The Bubble Film: The Rise and Fall of John Landis and the 80s Cult Classic

Originally published (in an edited form!) on The Bubble Film, available here.

What do you think of when you think of film in the 1980s? Return of the Jedi, Raiders of the Lost Ark, Back to the Future, Top Gun? They’re all classics, of course. But the truth is that some of the most definitive and influential 80s movies didn’t bust quite as many blocks. There are, in fact, two directors without whom the 80s would not have been what they were. One was John Hughes, the late auteur of The Breakfast Club and Ferris Bueller’s Day Off among others, who perfectly summed up teenage life for a generation. The other, much less well-known today, was John Landis.

Landis might not be the most renowned compared to the Spielbergs and Burtons of Hollywood, but he comes with a pedigree of his own. After various minor jobs on films such as One Upon a Time in the West he was offered his first directing job for Universal, the supremely immature, bad taste and yet hilarious campus comedy National Lampoon’s Animal House (1978).  From there began an impressive run of Hollywood success.

The 1980s were easily the peak of Landis’ career. The Blues Brothers (1980), which he co-wrote with Dan Aykroyd, features classic soul artists including Aretha Franklin and Ray Charles in acting roles in which they perform their own hits. It’s endlessly quotable: "It's 200 miles to Chicago; we've got a full tank of gas, half a pack of cigarettes, it's night time, and we're wearing sunglasses.” “Hit it.” Part road movie, part buddy movie, part musical, it boasts a mixture of seemingly disparate elements held together by flawed but endearing characters- and Carrie Fisher trying to kill James Belushi by some of the most ridiculous means you’ve ever seen.

More than this, however, he redefined a genre with arguably his best film, comedy-horror An American Werewolf in London (1981), which boasted groundbreaking special effects- makeup impresario Rick Baker created some of his finest work in the transformation of David Naughton’s hapless tourist into a terrifying hound of hell. What often marks out Landis’ films is music: Landis’ sense of humour shines through. This particular soundtrack includes ‘Moondance’, ‘Blue Moon’, and ‘Bad Moon Rising’, which may raise a laugh with their all-too-appropriate titles but also fit perfectly in their context in the film. Gloriously bad geography aside (apparently you can pass out in the Yorkshire Dales and wake up in a London hospital), there are few films that have better exemplified the term “cult classic”. Just try to forget the fact that anyone made a sequel set in Paris: that’s frightening for all the wrong reasons.

There may have been misfires in the same period- you can probably guess from the title of Amazon Women on the Moon (1987) - but his star remained in the ascendancy with numerous more popular comedies throughout the decade. His impressive résumé as a director of adverts and TV continued to grow, American Werewolf having inspired Michael Jackson to hire him to write and direct the most famous music video ever, Thriller, in 1983. The 80s zeitgeist, however, eventually faded away, and so did Landis’ film career. The same is true of the kind of film which defined him.

Landis’ greatest films belong to that unique category of the cult classic. In this instance ‘cult’ doesn’t have to mean ‘low budget’- The Blues Brothers was the most expensive film Universal had ever made at the time- or even ‘unpopular’- though it could be argued that American Werewolf fits that profile better. It’s ultimately a title reserved for those slightly quirky, unconventional films which don’t perfectly fit into the mainstream of the industry. ‘Classic’, of course, is a matter of taste and the test of time, but I would argue that neither of these films has dated badly: they are clearly of their time, but not to an alienating extent. In fact, for modern audiences that’s part of their appeal. Many films popular at the time have since fallen into this category, such as John Hughes’ oeuvre, as times and the industry have changed.

That change has been demonstrated in the type of films being produced for the same market. Hughes’ teen comedies have been replaced with the gross-out humour of American Pie and Superbad, films which borrow more from Landis’ Animal House; but it’s hard to think of another film which occupies similar territory to The Blues Brothers and American Werewolf on the margins of the cinematic canon.

