Stanley Kubrick has always been an egotistical and ambitious director, but with 2001: A Space Odyssey, his ego and ambition couldn’t have been much greater. Believing all previous sci-fi films to have been pure bunkum, Kubrick set himself the unenviable task of creating not only the first great science fiction film in history, but also one of the greatest films in history. With its title (a direct nod to The Odyssey), a grandiose classical score borrowing from Strauss and Ligeti, and a meandering plot that stretches over millennia, this was a film very much intended to be a classic.

Kubrick’s arrogance paid off, and 2001 has since been almost universally recognised as the classic it was intended to be, defying its ruthless dismissal by Pauline Kael as “a monumentally unimaginative movie.” History has proved her wrong, and its popularity seems in no danger of waning, despite existing within an unstable genre: as a sci-fi film, it lacks the contemporary or historical settings of Kubrick’s previous films, and as such remains far more vulnerable to appearing rapidly out-dated in its effects and visions of the future.

Nevertheless, 42 years after its release and 9 years after its setting, 2001 remains stunningly futuristic and frightening. In the current ADHD era of rapid editing and effects-driven plots – Transformers 2 being the current low – the film has a hypnotic authority, patiently commanding the audience’s attention with minimal dialogue and lengthy takes. The hyperactive, energetic and terminally dull direction of Michael Bay could draw a lesson or five from Kubrick’s example.

While it has something resembling a plot in the shape of HAL, the film is better described as a mediation on life, the universe and everything. Kubrick refused to provide any fixed meaning behind the monkeys, the monolith or the star child, yet its ambiguity is the key strength of the film. Its ending raises far more questions than it answers, yet its surreal and utterly brilliant climax violently rejects conventional narrative logic in a way that is still staggeringly original.

Frustratingly, any attempt to describe or explain 2001 fully would be to do it an injustice – it can only be appreciated when experienced first hand. Its original tagline of “The Ultimate Trip” is, if anything, underselling the film. This is cinema drugged up to its eyeballs: a psychedelic, hallucinatory and profound experience, powerfully administered via Kubrick’s pure, uncut genius.

When Chris Morris makes things, there is a predictable pattern of events which follow. First, he finds a suitably controversial subject matter, for example drugs, paedophilia, or in this case, terrorism. Then he turns it into comedy. Then there is a tabloid backlash, radio phone-ins overheat, Channel 4 comes under fire, politicians decry it, then subsequently admit they’ve not seen it but say they are offended in “principle”. Yet, another predictable element of Morris’ work is that it is always absolutely hilarious. Four Lions is no exception. It tells the story of four suicide bombers in training, and their leader Omar’s (Riz Ahmed) attempts to keep his three somewhat simpler colleagues on track, towards a successful bomb-plot and matyrdom. As always, Morris undermines classic media perceptions and coverage of a touchy issue, but here his method is not to parody said media coverage to the point of being absurd, but instead to bypass the media almost entirely (except a few scenes where they are shown to be getting the wrong end of the stick), and concentrate on following the “reality” of a terrorist cell at work. What results is a film as funny, but perhaps relatively tame – by Morris’ standards. The humour is not derived from hysterical reporting of issues – he doesn’t play a talk-show host who lambasts a man for having “bad-aids” – but instead from the group dynamics at play in any group of people, made more absurd by their twistedly confused ideology. As Morris has pointed out, “A cell of terrorists is a bunch of blokes”, and the chemistry between the four ‘lions’ very much reflects that. Here perhaps one can clearly see the influence of the writers Sam Bain and Jesse Armstrong (of Peep Show fame). For while controversial things crop up, the “eating a barbecued dog” moments in this film result, as in Peep Show, from farcical misunderstanding, rather than newsroom parody.

One thing for Morris has not changed though. As ever, nothing is sacred. That doesn’t mean he concentrates his fire on the most controversial areas, just for the hell of it. Rather, if something can be made fun of, it will be. New recruit to the group Hassan (Arsher Ali) grabs the gangs attention by pointing out the folly of an MP’s outlook, when he threatens to blow up a local community meeting with what transpire to be party poppers, observing that just because he was Muslim the MP “thought he was do it.” However, later Hassan is found to be ‘Dancing in the Moonlight’ with a neighbour, nails and bomb material in full view. Pious Muslims are mocked by potential terrorist brothers, to the point where refusing to enter the same room as a women gets him into a water-pistol fight. Government marksmen get into fights at the London Marathon over whether a Wookie constitutes a bear. There are no heroes in this film, just a lot of people who are made to look foolish. The Daily Mail won’t like the fact that possibly the most sympathetic character, Omar, is the cell leader – but even his doctrine is revealed to be nonsense by the end. Any suggestion that it glorifies terrorism is grotesquely misplaced – in fact, surely the people who fearmonger and suggest that terrorism is the work of criminal masterminds, rather than people who think the best way to impersonate a woman is to place one’s hands on one’s face to cover your beard, are more guilty of glorifying terrorism.

