Yes, it released last week, but chances are – amid the Captain America and Bridget Jones fanfare – you missed this Antipodean gem that lures with wide-eyed protagonists and sucker-punches with genuine feels. Though it looks on paper like a cutesy animation, this stop-motion labour of love is not designed purely for half term nippers (it’s a 15 certificate in the UK). The memoir at its core (based on writer-director Adam Elliot’s own childhood) is from Grace (Sarah Snook), who recalls her seventies upbringing as a snail-mad Aussie kid when she was orphaned and fostered, torn away from her adored brother Gilbert (Kodi Smit-McPhee). While Grace lives with louche swingers, Gilbert lives with creepy evangelists – will the duo ever be reunited?
Madman Entertainment
As Grace tells her story to Sylvia, a pet snail, she covers heartbreaking experiences while in care that take in alcoholism, sexual abuse, bullying and cripping loneliness. Sounds grim? It could be without Elliot’s light touch – finding humour, moments of loveliness and claymation boobs (yep, did we mention it’s a 15?) amid the darkness. ‘Childhood was life’s best season,’ says Grace, ‘it never lasts, but everyone deserves one.’
Madman EntertainmentMadman Entertainment
A central light for Grace is her best friend, a quirky OAP called Pinky (voiced by Jackie Weaver) who smells of ginger and picks up the pieces that the self-absorbed foster parents don’t when they head off to a Swedish nudist colony. She’s a ray of sunshine – both in Grace’s life and in Weaver’s cheeky, delightful vocal work. Eric Bana also turns up in a small role that makes a mark. Tragi-comic but also profound, Memoir Of A Snail is bursting with character and meaning. The ugly-lovely clay creatures that people it may be experiencing unique hardship but the themes of self-acceptance and fortitude are universal. As is the idea that we are all like snails: carrying around our baggage beneath a shell of our own making, and unable to re-track on the route we have already travelled. Bleak but beautiful, it’s an ode to all the ways humans are messy and broken. There’s a reason Nick Cave cameos…
Madman Entertainment
Words by JANE CROWTHER Pictures courtesy of Madman Entertainment Memoir of a Snail is out now
It’s been 24 years since the world was introduced to the celluloid Miss Jones, an endearing hot mess (Renée Zellweger) who vacillated between two posh boys – one snooty (Colin Firth), one caddish (Hugh Grant) – as she negotiated adulting, big knickers and glasses of Chardonnay. And as is now standard for all beloved movies, Bridget has had some less successful sequels, a period of absence and now gets a real-time revisit. Like Ghostbusters, Top Gun: Maverick and Gladiator II, this legacy sequel reunites the original cast (despite Grant’s character being killed off in the previous film) and invites audiences to check in with their favourite characters at a later stage in their lives.
Universal Pictures/StudioCanal
As she noted in her first outing: It is a truth universally acknowledged that when one part of your life starts going okay, another falls spectacularly to pieces. Though Bridget happily married Mark Darcy, she’s now a single, widowed parent to two small children, four years into a crippling grief process having lost Mark (Firth touchingly appears as wish fulfilment). Her delightful Hampstead Heath house is all over the place, she’s still rubbish at cooking (burnt pasta instead of blue soup) and she pitches up at the practice of her gynecologist (Emma Thompson) with any type of ailment. But she’s muddling through with the help of friends including still-concupiscent Daniel Cleaver (‘I was dead for a bit,’ Grant shrugs) and the memories of Darcy. When concerned ‘smug marrieds’ suggest she get back into the dating game, Bridget stumbles across two possible loves: younger park ranger, the improbably-named Roxster (Leo Woodall), and ‘whistle-obsessed fascist’ teacher, Mr Wallaker (Chiwetel Ejiofor).
Like the Darcy/Cleaver love-triangle that percalates through previous movies, audiences are asked to choose for Bridget here: the doe-eyed boy who jumps into swimming pools to rescue dogs but may be emotionally immature? Or the attractively brusque teacher who understands her withdrawn son but is reserved himself? Throw in some callbacks (Bridget’s red pyjamas and her Netflix sign-in, a trip to Borough Market, Darcy’s Christmas jumper) and trademark humiliating moments (Bridget buying condoms, announcing how much sex she’s had to an audience, falling over) and it’s like no time has passed at all. But where this version of Bridget really works is leaning into unapologetic sentiment and exploring sorrow in a genuinely affecting way. Zellweger’s Bridget has always been a touchstone for women in terms of struggling to have it all, but now she’s not just juggling suitors, silly little skirts and sex. Her tussling with menopause, feelings of maternal failure and ageing hit differently, more profoundly. Combining that with Grant’s specific brand of sweet/spicy (still getting the biggest laughs with his sardonic disdain but also disarmingly vulnerable and supportive) and a tangible ache for the husband and father that is missing from the picture – and Mad About The Boy manages to equal the original film, with more emotional punch.