It may be this unique but limited success that Landis will hope to build on with his return to the big screen in Burke & Hare. For inspiration it takes the true story of the eponymous grave robbers in Victorian Edinburgh whose business is booming - until they start running out of fresh bodies to sell to the medical profession. Then they turn their hands to murder to meet demand. The production has been taken on by the new incarnation of Ealing Studios: its earlier form was responsible for The Ladykillers (1955) and Kind Hearts and Coronets (1949), which Landis has always claimed as major influences (and significantly, both of which are comic expositions of murderers). The tone of Burke and Hare is intended to recapture the none-more-black humour of these films which also comes through in American Werewolf: the shocking things the protagonists do are always offset by snappy dialogue and an abiding affection which wants them to get away with it.

The impressive cast list should help him perfect this affection- Burke and Hare are played by Simon Pegg and Andy Serkis respectively (Serkis stepped in after David Tennant had to pull out), who must be among the most lovable actors Britain has produced. Hardly the Anthony Hopkins school of serial killers. The interesting thing is that although the subject matter is more reminiscent of American Werewolf, the endearing, hapless double act at the plot’s core ensures that the film plays more like The Blues Brothers, with moments of genuine farce into the bargain. See, for example, a scene where they break the back of a dead body to force it into a barrel and then roll, drop and chase it down the street until it crashes into a shop window. Perhaps this hybrid’s lack of success (gross to date is less than £2 million) is proof that the appetite for new films of this nature has faded; or maybe that the public objected to Isla Fisher’s Scottish (?) accent. Still the enduring appeal of its ancestors shows that there will always be a lasting nostalgia for the great 1980s cult classic- just so long as it isn’t Amazon Women on the Moon.

The Bubble Columns: Porn and Prejudice- A Catalan Election

Originally published on The Bubble Columns, available here.

Unless you hid under a rock for the first six months of this year, you’ll know that elections can be complicated things. What always amazes me is that, largely thanks to the media, the political issues themselves usually matter less than the people who argue about them, and both are subject to copious levels of spin. In Britain this spring almost every billboard in every town featured a party leader staring down at us beside some sort of slogan explaining why they were either Satan’s lovechild or God’s gift; party political broadcasts costing more than Ireland’s current bank balance begged us not to condemn our country to the other parties’ reigns of terror; Facebook and Twitter became political weapons. Thank God, most of us said, we didn’t have TV adverts as well.

If you’ve seen any of those cringe-worthy American adverts where an ‘authoritative, genuine family man’ type talks about how his values make him different, you’ll understand just how painful that could have been with, say, Gordon Brown. But there is an alternative path for political TV advertising, and the Spanish have demonstrated that it can make you shudder for entirely different reasons. According to a new advert by the Young Socialists for the regional elections in Catalonia, “Voting is a pleasure”: so much so that the young voter actually has an orgasm.

You’d never see that in the middle of Emmerdale, now, would you?

Responses have, predictably, varied. Alicia Sanchez-Camacho, candidate for the conservative Popular Party of Catalonia, called it an “attack on the dignity of women”. Even within the Socialist Party of Catalonia, opinion is divided: health minister Leire Pajin called for responsibility and respect for women from all political parties, while the leader Jose Montilla (who is standing for re-election) supported the ad claiming that “if it encourages people to vote, it’s a good thing”. Honourable mentions must go to Socialist equality minister Bibiana Aido, whose biggest concern was not the ad’s potential sexism or suggestive content, but deception: “If it was true, electoral participation would go up greatly, but I think we are dealing with a misleading advert.” Still, the best response by a country mile came from Joan Herrera, leader of the Green coalition in Catalonia, who admitted it would be “very difficult to reach orgasm voting for any of the candidates, myself included”. Honesty is the best policy, I suppose.

