heebie_jeebies

Gad, what an abomination. They hold an open casting call, creating the impression they're actually looking for good presenters, and instead they overlook all presenting ability and go for 3 dreary motoring columnists with all the wit and charm of Peter Lorre and all the dashing good looks of George Formby. Where was the humour? All we got was three ill-at-ease middle aged twits with no personality hooning around on some sand dunes, pretending to enjoy themselves and guffawing hysterically at every whimsical comment. How about Charlie explaining the technical details of a car's transmission by doodling a diagram in the dirt? I mean really, does your average Top Gear fan give a Peter Luck how the car works? And what exactly was the point of the shark stunt, and what did it have to do with cars?? About the only joke I can recall from the entire show was some nauseatingly unfunny quip about Victoria Police "busting a cap in someone's ass", which was followed by a round of self-congratulation and an appeal to the bemused audience for applause. Oh and of course there was the obligatory attempt to imitate some of Clarkson's outspokenness, by taking a cheap and unfunny shot at the government over their luxury car tax.

Maybe if they'd tried to do something a bit different, rather than just imitating all the personality traits of the original hosts, it might not have looked so bad. As it is, they look like really bad Cliff Richard impersonators in an Elvis impersonator's competition. The bloke who plays Richard Hammond, Steve Pizzati, got on my nerves too. I can only imagine how grating that whiny soprano and irritating cackle will be by the end of the series.

I was actually considering auditioning for the James May role when they had the casting call, but I wouldn't have gotten it as I'm way too funny.

I'm sure the BBC execs are sharpening their axe as I type. It's rather amusing that the only original segment was titled What Were They Thinking, as it summed up my reaction to the BBC's decision to commission this steaming pile.

Two of the most unattractive stars of Hollywood 30s team up to give 'life' to a poor conversion of what was already a pulpy novel to begin with. It's no exaggeration to say that this Mills and Boon reject could easily have been the product of some 16 year old schoolgirl's frustrations of unrequited love. Practically anyone who can work a typewriter can write a story like this. It's akin to sitting in front of a piano, randomly making pleasant sounding harmonies using the white keys, then claiming you've written a symphony. Whilst it may sound pleasant enough, it would exhibit none of the skill and brilliance that would make it true art. So it is with this – anyone can imagine a series of events and write them down, then claim they have written a screenplay. But it takes knowledge of story construction and a great deal of skill to create gripping, emotionally involving drama. The only emotions created by this dog of a story are frustration and bemusement as to how anyone could think this was a good idea for a film.

The screenwriter doesn't appear to have a grasp of the basic structure of drama. For example, all the setbacks are resolved within minutes of screen time. That's not drama! That's like television, where everything has to be resolved quickly to fit within a 22 minute episode. True drama is about struggle – the protagonist rising up and using all his strength to attain the central goal. In this movie, a setback occurs, and then like clockwork, its resolution conveniently appears out of the blue in the next scene.

This pattern of wasted opportunities continues until towards the end, when Mildred is about to do something that would have created real tension and interest – I found myself thinking "oh no, Mildred! Don't do that!" And what do you know? She didn't do it. Another opportunity wasted. So much for drama! Perhaps the single biggest problem with the story is that the central concept – a man's obsession with a woman – is ridiculously unbelievable. Howard's character, Phillip Carey, is a semi-respectable gentleman, and yet he somehow manages to fall head-over for a vulgar wench of a woman who is completely devoid of all charm. A few insulting words from her at a café and suddenly he's on cloud nine. She continues to abuse him and treat him like an automatic teller machine; she still has absolutely no charm and nothing in common with him, and yet he still feels compelled to leave a much more attractive and charming woman for her, and even fantasises about her to the point of distraction during his medical exam. This particular sequence was so ridiculous that I almost laughed out loud. It was rather like seeing Phillip fantasise about John Cleese in a dress, doing his 'handbag lady' character. That anyone could possibly find Mildred attractive is well beyond my ability to suspend my disbelief and this is a fatal flaw given that Phillip's obsession is the central theme of the film. The ability of the audience to identify with the protagonist is a crucial element of successful drama and it is sorely lacking here.