Universal Pictures/StudioCanal
Zellweger is still as reassuringly daffy and adorable as Bridget but layers in a relatable world weariness of a mourning woman just trying to get through a day, which works a charm in later scenes when she makes a decision about a man she might not have made in film one. Her suitors are less well-sketched – Roxster a contender for his looks in a wet t-shirt, Mr Wallaker merely by being age-appropriate – but Woodall and Ejiofor manage to breathe enough life into their roles. Meanwhile national treasures Thompson and Grant threaten to pocket the picture with brief scenes discussing lips and poetry readings respectively. Must put in diary. V. Good.
Words by JANE CROWTHER Pictures courtesy of Universal Pictures/StudioCanal Bridget Jones: Mad About the Boy is in UK cinemas now
Luca Guadagnino’s heady depiction of ’50s Mexico City in Queer is as seductive as the love affair at the heart of the tale. Hollywood Authentic celebrates a metropolis with a rich cinematic history and a spicy selection of attractions.
The last time we saw Daniel Craig on screen in Mexico City, he was striding across the rooftops along its main avenue. And death was lurking on the street below – in the form of gaudily coloured floats and giant cigar-chomping skeletons; a ‘Day of the Dead’ parade in full flow.
Death was on Craig’s mind as well, through the crosshairs of his rifle. As James Bond in Spectre, Craig sought men to kill. Fast forward a decade, and he is seeking men for thrills – in Luca Guadagnino’s opulent, delirious adaptation of William S Burroughs’ Queer, playing a thinly veiled cinematic version of the American writer and poet.
Part of the ‘Beat Generation’ of anarchic wordsmiths who helped to redefine the limits of literature in the mid-20th century, Burroughs wrote about his post-war ex-pat experiences in Mexico City, in a novella also titled Queer. Its pages were so crammed with content that would have been deemed shocking at the time that it went unpublished until 1985. This was a chaotic period in the writer’s life. Burroughs had fled the United States in 1949, in the wake of a drugs raid on his New Orleans home that had raised the prospect of jail time. Addicted to heroin, he tried to carve out a new life in Mexico City; bar-hopping, picking up lovers and ultimately, in September 1951, killing his wife, Joan Vollmer, during a riotous night at a friend’s apartment. He was, he said, attempting a ‘William Tell stunt’ of shooting a glass (rather than an apple) placed on top of her head – only to miss the target and hit his spouse. Whether this was (as he claimed) drunken high-jinks gone tragically wrong, or a pre-meditated act (he was convicted of manslaughter in absentia), remains a matter of debate. Burroughs made a run for it again before the case could come to trial, ultimately wandering the Ecuadorian Amazon (an ‘adventure-quest’ that the movie covers) in search of the psychedelic drug yagé (ayahuasca).
Guadagnino has been obsessed with the novel since reading it in his youth. In his vicarious hands, Burroughs’ tale of ‘William Lee’, a drink-addled romantic, comes vibrantly to grubby-gorgeous life, as Craig’s crumpled-linen barfly pursues a young naval veteran, Eugene Allerton (a barely disguised avatar of Burroughs’ lover Adelbert Marker), played by Drew Starkey. A viewer will no doubt want to head straight to the airport and Mexico City after the end titles, thirsty for mezcal, sultry temperatures, the Baroque architecture and the sound of mariachi bands. But Guadagnino’s sleight of hand is so subtle that you scarcely notice one particularly important fact: that everything was filmed either on Italian soundstages (at the iconic Cinecittà Studios in Rome), or in Ecuador, where the capital Quito offered a splendidly convincing impression of its Mexican counterpart.
This, itself, is quite the feat, because Mexico City is hard to impersonate. It ranks as the biggest city in North America (and the sixth biggest on the planet); a melting pot of 22 million people. And it is fascinating when caught on camera. Even if Guadagnino’s lens is dealing in misdirection, plenty of other directors have cast the city as a star attraction. Its credit list over the last three decades has been impressive. And diverse – sometimes showing the city as an affluent jewel; at others, scratching at base layers of dirt and crime.
Y tu mamá también (2001) – Alfonso Cuarón’s coming-of-age masterpiece – pitches the city as an enclave of monied insouciance; a place that bored teenagers Julio (Gael García Bernal) and Tenoch (Diego Luna) cannot wait to leave, on an impromptu road trip to the Oaxaca coast with an alluring older woman. Cuarón repeated this trick in Roma (2018), his Oscar-winning dissection of family life in the well-to-do titular neighbourhood. But here, the world beyond the driveway is darker. Set in 1971, the plot draws on ‘El Halconazo’, that year’s brutal massacre of student demonstrators by paramilitary group Los Halcones.
This bleaker seam was mined by Tony Scott in his 2004 thriller Man On Fire – sending Denzel Washington into Mexico City as an ex-CIA bodyguard tasked with the protection of a rich man’s daughter (scenes were filmed in the city’s Estudios Churubusco, as well as surrounding districts). And Baz Luhrmann opted for an on-edge Mexico City in his 1996 tour-de-force Romeo + Juliet, using it as one of the real-life settings for his fictional Verona Beach. The Capulet mansion where the lovers (Leonardo DiCaprio, Claire Danes) meet is the Chapultepec Castle, the former royal palace that, as of 1939, has been Mexico’s National Museum of History, perched on a hilltop that was sacred to the Aztecs.
