Dec. 3rd, 2010 11:14 pm
Smalltown boy
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muckefuckBorstal Boy was not the movie I'd expected. Of course, it's been sitting waiting to be viewed for so damn long now that it was difficult to remember what I'd been expecting when I first Netflixed it. I'd even forgotten the source materials was authored by Brendan Behan until I was informed during the credits. And I didn't recall that it was his autobiography until I realised the main character was being addressed not only as "Brendan" but also as "Behan".
I'd expected the story of a young Irish idealist becoming radicalised by a stint in the English prison system, so I was thrown to see our hero appear on screen already fully radicalised, and even more so to see the borstal depicted as resembling more a low-budget summer camp presided over by an avuncular Michael York than a correctional facility. Ironically I'd put off seeing it so long because I expected harrowing political drama. But in the end, it was another coming-of-age tale (albeit a bit rougher than many).
Another irony was that![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
monshu happened to toddle by during one of the two genuinely brutal scenes. "This is a pretty violent movie," he said. But it wasn't. There's more footage of rugby than fighting, and five minutes before this depiction of sexual assaults in the dormitory, the same boys were doing Importance of Being Earnest on stage. Apropos of which, one of the film's weaknesses is that it rather misrepresents Behan's background. An early scene has the borstal's librarian (queer as a nine bob bit) urging him to read his "fellow countryman", and the way it's presented one could be forgiven for thinking this was Behan's introduction to fine literature. In actuality, he was raised on Zola and Galsworthy and wrote an ode to Michael Collins at age thirteen.
Oddly, though, the central arc is neither Behan's political nor literary development, but his quasi-romantic attachment to another detainee; his affair with the warden's daughter is given short shrift by contrast. It made me reflect on just how long after his book appeared we had to wait to see an adaptation of it that was comfortable showing one of Ireland's leading literary lights as something of a bender. It's a solid framework, but misses out an opportunity to push the narrative into less conventional territory.
Another weakness is the lack of sense of time passing. The scenery never changes, so whereas Behan's actual detention lasted three years, here it hardly seems like six weeks. But the film is undeniably absorbing; I was so engrossed that I failed to comprehend a single wordmonshu said to me after pronouncing his opinion and had to catch up with him a moment later to find out what I'd missed. The performances are strong and the cinematography is lovely--so much so, in fact, that they foil the attempt of a crappy, anachronistic Hothouse Flowers song that bursts like a suppurating wound three-quarters of the way in to ruin everything.
I'd expected the story of a young Irish idealist becoming radicalised by a stint in the English prison system, so I was thrown to see our hero appear on screen already fully radicalised, and even more so to see the borstal depicted as resembling more a low-budget summer camp presided over by an avuncular Michael York than a correctional facility. Ironically I'd put off seeing it so long because I expected harrowing political drama. But in the end, it was another coming-of-age tale (albeit a bit rougher than many).
Another irony was that
monshu happened to toddle by during one of the two genuinely brutal scenes. "This is a pretty violent movie," he said. But it wasn't. There's more footage of rugby than fighting, and five minutes before this depiction of sexual assaults in the dormitory, the same boys were doing Importance of Being Earnest on stage. Apropos of which, one of the film's weaknesses is that it rather misrepresents Behan's background. An early scene has the borstal's librarian (queer as a nine bob bit) urging him to read his "fellow countryman", and the way it's presented one could be forgiven for thinking this was Behan's introduction to fine literature. In actuality, he was raised on Zola and Galsworthy and wrote an ode to Michael Collins at age thirteen.Oddly, though, the central arc is neither Behan's political nor literary development, but his quasi-romantic attachment to another detainee; his affair with the warden's daughter is given short shrift by contrast. It made me reflect on just how long after his book appeared we had to wait to see an adaptation of it that was comfortable showing one of Ireland's leading literary lights as something of a bender. It's a solid framework, but misses out an opportunity to push the narrative into less conventional territory.
Another weakness is the lack of sense of time passing. The scenery never changes, so whereas Behan's actual detention lasted three years, here it hardly seems like six weeks. But the film is undeniably absorbing; I was so engrossed that I failed to comprehend a single word
monshu said to me after pronouncing his opinion and had to catch up with him a moment later to find out what I'd missed. The performances are strong and the cinematography is lovely--so much so, in fact, that they foil the attempt of a crappy, anachronistic Hothouse Flowers song that bursts like a suppurating wound three-quarters of the way in to ruin everything.![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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When I was in 6th form, I used to go once a week for german speaking classes with this German hipppy woman my mum knew through work somehow. She lived on a boat she'd made herself on Borstal Marina. The directions to get there were brilliant. "Drive to Borstal, keep going past The Borstal and turn right at the taxidermist's"
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