I don’t think I need to explain why this is my favourite news story of the week. But the best thing about this advert is that it isn’t the only controversy of this election. Sanchez-Camacho, who was so critical of the ad, is probably glad the electorate have someone else to focus on: a videogame which depicted her flying on the back of a seagull and bombing immigrants as recently removed from her party’s website. Yes, you did read that correctly. The game was removed after a few hours amid party claims that the developers had made a mistake – the bombs were apparently meant to fall on the gangs who traffic the immigrants into Spain – but only after the website had crashed due to overwhelming popularity (and you thought Call of Duty was serious). On the same day another candidate, Montse Nebrera, appeared in only a towel at the end of an ad which seems close to soft porn; before that the Catalan Solidarity for Independence Party recruited a porn star to appear at their rallies. It’s starting to look like the candidates are in a race to get their whole campaigns banned for offensive content.

I’m the first person to advocate increasing political participation. My thoughts have always been that apathy is so serious in so many countries, including Britain, with young and minority demographics presenting the lowest electoral turnouts, that it makes sense to use every available medium to engage them in public affairs – but I meant Facebook and education, not porn and prejudice. Catalonia’s election campaigns are symptomatic of a failure becoming endemic in Western societies: something is going very wrong when people are so disinterested in political affairs that officials have to use sex and xenophobic shoot-em-ups to lure them in, or, when officials think they need to use them because they don’t think people will respond to anything else. If it’s the former, we need to ask ourselves why we’re not more interested in our rights, but politicians should also think about why people care so little; someone, after all, is to blame for our disillusionment with politics. If it’s the second option which is true and the officials are right, that’s a damning indictment. If they’re wrong, people who misunderstand their voters to that extent shouldn’t be representing them.

Above all, I just don’t see how it will work. If parties and activists want to encourage people to vote, they need to do it by making them aware of issues and how they will affect people’s everyday lives, so that they can form opinions and act on them. Otherwise, no amount of misleading sexual advertising or look-at-us-we’re-down-with-the-kids-homie games will fill the apathetic void at the heart of most modern democracies.

The Bubble Columns: The Renault Zoe and the Zoe Renaults

Originally published in The Bubble Columns, available online here.

There’s a classic series of books called The Hitchiker’s Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams in which one of the major characters, a visiting alien, had “skimped a bit on his preparatory research” and chosen what he believed would be a nice, inconspicuous name. Ford Prefect only realised after choosing this name that it was actually one of the most popular cars in Britain. As Adams joked in later interviews, he’d “simply mistaken the dominant life form”.

That’s all very well if you’re from a small planet somewhere in the vicinity of Betelgeuse, but for we terrestrial beings it may not always be so funny. At least that’s the claim of the lawyers in a recent court case in France, where the parents of two girls called Zoe Renault have just lost a legal challenge to prevent Renault from naming a new electric car… yep, you guessed it.

The two families have argued that their daughters – and to an extent all women with the same name – could be subject to a lifetime of mockery for sharing the name of a car, beginning with playground teasing and developing into comments in bars along the lines of “Can I see your airbags?” and “Can I shine your bumper?” (at which point, I hope, there were repressed giggles around the courtroom). David Koubbi, representing the families, told the Associated Press that “There’s a line between living things and inanimate objects” which is defined by the first name: the simple message for Renault was “first names are for humans”.

It’s a message, however, which has fallen on deaf ears. The all-electric Zoe ZE (Zero Emission), expected to be launched in 2012, was apparently named for the original Greek, meaning “life”, to emphasize the car’s environmental credentials. In his ruling, the judge accepted that for this reason, the word was simply a common noun, rather than a name; he also saw no evidence that it would cause the girls “certain, direct and current harm”. Koubbi claims that this logic is perverse, and the families intend to appeal the ruling as soon as possible.

The same lawyer is representing other Zoes across France attempting to challenge the name, claiming that it impinges their rights. A 23-year-old Zoe Renault told Le Parisien earlier this year that she couldn’t bear to be associated with the car for the rest of her life and hear such sarcastic remarks as “Zoe’s broken down again” or “we need to get Zoe overhauled”.  The question is: are all these Zoes being overly sensitive?

