Okay, so it’s a couple of months since I first posted about V for Vendetta. Well it got its NL release yesterday and my review published in the Amsterdam Weekly, so being a cheeky bugger, here it is. In fact, this version is bigger and better. When it came to the printed version a whole 350 words were chopped at the last minute to make way for ads. That’s life sometimes. Anyway, I didn’t change my mind from my earlier post. I still like it…

Is it the kiss of death for a film when the man behind the story’s inception turns his back on it? Well, clearly not if you throw enough money at it, cast big name stars like Natalie Portman, Hugo Weaving and John Hurt, and hire the men behind The Matrix to bring it to fruition.

This is the case with V for Vendetta, a politically inspired action-adventure based on a comic series, and later, a graphic novel. Begun in 1981 by Alan Moore and illustrated by David Lloyd, it drew upon the conservative political climate of the era, imagining a futuristic post-nuclear Britain of 1997. The country is being trampled by a totalitarian government with much of the developed world being wiped out in war, and our hero V is its unlikely saviour. He hides behind a Guy Fawkes mask, boasts no special powers–other than the lyrical prowess of a Shakespearean actor and a dark desire to avenge those who have wronged him in the past–and has the will to inspire a civil uprising against the country’s leaders.

Moore finally completed the work in 1988, and it has come to be regarded as one of the finest examples of graphic novels in existence, filled with sharp dialogue, elaborate artwork and powerful themes about freedom, the value of art, loss, revenge and fascist control.

Understandably, however, in the process of readying the movie for filmgoers, scriptwriters Larry and Andy Wachowski–directors of The Matrix trilogy–have modernised the story, throwing it further into the future, to 2020, and replacing the fears of then with the prime Western concern of the present: terrorism.

Yet Moore is none too happy with what the brothers have done to his masterpiece. In fact, he isn’t happy about how Hollywood has treated any of his works although, with the adaptations of From Hell (2001) and The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen (2003), you can see his point. But it should be remembered that Moore is a self-confessed perfectionist and control freak with a specific vision: anything which doesn’t match that view is typically met with discontent, so take his complaints with a pinch of salt.

This cinematic rendition of V for Vendetta is actually a whole lot of fun and encapsulates the spirit of the original. It maintains a healthy dose of grit and grime, right down to the unsightly grey English complexions and rotting teeth, and frames its stark images in a convincing comic book style.

Dealing with a verbose script, Hugo Weaving (The Matrix, Lord of the Rings) has the unusual task of performing the lead role from behind a mask, meaning it’s essentially a voice-over part. He carries it off, though, handling the rapid-fire alliteration with ease, and selling the culture-loving personality of V. And let’s be honest, the prospect of Natalie Portman (Garden State, Closer) performing for two hours in an English accent is enough to unsettle the strongest stomach, but even she, as Evey, V’s unknowing pupil, manages an accomplished turn. Perhaps too much attention is lavished upon the scene of her weeping while having her hair shaved off–we’ve all had bad haircuts.

Thankfully there is much more subtlety and clarity here than can be found in the last two Matrix movies, and while there are some very neat action sequences scattered throughout–though primarily punctuating the spectacular beginning and end–the in between plots are strong enough to satisfy when the focus falls upon speech.

There’s the impressive supporting cast, too. John Hurt, the antithesis of his Winston Smith role in 1984, stars as Supreme Chancellor Adam Sutler. This self-styled leader of the government appears on massive TV screens throughout the Orwellian dystopia. Stephen Rea plays the detective Finch, the man put in charge of stopping V, who stumbles upon a horrific cover-up in the process. Meanwhile, Stephen Fry is given the electric task of almost playing himself in the form of an intelligent, culture-hungry, secretly gay TV host, who provides some of the best comedy, particularly through a mock Benny Hill sequence which satirises Sutler.

Of course there are always angles to attack the story, and the easiest is to question how acts of terrorism like blowing up London’s Old Bailey and the Houses of Parliament–symbolic as they are–could dent a government which laid its foundations by spreading fear and lies. But this isn’t Syriana, offering only bleak truths. It’s just a piece of lively fantasy fiction–albeit one with a bit of edge, for a pleasant change–and it’s allowed to sell some hope in anarchy.

Think positive: as well as being an entertaining movie with a breathtakingly visual pay-off in its finale, it has the power to spark thought and encourage debate–how many comic heroes have managed that? And for those still worried about Moore’s great work being tarnished by yet another glossy adaptation, V for Vendetta is sure to turn a whole new generation towards his printed work, where they can be digested and judged as originally intended. Isn’t that the happy ending that it deserves?

