RANKING THE JAMES BOND MOVIES

25) Quantum of Solace (2008)

It’s interesting to ruminate on the fact that when I first saw this in theatres, it was nowhere near the bottom of my list but with each and every subsequent viewing my opinions and outlook on this film get worse and worse to the point where I find it just unwatchable. The score by David Arnold is great and – unlike another Craig movie we’ll get to very, very soon – there are some decent action scenes but these cannot salvage a film that’s kneecapped by choppy editing and asinine and highfalutin attempts to be something more than good thrillers.

24) Die Another Day (2002)

Yeah, does anyone like this? Die Another Day is one of those movies which I’ve seen more times than I care to admit, and yet, regardless of how often I watch it in its entirety, it never fails to astonish me just how poor this film is. For the longest time I always looked back on Die Another Day as being the James Bond equivalent of, say, Batman and Robin (1997): an enjoyably bad romp that you could knowingly laugh along with. The harsh and plain reality is that that’s not the case – it’s just, well… bad. Admittedly it starts off pretty well, the David Arnold score is reliably satisfactory and the car chase between the Aston and the Jag is entertaining, but a good soundtrack and the odd moment of excitement aren’t strong enough to redeem this mess. Everything takes a swift nosedive as soon as Halle Berry shows up and the action moves to Iceland.

23) SPECTRE (2015)

My thoughts on this closely echo those of Quantum of Solace; as I walked out of the cinema upon seeing SPECTRE, my immediate reaction was admittedly lukewarm but overall one glowing with positivity. However, much like QoS, the more I watch it and the more I think about it, I again come to the damning verdict that this is just an unpleasant watch, Bond-fan or not. I honestly struggle to comprehend how anyone can say they enjoy this. At its best it is bland; at its worst it is numbingly stupid. The most heinous crime it commits is, of course, its bungled execution of Blofeld, Bond’s iconic arch-nemesis whose absence in the official series dates back to 1971 (minus a questionable cameo in the opening of FYEO), but even beyond that this movie didn’t even have the dignity to provide us with any blood-pumping set-pieces that folks will remember for years to come. Additionally, the contrived and laboured attempt to convince us that Madeleine Swann is somehow the love of Bond’s life also falls flat. Hell, even the pre-title sequence in Mexico that everyone fawned over simply isn’t as impressive as the ones seen elsewhere – I.E. GoldenEye. The one saving grace of this picture is the train fight between Bond and Hinx, but even that doesn’t compare to the one in FRWL.

22) Diamonds Are Forever (1971)

Those who lambast the Moore era for being camp and kitsch either A) haven’t seen DAF, or B) conveniently choose to overlook the fact that the camp and kitsch factor began here. There’s a real sense of trashy sleaze here that is seldom seen elsewhere in the rest of the series. At least Sean Connery – a noticeably atrophied and haggard looking Connery, at that – looks like he’s having fun (no doubt the $1.2 million cheque had something to do with that).

21) A View to a Kill (1985)

Effortlessly charming and affable as he may be, the fact that Roger Moore was able to continue to play 007 well into his late fifties continues to be a bothersome source of bafflement to me and nowhere is that icky and unshakable pain felt more prominently than it is here in what would be his belated swansong. There’s a lot that can be said of AVTAK but it all traces back to Mr. Moore who, at fifty-seven years old, is no longer a convincing man of action; the idea of twenty-something miss universes fawning over him is ludicrous, as is the prospect of him somehow being unbeatable in a fistfight. The whole film just feels odd (and not in a pleasant way), as the dynamic of pitting the young and the quirky – Grace Jones – against the incongruously doddery Moore just feels wheezy and jarring.

20) The Man with the Golden Gun (1974)

TMWTGG is a harmless but inconsequential Bond outing that ticks all the boxes of what constitutes a Bond movie, but it’s also (dare I say) quite a bore. The only thing that elevates this above the likes of Diamonds and View is the presence of the ever-wonderful Christopher Lee as the titular assassin-for-hire. Oh, and the less said about that awful whistle noise during that brilliant car stunt, the better.

