Matt Shea
RubySoho
Morgan Bell
Cibbuano
David O'Connell
Mountain Fog
Absolute Beginners
February 26th 2010 06:14
by Matt Shea
Panned by critics of the time, 1986’s infamous musical, Absolute Beginners, went on to be regarded as one of the great failures of the decade, criticised for simply being a glitzy, overlong pop promo.
While the sentiment is understandable, it’s also a touch unfair. Full of energy and campy humour, Absolute Beginners is also thematically strong and possessed of a delightfully vivid ambience. Still, flaws in characterisation and a limp collection of musical numbers hamper this from ever being an enthralling experience, the picture instead best viewed as a curio of flash 80s filmmaking.
Set around the burgeoning art scene of late 1950s London, Colin (Eddie O’Connell) is a brazen photographer with his finger on the pulse of the sometimes dangerous, always outrageous Soho streets. Colin makes a meagre living out of his art and when his beautiful aspiring fashion designer girlfriend Crepe Suzette, (Patsy Kensit) tires of their lower class life, he finds it hard to hold her affection.
Soon the older, richer Henley of Mayfair (James Fox, stiffening his lip as only he can do) has swept Crepe Suzette off her feet, leaving Colin devastated but determined to win her back any way he can, even if it means selling himself out and teaming up with scheming advertising executive, Vendice Partners (David Bowie).
One of the major problems with Absolute Beginners is perhaps already obvious: Crepe Suzette is about as unsympathetic as they come and one of the more disappointing female characters to grace the silver screen; it’s never really understandable why Colin would pursue this vacuous gold digger. Unfortunately, Colin isn’t much better. The almost forgotten Eddie O’Connell is actually quite a charismatic presence, but his performance is flattened by the paper-thin designs of his character.
Compunding matters is the fact that Colin and Crepe Suzette are tied to a ramshackle plot that careens all over the place. There’s a nice subtext about the racial tensions of the time that explodes to the forefront of proceedings in the film’s second half, but it’s not tied to the central plot very convincingly.
All this might be forgivable if the music was up to the task, but it’s not.
With one or two notable exceptions – including the engaging title track – Absolute Beginners is a shaggy dog when it comes to musical numbers. Contributors such as Sade and The Style Council turn in smack-jacking songs that not only bore the audience but also stamp the film as being distinctly of the 1980s. Not even Ray Davies can help right the ship, The Kinks frontman sleepwalking through his early number.
Yet despite this catalogue of faults, Absolute Beginners has a few compensations that make it worth a look for those with an appetite for cult curios.
Oliver Stapleton’s photography is something else, consisting of sweeping cranes and a clever use of lenses to help push across the film’s otherworldly feel. It’s best exemplified by an opening sequence often compared to Touch of Evil and The Player for its skill and precision. In these moments, director Julien Temple also deserves credit for expertly handling the ambitious setups and throngs of bit players and extras.
Dominating everything, however, is John Beard’s production design. It’s frequently over-the-top and heading towards the lurid but forever stimulating, helping push the film through its more tiresome segments. Absolute Beginners is also in possession of some fine subtext, its comments on racial tension and in particular the exploitation of teenage culture by older generations ringing true in modern times.
Not really the shocker it’s frequently touted to be, Absolute Beginners was simply an ambitious exercise that failed to realise its goals. The filmmakers fell into the common trap of figuring that musicals are in little need of character, before throwing at the audience some of the most uninspiring songs in cinema history. Still, you’d be hard-pressed to find a film that better busies the visual cortex.
I say: A musical that dabbles in the twin sins of poor character and ordinary tunes.
See it for: Bruce ‘Checkmate’ Payne as a ruthless, slick-haired bovver boy.
'Absolute Beginners' is now available on DVD from Umbrella Entertainment
Take a look at a sequence from the film below:
Panned by critics of the time, 1986’s infamous musical, Absolute Beginners, went on to be regarded as one of the great failures of the decade, criticised for simply being a glitzy, overlong pop promo.
While the sentiment is understandable, it’s also a touch unfair. Full of energy and campy humour, Absolute Beginners is also thematically strong and possessed of a delightfully vivid ambience. Still, flaws in characterisation and a limp collection of musical numbers hamper this from ever being an enthralling experience, the picture instead best viewed as a curio of flash 80s filmmaking.
Set around the burgeoning art scene of late 1950s London, Colin (Eddie O’Connell) is a brazen photographer with his finger on the pulse of the sometimes dangerous, always outrageous Soho streets. Colin makes a meagre living out of his art and when his beautiful aspiring fashion designer girlfriend Crepe Suzette, (Patsy Kensit) tires of their lower class life, he finds it hard to hold her affection.
Soon the older, richer Henley of Mayfair (James Fox, stiffening his lip as only he can do) has swept Crepe Suzette off her feet, leaving Colin devastated but determined to win her back any way he can, even if it means selling himself out and teaming up with scheming advertising executive, Vendice Partners (David Bowie).
One of the major problems with Absolute Beginners is perhaps already obvious: Crepe Suzette is about as unsympathetic as they come and one of the more disappointing female characters to grace the silver screen; it’s never really understandable why Colin would pursue this vacuous gold digger. Unfortunately, Colin isn’t much better. The almost forgotten Eddie O’Connell is actually quite a charismatic presence, but his performance is flattened by the paper-thin designs of his character.
Compunding matters is the fact that Colin and Crepe Suzette are tied to a ramshackle plot that careens all over the place. There’s a nice subtext about the racial tensions of the time that explodes to the forefront of proceedings in the film’s second half, but it’s not tied to the central plot very convincingly.
All this might be forgivable if the music was up to the task, but it’s not.
With one or two notable exceptions – including the engaging title track – Absolute Beginners is a shaggy dog when it comes to musical numbers. Contributors such as Sade and The Style Council turn in smack-jacking songs that not only bore the audience but also stamp the film as being distinctly of the 1980s. Not even Ray Davies can help right the ship, The Kinks frontman sleepwalking through his early number.
Yet despite this catalogue of faults, Absolute Beginners has a few compensations that make it worth a look for those with an appetite for cult curios.
Oliver Stapleton’s photography is something else, consisting of sweeping cranes and a clever use of lenses to help push across the film’s otherworldly feel. It’s best exemplified by an opening sequence often compared to Touch of Evil and The Player for its skill and precision. In these moments, director Julien Temple also deserves credit for expertly handling the ambitious setups and throngs of bit players and extras.
Dominating everything, however, is John Beard’s production design. It’s frequently over-the-top and heading towards the lurid but forever stimulating, helping push the film through its more tiresome segments. Absolute Beginners is also in possession of some fine subtext, its comments on racial tension and in particular the exploitation of teenage culture by older generations ringing true in modern times.
Not really the shocker it’s frequently touted to be, Absolute Beginners was simply an ambitious exercise that failed to realise its goals. The filmmakers fell into the common trap of figuring that musicals are in little need of character, before throwing at the audience some of the most uninspiring songs in cinema history. Still, you’d be hard-pressed to find a film that better busies the visual cortex.
I say: A musical that dabbles in the twin sins of poor character and ordinary tunes.
See it for: Bruce ‘Checkmate’ Payne as a ruthless, slick-haired bovver boy.
'Absolute Beginners' is now available on DVD from Umbrella Entertainment
Take a look at a sequence from the film below:
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