Films to be Buried With

If I was famous I would have three top priorities. The first would be to have a cameo in a Muppets film, the second would be to go on Pointless Celebrities and the third would be to go on the Films to be Buried With podcast. Famous I am not, but I’m going to go on the podcast in the most indirect and self-indulgent way I possibly can. I’m going to bare my cinematic soul and answer the Films to be Buried With questions.

Each episode begins with the host, silken voiced comedian Brett Goldstein, informing his guest that they have died and asking them to recount their grisly demise. Despite the fact that it is a comedy podcast, it’s got an edge to it. It goes to some very real places. In the interest of staying true to the podcast format, mine would be a fairly simple end. Fistful of diazepam, rocks in the pockets, bumble into the sea. I’d get really weird with it beforehand though. Maybe swallow a cassette tape like on Saw 3 so that my autopsy would be a real headscratcher. The pathologist would listen to the tape expecting to be whipped up into some convoluted and profound mystery, and then it would just be a 45 minute audio recording of my favourite scenes from Con Air. She died as she lived: like Frank Reynolds.

Once the discussion about death is over and done with, the remainder of the episode is made up of questions about the guest’s life through the films that have meant the most to them. I’m going to be completely honest here- my answers will not be cool, popular or pretentious. Film is my main interest but I still have a lot left to learn about it and my watchlist is longer than 2001: A Space Odyssey, I don’t have the knowledge of classics that I should and I have a lot of terrible opinions.

The first film you remember seeing

You might find this hard to believe, but I was quite a weird kid. My cinematic habits as a child could probably have been viewed as an indicator of latent mental health problems, so it’s quite incredible that it wasn’t picked up on sooner. If I’m ever lucky enough to have children and they display film related behaviours similar to mine, I’m going to get them a journal and make them join an alternative theatre group because they’ll clearly have some things to work through.

One pattern of behaviour rooted in my childhood that I would imagine will stay with me until my It’s Always Sunny/Gone Girl crossover death is watching the same film over and over again. When I was little, the second a film finished I would rewind it and watch it again. Then I’d do it again. And again. I still do this when I’m sad. The first films I remember watching over and over again are The Little Mermaid and The Nightmare Before Christmas.

We’ll revisit The Little Mermaid later on in this post in what I am sure will be an almost universally decried answer, so for now let’s look at The Nightmare Before Christmas. It’s fair to say it stood the test of time. I think my unwavering commitment to watching this film on repeat when I was little probably informed the way I view film now. I enjoy cinematic spectacle and interesting filmmaking processes, fantastical scenes and a gothic undertone. My love for this film laid the groundwork for a love of film as an art form.

The Nightmare Before Christmas isn’t actually a Tim Burton film. Not in the sense that most people think it is. They are Burton’s original characters, the models were based on his drawings and he carries a production credit, but I feel it’s more Henry Sellick’s movie. Sellick and Burton’s respective works are routinely mistaken for one another- Sellick went on to direct Coraline, which Burton often gains credit for despite the fact that he never went anywhere near it. Most people think Burton directed James and the Giant Peach, but it was actually Sellick.

The film that made you cry the most

It’s difficult to decide which film made me cry the most because almost every film makes me cry. I get too attached to things, which is a personality trait not best placed in a film fan because so many films are unabashed in their emotional manipulation.

The top three contenders for the film that made me cry the most are probably Marley and Me (a horrible, hateful, manipulative film), A Little Princess and Inside Out. I’m going to choose A Little Princess for the simple reason that, despite its Oscar nominations and critical acclaim, it isn’t talked about enough and it deserves an audience.

You couldn’t accuse Alfonso Cuaron’s directorial career of being predictable. After completing A Little Princess he went on to direct Y Tu Mama Tambien, Children of Men, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban and Roma. He also has a production credit for Pan’s Labyrinth. So, quite a varied body of work. Perhaps Cuaron’s more recent contributions have overshadowed A Little Princess and that’s why it’s little discussed. It’s beautiful and devastating, though.

Children’s films in 2019 are very different to what they were in 1995. Today we have studios like Pixar and Laika setting the tone for storytelling and offering their young viewers respect through emotional complexity and thoughtful narratives. I can’t remember being little and experiencing the same level of emotional intelligence in film as we do now with offerings like Coco, Kubo and the Two Strings or Toy Story 3.

That could be more of a reflection on me than the children’s film industry of 1995, but as far as I remember the only film that had a truly crushing impact on me was A Little Princess. So many elements of the film layer to form an emotional assault and, in this sense, I think it stands up next to the thoughtful children’s storytelling and cinematic triumph of films like Up, Big Hero 6 and Inside Out. The themes of loss, nostalgia, kindness in the face of hopeless circumstances and racial and class inequality are laced throughout the film and it all works together to create something that I still couldn’t get through at the age of 27 without several 10 minute breaks throughout the viewing to compose myself.