19) Tomorrow Never Dies (1997)

If you were to put all the data into a machine (sort of that like that computer from Willy Wonka) and ask it to produce a Bond movie, the result would most likely be Tomorrow Never Dies. On the surface it has everything that makes a Bond film enjoyable but, consequently, it’s also one of the most generic.

18) The World is Not Enough (1999)

I actually think this film gets a bad wrap and, frankly, I’m not entirely sure why. Yes, Christmas Jones is a stupid character, but there are elements in this film that were quite forward-thinking at the time: M being an integral catalyst in the plot; a female villain; a chase through London. Good stuff.

17) Thunderball (1965)

Growing up a Bond aficionado in the pre-Craig era, one couldn’t pick up a magazine or browse the fansites and forums without seeing a mention of two movies that were held up high as being the Bond movies to beat: Goldfinger and Thunderball. While I agree that the former is and perhaps always will be the “gold standard” (pun intended) of all future Bond adventures to come, I must confess that the appeal of the latter has always remained a mystery to me. Yes, in a pictorial sense, this is a handsome movie in terms of its pictorial quality – the eye-popping colours, the exoticism of the locations and the silky soundtrack – but superficial stuff aside, I’ve always found Thunderball to be a bloated and boring blockbuster. I’ve heard and read many outlets lucidly convey why this movie is as beloved as it is, but as far as I’m concerned they may as well be telling me that grass is purple, because I just don’t see what they see. I genuinely feel guilty for ranking this outside the top ten, but honesty demands that I proclaim that Thunderball is the most overrated Bond movie made.

16) Octopussy (1983)

Now we go from a Bond movie I’ve never cared for to one that I’ve always harboured something of a soft spot for. Of all the films in the franchise, this is probably the one I’ve seen the most, thanks large part to fact that I find it the easiest and most agreeable to watch. It’s a proper Boys Own adventure and the Indian setting is a real beauty for the eyes.

15) Moonraker (1979)

I have little doubt that the fact that I have placed Octopussy and Moonraker (I.E. that one where Bond goes to space) higher than Thunderball will arouse plenty of ire from the fans, but the fact of the matter is that I’ve always liked Moonraker and never found it as preposterous as others would have you believe. Yes, yes, of all the Bond movies this is probably the most excessive and the egregious, but in terms of style and spectacle very few films compare.

14) The Living Daylights (1987)

After a dozen years of Moore shenanigans, The Living Daylights takes us back to Bond’s roots – a Cold War thriller where Bond himself is a blunt instrument. The title song by A-Ha is one of the very best, Dalton’s brilliant (don’t let anyone tell you otherwise) and the location work is spectacular. The only downside is the lack of a compelling or colourful villain.

13) For Your Eyes Only (1981)

This is one of those Bond adventures that has improved with age. After the madcap spectacle of Spy and Moonraker, seeing our hero involved in a good old fashioned slice of Cold War espionage may have been quite a comedown, but that added grittiness makes for one of Moore’s best.

12) Licence to Kill (1989)

I don’t think there’s ever been a Bond movie wherein my opinion of it has shifted so drastically over time like it has with Licence to Kill, Dalton’s second and (regrettably) last outing. It many ways, it’s the opposite of SPECTRE; growing up as a fan devouring all the movies, LTK was the one Bond adventure that I truly loathed and went out of my way to avoid. Today, however, my mind boggles to think how anyone could dislike it and I now laud it for all the reasons I previously detested it. Granted, while I wouldn’t label it a “cheap” film as some have, it is undeniably a very dry looking film, lacking any of the visual verve and dynamism of the previous epics and it does stray perhaps a tad too far from the formula – often times resembling a concoction of Miami Vice, Brian de Palma’s Scarface and Man on Fire – and it is dark, and violent and almost totally devoid of humour. But that’s what makes it so interesting. Best of all, though, is the man playing 007 himself. While he may lack the magnetic star power and cinematic presence of Connery and Moore, Dalton quite simply is Ian Fleming’s creation made flesh and blood and the fact that he was denied a third and possibly a fourth chance to bring his unique interpretation to the silver screen remains a crying shame.

