ultimately content to wander around, like The Dude himself. That may be the intention, but like No Country and O Brother, it's an intention that just doesn't thrill me.
I've yet to see True Grit, but I am looking forward to it a lot.
Why yes, I DO Love Film!
I've decided that to pad this out whilst waiting for time to work on my film's edit, I'm just going to review movies.
Yes, I know, what a revolutionary idea for a blog. The thing is, I live nowhere near London, so I'll never be able to get to press shows or whatnot (not that I'd be on anyone's invitation list) and I can't afford to keep up with new cinema releases, but what I am armed with is a new Lovefilm subscription - thanks to a generous month free and £20 Amazon voucher offer that fell in my lap - and the desire to watch a lot of films, both new and old, after a year of having not much time to do so. So, I'm going to review everything I see, whether it's the first, last, or sixth time I've seen it. You may or may not choose to read them, I'm just going to keep doing it anyway.
There may or may not be pun-based post titles, for which I apologise in advance.
Yes, I know, what a revolutionary idea for a blog. The thing is, I live nowhere near London, so I'll never be able to get to press shows or whatnot (not that I'd be on anyone's invitation list) and I can't afford to keep up with new cinema releases, but what I am armed with is a new Lovefilm subscription - thanks to a generous month free and £20 Amazon voucher offer that fell in my lap - and the desire to watch a lot of films, both new and old, after a year of having not much time to do so. So, I'm going to review everything I see, whether it's the first, last, or sixth time I've seen it. You may or may not choose to read them, I'm just going to keep doing it anyway.
There may or may not be pun-based post titles, for which I apologise in advance.
Thursday 25 August 2011
A Vampire Laff-Riot?
In about 10 minutes, Comedy Central in the UK is about to show The Lost Boys.
Erm.
Look, I know the 80s hair is very funny - Jason Patric's do is a far greater threat to his future than the bloodsucking thing - and no-one's ever quite sure why the deceased Corey had that barechested Rob Lowe poster snuck into his room design, but surely it's not that much of a comedy. I could be watching some classic Ackroyd here, or Martin, or (pushing it) Murphy. Hell, I'd take one of the first two Beverly Hills Cops and happily argue for the comedy more than the action.
(Incidentally, my dad can't stand Eddie Murphy films - the rapidfire patter always sounds too improvised for him and that annoys him, but the one thing I remember him laughing at was when Axel Foley crashes the Playboy mansion in Part II and makes things difficult for Jurgen "Puhrgen-Schurgem-Meurgen" Prochnow, eventually announcing that the party is over and "Max fucked it up for everybody". For some reason that one line had him laughing for minutes. But I digress, as I often will if you read this regularly.)
I never quite got The Lost Boys. Though it was one of those first really major film rental titles I remember being around when VHS went mental, I never saw it until about six years ago. So I was certainly far too old to connect with it in a "I'm-a-disaffected-teen-and-you-don't-listen-to-me-world!" way. Also, I just find punks in films laughable, really, so I'd never have connected to them anyway, I feel.
As I type, the film is just starting now, with the The Don's producing credit having just faded. One thing you can't fault with the film is the often effective soundtrack - I'm a big, big fan of Tim Capello's awesome saxfest "I Still Believe" - and though the album crucially lacks the film mix of "Cry Little Sister", it's still a great listen.
Some of the performances are good. Edward Herrmann is stylish, Jami Gertz interesting, Dianne Weist sweet and Kiefer Sutherland's early intensity reminds you of how good he is, and how much time he wasted in the 90s. I'm also getting a hankering to see Flatliners, which I can't have done in more than 15 years. And of course the original founder of ENCOM, Barnard Hughes, plays a crucial part.
But man is so much else annoying. Haim and Patric are whiny and irritating throughout, the Frog Brothers are implausible - I buy vampires, I DO NOT buy them - and the style over substance becomes apparent in one of the flying POV shots halfway through the film, when the vampires are presumably flying from their cave and THE FUCKING SUN IS STILL OUT.