The funniest film of all time

Withnail and I. I don’t even feel the need to explain myself here. It’s Withnail and I.

The worst film ever

KERMODIAN RANT WARNING. I HATE THIS FILM.

I can almost always find something I like about a film. A performance, the direction, a soundtrack, imagery, even just a single frame. Put me in front of an objectively terrible film and I will find a redeeming feature. The thing I find unforgiveable in film is when it disseminates a damaging message and it works to normalise something dangerous.

There’s only ever been one film I have truly despised as a stand-alone piece of work and as a societal disease. When I was at university, I went with some friends to see Fifty Shades of Grey at the Vue cinema in Leeds in the naïve assertion it would be a laugh. And, credit where credit’s due, it was- no one is a bigger fan of poorly delivered hammy dialogue amidst a sexually confusing lead character dynamic than I am. If that’s what you want from a film- and I can’t stress this enough- watch Ghost Rider instead. You’ll get exactly the same experience, but with less domestic abuse, coercion and emotional manipulation, and more Cage Rage.

It was only when the chuckles had abated that I considered the scope of the effect Fifty Shades of Grey actually had on popular literature and film. It’s easy to discount it as a throwaway monument to the bored housewife, but popular culture really matters in terms of the way in which we understand ourselves and one another. I did my postgraduate research into how celebrity involvement in political or social causes impacts the engagement of young people in those causes. It’s astonishing just how much popular culture and celebrity culture impacts us, even when we think we’re above being influenced by narratives or cult of personality.

I think we need to give people credit when blaming social ills on things like social media, celebrity and popular culture- it can be a lazy assumption to lay the blame for a social problem squarely at the feet of media- but we also need to be realistic and take care with what we normalise in mass consumed media. Often it has a measurable effect on “real” life.

A terrifying recent example of this is 13 Reason Why, which I actually defended at the time because I didn’t think the suicide scene glamorised suicide at all. I thought 13 Reasons Why would be to suicide what Trainspotting was to heroin use. Perhaps the almost thirteen hours of narrative surrounding the three minute suicide scene was the issue, because recently published research in the Journal of the American Academy of Child and Adolescent Psychiatry paints a terrifying picture of the impact of 13 Reasons Why. We know that correlation doesn’t necessarily mean causation and it’s unsafe to assume that the show was the only factor at play here, but the report states that in the month following the release of 13 Reasons Why, suicide rates among 10-17 year olds in the US were greater than any other month over a five-year period and there were 195 more suicides than the predicted US rate in the nine months after the show was released.

This is an extreme example, but one that I think illustrates the way that popular culture can impact behaviour. Again, I think people are much more critical than we give them credit for when we exclusively link school shootings on video games or eating disorders on Instagram, but that’s another discussion for another time.

Fifty Shades of Grey is unashamed in its glamorisation of abuse and coercion. And I don’t mean that as a criticism of BDSM itself- it’s literally everything else in the film. There’s actually barely any BDSM in the film because it’s too busy telling us that an abusive relationship is fine as long as he has a helicopter. The fact that there are people in the world who read or watch Christian Grey and wish they were with someone like him is really fucking troubling. Essentially, a wealthy man stalks, coerces, sexually abuses, emotionally manipulates and controls a younger woman with whom he shares a starkly unequal power dynamic. Jamie Dornan carries himself throughout the film with a thinly veiled sense of embarrassment- and, do you know what pal? You should be embarrassed.

I’ll say it again- just watch Ghost Rider instead.

The film that scared you the most

At sleepovers in high school we’d put on horror films. Looking back, I think it was probably a way for the cooler girls to assert dominance- they would laugh their way through them, telling the rest of us that horror films were stupid and profoundly un-scary. I remember always sitting there trying to maintain what I thought was a convincing poker face. I wasn’t good at it then and I’m not much better now.

After one particularly taxing sleepover, I went home and struggled to sleep for days after watching The Ring. At 27, I now totally adore horror and I don’t see The Ring as much more than a standard remake of a Japanese horror classic. Ringu is infinitely more terrifying and the grainier, less sanitised cinematography works to make the original much more of a guttural and grating experience.

In adulthood, horror has played a very different role in my life. I’ve written before about how horror films help me get through panic attacks because they remove me from my own anxieties and put me into someone else’s. It’s a completely synthetic horror reality very different from my own panic, and one I can easily leave if I want to.

The film that means the most to you

This is another one I’ve written about before. I don’t think this is objectively the greatest film, nor would I say it’s my favourite. But Stardust (the Gaiman adaptation, not the sequel to That’ll be the Day) means the absolute world to me.