11) You Only Live Twice (1967)

Lewis Gilbert as director. Ken Adam once again the set designer. Japan as the setting. Donald Pleasance as Blofeld. YOLT has all the makings of a classic. It’s a shame (and slightly ironic), therefore, that the only weak link in the chain is Bond himself. Just as Christopher Lee was becoming rapidly disenchanted playing Dracula for Hammer, a visibly despondent Sean Connery was reaching the nadir of his interest playing the role that made him a global superstar. Had Connery brought his A-game, this would have easily been top-tier Bond material but, as it stands, it’ll have to settle for the tenth spot.

10) No Time to Die (2021)

It may be a bit presumptuous to place the latest Bond outing in the top ten. It isn’t a perfect Bond movie, and it’s sure to divide the fandom for years to come – but as a conclusion to the epoch of Craig, NTTD is a soundly directed, acted and gorgeous feast for the senses.

9) Live and Let Die (1973)

A solid debut for Moore. Boat chases through the bayous. A colourful array of villains. Paul McCartney’s title song.

8) Dr. No (1962)

It’s quite surreal watching Dr. No, much in the same way it’s strange to watch William Hartnell playing the Doctor; the novelty is obvious: it’s the first movie, so it holds some prestige before you even sit down to watch it in its entirety. Lamentably, when compared to its successors, it’s easy to see why some viewers may find the first Bond outing to be a tad vanilla. When contextualised and seen in isolation, however, what we have is grand, old-fashioned and immensely pulpy British thriller with a distinct (albeit modest) flavour of exoticism and eroticism. The plot is your standard Sax Rohmer affair and it’s directed in a fairly workmanlike sort of way by Terence Young, but the natural screen charisma of its leading star, the instant sex appeal of its heroine and the beauty of its Caribbean setting all come together wonderfully to make Dr. No the perfect first chapter in cinema’s greatest franchise.

7) GoldenEye (1995)

Looking back, it’s a real shame how Pierce Brosnan’s tenure as Bond worked out. Having been left standing at the alter twice before, the fifth man to don the tux finally got his chance in 1995, but a lot was riding on his shoulders. Following a six year hiatus, a lot had changed since Bond was last on the screen and many pundits pondered on whether the world actually needed an archaic figure like 007 anymore – and yet, when GoldenEye hit cinemas, the answer proved to be a simple but resounding “YES”. While his remaining three films shifted from being forgettable to downright terrible, Brosnan can rest easy knowing that he and the rest of the team gave us a truly great Bond movie in GoldenEye. The game was pretty great, too.

6) The Spy Who Loved Me (1977)

The movie that, like GoldenEye, saved the franchise and proved that nobody does it better.

5) Goldfinger (1964)

Had this ranking been done ten, twenty years ago, chances are that this film would have topped the list. The passage of time and the Craig films has made the flaws more noticeable, but Goldfinger remains the gold-standard (pun intended) for the franchise.

4) Casino Royale (2006)

A film that gets better the more I watch it. The perfect Bond movie for the post 9/11, post Bourne age.

3) From Russia With Love (1963)

The first Bond I ever saw. Such a status perhaps implies an inherent bias, but even with that removed, this is still a damn great thriller of the classic mould.

2) Skyfall (2012)

It’s beyond baffling to think that Craig has had such a yo-yo, almost bipolar tenure as Bond; as of today, he’s donned the tux four times – two of which rank as the very worst and two which rank as the very best (the logical pattern therefore dictates that No Time To Die should be amazing). Anyway, while it seems that it’s become fashionable to bash Skyfall, the most financially successful movie to date,

1) On Her Majesty’s Secret Service (1969)

For the longest time, OHMSS was something of a forgotten underdog within the Bond canon, a cultish curio that only the infuriating hipsters would speak up about and fawn over. Now, however, this much-maligned film is finally getting the recognition it deserves. Everything here is brilliant (well, almost everything): Diana Rigg, Peter Hunt’s polished direction, the superb cinematography and, of course, the best script any Bond movie has ever had. The only downside? The Aussie fella playing Bond.

