Limbo

 LIMBO  

Bleak.  The windswept, featureless remoteness of the unnamed Scottish island that provides a slow, unrelenting, and sometimes beautiful, backdrop.  The lives of the central protagonists, a group of refugees seeking asylum in the UK from war, hunger, discrimination, reduced to waiting and waiting for news which might move their cases forward, knowing that it can take years.  The attitudes of many of the locals, lacking empathy and viewing the arrivals with suspicion.  All bleak.

But not the film itself, which is frequently funny and compassionate, despite the darkness of the subject.  The opening scene sets the tone for the ridiculous, Kafkaesque, scenario these men are trapped in.  Helga (the wonderful Sidse Babett Knudsen) demonstrates her version of a sexy dance, and interacts with sidekick Boris (Kenneth Collard) who shows how not to behave towards women in a nightclub.  This is part of the cultural instruction lectures being provided.  It's funny in itself, but even more so when contrasted with the audience it's aimed at, a group of bewildered refugees who are as likely to find themselves in a nightclub as one of their number has of realising hid dream to play for Chelsea.  

The film follows the life of Omar (Amir El-Masry), and Oud player from Syria, and his housemates (from Afghanistan, Sudan and Ghana) in the isolated tatty house that has become their home, while they await the mill of bureaucracy to grind through their requests to stay in the UK.  There is little to do but watch pirate DVDs of Friends, trek to the lonely phone box to call home, and willing the postman to bring some news that would take out of the uncertainty that boxes them in.  And to hope that when the police suddenly swoop it isn't for them.

Omar worries about his parents, living in poverty in Istanbul, and his brother who has stayed in Syria to fight.  He worries if he can still play his Oud, which a plaster on his arm has prevented ever since he escaped his homeland.  He never smiles, for what is there to smile about?  There is only time, going by so slowly, and absurd, alienating encounters.  The filming reflects the desolate nature of this existence, long shots of roads to nowhere, distant horizons that can't be reached.  Little humorous touches, like the stolen chicken named after Freddie Mercury.  And the simple of humanity of these desperate individuals, stripped of dignity but supportive of one another, harbouring their own big and small and ambitions, and clinging on to hope.

With so many politicians and the media constantly dehumanising people who find themselves in this position, this movie is a powerful reminder that they are all human beings just like us, and reminds us of the importance of empathy.  Highly recommended.  

Sandy Tweeddale Band (with Lyndon Anderson), Roxy Assembly, Edinburgh Jazz and Blues Festival

 My first live music gig in over sixteen months.  Will the excitement of that milestone compromise my ability to write an objective review?  Yup, it certainly will, and I make no apology for that.  This was a homecoming, and emotions matter more than mere facts.  I think the musicians would agree with that sentiment, for they were clearly overjoyed to be in front of real clapping, cheering, foot-tapping people once again.

Tweeddale is one of the country's best known, and most respected, blues guitarists, making him an ideal man to be the first on stage act of the resurrected EJBF 2021.  He was backed by the drums, bass (upright and electric) and keyboards of Willie Mollison, Chris Agnew and Ali Petrie [with apologies to all or any of them whose name I've got wrong, but I've haven't been able to check that I heard them correctly), and joined, after the first number, by Geordie harmonicist and singer Lyndon Anderson.  

The tone, once the welcoming noise abated, was set by an audience member shouting out "Do you remember what to do?".  The opener provided an emphatic Yes.  A solid professional band who love the blues and play it with passion and affection.  Sandy has a good strong voice, not the most immediately recognisable perhaps, but one you feel immediately comfortable with.  His guitar work is excellent, on his many solos which show plenty of flair, and the intuitive support he provides for others.  Anderson took lead vocals on a couple of numbers and it would have been good to hear a bit more.  A special mention to Petrie who had some wonderful solos and looked on the verge of bursting with joy at being there.

Mostly they stuck to blues classics, but with a few of Tweeddale's own songs mixed in.  Half way through the quintet became duo, and Sandy and Lyndon did a couple of unplugged numbers, including one the former wrote during lockdown called "Ain't Goin' Out No More" - a feeling most of us have had at one time or another in the past year.  But the quieter numbers were few and the set got louder and rockier as time went on.  The show blurb said there would be no more than sixty minutes.  Fortunately Sandy's not too good with those sort of numbers so the encore took us about twenty minutes past that!   

This was a socially distanced audience of course, with around fifty people in a space that could easily hold three or four hundred, so the atmosphere wasn't quite what it would once have been.  But what a difference to be in the same room as the musicians, to have the volume up high, the clarity of  the notes, and be able to focus on the individual musicians you want to watch, not what the director dictates.  

It's good to be back.