Names are a part of our identity. They’re one of the ways that we separate ourselves from everyone else, and central to our sense of self. The connotations of our names will follow us around too, especially if they include a level of irony or humour. I, for example, am from Yorkshire, and my surname is also a cake, traditionally associated with said motherland and eaten on bonfire night. A cake I can’t stand, which is apparently mildly amusing to a few people. Zoe Renault is considerably more obvious, and after a while the mockery would conceivably begin to be irksome.

In addition, France as a nation takes names very seriously – until not so long ago parents were legally required to choose from a list of agreed, acceptable children’s names (probably to preserve the French nomenclature from the evil influence of Anglo-Saxon). This is no longer the case, but officials can argue against parental choices if they feel it may result in the child’s harm or ridicule: perhaps one day Zoe Renault could become one such name.

Still, perhaps the time, effort, expense and above all , the added publicity involved in a legal challenge just isn’t worth it. Parents attempting to protect their children are one thing, but the adult Zoes? In announcing to the whole world that you’re so sensitive to mockery that you would go to court to prevent any potential for it, you leave yourself open to so many people who enjoy poking fun at people just to get a reaction. Anyway, as a reason to tease someone, isn’t “the one who didn’t want a car named after them” just as bad as “the one with the car named after them”?

Naming machinery, be it cars, ships, or Eddie Stobart lorries after women is nothing new. Now, whilst I would have the deepest sympathy for a little girl called Titanic, at least Zoe Renaults across France won’t have to listen to jibes about their carbon emissions. Their electric personalities, however, may still be fair game.

Palatinate Features: Is Staying Sober Social Suicide?

Originally published in Palatinate 722 Features, 9th November 2010.

Whenever I’m on a night out in Durham, one event occurs with clockwork regularity. It’s somewhere between 1.30 and 1.45 am that one of my friends, normally in a rather slurred and slightly incomprehensible manner, is guaranteed to declare, “I’m so impressed that you’re sober!”

According to one survey, on average one third of Europeans and 4 out of 10 Americans are teetotal, including numerous celebrities including Ewan McGregor and Leona Lewis. These statistics may seem surprisingly high, but maybe that’s because drinking has become so much a part of our culture that we assume everybody partakes, at least occasionally- indeed, many of the most well-known abstainers from alcohol are recovering addicts, like Samuel L. Jackson. As a result it can be surprisingly difficult to convince people that you’re one of the few who choose a life of sobriety.

It’s all too common, upon telling friends that you are teetotal, to be met with either scepticism or shock. The expectations about the drinking habits of students never go away, and chances are at least one person will accuse you of lying, while others will ask you how you could possibly have enjoyed a Monday night in Studio without any “liquid courage”. Some people’s attitudes might be harder to swallow- at least one of my friends has announced that his only goal before graduation is to get me drunk, while on one occasion I bought a cranberry juice which arrived containing vodka, because the bar staff assumed I’d forgotten to ask for it. Still, the vast majority are perfectly accepting after their initial surprise.

So how does a teetotaller perceive drinkers? To an extent that depends on their reasons to choose to do the opposite. Personally, I have no problem with other people choosing to drink- I frequently have nights out with friends at varying stages of inebriation, and have rarely had what could be considered a “bad” night. Though people frequently ask whether drunk people annoy me, most of the time the answer is ‘no’- but that tends to be when they are the enjoyable type of drunk who doesn’t hinder a fun night.

More difficult to deal with are those who for one reason or another make life harder. The teetotaller in a group often ends up responsible for taking care of all of those who become overly emotional, ill or incapable of supporting their own weight. After a while, putting people to bed, holding back their hair or holding them up on the walk home- being de facto nanny- can be somewhat irksome.  That might be a position that can be resigned if it isn’t wanted, but sometimes it can be unfairly expected.

On the whole, a teetotaller’s social life doesn’t have to be any different to those of their alcohol-drinking counterparts. In fact, it can have its advantages- they can go out and have a great night like anybody else. The next morning there will be fatigue, but no hangover. They will remember everything that happened, potentially relishing the opportunity to remind everybody else. Significantly, usually they will have spent less money (I have had great nights out costing less than £5), which they may even spend on going out more often. Should they encounter problems, it’s usually more to do with attitudes towards alcohol itself.