Morris says that “the film is not racist, is not attacking a culture, but may just be suggesting that killing people is not a good idea.” That is something that most of us can agree on. But it leads to a curiously sad ending, where if the plot succeeds, then people (including the terrorists) have died for a twisted cause, but if it fails, then the people you’ve been following the whole film, their worlds, will have meant nothing. The fact that this paradox even figures in the conscience of anyone raises an important point. Morris manages to humanise figures who seems beyond hope. You may not like them, you hopefully won’t agree with them, but they are recognised to be human. And surely that is the first step towards attempting to approach the problem. Morris may be accused of trivialising terrorism, but in fact, after intensive research he has managed to cut beaneath the surface of the over-simplified picture presented by the media. And has he points out. “Once you’ve had your preconceptions flipped – and discovered it can be funny too, how could you not make a film about it?”

You should really know about Michael Fassbender; the term ‘rising star’ was probably coined with him in mind. With his vast acting range and natural charm, Fassbender is a strong candidate for the coveted ‘next big leading man’ slot.

The German-born, Irish actor is currently starring alongside Dominic West in Centurion and like his previous role in 300 (in which he famously uttered the phrase ‘then we will fight in the shade’), this is a highly physical role which Fassbender admits he enjoyed. “I like sort of running around and pretending to be a Roman soldier, its fun.” Somehow, between roles in huge box office hits, Fassbender has managed to fit in performances in critically acclaimed arthouse films. In the same year, he starred in a lauded, independent film, Fish Tank and in Quentin Tarantino’s Inglourious Basterds as the very British and slick Lieutenant Archie Hicox. Fassbender explains that working with Tarantino was a “very surreal and wonderful” experience, especially for an actor who put on his own stage performance of Reservoir Dogs in his teens.

When asked how he got into acting, Fassbender laughs and replies “through not knowing what else to do.” After a series of drama workshops held at his secondary school, Fassbender joined a professional theatre company and went on to study at the Dublin School of Acting and the Drama Centre in London. He made the transition from stage to film via roles on television including a part in the acclaimed mini-series Band of Brothers. And the word ‘acclaimed’ pops up regularly when reviewing Fassbender’s career. His harrowing performance as Bobby Sands in Hunger earned him multiple awards including the London Critics Circle Film award for Best Actor. For the role, Fassbender embarked on a dramatic weight loss programme and he admits that it’s the role of which he is most proud. “The commitment towards Hunger, over a long period of time was a very special experience for me on many levels…I think that one will always be special.”

Fassbender explains that he picks his roles based on the script and director but that he also looks for difficult parts. “I like to challenge myself and keep on my toes; do things that scare me a little bit.” And between the battle scenes in Centurion and a 17 minute, unbroken scene in Hunger, Fassbender is certainly being challenged by both the nature and frequency of his acting roles. It is obvious that the actor’s work schedule is densely packed and when asked what he does in his free time, he says “I like to travel and…sleep, I’m a big fan of sleeping when I’m not working.”

And Fassbender’s career shows no signs of slowing down. This year will see the release of the highly anticipated Jonah Hex in which Fassbender stars alongside John Malkovich and Josh Brolin as Burke, a psychopathic killer in a bowler hat (a costuming decision made by the actor himself, influenced by “a clockwork orange…and Frank Gorshin’s The Riddler.”) The actor is also currently shooting an adaptation of Jane Eyre and is due to start working with David Cronenberg on a film concerning the relationship between Freud and Jung. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. So for those who didn’t already know all about Michael Fassbender, believe me, in the next few years you will.

Aside from instilling in me an early love of yellow rain slickers, my first viewing of Singing in the Rain at seven years old was a revelation. Every scene crackled with spark and energy- the drama, the dance, and the song, all combining into one incredible triple threat. It’s a film that was named in the top ten of the American Film Institute’s 100 Greatest Movies, but given its lukewarm critical reception at the time of its release, what gave this musical such staying power?

