It's still snowing...

The Road.

Starring: Viggo Mortensen, Kodi Smit-McPhee and Charlize Theron.

Writer: Joe Penhall

Director: John Hillcoat.

Everything declines: There was a long shear of bright light, then a series of low concussions. Oh no! The fourth seal has been opened! The Apocalypse is upon us! Cue the music: Carl Orff’s ‘O Fortuna’ – aka the epic music overused on just about everything, including X Factor. It’s also the most famous piece of music composed in Nazi Germany, which is fitting. Carmina Burana, the work from which O Fortuna is taken, was inspired by medieval songs written by minstrels, scholars, monks and jesters in the years of bloody war and plague, joining hordes of homeless men and women traipsing across the broken lands of Europe.

Ingmar Bergman cited this piece of music as the inspiration for his dark classic, The Seventh Seal: essentially a road movie in which a medieval knight deals with death: the final judgement, famously playing chess with the grim reaper on a beach. What he loved was the idea of people travelling through the downfall of civilisation and giving birth to new music – and hope.

In The Road it is ‘The Man’ (Viggo Mortensen) who takes the role of the knight, along with his son, ‘The Boy’ (Kodi Smit-McPhee). These two unnamed characters are our heroes – unknown soldiers in a constant battle with hunger, cold, and the cannibalistic ‘bloodcults’ and gangs which prowl the stark, comfortless, ashen lands of America. An America in which the sun no longer shines, so they must ‘carry the light’ - this is their charge and they preach it religiously.

The first and foremost thing to be said for the story is this: it is NOT a sci-fi-apocalypse-nuclear holocaust movie. The Road isn’t about a dystopian future; it’s just set in one. This is something the first trailers forgot with all their disaster movie iconography: footage of tornados, tidal waves, riots, fire, lightning and hurricanes. All it was missing was shit hitting a fan. You’d have been forgiven for thinking that The Road is another sanctimonious global warming, “we’re all going to die” film, preaching that if we don’t act now, this is what will happen. It’s just not about that. Seeing it as some sort of social commentary or fable is of no moment – it misses the point entirely and sells the whole thing short. My god, if it was about that the film would be painfully depressing and very boring indeed: two characters travel a road to tell you what it will be like if we continue down the unsustainable path we’re on. Thank you very much, now can I go slit my wrists? Thankfully, the newer trailers get to the kernel of the film’s actual meaning, as intended by Cormac McCarthy when he wrote the book: the limits of our humanity – what would you do?

It’s about The Man’s devotion to his son and his eternal, constant fear. The fear of leaving his child alone without the knowledge and experience he’ll need to face the world; a world more dangerous, violent, bleak and doomed than the one he was brought into. McCarthy has a young son and is in his 70s now; this was the inspiration for his book – indeed it is devoted to his son – and now the film, which like No Country for Old Men (another McCarthy book), has been respectfully and cleverly adapted for the screen.

The film portrays a lot of the emotions displayed in the book, enhanced by the somewhat controversial voiceover, something John Hillcoat (the director) and Viggo Mortensen were dead against, but that Joe Penhall (the writer) and McCarthy were all for. It certainly divides opinion, but here’s the rule with voiceovers: if you remove the voiceover, can the story still be clearly told? If it can, keep it in. If we removed the voiceover from The Road, the story could still be well told, but why would we? “If he is not the word of god, then god never spoke”. This short sentence offers insights into The Man’s consciousness, his thoughts and beliefs; it enriches the film in a way that the dialogue could not do without being flabby and obvious, detracting from the pace of the film.

Another controversial aspect of the film is its music. My friend complained about it being terribly soppy and sentimental, and some of it is, where it needs to be. The soppy stuff is counterpoint. It’s entirely at odds with the world created so convincingly by the film. The rest is about the filthiest, grungiest and darkest accompanying music I’ve ever heard. It gets under your skin and builds tension until it snaps, exploding into a properly dystopian tribal beat. For the most part the music works, although the sentimentality in some areas is unnecessary, or at least it shouldn’t be so explicit, and sometimes it’s as if the audio doesn’t trust the visual to be expressive enough, and it so is.

By far the most impressive thing about The Road is its cinematography, which is as expressionistic as they come. It’s almost black and white. What’s more, no CGI was used. The awful world in which the story is set looks so realistic because it is real. The acting is impeccable too. Well, how couldn’t it be with that cast? My only real criticism of this film is its omission of some of the more gruesome aspects of the book. They got the single-minded sentimentality of the film right, so they could afford to throw in some of the more disgusting elements of the story, which is not to say that the film avoided them altogether – parts of it still made me squirm. I mean, it’s not as if anyone’s actually going to watch the film, they’re all too busy fawning over the computer game graphics of Avatar. So, as usual, a film of such intelligence and feeling is going to be far outlived by a thinly veiled social commentary in which oil is renamed “unobtanium”. Sixteen years of development and that’s the best they could do? Welcome to 2010.

My shadow in the snow the day after a blizzard.

Local Natives - Gorilla Manor.

Winter: ‘tis the season to be nostalgic. It’s a season which invites an aching for the past - an aching to return home. Winter is a genre, with its own conventions; its music is wholesome, reflective, melancholic even. Think Bon Iver, Fleet Foxes and now Local Natives, kind of... For while the former are both rooted, for the most part, in thoughtful ennui, Gorilla Manor seems to emerge from the soupy gloom of Bon Iver and the Fleet Foxes’ folksy soundscapes with some urgency. Imagine if Vampire Weekend were from Los Angeles instead of New York, via the Pacific North-West.

The album is peculiar, beguiling even: it’s extremely difficult to pin down to a conventional genre: hence ‘winter’ is its genre, or is it? Gorilla Manor for me was not love at first listen either; it takes some listening to in order to appreciate its idiosyncrasies; to get your head around the sheer individuality of each track and the wanton abandon with which it goes about the changing moods between them, but after a few listens it’s addictive. Their real strength lies in their ability to create an album in which none of the songs are repetitive, and unlike Kings of Leon, the lead’s voice isn’t the overriding force of the act – it may be sacrilege to say it, but I do get bored of Caleb’s desperately unique voice, however brilliant it is.

Not only are the songs not boring, they’re surprising: suddenly changing direction and ending up somewhere new, unexpected. They’re obviously influenced by Fleet Foxes, but Fleet Foxes are restrained, and even when they break out one of their fantastical instrumentals, there’s a sense of reservation there. This is most certainly not the case with this lot – on ‘Sun Hands’ for example, the shouty vocals build up then fade, then we get a break before it erupts again into a wonderfully anarchic chant, followed by a destructive, Pete Townshend-esque instrumental, bridging back into reality before the end choral flourish.

Give it a listen, then you’ll get my fixation with winter and the past. By the end of it I was mooching around on Facebook looking at old photos. For me it really did invoke some sense of nostalgia and warmth, although it is, after all, winter, and there was 6 inches of snow outside. Who knows, who cares? What matters is that the music did elicit a response other than apathy – something I’m finding increasingly rare in music these days.