Probably the biggest problem for some, especially those who have never been drinkers, is the difficulty of understanding the culture that has sprung up around alcohol. It can be baffling when people say that they need to be wasted to have a good time in a club, or talk about things they’ve done under the influence as though they were badges of honour. Equally perplexing are the suggestions that stumbling around in the street is somehow fun, or that hangovers are worth it.

This is a question which can never really be resolved without that experience; even most of the drinkers I’ve asked have not been able to answer it themselves. But I think it’s enough, whether you understand or agree or not, to accept drinking as another lifestyle choice, just like teetotalism or anything else, to be respected unless it begins to impinge on the rights of others.

Every non-drinker has their own reasons for this choice, from religion to health to the fact that it tastes bad. Whatever they may be, the resulting sobriety is not something that separates them from people who enjoy alcohol. Studio, Loveshack, and the rest are all perfectly enjoyable sober, so long as you’re in good company and inclined to appreciate the cheesy joys they usually offer. An alcohol-free existence, based on my experience, certainly doesn’t mean a boring one.

The Bubble Columns: Giving It Large

Originally published in The Bubble Columns, available here.

What would you do if you won the lottery? We’ve all been asked that question before, and we’ve probably all given the usual answers: a luxury yacht, a mansion, a sports car, bribing a socialite to be seen with us in public. There are the more realistic answers too; paying off debt, taking care of family, bribing Dale Winton to never present a lottery game show again. I’m pretty sure mine would be a combination: pay off the parents’ mortgage, buy an Aston Martin, and spend a vast sum on a library full of poetry (I’m that cool). Most of us would probably give some to charity as well- but how much?  10%? 20%? 50%?

How about 98%?

That’s exactly what the stars of this week’s column have done. Allen and Violet Large, a retired elderly couple from Nova Scotia in Canada, won $11,255,272 (about £7 million) on the lottery earlier this year. After taking care of their family, they chose to keep around £130,000 for a rainy day, and donated the rest to a combination of cemeteries, fire departments, churches, the Red Cross, the Salvation Army, hospitals where cancer-sufferer Violet has had treatment and more.

The Larges insist that they already have enough for their needs having saved up all of their working lives towards their retirement, and had found their new-found fortune “a big headache”. Given Violet’s condition at the time, they were also concerned that they may be taken advantage of (she has since completed chemotherapy), and therefore agreed to give the majority away. Ultimately, says Allen, “That money we won was nothing. We have each other”.

In a world where we’re more used to stories of greed and consumerism than kindness and charity, this was the piece of news that made my week. Once they’d taken care of the needs of themselves and their loved ones, the Larges had no use for the rest of the money, so they made sure it went to good causes that did. I think for most people, it’s hard to imagine being prepared to do the same.

Or at least that was the impression I got from reading other people’s responses to the story. Looking at the comments on a couple of news websites I couldn’t believe what I was reading.  Many responses are full of admiration for the Larges’ largesse (a pun I had to use somewhere). Still, there are large numbers of objections, including people asking why you’d play the lottery if you didn’t want the money (one called them “idiots” for this); the other key criticism is that they are denying their family a huge inheritance which would enable them to live what one response termed “the life of Riley”. Another comment claimed that the writer would hate their parents for doing what the couple have done. Others have said that, since the amount donated to each organisation is undisclosed, the Larges may well have given nearly all of it to their family and barely given any to charity (which I’m not convinced would be so terrible a crime).

It’s that kind of cynicism that threatens to overshadow a story like this, and I find it really sad that some people would feel that way. Nevertheless, for every negative response, there seems to be at least one further positive. From my point of view, those who speak about Allen and Violet’s decision as inspirational and enough to restore their faith in humanity are much closer to the mark. My favourite response to this story also came from the same websites.

“I just had to know what kind of crazy lunatic would just give away $11.2 Million Dollars. Apparently the crazy lunatics are a wonderful old couple who are clearly already rich beyond measure”.