THE TEXAS CHAIN SAW MASSACRE (1974)

Tobe Hooper’s landmark horror is playing at the ODEON cinemas across the country in 4K digital restoration, so I figured I’d free some space in my schedule to watch it and briefly give my thoughts on the film.

The Texas Chain Saw Massacre was a picture of some notoriety – my mother owned a VHS copy but forbid me to watch it under any circumstance. Being the obedient child that I was (coupled with my fear of a fierce and fiery reprimand were I caught), I complied. It wasn’t until I was a seventeen that I finally got to see it in full, and, much to my bewilderment, one found it to be a rather disappointing watch. What I thought should have and would have been a titillating gorefest turned out to be pretty tame. At least, that’s what I thought at the time. In the years since then I have seen the film five times (including my most recent watch at my local multiplex) and with each viewing, my appreciation for Hooper’s micro-budgeted slasher grows exponentially.

We’re all familiar with the plot: a band of unfortunate youngsters travel ignore all the warning signs and come into contact with a family of cannibalistic rednecks that put both the Addams and the Bates household to shame. Among the members of this demented clan is a fella with an ogre-like frame, a penchant for wielding chainsaws and wearing masks made of human flesh.

The passage of time has done little to dim or dent the disturbing shock value of this scream-filled chiller, which ingeniously utilises documentary-style realism to tell a story that, while not as gory as one might initially think, is soaked in terror and madness that reaches almost unbearably pernicious and pornographic levels. Aesthetically, this grimy, gritty and gruesome film may lack the visceral bloodletting that we have since become all too accustomed to, but as a subtle and suggestive Grimm’s fairy tale for the Watergate age, The Texas Chain Saw Massacre is relentless and aggressive and remains a must-see for horror buffs.

THE AMUSEMENT PARK (2021)

There’s plenty of reasons why I love film, chief among them being the fact that every day is a day of learning and discovery. Film is eternal. Just when I begin to arrogantly think that I know everything about the business, something new and exciting comes along and slaps me like a wet fish. Only a few moons ago I learned about a movie about a man receiving a penis transplant from a rapist!

Today’s cinematic critique is another oddity that reinvigorates one’s own interest in cinema: it concerns a long-lost film helmed by none other than horror maestro George A. Romero himself. Yes – the same George Romero that gave us Night of the Living Dead (1968). Originally shot in 1973, The Amusement Park laid dormant for decades until a print was discovered and restored and found its way onto the festival circuit a couple of years back, though I had never even heard of this picture until last week when Shudder announced it as a new release on their platform.

Projects that are seemingly destined to never see the light of day are sadly not as uncommon as one might think. But ones that are lost only to be rediscovered? That’s a different story. Occasionally we’ll hear tongues wagging about how a shelved book is finally getting published (à la Harper Lee’s Go Set A Watchman), or how some silent film is discovered in some vault in the middle of nowhere, but rarely do we hear about completed but unreleased movies. The only one that instantly comes to mind is The Fantastic Four (1994), an independent feature based on Marvel’s famed family of superheroes that was made on a shoestring budget for cynical purposes and was never intended to actually be officially released – but that certainly didn’t stop the pirates sailing the waves of the internet. Oh, and who could forget Orson Welles’ The Other Side of the Wind (2018), the film seemingly doomed to never been seen but which survived thanks to Netflix.

So, with the history lesson out of the way, what exactly is The Amusement Park? Judging by the director attached, one would assume it to be a horror, no? And the scratchy 16mm look suggests a film of certain exploitative disposition, does it not? Well, truth be told it’s kind of both but paradoxically neither. Commissioned by a Pennsylvanian church and sandwiched between the production of Season of the Witch and The Crazies, The Amusement Park marks the only time when Romero was a jobbing director for hire and was made purely for pecuniary reasons. Clocking in at only fifty-two minutes, this absurdist and episodic PSA highlights the horrors of ageism and abuse of elders. It’s Tales from the Crypt for geriatrics. Needless to say, the Lutherans were probably a tad indignant at how Romero interpreted their brief.