Much of the film’s strength lies in its cast-the lithe and athletic Gene Kelly, his side-splitting sidekick, Donald O’Connor, and the fresh-faced, doe-eyed Debbie Reynolds. But what makes this film so great is its commentary on the film industry, in a way that is still astonishingly relevant today. Singing in the Rain features a film within a film within a film, all of which flow effortlessly between each other. This is perhaps not so unusual now, with the slew of titles relating to the worldwide obsession with its favorite medium, but at the time, movies about movies were still relatively novel. The film comments on the arrival of talking pictures in the 1920s, and the industry’s scramble to keep up with new technology was a catalyst in the entertainment world. Best of all is the humorous stand that the film takes on the ludicrousness of entertainment, especially the infectious adoration of film stars, whose egos match the size of their giant silver screens.

However, though Singing in the Rain might mock cinema culture, it never ceases to revel in the magic of the movies, right down to the eye-popping hues of its vivid flapper costumes and Technicolor skies. Much is made of Kelly’s admittedly incredible dance sequence in the rain, but the other numbers are also as dazzling. Nowhere is this better seen in the “Broadway Melody” portion of the film, in which Kelly’s dancing sways and springs across the screen in a breathtaking range of styles, from jazz to ballet. The effect, along with the music, is enchanting and exciting, full of the glamour and glitz of old cinema. And who can forget the irresistible charm of Donald O’Connor’s acrobatic “Make ‘Em Laugh?”

A few weeks ago, I saw this movie in a hotel in Copenhagen, Denmark, and I’m pleased to note that it hadn’t lost any of the luster fourteen years later. Cyd Charisse’s legs were still just as long, Kathy Seldon was still popping out of a towering cake, and “Make ‘Em Laugh” still made me… laugh. In short, this film is timeless, a perfect blend of comedy and commentary, pop culture and high art. The lasting effects of Singing in the Rain are so numerous that counting them seems impossible-from Volkswagen ad campaigns to Britain’s Got Talent to skits on Saturday Night Live. But it is the unreserved love of cinema that makes Singing in the Rain such a success-this is a film full of magic and romance and laughter, that loves being a film and makes no apologies.

Hello all you lovely Cherwell readers and welcome to the first of our blogs from the London International Documentary Festival. Today, most of the scheduled events are on at the Barbican, which for my money is the best arts centre in London. For those of you that haven’t visited before, it’s like one big cultural living room. Literally, there’s a glut of sofas scattered across every floor and absolutely no one to tell you to leave or buy something before you sit down. Think Starbucks but without the overpriced coffee.

Walking down the stairs towards the Barbican’s cinema block, I notice a small exhibition of photos by Toby Smith entitled “Madagascar: Bois de Rose.” This is a part of the LIDF’s attempts to broaden the nature of the events held as part of the festival with the use of things like radio and particularly photography. This exhibition is completely free and documents illegal deforestation in Madagascar and it’s full of shots of beautiful landscapes alongside images of poverty. I was expecting an exhibition criticizing the illegal trade but instead the main emphasis was on the community and people involved.

Now onto the main events. First up is a screening of This Way of Life which follows Peter and Colleen Karena, their six children and their fifty horses. The Karena family live in a thoroughly “unmodern” way, unconcerned by the comforts of materialism they instead value nature and family. I know this may sound like a typical film about laid-back flower-power but it isn’t at all; I was struck by the elegance of the family’s life in their attitudes, lifestyle and particularly their relationships with their horses (and before you ask, no, not in an Equus way.) For all of the hours of expensive blockbuster footage of horses, I have never seen the animals look as majestic as they do in this film. Add to that probably some of the cutest kids in the world and you’ve got yourself a winner.

After a three hour lull in screenings which I spent pretending to do work, the next film was due to start. This year, the LIDF is hosting a retrospective of Don Boyd’s work and this was launched at the Barbican with a screening of Lucia, which was introduced by the director himself. Boyd explained his influences and inspiration behind the film and made it clear that Lucia isn’t really a documentary. In fact I don’t know how to describe Lucia at all. It’s a film about a company performing Lucia di Lammermoor and the lives of the singers become entangled with the plot of the opera; well at least that’s what I think happens. It’s easy to get confused in the midst of all the blood, arias and nudity. At its best, the film is truly disorientating and surreal. There’s a wonderful colour-saturated scene of a woman underwater; it’s like nothing else in the rest of film.