I see that Murderball is on BBC4 tonight (which I have via my UPC digital tv, when either the cable box is working, they remember to switch on the BBC4 signal, and when my tv is actually working - so the odds aren’t actually that high). Not sure why it’s happening so fast. It only got a Dutch cinema release back in December or January. Anyway, it’s an interesting documentary and it reminded me to publish the review I wrote for Amsterdam Weekly back when it came out. I recommend checking it out the film, if not on tv tonight, then on DVD…

Up to now, the sport of quadriplegic wheelchair rugby has never been much of a headline grabber. It’s never in the scrum for television airtime and is unlikely to fill huge arenas, but judging by the action and characters of Murderball, maybe it should. Initial scenes of high speed clashes, metal on metal and customised chariot-style wheelchairs being flipped over on impact are simply captivating, as well as brutal, viewing. However, the scenes of sporting carnage are only a small fragment of what this 2005 Sundance Film Festival award-winning (Documentary Audience Award and a Special Jury Prize for Editing) documentary is about.

Following the players of the USA ‘murderball’ team at wheelchair eyelevel for a period of two years, events kick off at the 2002 World Championships in Sweden and carry through to the 2004 Paralympics in Athens, by way of three sporting acts, each focused on the burning rivalry between the American and Canadian teams. But in between the action–which isn’t as dominant as you’d gather from just watching the trailer–we’re given a very personal insight into the lives of the US players.

All the players are quadriplegic and have been left with varying degrees of movement, either from serious accidents or illness. Their scars and deformities are often vividly on display, as are their histories–how they ended up in wheelchairs, adapted to a new lifestyle, sought love and sex, and how quad rugby has reinstated dignity and purpose to their lives. It’s this that drives the film more than the sporting competition.

The primary American protagonist is Mark Zupan. The film opens in silence as we watch him battling to change into his training gear. It’s a simple action that most of us take for granted, but the scene isn’t there to gain pity or show how tough it can be without four working limbs.

Rather, it places Zupan’s need for independence right on the front line, and also marks him out as one tough bastard. He looks the part too, tattooed, with a buzz-cut and heavy metal goatee. His friends are quick to point out that he was just as bitter and twisted before the accident which broke his neck–as a teenager, he fell asleep in the back of his friend’s pick-up after a night out (the drunken driver was completely unaware of this), and was thrown from the truck after it spun off the road. Landing in a ditch, he saved himself by hanging from a branch for thirteen-and-a-half hours.

For the purposes of the documentary, Canada coach Joe Soares is portrayed as Zupan and his team’s arch-enemy. A former American quad rugby hero, he won every trophy going and he remains fiercely competitive: when he was finally dropped for being too old and slow, he attempted to sue the team selectors. After that fell through, in an act of ultimate defiance, Soares defected and headed north to coach the Canadians.

Screaming at the top of his lungs until it seems his head will explode, his passion for winning is at once both comic and terrifying. He must beat the Americans at all costs, and after he has a heart attack, he almost gets his wish. But as he recovers, the film offers a moving subplot, as you experience the bond growing between him and his young son Robert, who, unlike his dad, prefers playing the viola to sport.

The inclusion of Keith Cavill, a motorbike fanatic injured in a riding accident, is another reward. Whereas Team USA players have mainly adjusted to their situations, we are introduced to Cavill and his family as he struggles to come to terms with all he could lose in the first year of his rehabilitation. After a meeting with Zupan and a try-out in his specialist ‘murderball’ chair, you nevertheless see the glint return to his eye and the potential birth of a new quad rugby player.

Filmmakers Henry Alex Rubin and Dana Adam Shapiro and the players all maintain that Murderball is no feel-good hit. It isn’t seeking pity or even attempting to inspire others with any kind of sentimentality: to them, quad rugby is just reality. But the documentary can’t help itself; to the casual viewer, it doesn’t matter if USA achieve gold in Athens or not, but when you see the daily struggle the players undergo, the achievements they’ve made, and the effects the sport has on those coming to terms with a life-changing disability, you’ll do well not to leave the cinema both moved and inspired. By the time the Paralympics kick off in Beijing in 2008, there’ll be plenty more cameras pointing their way.

The rest of the world has probably already seen this film, but it only kicks off its NL release tonight, seemingly only in the one cinema (Kriterion) in Amsterdam. But I did some poshified writing about it for the Amsterdam Weekly anyway, so here are the edited results if you’re still interested…

Heard the one about the man who walks into a talent agency? He says, ‘I’ve got an amazing family act for you.’ In his description of the fantabulous show he unleashes every swear word you’ve ever heard, and describes acts that trample on every taboo, shattering your already fragile morals. The agent looks horrified, but he can’t help asking the name of the act.

With a showbiz flourish, the man replies, ‘The Aristocrats!’