The titular park itself, much like the village in The Prisoner, is something open to surreal and abstract interpretation: is it some microcosm for society? Does it represent purgatory for old folk to be subjected to constant terror and torment? Who knows. What I do know, however, is that the setting does cleverly grant the admittedly loosely-plotted short some semblance of structure. Lead player Lincoln Maazel, clad in his best Col. Sanders outfit, acts as our guide through this haunting wonderland and makes for a tangible and vividly drawn character to whom our sympathies come easy.

All in all, The Amusement Park is a surprisingly effective parable; a disquieting and dizzying odyssey that begins as a serene and joyous dream through gaudy lights and cotton-candy before spiralling into a fully-fledged nightmare of Lynchian proportions. When it comes to horror with doses of fantasy, this is grimly good stuff. If you enjoy this, I’d also recommend Carnival of Souls (1962).

Cheap plug, I know, but here’s a link to my newly released book (UK):

https://www.amazon.co.uk/001-Nights-Cinema-Collection-Critiques/dp/B096TTS59H/ref=sr_1_5?crid=3Q9ZXDUBGXYZD&dchild=1&keywords=velvet+cinephile&qid=1623831573&sprefix=velvet+cine%2Caps%2C165&sr=8-5

WARFARE WEDNESDAY!!!

APOCALYPSE NOW (1979)

What we have here is a sprawling, breathtaking, cerebral, flawed, pretentious, self-indulgent and yet, in the end, magnificent movie. When director Francis Ford Coppola showed this as a work in progress at the Cannes Film Festival he described it as a “more of an experience than a movie” and that just about sums it up.

Ostensibly, of course, it’s set against the backdrop of the Vietnam War and follows a US Army Captain and his small crew as they undertake an odyssey across the dense jungle terrain and endure skirmishes on the battlefield in order to find and assassinate a respected Colonel who’s gone rogue.

Beginning as a modern parallel to Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness – something Orson Welles unsuccessfully attempted to get off the ground before setting his sights on helming Citizen Kane (1941) – the film proceeds to encompass all manner of psychology and myth (death and regeneration, for example) to become both a spiralling nightmare of a journey through the horror and insanity of war and an examination of the evil rooted in men’s souls. What remains in the mind is not so much the story – as Coppola has said, that becomes less important as the film progresses – as a series of astonishing and indelible vignettes: the opening in small, sweaty hotel room; a group of ochre-coloured American GIs scrambling for cover amidst the billows of black and punkishly red smoke; the horde of helicopter gunships going into action to the accompaniment of Wagner’s “The Ride of the Valkyries”; the sight of the huge, intimidating figure of Colonel Kurtz, bathed half in light, half in shadows.

As the maverick soldier turned delusional demigod, the bloated Marlon Brando delivers yet another towering performance that constantly teeters on the edge of lyrical poetry and dangerous madness. Robert Duvall also puts in a memorable showing as the crazed, water-skiing commander.

By all accounts the production was as apocalyptic as its subject and a horrendous experience for all involved: filming in the Philippines began in March 1976 where Coppola and his team planned to work for 13 weeks. They finished 238 days later, in which time the $12 million budget soared to more than $30 million; a typhoon destroyed most of the huge and expensive sets; Martin Sheen, the film’s lead, had a massive heart attack during shooting; and, to make matters worse, a civil war broke out, meaning Coppola had to be deprived of his helicopters. The picture went so far over schedule that in Hollywood circles it came to be colloquially known as “Apocalypse Later”. Just watch Hearts of Darkness: A Filmmaker’s Apocalypse (1991) to find out more.

For all its faults, though, Apocalypse Now remains the best of all the Vietnam movies – its closest competition being Oliver Stone’s Platoon (1986) – and a riveting condemnation of the appalling damage conflict can do to man, psychologically as well as physically.

A CLOCKWORK ORANGE (1971)

Few movies can claim to have sparked such heated debate long after their release. Stanley Kubrick’s colourfully controversial dystopian tale, now playing in cinemas, is one of the notorious rare few. Some believe it to be an artistic and technical masterpiece, while others have nothing but contempt for its existence.