The shadows are perhaps lengthiest in 2000’s Amores perros – the first chapter of the ‘Trilogy of Death’ directed by Alejandro González Iñárritu. Here, three seemingly distinct tales – of a barrio teen (Bernal), a model (Goya Toledo) and a hitman (Emilio Echevarría) – converge around a car crash. While several scenes were filmed in high-end neighbourhoods such as La Condesa and Lomas de Chapultepec, Iñárritu’s commitment to authenticity saw the tape roll in some of the city’s more deprived districts.
Such movies are a demonstration that, in a metropolis the size of Mexico City, there will always be light and shade; want colliding with wealth. But they are also evidence of the city’s strong directorial bloodline. Both born in its midst in the early 1960s, Cuarón and Iñárritu are just the latest visionaries to have emerged from the city’s fertile cultural soil. There have been many other ‘chilangos’ behind the camera – feted filmmakers Luis Estrada, Carlos Enrique Taboada and Juan Bustillo Oro, to name just three.
For all the occasional uncomfortable truths told by Cuarón and Iñárritu, Mexico City offers an upbeat (and safe) experience for visitors keen to embrace its charms – and a more immersive version of Mexico than that found on the beaches of Cabo or Cancun. Particularly amid the important sights of the Centro Historico – and in the more salubrious districts, where tourists are most likely to put down their luggage.
At root, the city is still Tenochtitlan, the pulse of the Aztec Empire, which was conquered by the Spanish crown in the first half of the 16th century. The main square, Zócalo, was also the centrepiece of the indigenous city, and its function remains unchanged. Its echoes are noisy, its past never invisible or inaudible. The National Palace, on its east side, is the seat of the Mexican government, but much of its masonry is a recycling of the palace of Moctezuma II, the Aztec emperor whose reign (1502-1520) coincided with the arrival of the conquistadors. Similarly, the Metropolitan Cathedral – a Gothic pile, constructed in stages between 1573 and 1813, which stands on the north flank of the plaza – is also hiding a ‘secret’; it occupies some of the footprint of the Templo Mayor. This was one of the holiest sites in Tenochtitlan, devoted to Tlaloc (the Aztec god of agriculture and rain) and Huitzilopochtli (the god of war). You can still see its foundations next to the church.
There are more recent wonders, too. The Palacio de Bellas Artes – close to the leafy expanse of Alameda Central park – is an art museum as striking as the treasures inside it; a giddy mixture of Art Deco and Art Nouveau, crafted between 1904 and 1934. Its focus falls upon the same century; star exhibits include murals by Jorge González Camarena and Diego Rivera. The latter’s much more celebrated wife – Frida Kahlo – is also present.
Retail therapy can be sought in a range of tempting places – the department stores on the broad street of 20 de Noviembre in the Centro Historico; the haute-couture boutiques that decorate the Avenida Presidente Masaryk, where it sweeps through gilded Polanco.
Tastebuds can also be tantalised. While it is endlessly possible to lean on local staples – tortillas, tamales et al – 2024 brought the publication of a first Michelin Guide to Mexico, and with it, an even brighter spotlight on two of the capital’s most acclaimed restaurants. Pujol (pujol.com.mx), in Polanco, is the brainchild of Enrique Olvera – offering a modern slant on traditional Mexican dishes, all delicate tacos and palpable finesse. It is one of just two restaurants in the guide to have been handed two stars; the other is its Polanco neighbour Quintonil (quintonil.com), where chef-couple Alejandra Flores and Jorge Vallejo have also reinvented the national cuisine, with nine-course tasting feasts and fabulous mezcals.
Sleep can also be stylish and elegant. Perhaps at Condesa DF (condesadf.com), in the lovely neighbourhood of the same name – a design hotel, slotted into a neoclassical 1928 apartment building, whose rooms have been shaped by Mexican architect Javier Sanchez and Iranian-French interior designer India Mahdavi. Elsewhere, the St Regis Mexico City is a well known silhouette on the skyline (marriott.com) and boasts a perfect location. Its in-house spa deals in widescreen views of the cityscape, while its pool floats above the hubbub on the 15th floor; its King Cole Bar – one of the city’s best options for cocktails if you want to recreate Queer’s tippling – is a softly lit refuge from the commotion of Paseo de la Reforma outside.
If that busy boulevard (Paseo de la Reforma is an equivalent of Paris’ Champs-Élysées) looks familiar, it should. This was the very street catapulted to global attention by that spectacular Spectre opening sequence. Even if, again, sleight of hand was at play. Like Guadagnino’s CDMX (local slang for Mexico City), the ‘Dia de los Muertos’ carnival displayed with such verve was actually an intoxicating invention for cinema. No such event existed in reality. But it has since – by popular demand – been slotted into the city’s calendar, for visitors wanting to taste the reality of what they saw onscreen. In Mexico City, real life and cinema are so tightly entwined that one frequently influences the other.
Hollywood Authentic’s restaurant correspondent Abbie Cornish tastes hyper-seasonal elegance in the heart of Hollywood.