Supernova

 A supernova is a star that has died, exploding brightly as it expired, and spread it's molecules across the universe.  Astronomy, and the light beyond our own world, play a big metaphorical role in Harry McQueen's exploration of confronting mortality, as well as adding visual sparkle.

Pianist Sam (Colin Firth),  writer Tusker (Stanley Tucci) and dog Ruby are on a road trip, the end point to be Sam's first live gig in a long time.  Their venerable camper van heads north toward the Lake District, and the couple's bickering, joking and shared memories quickly take us into a decades old relationship of warmth and mutual support.  They revisit an old lakeside haunt from their earliest days together, spend a night parked up outside a rural Spar supermarket.  It feels casual, relaxed, even if Sam seems to fuss a bit.

But when Tusker isn't where he's supposed to be Sam's fussing turns to panic.  His swift pursuit finds the other man, and Ruby, up a country lane where they've almost been hit by a car.  Tusker is in the early stages of dementia, and wandering off like this is becoming a concern for Sam.  His fussing and panic have solid ground to stand on.

They stay with Sam's sister and family where, to his surprise, Tusker has organised a reunion for all their closest friends.  He has given this trip more thought, more long term planning, than Sam had realised.  The reasons become clearer when Sam discovers the secret Tusker has been keeping from him, exploding into their relationship.

Selflessness, selfishness, love and fear are jumbled together until it's hard to tell one from another.  When does caring become over-caring?   Can you control the memories you leave behind?  Is love keeping hold or letting go?  How do we deal with mortality when it starts to run towards us?  The film raises many questions, offers no answers.  But why should it, when they will differ for everyone?

With a subject that could easily fall into sentimentality, both script and performances largely avoid that trap to give us an honest portrayal of the joy and messiness and uncertainty of human relationships.   Firth and Tucci are a delight to watch at their craft, the Englishman taking the greater plaudits for his cautious stoicism diving in to a full blown cocktail of conflicting emotions.  The cinematography is wonderful too, the Lake District never looked better.   Wide angles capture the space they move through, tight in close ups bring intensity, anxiety and involvement to the sensitive exchanges.  This draws the audience into some sad, touching and compelling moments, without feeling emotionally manipulative.  This film seeks out your humanity, not your tears, a proper antidote to Hollywoodism.

A final word of praise for the opening sequence, a simple audiovisual treat of light and piano which sets the scene beautifully.

Recommended.

Footnote : They're a gay couple.  So what?  It's good to see a gay relationship feature in a story where their sexuality is totally irrelevant, and the story would work just as well if they were straight.  

Boo Hewerdine, Edinburgh Folk Club

Opening each half we had a few songs from the well known local jazz and blues singer Lorna Reid, accompanied by blues guitarist Neil Warden.  Her own compositions, including one penned jointly with the evening's main attraction, with Warden adding the musical flourishes.  Reid has an excellent voice, and the songs are pleasant enough, and the final, gutsier, number, with Warden playing slide on lap steel guitar, gave a better indication of what a fine blues singer she is.

Hewerdine self mocking describes himself as a purveyor of mid-tempo balladry, a term that is accurate, but greatly undersells one of the finest songwriters around.  He has a huge back catalogue of successful material to draw on, and the evening mixed classics like Dragonfly and Starlight with some more recent numbers from his new album.  He has that seemingly effortless knack for marrying striking lyrics with memorable melodies which make you feel even the newer songs feel like old friends.  Add in the several numbers that call for a bit of audience participation and you have a show that immediately feeling intimate and welcoming.  Boo's wry humour and self deprecation/mock aggrandisement provide plenty of laughs, be it stories of his own disaster, or Eddi Reader getting lost in a Japanese shopping centre.

Fans of Eddi will know that Boo has been her close conspirator for decades, and he's written many of her most famous hits.  While his voice is in no way a match for Reader's soaring vocals technically, he sings wisely to his limits in a distinctive tone that's both whispery and plaintive.  It's a tribute to his singing ability that his delivery of classic Reader tracks like Patience of Angels never leaves you feeling short changed.  Different, not worse.

Hewerdine is a proper entertainer and deserves much wider recognition.

Ross & Ali, Traverse

Multi-instrumentalists Ross Ainslie and Ali Hutton joined by percussionist Paul Jennings and the wonderfully talented Jenn Butterworth on guitar and vocals.  Traditional musicians, traditional instruments, modern musical sensibilities.  Whistles, bouzouki, tenor guitar and full fat highland bagpipes.  Their music is largely self penned, but draws from other sources such as the late Martyn Bennett, and traditional tunes.

What emerges is a complex folk-rock sound that ranges from soft and lyrical to energetically rousing, especially when both sets of pipes come into play.  The mix of instruments changes frequently, providing some surprising combinations at times, notable pipes and tenor guitar which turn an ancient sound into something more contemporary.  This swapping around, and frequent improvising mean that even largely repetitive pieces have a constantly changing sound.  Helped in no small part by the imaginative accompaniments from Butterworth and Jennings.