I'm not going to rag on the hair and clothing too much as it was what it was then, but they do increase the ridiculousness of watching it now tenfold. Right now Corey Haim is wearing something that would hang loose on Dolph Lundgren's frame. But there's also some really obvious reversed footage of the ocean in one scene, and the welter of gore flying around in the final scene is totally overdone. I also thought Jami Gertz's "child" was a girl for most of the movie until dialogue made clear my mistake - but I maintain it's needlessly ambiguous.
The end really tears it though - the famous final line, delivered by an actor doing his best. I think we're supposed to be all "Whoah, he knew the whole time". Uh-huh. SO WHY WAIT UNTIL NOW TO DO SOMETHING? How many people are dying while he bides his time? Did he never talk to anyone else about this? More to the point (heh) he waits until the moment he will have to hit a moving target with a weapon that will at best be a bugger to control with accuracy. No, sir, I say no.
Still, here's Tim Capello's saxtacular - enjoy that at least.
Erm.
Look, I know the 80s hair is very funny - Jason Patric's do is a far greater threat to his future than the bloodsucking thing - and no-one's ever quite sure why the deceased Corey had that barechested Rob Lowe poster snuck into his room design, but surely it's not that much of a comedy. I could be watching some classic Ackroyd here, or Martin, or (pushing it) Murphy. Hell, I'd take one of the first two Beverly Hills Cops and happily argue for the comedy more than the action.
(Incidentally, my dad can't stand Eddie Murphy films - the rapidfire patter always sounds too improvised for him and that annoys him, but the one thing I remember him laughing at was when Axel Foley crashes the Playboy mansion in Part II and makes things difficult for Jurgen "Puhrgen-Schurgem-Meurgen" Prochnow, eventually announcing that the party is over and "Max fucked it up for everybody". For some reason that one line had him laughing for minutes. But I digress, as I often will if you read this regularly.)
I never quite got The Lost Boys. Though it was one of those first really major film rental titles I remember being around when VHS went mental, I never saw it until about six years ago. So I was certainly far too old to connect with it in a "I'm-a-disaffected-teen-and-you-don't-listen-to-me-world!" way. Also, I just find punks in films laughable, really, so I'd never have connected to them anyway, I feel.
As I type, the film is just starting now, with the The Don's producing credit having just faded. One thing you can't fault with the film is the often effective soundtrack - I'm a big, big fan of Tim Capello's awesome saxfest "I Still Believe" - and though the album crucially lacks the film mix of "Cry Little Sister", it's still a great listen.
Some of the performances are good. Edward Herrmann is stylish, Jami Gertz interesting, Dianne Weist sweet and Kiefer Sutherland's early intensity reminds you of how good he is, and how much time he wasted in the 90s. I'm also getting a hankering to see Flatliners, which I can't have done in more than 15 years. And of course the original founder of ENCOM, Barnard Hughes, plays a crucial part.
But man is so much else annoying. Haim and Patric are whiny and irritating throughout, the Frog Brothers are implausible - I buy vampires, I DO NOT buy them - and the style over substance becomes apparent in one of the flying POV shots halfway through the film, when the vampires are presumably flying from their cave and THE FUCKING SUN IS STILL OUT.
I'm not going to rag on the hair and clothing too much as it was what it was then, but they do increase the ridiculousness of watching it now tenfold. Right now Corey Haim is wearing something that would hang loose on Dolph Lundgren's frame. But there's also some really obvious reversed footage of the ocean in one scene, and the welter of gore flying around in the final scene is totally overdone. I also thought Jami Gertz's "child" was a girl for most of the movie until dialogue made clear my mistake - but I maintain it's needlessly ambiguous.
The end really tears it though - the famous final line, delivered by an actor doing his best. I think we're supposed to be all "Whoah, he knew the whole time". Uh-huh. SO WHY WAIT UNTIL NOW TO DO SOMETHING? How many people are dying while he bides his time? Did he never talk to anyone else about this? More to the point (heh) he waits until the moment he will have to hit a moving target with a weapon that will at best be a bugger to control with accuracy. No, sir, I say no.
Still, here's Tim Capello's saxtacular - enjoy that at least.
Tuesday 9 August 2011
Greetings, Professor
Jennifer: He wasn't very old.
