amurray-5
may 2002 se unió
Te damos la bienvenida a nuevo perfil
Nuestras actualizaciones aún están en desarrollo. Si bien la versión anterior de el perfil ya no está disponible, estamos trabajando activamente en mejoras, ¡y algunas de las funciones que faltan regresarán pronto! Mantente al tanto para su regreso. Mientras tanto, el análisis de calificaciones sigue disponible en nuestras aplicaciones para iOS y Android, en la página de perfil. Para ver la distribución de tus calificaciones por año y género, consulta nuestra nueva Guía de ayuda.
Distintivos2
Para saber cómo ganar distintivos, ve a página de ayuda de distintivos.
Reseñas2
Clasificación de amurray-5
I watched this film in 1973, in Dublin, as I waited for a flight to New York. It was laughable on every level. Firstly, the accents were all over the place. Those that actually sounded Irish wandered at least 100 miles south of Belfast; well into the Republic of Ireland. The acting was stage Oirish at its worst. Plotting was sublimely inauthentic, with Anthony Andrews' soldier borrowing military vehicles to visit Jenny Agutter up the Falls Road; acts which would have brought his romance to an abrupt end. The IRA prisoners were rescued from the evil Brits when an ancient crone, straight from the potato famine, teleported into the late 20th century and stepped out in front of the armed convoy, responding to the imperious complaint of the chief Brit with the immortal line "Sorry yer honour".
The location shots were so obviously Dublin, right down to the green corporation buses, that when Anthony Andrews left the post-coital bed in his rented love nest, opened the curtains and said, "You can see the river from here", a loud Dublin voice shouted "It's probably the ****** Liffey!" He brought the house down.
See it for a laugh. Thirty three years later, it's still fresh in this viewer's mind.
The location shots were so obviously Dublin, right down to the green corporation buses, that when Anthony Andrews left the post-coital bed in his rented love nest, opened the curtains and said, "You can see the river from here", a loud Dublin voice shouted "It's probably the ****** Liffey!" He brought the house down.
See it for a laugh. Thirty three years later, it's still fresh in this viewer's mind.
To use the word "authenticity" on the same page as this piece of doggerel is either a travesty of the truth or a betrayal of the writer's ignorance. I saw it in 1973, when it was on general release in Dublin, and the audience laughed with derision throughout.
To begin with the detail, it was filmed in Dublin, with Dublin buses careering around the background. The setting could have been made believable with care, but it was a low budget production and reeked of cheapness all the way through.
The characters, for the most part, had Southern Irish accents (Yes, we do speak differently up North). What's worse, they were lazy stereotypes; stage Oirish from start to finish (of which, more later). The police and army were stage villains, worthy of pantomime. The RUC were shown beating the heroic republican prisoners with blackthorn sticks. If this was shorthand, it was unreadable. The young soldier who fell in love with Jenny Agutter's west Belfast girl, was shown borrowing a Land-Rover to drive himself around Belfast, alone and unarmed. If this is authenticity, I've clearly been on drugs for 30 years.
The finale was particularly risible. The oppressed prisoners were being transferred by armoured car and truck, across misty, high moorland, to another, probably more oppressive, concentration camp, when, out of the mist, a toothless crone appeared, clad in the obligatory shawl (everybody in Belfast wore them in the 70s, don'tchaknow). She stumbled in front of the lead armoured car, to be hailed by the villainous British officer (they're all villains - ask Mel Gibson), with words to the effect of "I say there old crone, get out of the bally way". She replied with a stereotypical Belfast riposte to British officers: "Oi'm sorry yer honour". At this point, hordes of people streamed down the mountainside and rescue the heroic prisoners.
Yes folks. It happened just like that in real life. I'm from Northern Ireland originally. I only left 7 years ago. So I can vouch for its authenticity. Even the Dublin audience could see how true to life it was. As my mother used to say, "I haven't laughed as many since I was a children".
To begin with the detail, it was filmed in Dublin, with Dublin buses careering around the background. The setting could have been made believable with care, but it was a low budget production and reeked of cheapness all the way through.
The characters, for the most part, had Southern Irish accents (Yes, we do speak differently up North). What's worse, they were lazy stereotypes; stage Oirish from start to finish (of which, more later). The police and army were stage villains, worthy of pantomime. The RUC were shown beating the heroic republican prisoners with blackthorn sticks. If this was shorthand, it was unreadable. The young soldier who fell in love with Jenny Agutter's west Belfast girl, was shown borrowing a Land-Rover to drive himself around Belfast, alone and unarmed. If this is authenticity, I've clearly been on drugs for 30 years.
The finale was particularly risible. The oppressed prisoners were being transferred by armoured car and truck, across misty, high moorland, to another, probably more oppressive, concentration camp, when, out of the mist, a toothless crone appeared, clad in the obligatory shawl (everybody in Belfast wore them in the 70s, don'tchaknow). She stumbled in front of the lead armoured car, to be hailed by the villainous British officer (they're all villains - ask Mel Gibson), with words to the effect of "I say there old crone, get out of the bally way". She replied with a stereotypical Belfast riposte to British officers: "Oi'm sorry yer honour". At this point, hordes of people streamed down the mountainside and rescue the heroic prisoners.
Yes folks. It happened just like that in real life. I'm from Northern Ireland originally. I only left 7 years ago. So I can vouch for its authenticity. Even the Dublin audience could see how true to life it was. As my mother used to say, "I haven't laughed as many since I was a children".