Cut down to its basic ingredients, it has to be one of the worst jokes ever: there are knock-knock and chicken jokes with sharper twists. So, could this one joke be worth a 90-minute movie?

Well, that would be missing the point a bit. You see The Aristocrats is a mainstay in the comedy world. It’s an in-joke, passed from comedian to comedian since vaudeville days, and it’s usually only performed by comedians for comedians because it’s so rude it would close down television networks and make paying audiences walk out. Yet when it’s told correctly, it will have you laughing out loud.

This documentary, directed by comedians Paul Provenza and Penn Jillette, attempts to explore the history and science of the joke’s performance, and tries to unlock the secrets of its success.

Promising 100 retellings by world famous–although primarily American–comics, it’s hard not to expect something special–especially given the kafuffle that’s preceded its release around the world, so far. Unfortunately, the film itself almost blows it right off the starting blocks. Immediately bombarding viewers with machine-gun swearing, vulgarity, bestiality, incest and paedophilia makes the statement that talking dirty just for the sake of it can be–but isn’t necessarily–funny. And in these days of desensitisation anyway, the things that should be shocking no longer are.

The editing makes things worse, leaving you feeling dizzy and nauseous with its rapid cuts. We see comedians finishing each other’s sentences and natural pauses removed. The introduction–which dives straight into the mystique and structure of the joke–is underwhelming; even a key opening recital by comedy legend George Carlin can only manage small laughs. At least his personal insights prove more entertaining.

Filmed on low-tech handheld cameras backstage at gigs, in restaurants, on streets, beaches and even in a public toilet, there’s absolutely no respite as comedians come and go. Some like Carlin, Robin Williams and Paul Reiser are revisited throughout the duration of the film, offering new insights, although each treading a lot of the same ground, while others vanish in a flash, managing only a basic recital of their favourite swear words.

But the film does improve. Like the joke itself, which requires momentum to build and build, The Aristocrats gets to a point where constant clock-watching becomes unnecessary, when the vulgarities drop, making way for some genuinely funny, bolder and more imaginative interpretations.

There are stand-out moments: Billy the Mime’s twisted pornographic comedy in front of an unsuspecting audience of passers-by; Eric Meade recreating the entire story in the form of a hilarious card trick; Penn & Teller adding their usual form of chaotic magic; Sarah Silverman turning the joke on its head to play the role of the daughter in the family act and South Park’s creators providing a naive animated version by Cartman.

Among all this, the editorial staff of The Onion debate the best techniques for modernising the joke and maintaining its shock value, while loudmouth Jewish comic Gilbert Gottfried demonstrates the difference environment can make. Sitting alone in a boardroom shouting, his style is nothing short of painful. Stuck onstage in front of a prickly New York audience just weeks after the September 11 attack, he uses the joke as an offensive defence, while his fellow comics roll around on the floor in hysterics and it becomes easier to comprehend the joke’s full power.

By the end, it’s hard not to come away thinking you should have laughed more, especially after enduring almost 10 minutes of credits accompanied by shots of each comedian breaking down in laughter. It’s worth remembering, though, that this is a documentary, not a scripted laugh-a-minute farce.

While there is a recurring thought that it’s a bad idea to tear apart and analyse a single joke for an hour-and-a-half, if The Aristocrats has one genuinely-worthwhile trait, that’s being able to look into the eyes of comics, delving into their mental processes as they improvise as fast as their tongue can wrap around the words. Only a select few in the film show the ability to be true masters of comedy. They serve an ultimate reminder to the rest of the bunch–words on their own aren’t funny, but layer them correctly and anything is possible.

Yesterday I was in Amsterdam to watch V for Vendetta (out in NL on March 30). I must confess, I didn’t know a massive amount about the story in advance and hadn’t read the graphic novel by Alan Moore that it was based on. So during the opening scenes, I wasn’t sure if it was going to be either really, really bad or really, really good.

And the thing is, I thought it was great fun. I will eventually have to articulate things properly for the newspaper, although that won’t be published until the release date, so by the time I’ve witnessed the rest of the world tearing it to shreds, I will of course be a complete turncoat and join in (joking). But I liked it and will happily go see it again when it comes out.

From the trailer, I was really suspicious of Natalie Portman, especially with an English accent, but even she couldn’t ruin it. The screenplay by the Wachowski Brothers is impressively verbal and fairly tight, and having had a peak at the comic last night, seemed to do it justice, updating the ideas to play up to modern fears. For an action film it was also fairly subtle and intelligent. Not forgetting that it’s an action film starring Stephen Fry(!), almost playing himself, and eventually taking part in a very funny Benny Hill sequence.

I don’t want to give too much else away right now, but yes, good fun.