Nestled between Hollywood and Larchmont Village, Kali is a neighbourhood restaurant that redefines Californian cuisine through a refined yet accessible lens. Created by lifelong friends Chef Kevin Meehan and Drew Langley, it offers an approachable take on fine dining, emphasising ingredient integrity, technical prowess and exceptional service. A casual yet refined experience in an environment that is both relaxed and distinguished.
Kali’s contemporary Californian charm is evident the moment you step inside. The restaurant’s interior is fresh and inviting, featuring wooden accents and cushioned seating with soft white tones. Blue-and-white paintings provide a subtle touch of artistry, making the space simple yet cosy. This unpretentious setting perfectly complements the restaurant’s mission: to deliver cuisine that is organic, sustainable, rooted in quality ingredients, elevated by an understated elegance. The open kitchen serves as a central feature, giving diners a glimpse into the craft behind each dish.
Chef Kevin Meehan’s culinary expertise is evident throughout Kali. With a career that includes time at the Patina Restaurant Group, Meehan has cultivated a unique style blending technical prowess with creativity. He met Langley in 2001 while both were working at L’Orangerie, and their partnership has only grown stronger since. Before opening Kali, Langley served as the wine director at Providence, bringing a wealth of experience to their collaboration and ensuring Kali’s success.
Kali’s hospitality is exceptional. The staff bring a perfect blend of warmth and professionalism, guiding guests through the evening with ease. From recommending ideal wine pairings to providing insights into the seasonal menu, their dedication to Kali’s vision is evident, making every guest feel valued.
The menu is a tribute to California’s rich agricultural bounty – around 90 per cent of the ingredients are sourced from local farms, emphasising organic and sustainable practices. This focus results in a dynamic, seasonal menu that brings out the best in every ingredient. A menu that celebrates the intrinsic qualities of each and every component, allowing their flavors to be fully realised.
The chef’s tasting menu is a showcase of contemporary Californian cuisine, featuring nine courses that highlight the restaurant’s dedication to fresh, seasonal ingredients. Each dish, from the truffle mushroom risotto (more of which later) to the dry-aged lamb chop with allium XO sauce and chanterelles, serves as homage to the culinary possibilities inherent in the local landscape. For plant-based diners, a dedicated tasting menu ensures an equally enriching experience.
Our dining experience commenced with the Crowded Beach, a vibrant assortment of mussels, uni, clams, yellowtail and other treasures of the sea, each bite bursting with fresh, oceanic flavor. Followed by the Beef Tartar Cigar, an inventive presentation of finely seasoned beef tartare encased in a crispy shell, accompanied by a rich yolk dip for added depth. A highlight of the meal was the mushroom risotto, featuring spigarello, Fiscalini cheddar and oyster mushrooms. Adding the truffle supplement brought an extra layer of indulgence to the dish, enhancing its flavor complexity. The autumn salad showcased fresh produce from the farmers’ market, offering a vibrant and refreshing prelude to the mains. Among them was the sea urchin pasta. This pasta stood out with its creamy emulsion and delicate breadcrumb topping, capturing a sense of oceanic luxury. The Liberty Farms duck breast was tender and well-paired with kuri squash and autumn spices, embodying the warm flavours of the season.
For dessert, Meehan fashioned a toasted meringue gelato made with Strauss cream. Shaved on top was a house-cured egg yolk that offers a sweet-and-salty texture, resulting in a dessert with a rich, decadent mouthfeel balanced with a light, airy texture – a fitting finale to an exceptional meal.
Langley’s carefully curated wine programme is a testament to his extensive experience and knowledge. The wine list showcases an impressive selection of both local and international wines, with an emphasis on Central Coast varietals and rare, small-production bottles sourced from private collections. For a truly immersive experience, opting for the wine pairing with the tasting menu is highly recommended.
Kali’s handcrafted cocktails are just as noteworthy. The Alley Cat, with amaretto, strawberry tequila and Luxardo, was bold and flavourful; while the Shanah Tovah, made with Tom Cat gin, honey apple and kombucha, provided a refreshing and unique twist.
Kali offers more than just a meal – it delivers an experience that stays with you long after the last bite. Meehan and Langley have crafted a space that is personal yet sophisticated, with every detail thoughtfully considered. Whether you’re a local searching for a new favourite spot or from out of town and eager to explore Los Angeles’ culinary offerings, Kali is a neighbourhood gem that’s well worth a visit. Tell Chef Kevin I sent you…
Photographs by KALI Words by ABBIE CORNISH 5722 Melrose Avenue, Los Angeles, CA 90038 www.kalirestaurant.com
Photographs by MARY ELLEN MARK Words by GISELE SCHMIDT & GARY OLDMAN
Hollywood Authentic’s photography correspondents Gary Oldman and Gisele Schmidt look at the work of an outsider who innovated technique and equipment for on-set photography and whose Elvis and Sophia pictures cemented a personal relationship.
