A Clockwork Orange

Photographed By Karen Burgos

One of the things I’ve resolved to do this year is go to the cinema more often. I’m usually hopelessly out of sync with my friends when it comes to new releases. Whenever they’re deep in discussion about whatever’s currently showing, I’m light years behind, and by the time I finally catch up, they’ve already moved on.

That said, "The Artist" is now firmly ticked off my list. Consequently, I’m ready for Oscar Night on February 26.

Speaking of films, one of my all time favourites is "A Clockwork Orange" (1971), directed by Stanley Kubrick, who also happens to be one of my favourite directors. Among his body of work, my personal favourites, in no particular order, include "A Clockwork Orange", "Eyes Wide Shut", "Barry Lyndon", "The Shining"… and, how could I forget, "Full Metal Jacket". Me love you long time!

It’s not on that list, and I feel almost traitorous admitting this, but I actually prefer Adrian Lyne’s adaptation of "Lolita" to Kubrick’s. Please, don’t hate me! I suspect Jeremy Irons’ almost Shakespearean rendering of Professor Humbert Humbert has a great deal to do with it. I’ll revisit Vladimir Nabokov’s masterpiece another time.

"A Clockwork Orange" is based on Anthony Burgess’s novel of the same name. Set in a dystopian future, it follows Alex DeLarge, a Beethoven’s Ninth loving juvenile delinquent, and his three companions, or “droogs,” as they’re called in the invented slang, Nadsat. Alex is portrayed with chilling charisma by Malcolm McDowell.

After a break in goes disastrously wrong, Alex is apprehended and eventually sentenced to fourteen years in prison. While incarcerated, he is offered a reduced sentence on the condition that he volunteers for an experimental rehabilitation programme known as the Ludovico Technique, an intervention designed to “cure” criminal behaviour in just two weeks. Whether it truly succeeds, however, remains an open question.

The film is undeniably violent, ultra violent, and remains graphic even by today’s standards. Yet it is also lyrically and artistically executed, exploring themes of crime and punishment, revenge and retribution, science, politics, and religion, as well as deeper dimensions of human nature. It is, in many ways, sheer perfection. And then there’s the fashion: Alex’s iconic look, bowler hat, false eyelash, white outfit, suspenders, and combat boots, has been endlessly imitated.

The opening scene of "A Clockwork Orange", with Alex and his companions drinking milk at the Korova Milk Bar, is arguably one of the most captivating in cinematic history, perhaps rivalled only by the “I believe in America…” opening of "The Godfather" and John Travolta’s strut in "Saturday Night Fever", with due credit to the Bee Gees.

A close second, in my view, is the scene in which Alex, larger than life, grips his cane and disciplines his droogs, Pete, Georgie, and Dim, by the marina. It foreshadows his own downfall, yet remains mesmerizing to watch. The choreography alone stands as a testament to Kubrick’s genius.

And then, of course, there’s the infamous Kubrick stare:

1. Tilt your head downward.
2. Look up from beneath your eyebrows.
3. Smile, or grimace.
   For best results, ensure the camera is uncomfortably close.

“Here’s Johnny!”

So Fresh And So Clean

Photographed By Ellinor Forje

Happy New Year! Yes, a bit late, I know...I know. But, I just realized that hadn't shared any well wishes for the forthcoming year.

So what are your resolutions (how many of them have been broken already?)? Mine is basically the same as last year: STOP PROCRASTINATING. It's easier said than done.

With that said, a new dawn, a new day is here, which means only one thing! Time for the traditional January sales (did you hit the shops this weekend?). But, January is cold has hell. And unforgiving. I've never counted it as one of my favourite months of the calendar. Yet, it's the one month that has a certain ambiguity to it. It marks the beginning of something new, and the end of a period that was building up to close a chapter. So January is both redundant and fresh at the same time.

Ah, it's a new year! Finally. I hope it gets filled to your hearts' content. And thank you, you guys for visiting my space.

My Week With Marilyn

Photo Courtesy of Jenny Hutton

I recently watched "My Week with Marilyn" (2011), which now earns a place among the better films I’ve seen this year.

The story, adapted from Colin Clark’s memoirs, "The Prince, the Showgirl and Me" and "My Week with Marilyn", is straightforward. It follows Clark’s alleged relationship with Marilyn Monroe (Michelle Williams) during the London production of "The Prince and the Showgirl", starring Laurence Olivier (Kenneth Branagh). At the time, Clark (Eddie Redmayne) was a junior assistant on set, a peripheral figure drawn into Monroe’s orbit.

The film centres on Monroe’s relationship with Clark, while also capturing the charged dynamics of those around her, including Vivien Leigh (Julia Ormond). She is adored, resented, and mythologised in equal measure, surrounded by admiration, yet starved of genuine affection. When faced with the possibility of relinquishing fame for love, she chooses the stage, only to reveal, almost immediately, the fragility beneath the persona. "Should I be her?" she asks, before stepping fully into the role.

This duality defines the film. A copy of "Ulysses" on her bedside table hints at an intellectual depth often denied her public image, while her vulnerability surfaces in her dependence on acting coach Paula Strasberg (Zoë Wanamaker). She oscillates between self-possession and childlike need.

The production’s attention to detail is particularly striking. Monroe’s iconic hair, so often mishandled in portrayals, is convincingly realised here, avoiding the artificiality that can break immersion. It’s a small but significant triumph.

If there is a flaw, it lies in the physical portrayal. Monroe’s presence was famously expansive, she seemed to overflow the frame, whereas Williams appears more slight. That sense of overwhelming, almost gravitational allure is occasionally diminished. Still, Williams delivers a nuanced and compelling performance, any shortcomings feel more directorial than hers.

Ultimately, the film is visually elegant and well-acted, capturing the complexity of Monroe’s persona without pretending to resolve it. The question of who she truly was remains unanswered, and that, perhaps, is its greatest strength.