The Bubble Columns: Compare the Ghost Writers?

Originally published in The Bubble Columns, available here.

In the run up to Christmas last year I wrote an article for another publication about the avalanche (it was snowing at the time) of celebrity autobiographies filling the shelves of our bookshops. In it I argued that although it’s a genre of shameless profiteering and very little originality, the usually humorous and often inspirational stories of people like Dawn French and Jo Brand were popular because they left a smile on our faces. In a climate of economic gloom, depressing weather and endless Katie Price documentaries, I said, who doesn’t need a little cheering up?

Well, the best piece of news I’ve heard this week completely reinforced that belief. Tony Blair and the aforementioned talentless wonder Price may both have seen their new tomes in high demand, but one autobiography is expected to outsell them. It’s exceeded them so far on pre-sales orders alone by 165%. This autobiography, by one of the most well-known faces in the British media, is on track to be a bestseller. And he makes it look so… simples.

He’s Alexsandr Orlov, owner of long-running family business Compare the Meerkat.

A Simples Life: The Life and Times of Aleksandr Orlov looks set to be a contender for bestselling autobiography of the year, achieving more than double the pre-orders received by Amazon.co.uk for Cheryl Cole’s, Dannii Minogue’s or Russell Brand’s latest (ghost?) writings. The renowned entrepreneur has amazed everyone with his popularity, which has increased exponentially since his huge media campaign informing people looking to compare car insurance that his was not the site they were looking for.  Fiercely proud of his heritage, Aleksandr and his head of IT, Sergei, have documented the struggles of generations of Orlovs, including the dark times – including the devastating war against the mongooses – in their adverts and become national treasures in the process, despite their Russian background.

But the media frenzy doesn’t end with a bestselling book. For two days only, to coincide with the book launch, Orlov will be opening Comparethemeerkat.shop in London’s Regent Street, where devoted fans can see artifacts and portraits from the family home, although he himself cannot be there due to a speaking engagement at “Moscow’s Velvety Dress and Dinner Time Etiquette convention”.

Naturally, he is delighted with his success. Speaking to Sky News Online last week, Orlov claimed “My story of struggles, successes and Sergei is the greatest, most thrillsy book ever written by a meerkat in the bath. With this book, I am hope to inspire the next generation of young businesskats. And with royalties I am hope to re-marble roof on Orlov family mansion. Please enjoyment.”

…Okay, so it’s a cheesy and shameless marketing ploy, but it’s also brilliant. A fictional character, invented by an advertising company to sell a price comparison website, has become an industry. There are cuddly meerkats being sold in shops across the country. Most people can quote at least one line from at least one advert (“Quiet – it’s just a fur wound!”), and Comparethemeerkat.com itself must now surely be more popular than its counterpart. As marketing campaigns go, this is an object lesson in success – I’m half expecting Aleksandr to announce his intention to stand for Parliament at the next election, and I think he’d do pretty well (he couldn’t be any worse, could he?).

If any were needed, here’s proof of the power of mass media. What began as an entertaining gimmick has, through multi-platform marketing, entered all of our homes and above all, our minds, to the point where people will actually travel to the capital to see a fictional meerkat’s possessions and pay to read his life story. It’s worrying to think what that influence could do in the wrong hands: as old as culture itself is the argument that it shapes individuals, and through them, society, for better or worse. But society also determines the kind of cultural artefacts which are produced – in mass culture, only those things which will sell will be made. Advertising executives supplied a celebrity because it fitted the demand of our star-obsessed society, and now that we’re demanding more and more of Aleksandr, who can blame them for feeding it to us?

At least, though, this time they did it well. I can’t help but think that this humble meerkat from Meerkovo, near Moscow, has more interesting and useful things to say than the vast majority of today’s tabloid-fodder “stars” who have never had to take a second job comparing muskrats in Muscovite alleyways by night. Good on you, Mr Orlov. Now, who’s coming to London with me?