Christmas is my favourite time of the year – not because I relish getting gifts but because I love giving them. I’m a planner. I don’t wait for the last minute to start shopping; it’s a carefully thought-out process and, at times, arranged weeks, even months, ahead of time. My ears always perk up when family and friends mention they like something, or are nostalgic about some memory from their childhood, or have a specific interest/hobby, or that they should have gotten this, that and the other thing. I file it away in the back of my mind and when the opportunity arises, I do my utmost to select that ‘perfect’ gift. Gary nicknamed me ‘The Finder of Rare Things’ – a title I wear very proudly. However, the rarest gift I have ever found is him.
Elvis and Sophia Loren by Bob Willoughby
Our first Christmas many moons ago was filled with many ‘firsts’. It was the first holiday my son, William, would not be with me as it was his father’s ‘turn’; it was the first holiday I would be staying with Gary and spending time with his sons, Gulley and Charlie; and it was just around the time we admitted to each other that we were no longer just dating. In a nutshell, it was a highly emotional time. I was heartbroken that William would not be with us but recognised that this provided me a chance for two of Gary’s boys to get to know me a little better, and for them to begin to understand how much I cared for, appreciated and understood their dad. But how does one do all of that in a gift? I owe it all to the late, great Bob Willoughby.
My mom in her 20s was a knockout. No joke, a cross between Sophia Loren and Ingrid Bergman – don’t believe me? I’ve got pictures to prove it, but I digress. She is a huge Elvis fan; so, naturally I grew up listening to his albums and watching his films. When I was selecting images for a Bob Willoughby exhibition, I instinctively chose his photograph of Elvis Presley and Sophia Loren at the Paramount Commissary in 1958. I never had the opportunity to talk with Bob about his photography as he had passed away in 2009, but his son Christopher would regale me with many a tale: Bob was with Sophia and they were seated having lunch when all of a sudden Sophia jumped to her feet having spotted Elvis walking through. Bob believed they had never met before but somehow in moments, she was sitting on his lap tousling his hair telling him how much she loved his music! The incident was over as quickly as it had transpired, but luckily Bob was there and caught every frame of it. The sequence is quite special but the standout for me is featured here – though Elvis is not looking, we know exactly who he is and the smile on Sophia, that’s unabashed joy. Perfection.
Gary visited the gallery many times and he would always eye this photograph; however, he was always hesitant to get it for himself. As if the joy expressed within the image was something he didn’t deserve or hadn’t yet found. All the photographs he had acquired were rather ‘work related’. Directors directing, actors acting, or a quiet moment on set. This photograph was so much more than that. It was spontaneous, intimate, and the captured act was one for one’s own enjoyment. Sophia loved Elvis and she saw an opportunity to tell him so. And this was mine. I was greeted with that same smile when he unwrapped his gift of these shots, and I am greeted with that same smile every morning when he brings me coffee in bed.
Bob Willoughby was the original ‘outsider’ in the genre of the motion picture still. He was the first photojournalist hired by the major studios to take photographs – a liaison between the filmmakers and the leading magazines of the time. He could be shooting for seven different publications but know exactly what each one needed in terms of editorial content and design layout while capturing what was essential to each film. But it didn’t even stop there; he was an innovator, too. He created the silent blimp for 35mm still cameras – a covering that was placed over the camera to minimise the sound of the shutter, making it less distracting for the actors and avoiding detection by the film sound department. He was the only photographer who used radio-controlled cameras that would give him coverage when it was physically impossible to fit in on set or be present for action shots. And he also devised special brackets that could mount his cameras above the Panavision cinema cameras, providing unprecedented vantage points.
Dorothy Dandridge by Bob WilloughbyShirley MacLaine by Bob Willoughby
Dorothy Dandridge was famously quoted saying, ‘I have always been a rebel, an outsider.’ I believe that’s why Bob and Dorothy had mutual respect on the set of Otto Preminger’s film, Carmen Jones, for which she became the first Black woman to be nominated for a Best Actress Oscar. Bob photographed Dorothy taking a break while seated on an apple box. Dorothy focused likely on some directorial notes being spoken by Preminger; it is understandable how Bob’s lens would rather be turned to her, the real star of the production.
Willoughby studied film at the University of Southern California. His photographs show an understanding of the filmmaking process, the responsibilities of the cast and crew to generate a particular scene, and the dedication it takes to get it all right. Bob’s photograph of Shirley MacLaine on the set of the film Can Can encapsulates these elements of repose and high drama by featuring the actors and directors simultaneously on and off set with the use of a mirror.
When I photograph on set, I do love to snap images in the quiet moments. Finding an actor or crew member when they least expect it or are in preparation for the next scene. The fascination comes from the admiration that they do or understand something beyond my own purview. It’s partly awe and curiosity. Willoughby, of course, was on assignment and had the opportunity to accompany them beyond the limits of set and we are ever grateful for his end results…
Rock Hudson by Bob Willoughby
Rock Hudson was filming A Farewell to Arms in Grado, Northern Italy. Having an opportunity between scenes to return to his portable dressing room to finish a letter, Bob shot the extraordinary image of all the local ladies peering in to get a glimpse of their favourite actor!
Months before filming began on Green Mansions, Audrey Hepburn was given a young fawn so that it would become comfortable around her. Audrey named the fawn Ip and had such fondness for the little creature that, to the chagrin of her dog, Famous, it ended up living with them. Ip followed Audrey everywhere, even shopping in Beverly Hills.