Firstly, a reminder: Stardust the film is NOT Stardust the book. Stardust the film is a gorgeously wholesome, fantastically tongue in cheek, devastatingly beautiful and consistently heartwarming fairytale. Stardust the book is still all of those things, but it delivers far sharper wit and its characters behave less like those you would expect from a fairytale. If you’ve seen the film and think there is nothing more to be gained by reading the book, I promise you there are layers of the story you are missing out on. Most notably for me, Yvaine’s final encounter with the Witch Queen. Not so much a Hollywood final battle as a perfectly respectful chat.

I put Stardust on whenever things are really bad. Sometimes I fancy watching it and I decide to save it for when I really need it. Despite the fact that I don’t watch it unless I’m feeling low, it doesn’t carry memories of sadness or illness- it rests in the place in my head reserved for the things I know I can always fall back on, the things I know if I set aside time for I will feel better for it. I don’t have too many of those things. Many of the coping mechanisms I have during these moments don’t actually come from a healthy place and sometimes what looks like self-care is actually self-punishment. In the midst of panic or depressive episodes it can feel like there’s nothing good. Stardust is something I can enjoy every single time.

An honourable mention goes to The Haunted Mansion, which is an objectively awful film but I watched it something like 15 times in 11 days after a breakup and the sheer idiocy of the whole thing helped me sleep. Every single person involved in the production of The Haunted Mansion undersold themselves, but I thank them for it.

Troubling boners, worrying wide ons

Another answer I didn’t really have to think about at all. I watched this film quite recently and I often consider what it was about it (more specifically, the protagonist) I found myself so attracted to. You Were Never Really Here stirred something in me that I don’t think I needed to know existed. It’s a stunning film, which you should definitely watch if you haven’t- but if you find yourself as hopelessly attracted to Joaquin Phoenix’s character as I did, I would recommend going down the same route I have- suppress the fuck out of those feelings.

You Were Never Really Here is a Lynne Ramsay directed revenge film in which Joaquin Phoenix plays Joe, a notoriously brutal and mentally scarred hired goon sent to save a kidnapped young girl from a sex trafficking ring. I know what you’re thinking- that sounds the opposite of sexy. What can I say? Put a bearded, stacked man in a wet through tuxedo with a hammer in one hand and a gun in the other and I will go weak at the knees. Honestly, I try not to think about why I find him so attractive in that film and I don’t think we should talk about it ever again.

The film you used to love but now you don’t

I’m going to return to an earlier answer and offer up what I’m sure will prove to be an unpopular opinion. The Little Mermaid is sacred to my generation, but- and I’m sorry, humanity-it doesn’t hold up. It’s basically underwater Grease. As female character arcs in Disney films go, The Little Mermaid is a main offender. I’m endlessly grateful that six years after the release of The Little Mermaid, mankind was blessed by a true female Disney icon: The Hunchback of Notre Dame’s Esmerelda. To notice the stark differences in the presentation of women in these films, take a second to compare the soundtracks- ‘Kiss the Girl’ vs ‘Hellfire’; ‘Part of Your World’ vs ‘God Bless the Outcasts.’

Esmerelda deserves the place in my generation’s collective consciousness that Ariel is taking up.

The film you love that nobody else does

I don’t buy into the concept of guilty pleasures. If I like something I’m unapologetic about it. I really enjoy film criticism as an art form in and of itself though, and recently I have learned to appreciate the work that goes into it. Even when I disagree with a film critic, I like to try to understand how they reached their conclusions, appreciate their writing and spot patterns in how a critic receives a certain type of film. Quite predictably, I am a huge fan of Mark Kermode’s and the day he was announced as a forthcoming guest on Films to be Buried With I spent quite a lot of time trying to guess the choices he would make. I got about three of them right, which I was unreasonably proud of.

I always feel the need to defend Tron: Legacy. I truly love everything about it and I think it has one of the best soundtracks in cinema, perhaps only matched for me by The Raid. It was produced by Daft Punk (who also have a cameo in the film) and a remixed album was released later on. The soundtrack is one of the only features of Tron: Legacy to be critically acclaimed, which I honestly don’t understand. It isn’t a perfect film, but it’s not as objectively terrible as it’s seen by critics. The thing is, I completely agree with most criticisms levelled against Tron: Legacy and I love it anyway- because and in spite of its problems.

I first saw the film at an IMAX screening, which perhaps set the tone for any future enjoyment of the film I would have. It’s one of the two films I’ve seen in 3D that actually benefited from the format. The Grid, the arena, the lightcycles, the portal. It all looked better in 3D. I hadn’t seen the original Tron before watching Tron: Legacy, so I’m not sure how I’d have consumed the film through the lens of the original. Often enjoyment of a remake or sequel rests on viewings of the original. I’m sure there are people who loved the 1998 shot for shot remake of Psycho having never seen the original. I’m not saying there are many of them, but I bet they exist somewhere. They probably voted for Brexit.