Closing the day’s events is Erik Gandini’s Videocracy. For anyone – like me – who didn’t know, the Italian president, Silvio Berlusconi has a huge stake in the Italian media and the film focuses on the growth of television culture in Italy, Berlusconi’s power over this and the effects on the aspirations of those who grew up around the fairly vacuous barrage of television on offer. This is a really strong documentary, full of shock, humanity and humour. It includes footage of an advert in which crowds of women impassionedly singing “Thank God Silvio exists.” Seriously. After the film, there’s a panel discussion hosted by Index on Censorship. By the time the panel came around it had been a long day and I was fairly tired but it certainly woke me up. One of the key topics extended by the talk is the attitude of women towards Italian television, particularly the swathes of women who dream of becoming “Veline” (barely dressed, completely silent dancers that populate Italian television).

Having learnt about the state of Italian TV, the illegal rosewood trade and the life of a New Zealand family, I called it a day. I’ll be back blogging from the LIDF soon so goodbye until then.

Never has and never will a film be made that is quite as awe-inspiring as On The Waterfront. Never will an audience be so angered by the injustice they see, and so encouraging of the protagonist’s fight back. Never will one actor become a force of energy so strong, that they make you question whether films are about their directors, and whether actors are really the people we should all bow down to and revere for their power and creativity.

That actor, of course, is Marlon Brando. He is considered the greatest actor of all time, and in On The Waterfront we see why that title is sufficiently merited on the basis of this one performance alone. He embodies his character beyond all proportion and expectations of what is possible. Not one line sounds inauthentic or is thrown away without meaning. He becomes Terry Malloy, a failed prize-fighter who now works as a puppet of the corrupt bosses of the waterfront. He is conned into setting up the death of one of the peasant workers who is talking a little too openly about the nature of their activity, and, in time, as the corruption and willingness of his bosses to murder spirals out of control, he becomes the canary and takes the stand he selfishly refused to in the past.

Impersonally speaking, then, it is a story of political growth: the struggle of a community of silent workers in passive acceptance to find someone willing to make that all-too-risky courageous stand that just might spur the others on and give them collective strength. The disincentives of putting your neck on the line had prevented any such power-shifts for a long time. But, in the end, Terry Malloy has the balls. Inspired by the consciences of the almost socialist priest and sister of the murdered worker, he realizes that letting them control his life is cowardly. “I was ratting on myself all those years and I didn’t even know it.” He takes a stand, and watching him do so, watching Brando do so, is without exaggeration simply spine-tingling.

Al Pacino says he saw On The Waterfront when it first came out in the cinema as a teenager, and by the end of it he couldn’t move. He kept seated, waited for it to start again, and watched it through for a second time. It comes as no surprise to me that his reason for doing so was Marlon Brando. He makes On The Waterfront a classic like no other.

In his debut film, director Haim Tabakman makes a bold statement with his choice of subject. Eyes Wide Open sees a Jewish orthodox butcher named Aaron (Zohar Strauss) gradually seduced by the young nineteen year old Yeshiva student Ezri (Ran Danker). Aaron is married with four children and is well respected in his community, but his life is distinctly lacking in passion. When he hires the wandering Ezri to work in his shop his whole world changes. In a striking line, Aaron says to his rabbi: ‘I was dead. Now I am alive.’

Obvious parallels with Ang Lee’s Brokeback Mountain will be drawn, for both films tackle homosexuality in highly conservative and unforgiving settings. However, Eyes Wide Open possesses a rare and original quality of its own. The story takes place in an extremely orthodox neighbourhood in Jerusalem, where the dark and heavy colours of religious garb dominate. The tone is sombre and tense throughout. The joy that comes out of Aaron and Ezri’s relationship is marred by the suffering of Aaron’s dutiful and adoring wife Rivka. In a saintly display of love, Rivka stands by her husband throughout the whole humiliating affair. Then again, in this oppressive community, what other choice does she have? The most gripping part of the film comes when the local ‘Decency Police’ become involved in the lives of the characters. We get an insight into the strict and suffocating world of the ultra-orthodox as we see these morality enforcers rely on violent methods to curb the actions they view as so sinful.

Originally intended as a short film for television, Eyes Wide Open is low key in its production. The streets of Jerusalem are empty and grey and there is a constant stream of scenes without dialogue. Even the parts of the films which depict Aaron and Ezri in lustful embrace come across as relatively restrained. Tabakman handles their forbidden relationship with sensitivity and understanding. By the end of the film it is hard to say whether the two men have, in fact, done anything wrong.

On the whole the story is evocative and thought provoking with an undeniably fresh approach. It is unlikely that you have seen anything quite like it before.