Audrey Hepburn and Ip by Bob Willoughby
Willoughby’s photographs on and off set are extraordinary, but the epitome of his brilliance in taking an image that represents the ‘soul’ of a film is none other than that of Anne Bancroft and Dustin Hoffman on a specially constructed set at Paramount during the filming of The Graduate, 1967. There are many iconic images from the set: Dustin hiding in his room, Katharine Ross and Dustin running from the church at the end of the film… But my favourite piece of trivia is that when Bob came to set and was introduced to the cast, including a young New York actor doing his first film, Bob asked, ‘Dusty?’ Whereupon he was given a strange look. ‘Your mother is Lillian and your father is Harry and you have a brother named Ronald?’ Dustin responded, ‘Ok, ok. How do you know all of this?’ Bob responded, with what I can only imagine was a huge smile, ‘I used to live upstairs in the same house on Orange Drive, I used to babysit you.’ It may be a small world, but life on set is never dull.
Photographs by BOB WILLOUGHBY Words by GISELE SCHMIDT & GARY OLDMAN Photographs courtesy of MPTV Images. Learn more willoughbyphotos.com
Lautner’s bold structure in Palm Springs starred in Diamonds Are Forever (1971) and still shines as an architectural gem. Hollywood Authentic is dazzled by the Elrod House.
If one thinks of an archetypal Bond villain lair, architect John Lautner’s 1968 concrete masterpiece – built among boulders and perched on a hilltop – is probably exactly what comes to mind. It may not have a launch pad for a space ship, sharks in the pool or a secret escape tunnel, but stepping inside the stark rooms with clean lines, desert views for miles and a crescent swimming pool seemingly balanced on a slope, it’s easy to see why it was cast as Willard Whyte’s home in Sean Connery’s 1971 outing as 007.
In Diamonds Are Forever, Bond is on the trail of a precious stones smuggling ring, which leads him to Las Vegas and billionaire Willard Whyte. After being left to die in the desert, the British spy turns up at Whyte’s futuristic house, sauntering up the drive and slipping through the copper gate and the glass door to be confronted by bikini-clad henchwomen, Bambi (Lola Larson) and Thumper (Trina Parks). Their athletic skirmish, which ends with a dunk in that pool, shows off the house in all its glory. Bambi is first seen lounging in a chair in the cathedral-like domed lounge, while Thumper reclines on an in-room rock formation – bringing the outside inside, as was Lautner’s intention. Their cartwheeling, chandelier-swinging assault on the gentleman spy gives viewers a good look at the impressive design.
Elevated above Palm Springs and overlooking the Coachella Valley, the building sits in the Araby Cove neighbourhood and was commissioned by interior designer Arthur Elrod, who furnished the house himself on its completion in 1968. Lautner was the son of parents interested in design (their own home featured in American Architect magazine) and was a former apprentice of Frank Lloyd Wright – who designed the Marin County Civic Centre, which Hollywood Authentic lauded in issue 7. When Lautner launched his own firm, he became a leading light in Californian Modernism, designing striking homes that became famous in their own right. With their unique profiles and flowing spaces, Lautner’s builds were instantly recognisable as his work and ideal for cinematography. The Garcia House on Mulholland Drive seems to float on posts over Hollywood and was famously used in Lethal Weapon 2 as the home Riggs pulls down the canyon with his truck; while George’s covetable mid-century love-nest in A Single Man was the wooden Schaffer House in Glendale. The floating spaceship only reached by funicular in Body Double? Lautner’s famed 1960 Chemosphere in the San Fernando Valley. And his Sheats-Goldstein Residence in the Hollywood Hills has featured in numerous music videos and movies, most notable as the porn king’s house that ‘The Dude’ is abducted to in The Big Lebowski. ‘Quite a pad you got here,’ the Dude notes. Quite so.
The Elrod House is certainly worthy of the descriptor ‘pad’ – Playboy magazine’s November 1971 issue ran an approving feature on it called ‘Pleasure On The Rocks’. Lautner’s vision for The Elrod House was organic architecture – incorporating the landscape in the design; making use of the rock formations around the house by integrating them into walls and pockets between rooms. Fanning the house out from the main-event circular living room, Lautner conceived a 60 foot-diameter circular space under a wheel-like roof of alternating glass and concrete slabs. Floor-to-ceiling windows allowed a 180 degree view, the retractible glass pulling back to allow the line between exterior and interior to blur, the pool to become part of the entertaining area (and in Bambi and Thumper’s case, a place to dive into). A set of steps hugged the outside of the pool to transport residents to other levels of the house.
Radiating for this social hub are five bedrooms, five-and-a-half bathrooms, kitchen and ancillary rooms, two-bed guesthouse, staff quarters and a gym with breath-snatching views across to the mountains of San Jacinto and San Gorgonio. The house’s surroundings encroach in all the spaces: Thumper’s lounging rock pushes up through the sitting-room floor like a mini version of the horizon out of the windows; the master bedroom is akin to sleeping in a cave. And next to the sunken bath, a rocky outcrop starts outside the window and continues through the glass to touch the marble tub. Succulents and cacti grow within and without.