Jenn also contribute some weel kent songs.  Her voice sounded a little strained in the first half, but normal service was later restored and she ended with a superb rendition of Hamish Henderson's Freedom Come-All-Ye.  Adding to the entertainment is the banter and there were plenty of laughs, with Jennings' occasional dry asides a highlight.

Great stuff.

Aly Bain & Phil Cunningham, St Mary's Cathedral

The tickets say "Aly Bain & Phil Cunningham", but to millions they're just "Phil and Aly", icons of the Scottish folk scene.  They've been performing and recording together for more than three decades, but this concert was a bit special.  Less than a year ago Bain, now into his seventies, had triple bypass surgery.  While his musical progress since then has been well documented on social media, and the duo have recently been busy recording a new album, this marked Aly's return to live performance in front of a large audience.

That meant less of the fast stuff we've been used to in the past, but there's been no fall in the level of artistry, and Aly's fingers still dance mesmerisingly across the strings.  The style is very much from the tradition - there's little of the kind of fiery experimentation you'd see from the likes of Ross Couper - but it's the mastery of that style that shines out, the subtle improvisations and the intuitive communication between fiddler and accordionist.  Old tunes from Scotland and Shetland and Canada and Sweden, modern compositions for all over the place, many of them by the guys themselves.  Cunningham in particular has written so many stunningly beautiful melodies over the years and it was a request for one of those, The Gentle Light That Wakes me, that closed out the night.

It's not just the music that made this special.  Cunningham is famous for his anecdotes (although admitting he'd cleaned up a lot of them given the surroundings!) and Bain for his dry interjections.  Together they are one of the funniest comedy double acts around, and the audience's grins are brought on by laughter as much as musical enjoyment.  What's lovely to see is that, even after so long working together, they clearly make each other laugh too.

Wonderful acoustics, superb music and a lot of laughs.  Pretty much the perfect evening.

1917

"Suspension of disbelief"
'The temporary acceptance as believable of events or characters that would ordinarily be seen as incredible. This is usually to allow an audience to appreciate works of literature or drama that are exploring unusual ideas'. (Phrases.org)

Corporals Schofield (George Mackay) and Blake (Dean-Charles Chapman) are summoned from a brief respite in the sun to see the general.  He needs a message taken urgently to a unit which has orders to attack the Germans at dawn, assuming the enemy are retreating, but now there's new intelligence showing it's all a trap.  If the attack goes ahead 1600 men will be massacred, including Blake's brother.

The young soldiers are told there are no Germans between their start point and the colonel they are seeking, but, as the more world weary Schofield points out, if that's true then which have they been given grenades to take with them?  He proposes caution and not leaving until dusk.  But Blake is insistent.  His brother is one of the 1600 and for him it's personal.

They set off across a muddy, cratered, body strewn, desolate landscape, soon filthy, always afraid.  The German trenches they come to are empty (and far better equipped than their own hovels), but still dangerous.  The mission quickly runs into a string of obstacles and incidents that slow them down, and eventually result in Schofield having to complete the mission on his own.  And things get more and more difficult from there.  Fights, falls, explosions and an unanticipated swimming session.  A baby.  And rats.  Lots of rats.

It's stunningly filmed, long single shots following our protagonists through every agonising moment, the experience up close and personal.  Some heavy handed strings as they entered the first line of German trenches suggested the soundtrack might prove intrusive, but from then on it's the perfect accompaniment, helping to ramp up the tension and enhancing the often spectacular images.

Mackay carries the bulk of the movie and he's superb.  His Schofield is hardened, determined, compassionate and partly dead inside.  He'll be a star for decades to come.

There are several weel kent faces popping up in cameo roles, the best by far being Andrew Scott's wonderfully cynical lieutenant showing them where the lads can get out through the barbed wire, telling them to go past the dead horses, with the bonus that the stench will guide them back if they get into trouble.

But I return to my opening paragraph.  A film that goes to such lengths to accurately portray the horrors of war surely lives and dies by maintaining the viewer's belief in that reality.  By the final 15 minutes I was having doubts.  Would one man really experience, let alone survive, so many calamities in such a short period (the film only covers about 14 or 15 hours of real time)?  When a man who's emerged sopping wet from a tumultuous river experience is able to hand over a bone dry envelope, complete with entirely legible letter inside, all credibility was gone.  My disbelief had been unsuspended.

And that's a shame, for this film has so much going for it - performances, cinematography, music, atmosphere - that I wanted to like it, but came away disappointed.  Maybe I'm too much like Andrew Scott's lieutenant?