Three years after the release of his landmark feature, 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968), Stanley Kubrick followed up with an adaptation of yet another seminal sci-fi novel, this time A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess. Set in England in the then distant future of 2000, the story chronicles the exploits of charismatic anti-hero, Alex, the leader of a ruthless gang of violent youths called The Droogs. Alex and his droogies have a pretty eccentric idea of fun, which primarily consists of indulging in “ultra-violence” – terrorising innocent people, assaulting elderly hobos and raping women. One night, however, Alex is arrested when he inadvertently kills one of his subjects and while in prison, he’s used as a guinea pig in an experimental brainwashing program to rehabilitate violent offenders.

A Clockwork Orange is jammed full of outrageous, anarchist humour, fast action and snappy dialogue and the visuals – in true Kubrick fashion – are extraordinary, as is the central performance from Malcolm McDowell. But, despite the film’s intricate and well-crafted technical achievements, the film was marred by an avalanche of ill-judged outcries and complaints. There are two reasons why many viewers loathed (and still loathe) this film. The first, and most obvious, is the film’s voyeuristic depiction of violence. Granted, the movie is filled with abhorrent, graphic, nightmare-inducing imagery but, alas, by today’s standards some (particularly those who are a little more sophisticated to onscreen violence) will probably find it tame – perhaps even humorous. The second is that Kubrick tells the story completely from the perspective of Alex. Even though he commits horrible crimes, he is pretty much the only sympathetic character in the entire movie – and we do sympathise with him. Nonetheless, amidst the increasing hostile reactions from the public and press, Kubrick decided to pull the film from being shown entirely within the UK, a ban which would remain in effect until the new millennium.

British censorship is a fascinating subject, with its many changes over the many years since the founding of the BBFC in 1912 reflecting the social shifts Britain itself experienced throughout the 20th century. A major social concern which directly impacted the censors was the rising paranoia of juvenile delinquency throughout the fifties, spurred by films such as The Blue Lamp (1950) as well as mainstream American releases like the hilariously dated The Wild One (1954) and Nicholas Ray’s classic Rebel Without a Cause (1955) – both of which were banned in the UK for supposedly encouraging teenage insubordination. The rise of various youth subcultures, such as mods and rockers, and their depictions in the media also played a key role. There’s many interesting sources out there for you to find, including a number of documentaries such as “Dear Censor…” by the BBC which covers the history of the BBFC, the video nasties and the sensationalist claims that violent films – including A Clockwork Orange – somehow influenced real-Life crimes such as the Hungerford Massacre and the unfortunate murder of James Bulger. Additionally, there’s also a book by Stanley Cohen called Moral Panics and Folk Devils and various other theories such as the Hypodermic Needle and the flawed Bobo Doll experiment.

However, as far as this film is concerned, Kubrick twists our moral sensibilities around so much that it’s easy to resent him for it. And yet no matter how manipulative, Kubrick and Alex force us to think about how far we are willing to permit personal freedom. All the controversial smoke-and-mirrors aside, this is an excellent and interesting examination on questions regarding morality and its place in what is essentially a broken and lawless libertarian society. It’s definitely one that should not go unseen, especially for any fans of British cinema or Kubrick’s incredible body of work.

THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WIND (2018)

“Movies and friendship. Those are mysteries.”

As you are no doubt aware, I’m a voracious consumer of all things film related. From an early age I was corrupted by the mesmerising magic of it all, and various names corrupted me. John Ford corrupted me, as did Hitchcock and Hawks, but it is Welles, the man who scared the wits out of an entire nation with his radio broadcast of The War of the Worlds (1938) and the man who made the greatest picture ever made, who enraptures me the most. Thirty-five years after his passing, he continues to leave a lasting impression through the immortal words and works that he left behind. Today’s review is a humble tribute to that man among men.