The architect’s interest in reflecting nature in design was born when he helped his father build a cabin on Lake Superior in his home state of Michigan as a 12 year-old. He moved to California to work with Lloyd Wright and was inspired by the SoCal environment, his work irrevocably linked to the image of a palm tree, cactus and bleaching California sun. His pads were so desirable that the ultimate showman, Bob Hope, also commissioned him to create a lair for him in 1969 – an iconic building close to the Elrod House that shares similar lines and ambition. Both venues now feature as part of Palm Springs’ annual Modernism Week – a celebration of mid-century architecture, design and culture. Architectural diamonds truly are forever.
Photographs by KATE MARTIN Words by JANE CROWTHER Learn more about John Lautner at www.johnlautner.org
At this time of year, cinema is an embarrassment of riches – the films that could have been contenders on the Oscars run jostle for position with those that made the golden nominee enclosure. In another year, The Fire Inside, a plucky boxing biopic, might have been included in awards conversations – most particularly for Brian Tyree Henry’s multi-dimensional performance as a coach.
Charting the climb of Claressa ‘T-Rex’ Shields, a determined young Black teen from Flint, Michigan, who took herself to the 2012 Olympics and astonished her opponents and the boxing community, The Fire Inside is both a classic sports flick and a story of female emancipation. As written by Barry Jenkins and directed by cinematographer Rachel Morrison (who lensed Creed), it not only tells that underdog story but provides nuance and lived-in detail to Clarissa’s struggle that wasn’t just competitive, but influenced by race, gender, geography and economics.
Amazon MGM Studios
An impoverished girl growing up hungry and caring for her siblings while her single mom parties, Clarissa (played with steely gumption by Ryan Destiny) doesn’t have many options in dilapidated Flint. But she turns up at the boxing gym of Jason (Henry), a guy who teaches the neighbourhood boys to spar when he’s not a telephone engineer. Clarissa’s diligence and Jason’s care forms her into a champ, one who could fight for America at a global level, as well as inspire other hungry overlooked girls.
Jenkins’ screenplay gives space for Clarissa to have agency not only in fighting against older, more experienced opponents but in questioning sports funding (white competitors who wear makeup and cute outfits get sponsorship and endorsements, male athletes get more deals than female) as well as the importance of financial compensation for talent. She can win gold but she needs more than praise to feed her siblings, telling her boyfriend bluntly that ‘money IS recognition’. At the same time, Jenkins expands the roles of those around this champ; her mother is a mess of contradictions, her coach isn’t merely a hardass.
Amazon MGM Studios
Coach Jason, in the hands of Henry, is a warm, kind man who sees the opportunity sport presents to Clarissa and, without fanfare, does everything in his limited power to make it happen for her. That means taking on a fatherly, protective role and also stepping away when he needs to. In another, less crowded, year Henry would surely be planning his tux for Oscar night. As the two go for a second Olympic triumph, we see the cost of fighting for first when it’s not rewarded and the pressure on a teenager when she could be the ‘golden girl’ in every way. And though it ticks the sports movie bingo card (jogging in snowy streets, nailbiting matches, the threat of a fierce competitor), The Fire Inside succeeds in being about so much more – and reflecting audience real-life experience back at them.
Amazon MGM Studios
Words by JANE CROWTHER Pictures courtesy of Amazon MGM Studios The Fire Inside is in cinemas now
When we first meet Iris (Heretic’s Sophie Thatcher) she’s narrating a voiceover telling us about two epiphanies she’s recently had: one when she met her boyfriend Josh (Jack Quaid) during a meet-cute in a supermarket and another… well, that would be telling. Her second moment of truth comes when she and Josh take their robo-car to a luxury lakehouse in upstate New York for a weekend with friends. A tremulous woman with a candy-coloured kitsch wardrobe and cute retro headbands (kinda like a Stepford Wife, wink), Iris only has eyes for Josh. But when the wealthy owner of the lakehouse, Russian possible-mobster Sergey (Rupert Friend, pocketing scenes with a florid accent and mullet), tries to force himself on her, Iris sees red. The people pleasing demeanour gives way to rage, revenge, self-preservation: a new survival mode, if you will. Which is news to Iris, because – in a plot beat unconcealed by posters and trailer – she doesn’t realise that she is in fact a ‘companion’ robot and not a real girl. Now that Iris is off-programme and best laid plans have skittered into chaos, just how much damage can be done when your AI goes rogue?
Warner Bros. PicturesWarner Bros. Pictures
To say more, is to spoil the cheeky twists in a brisk, fun comi-horror about misogyny, tech fear and the salutary lessons of reading the small print. Once past the scene setting and narrative rules (Iris can’t lie, can be factory reset, is controlled by a phone app), Companion gets into its algorithm stride like a gen Z Ex Machina. The former good girl must fight her for her life as the friendship group unravels with the lure of money and Josh tries to control his fembot. That prompts jokes and jabs at incel culture, entitlement and the whining of a young, white man moaning that life is so unfair for him. Quaid treads a nice line between charming/charmless that he previously essayed successfully in Scream, while Thatcher aces the evolution of a naif to ninja. Lukas Gage and Harvey Guillén also bring sweet comic relief as a gay couple with a power imbalance.