David Lightman: No, he was pretty old. He was 41.
Jennifer: Oh yeah? Oh, that's old.
from WARGAMES, written by Lawrence Lasker & Walter F. Parkes.
David Lightman: No, he was pretty old. He was 41.
Jennifer: Oh yeah? Oh, that's old.
from WARGAMES, written by Lawrence Lasker & Walter F. Parkes.
Actor John Wood has passed away peacefully in his sleep, aged 81. To me, and anyone approximately in my generation, this means that the wonderful Professor Stephen Falken is no longer with us.
Wood was always an impeccable presence in films, on the stage and TV, and was acting up until the last couple of years. His gracious manner, and incredible voice (which will forever exclaim "Mmmmmmm-yesssssss, number of players zero" in my head) blessed many productions.
His first screen appearance is in the rather obscure 1952 Hammer plastic surgery melodrama Stolen Face. His was the Doctorly type even then, and his 1963 gig as a solemn explaining-why-any-pre-marital-sex-leads-to-VD GP in That Kind of Girl has recently surfaced on BFI blu-ray.
Because Hollywood loves an upper-class English bad guy (even when they're supposed to be French or Russian), he can be seen menacing the true love of part-time animals in Richard Donner's well-intentioned Ladyhawke and Whoopi Goldberg in Jumpin' Jack Flash - which I haven't seen since it was on ITV in the early 1990s. He graced high-profile, serious dramas too, like Shadowlands, The Madness of King George and Richard Loncraine's underrated McKellen action flick version of Richard III.
But it's for WarGames that I suspect he'll most fondly be remembered. Even when sunk in melancholia, his character always reassured me, and it's nice to remember a film in which the world is saved by really smart people (and a sarcastic General who actually IS right all along and isn't an unreasonable dick). And Wood actually played the film's antagonistic computer too - recording each word separately and in reverse order to give the WOPR its clinical yet searching voice.
I don't watch a lot of TV, so the last time I saw John Wood was a brief appearance as Trubshaw, tailor to Ralph Fiennes' equally impeccable John Steed in The Avengers, which everyone else in the world hates, but I'm quite fond of, not in the least because of Wood's brief scenes.
John Wood will always have a place in film history for many people, and thankfully, lived to many more years than he was supposed to have in the quote that opened this piece.
How about a nice game of chess?
Wood was always an impeccable presence in films, on the stage and TV, and was acting up until the last couple of years. His gracious manner, and incredible voice (which will forever exclaim "Mmmmmmm-yesssssss, number of players zero" in my head) blessed many productions.
His first screen appearance is in the rather obscure 1952 Hammer plastic surgery melodrama Stolen Face. His was the Doctorly type even then, and his 1963 gig as a solemn explaining-why-any-pre-marital-sex-leads-to-VD GP in That Kind of Girl has recently surfaced on BFI blu-ray.
Because Hollywood loves an upper-class English bad guy (even when they're supposed to be French or Russian), he can be seen menacing the true love of part-time animals in Richard Donner's well-intentioned Ladyhawke and Whoopi Goldberg in Jumpin' Jack Flash - which I haven't seen since it was on ITV in the early 1990s. He graced high-profile, serious dramas too, like Shadowlands, The Madness of King George and Richard Loncraine's underrated McKellen action flick version of Richard III.
But it's for WarGames that I suspect he'll most fondly be remembered. Even when sunk in melancholia, his character always reassured me, and it's nice to remember a film in which the world is saved by really smart people (and a sarcastic General who actually IS right all along and isn't an unreasonable dick). And Wood actually played the film's antagonistic computer too - recording each word separately and in reverse order to give the WOPR its clinical yet searching voice.
I don't watch a lot of TV, so the last time I saw John Wood was a brief appearance as Trubshaw, tailor to Ralph Fiennes' equally impeccable John Steed in The Avengers, which everyone else in the world hates, but I'm quite fond of, not in the least because of Wood's brief scenes.
John Wood will always have a place in film history for many people, and thankfully, lived to many more years than he was supposed to have in the quote that opened this piece.
How about a nice game of chess?
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