I’ve often said that the best films are the ones that were never made or are destined to never see the light of day, and the history of film is littered with them. There was Alexander Korda’s ambitious but ill-fated attempt to adapt I, Claudius in 1937; Charlie Chaplin and Stanley Kubrick both wanted to make a feature film about Napoleon Bonaparte, respectively, but were equally unsuccessful; Alejandro Jodorowsky’s Dune remains a potent source of fascination; and Terry Gilliam’s much publicised attempt to bring Don Quixote to life is legendary.

The greatest victim of this epidemic, however, was Orson Welles, the cinema’s polymath and Hollywood’s one-time wonder boy who gave us a wealthy treasure chest of lauded masterpieces like Citizen Kane (1941), The Magnificent Ambersons (1942) and Touch of Evil (1958) to name just a few – but there could have been so many more. Throughout this towering titan of a man’s tragic career, which began with a glittering high only to quickly dissipate into wine commercials and a tidal wave of chat-show appearances by the end of his life, he endeavoured many projects that would never come to fruition, including Don Quixote, Joseph Conrad’s novella Heart of Darkness – which would later come to the screen in the form of Francis Ford Coppola’s Vietnam War epic Apocalypse Now (1979) – and The Merchant of Venice. The sheer breadth of these titles reveal the scope of Welles’ artistic ambition. There was also another project: The Other Side of the Wind, which began life as an experimental comeback for Welles’ whose career had sagged to the point of exile in Europe where he made a number of adventurous but little-seen pictures like The Trial (1962) and Chimes of Midnight (1965), but persistent problems and Welles’ untimely death put an end to that. Or so we assumed.

Nearly five decades has passed since principal photography commenced, and Welles’ picture has finally been fully edited and entered circulation. So, was it worth the wait? In a word: yes. Despite reservations and anxieties, this long-lost chapter in what is already an impressive filmography surpasses even my expectations.

Hollywood, more so than us Brits, has a neat track record of making movies about movies – some of these possess the sentimental, fairytale quality like Singin’ in the Rain (1952) and Ed Wood (1994), while others seek to unveil the darker side of the dream factory such as Sunset Boulevard (1950) or Living in Oblivion (1995). The Other Side of the Wind is another such example of a film about films and those colourful, slightly crazy individuals that make them, but with that distinctive Wellesian flair. Presented in an unconventional cinéma vérité style, featuring rapid cutting and a combination of colour and black-and-white footage, it concerns an ageing legend in the directing business, played by John Huston, who fell out of favour with Hollywood but returns to host a screening party for his latest (and, ironically, unfinished) project.

An exploration of desperate desire and an elaborate polemic on the state of the film establishment (the decline of the old Hollywood studio system and the emergence of the new dominant breed of filmmakers inspired by the atmospheric, avant-garde cinema from Europe like Bergman, Antonioni and Demy), this encapsulates, in excitingly electrifying fashion, the anguishes and agony that come hand-in-hand with the process of making a film. There’s a genuine aura of spontaneity to the picture; it has the chaotic, disorderly, untidy attitude of a collapsing circus inhabited by these scattered souls, all of whom are fascinating figures – none more so than the character of the director. Despite his claims to the contrary, the director, a macho maverick and intellectual darling who feels like an amalgamation of Rex Ingram and Ernest Hemingway, is clearly a thinly-veiled reflection of Welles himself. The rest of the clan of characters also represent members of the film community of the time, including critic Pauline Kael and screenwriter John Milius. As the film-within-a-film’s leading lady, Oja Kodar, Welles’ co-writer and muse, is utterly magnetic – armed with a marvellously vulpine, almost satanic, face that is equal parts pulchritudinous and inscrutable, the exotically erotic Kodar oozes an almost dreamlike sensual nature that is most uncommon in Welles’ notably prudish work. 

The Other Side of the Wind is a tragic tale about greatness and how fragile it can be. It isn’t Orson’s best (as the saying goes: “it ain’t no Citizen Kane“), but it is his most profound and personal, and it is a testimony to his complex, cathartic creativity – for that I can find no reason not to recommend it to any film freak or fan. The companion documentary, They’ll Love Me When I’m Dead is worth a watch, too.