Fast and loose – put any pressure on post-screening plot analysis and the wheels come off – Companion is a popcorn treat not designed to live long in the imagination once consumed. It’s not likely to instigate behavioural change, but it will entertain on a night at the flicks. Just turn your phone off…
Warner Bros. Pictures
Words by JANE CROWTHER Pictures courtesy of Warner Bros. Pictures Companionis in cinemas now
Some of the hard truths at the heart of Mike Leigh’s latest fall easily from the mouth of Pansy (Marianne Jean-Baptiste), a misanthrope London mother and housewife whose daily diatribe at, and about, other people hides a crushing depression and self-loathing. When she’s not furiously polishing the leather sofa in the lounge, Pansy is berating her layabout son, scolding her cowed husband or shouting at random people in car parks or the health professionals at the dentist and doctors. She even has a scowl and a harsh word for the pigeons and a passing fox that dare to enter her garden. By contrast, her sister Chantelle (Michele Austin) is a laidback hairdresser with the patience of a saint and a vibrant social life that involves her two grown, ambitious daughters. She sees the boiling rage and frustration emanating from her sister (Pansy of course criticises her hairdressing skills) but struggles to tell her sibling a hard truth; that Pansy clearly needs mental health support.
A reunion of Leigh and Jean-Baptiste after their collaboration on 1996’s Secrets And Lies, Hard Truths marks a return to the velvet glove punch of the auteur’s trademark observational dramedy. With cinematography by longtime collaborator Dick Pope, Leigh allows seemingly insubstantial suburban moments to be captured as Pansy goes about her day which accumulate into a sorrow for a woman who can demand to see the manager, that checkout assistants smile more and that her husband never eats fried chicken in the house but cannot ask for the help she desperately needs.
The success in making an audience care about such a curmudgeon who even criticises a baby for wearing an outfit with pockets is due to Leigh’s sly script (gently unpicking a deep-seated trauma in Pansy from her mother’s death) and Jean-Baptiste’s performance which is the very definition of powerhouse. She rightfully deserves the heat she’s currently getting on the trophy trail. Pansy is monstrous and ridiculous, yet funny (she has a point about the baby) and vulnerable. A scene in which the two sisters attend the grave of their mother is so brusquely affectionate that it is heartwarming as Chantelle tells Pansy something many audience members will recognise in their own family relations.
They say that we can choose our friends but not our family and in this bittersweet meander through a world many of us know intimately, perhaps that is the hardest truth of all.
Words by JANE CROWTHER Hard Truthsis in cinemas now
A talking point at Venice Film Festival for its epic running time (215 minutes including an interval), Brady Corbet’s uncompromising drama finally makes it to cinemas for audiences to decide if it’s as ambitious and empty as the building at the centre of it, or an Oscar-winning masterpiece. Following the life of Jewish architect László Tóth (Adrian Brody) over 33 years, Corbet’s opus tracks the story of America via immigration, anti-semitism, art and commerce.
Universal Pictures
Arriving into New York on a boat from Hungary in 1947, László’s and our first view of the Statue Of Liberty is inverted, setting the tone for a film that seeks to play with expectation. László makes his way to Pennsylvania and his cousin (Alessandro Nivola) who gives him shelter in his furniture making business. Called to the home of wealthy industrialist, Harrison Lee Van Buran (Guy Pearce), to create a library for his study, the Eastern European genius’ work is so starkly modern that Harrison is impressed enough to commission him to design a building. The creation of that brutalist building over decades as László’s wife and niece are brought from Hungary and the Tóths become the Van Buran family pets, is the life-work and angst of the film. László attempts to find perfection in draughtsmanship and reconnect with a traumatised wife (Felicity Jones); his benefactor shows his generosity and cruelty…
Universal PicturesUniversal Pictures
Corbet and Mona Fastvold’s screenplay is dense and chewy, giving Brody the opportunity to show off the soulfulness that won him an Oscar for The Pianist and allowing Pearce to entertain with dangerous bonhomie. The two men dance around each other; one trying not to be obsequious in gratitude, the other trying to conceal his darkness. Waiting for those factors to collide as the building begins to take shape on the hill is much of what drives the film, which thrums with tension – both emotional and aural, thanks to sound design.
Universal Pictures
Lauded by critics during the festival circuit, The Brutalist is likely to be diverse to paying punters. While some will thrill to the immersive, indulgent nature of Corbet’s detailed universe, others will be tested by its unhurried pace, esoteric themes and bum-numbing length. Even the precisely styled credits might annoy. But for those looking for the bombastic results of an auteur with a vision, The Brutalist is arresting cinema that offers a unique experience. Whether you like it or not, depends on your tolerance to the didactic nature of auteurism.
Words by JANE CROWTHER Photographs courtesy of UNIVERSAL PICTURES The Brutalistis in cinemas now