Aside from the soundtrack, set design and effects, there are also some sickening costumes and a standout performance by the always brilliant Michael Sheen. Jeff Bridges plays two characters and they end up fighting one another ON A BRIDGE. I just can’t understand how anyone can see a problem with a film in which Jeff Bridges fights Jeff Bridges on a bridge.

I’m quite happy to die on this hill. Tron: Legacy is a great film.

The film you could watch over and over

I feel as though I’ve covered the fact that I’m a repeat film viewer. I’m quite happy to watch the same thing again and again on repeat, especially if I’m feeling sad or ill. Alongside this delightful pattern of behaviour, I’m also big into deferred gratification- if I absolutely love a film, I will save it for a special occasion. The films I watch on repeat aren’t necessarily my favourites, I just find them a comfort. Recently, I have watched The House with a Clock in its Walls with unreasonable frequency. It’s just nice.

If I was told I could only watch one film for the rest of my life, however, I would choose The Shining. A slow burning horror with blistering performances and stunning direction, it exists as its own microcosm (as in, the actual finished product) as well as a macrocosm (the production stories that have orbited the film and evolved to the point where they exist as an art form in itself.)

This is where I find myself morally torn- I don’t think any piece of art is worth the mental health of those involved. Shelley Duvall was not a disposable commodity at the mercy of Kubrick’s artistic vision and I don’t think there’s any justification for the mental torture she was put through to create palpable terror in her character. Duvall’s interview on Dr Phil paints a gloomy picture of the movie industry and I don’t think it’s unfair to suggest that Kubrick’s treatment of her as something to be used and wrung out had a lasting impact on her.

I find it difficult to separate a terrible person from their art, but I’m not sure Kubrick was a terrible person. I think he did a thoughtless and cruel thing during a time in which he was unblinkered in his vision to create something subversive, claustrophobic and beautiful. I don’t think his actions were born from a fundamental cruelty seated within him.

There’s not much I can say about The Shining that hasn’t already been said- I’m interested in its complexities as a film and the stories that came out of the production process. As is so often the case with horror, it was critically panned at the time of its release but it’s now entirely correctly lauded as a classic. It left an eternal imprint on horror and has had tangible impact on film giants like Martin Scorsese, Paul Thomas Anderson, Jordan Peele and David Lynch.

Objectively the greatest film of all time

Upon meeting someone who had no idea what a film was, I would be unflinching in my decision to immediately sit them in front of Blade Runner. For me, it is the perfect illustration of what cinema can be. I was quite late to the party with Blade Runner and only watched it for the first time about two years ago.

I think most people would pick The Godfather or Citizen Kane to hold the title of being objectively the greatest film of all time. I’ve chosen Blade Runner because I think it shows the magnificence of cinema itself- what’s possible to be made and manipulated. Technology in filmmaking before it became the pillar of filmmaking. Ridley Scott’s approach to cinema as spectacle is no more evident than in Blade Runner and, for me less so, Alien. Rather than choosing a film based on performance or writing, I have chosen mine according to what we are offered in terms of narrative, visuals and immersion. The world building doesn’t take a back seat to the beauty of the film.

There is also a cuttingly nihilistic thematic edge to the film- the constant questions we have about who is a Replicant and who is a human brings into question what it actually means to be human. Rachael’s function in the film is to get us to question what it is that makes her distinctly inhuman. I think Racheal must have been at the forefront of Alex Garland’s mind when he was writing and directing the near-perfect Ex Machina.

Your film to be buried with

Once my bloated corpse has washed ashore (probably in Blackpool- the final insult) there turns out to be much less room in my coffin than I would need to house DVDs of all the films I’ve covered in this post because I’ve been in the sea too long and I’ve ingested quite a lot of debris. I’d have been quite happy to just be left in the sea, but I’ll follow the format of the podcast, be placed in a coffin and choose one film to go with me into the afterlife.

A big part of me wants to choose You Were Never Really Here. Surely now I’m dead I’ve transcended the sense of shame that plagued me in life? Still, I don’t know who’s going to be in this afterlife with me and I certainly don’t want to be bringing residual feelings of sexual shame into movie nights with saints, dead relatives and people who actually contributed to society. Maybe I could just bring a printout of a still from You Were Never Really Here and keep it under my mattress.

Fuck it, I’m going rogue here and picking Mandy. It may be a violent and debauched drug fuelled revenge romp through a Panos Costmatos hellscape, but at least I don’t find Nicolas Cage attractive. I can’t remember the last film I had as much fun watching. It’s gruesome, funny, beautiful and most importantly, Cage downs a bottle of vodka in his pants while screaming. If you haven’t seen it- run, don’t walk.

When I die, bury me with an image of Joaquin Phoenix with a hammer in his hand and an unopened copy of Mandy.