The fact that Bette Davis was nominated for an Oscar for this performance really shows just how meaningless an accolade they truly are. Had she portrayed Mildred with initial charm and attractiveness, then little by little revealed her corrupt, selfish interior, then perhaps the performance would have been something to admire. Instead, she portrayed Mildred as the ghastly, vulgar gold-digger she was right from the beginning and destroyed any concept of how Phillip could possibly have fallen for her. They might as well have cast some vulgar cockney waitress off the street in the role, for all Davis brought to it. Similarly, Howard displays the same adequate but charmless, boring mediocrity he brought to every role he ever played.

The obligatory credit-where-it's-due part: at least the directing is slightly cinematic, rather than just being a filmed play, as many of these overly talky 30s films tend to be. With that aside this movie is, in a word, abysmal. In five words it is laughable, nauseating, boring, contrived and unwatchable. If it's pain you want, save yourself the 90 minutes by sticking your hand in a pasta maker instead.

The film begins compellingly - wasting no time, the opening shot shows a car driving off a bridge and into a river. For me, this was the highlight of the movie, as Capra quickly kills all the suspense by immediately explaining exactly what the car crash was all about with his usual montage of dizzying newspapers piling up on the screen. Certainly this is not meant to be a suspense film, but it needn't go out of its way to kill all the suspense it has set up, either.

It should be said that this film didn't stand much of a chance with me to begin with, what with the lead role being played by Gary Cooper - an actor who, to my mind, possesses all the rugged good looks of George Formby and all the dashing charm of Boris Karloff. Capra's usual ensemble of characters are all there - Cooper plays the all-American small town everyman hero, there is a mystifyingly odd performance from Jean Arthur as the pithy love interest, Douglas Dumbrille is the fuddy-duddy clueless old gentleman and the always awful Lionel Stander is the sort of character he always plays. All that's missing is a character called "Mr Peabody". I award points for at least not making Stander a henchman called "Louie". However, there is scarcely a character in the entire film that's not a cliché - from the board members of the opera foundation, to the judge in the courtroom scene; Capra even sinks so low as to use a bespectacled, bearded German psychiatrist. To be fair, these characters may not have looked as clichéd when the film first came out, but still the film looks like it was made with the same movie template kit that all Capra's films come from. And it's not just the characters - there's also the too-familiar-for-my-liking marching band/tickertape parade, and of course the rapturous feel-good climax. And while I'm at it, I've had it up to here with 30s comedies about newspaper reporters looking for scoops about socialite gossip. As soon as I realise it's another newspaper reporter plot, the film has lost me.

Lack of originality aside, my main beef with this film is the major issue I have with most films - the plot is simply not compelling enough. It uses the same form of suspense that most of these meandering films use - the "what's going to happen next?" form. The story takes little twists and turns and little dramas pop up here and there and whenever they feel like it, but it's not tightly structured enough to be compelling. It's merely a series of events with no real driving force behind it; and the few unanswered questions likely to provide interest will be already answered in the minds of the viewers with knowledge of Capra's other equally predictable films.

It took this film to finally convince me that Capra is in no higher a league than Howard Hawks, George Cukor et. al. - i.e. a mediocre stage director who must have come into the possession of some compromising photos of a movie studio chief.

The montage of newspapers reappear several times throughout the film, interjecting to explain the bleeding obvious to the viewers, as though we need to be told that the trial is due to begin today because we can't deduce that from the fact that the scene is set in a courtroom. The courtroom scene, by the way, is nothing short of excruciating. I've never been one to value realism in films but there is a definite point beyond which I cannot suspend my disbelief. The threshold of disbelief is roughly about the point where you see a respectable, conservative looking and doubtless well-read court judge give credibility to an equally conservative in appearance team of lawyers, who are accusing Deeds of insanity based upon such clear acts of hysteria as feeding doughnuts to a horse and jumping aboard a moving fire engine. The fact that the judge allowed such preposterous charges to even be heard, let alone to conduct a full hearing and listen attentively to the evidence with a straight face, really made this scene unwatchably stupid. At any rate, ten minutes of ridiculous evidence and testimony "proving" Deed's insanity makes uninteresting viewing.

For one brief moment at the end, I took leave of my senses and thought that the film was going to finish with a non-predictable conclusion. All loose threads of storyline had been tied up and the curtain was ready to fall – I was about to award this film kudos for actually doing something different and out of tune with the Hollywood fairy-floss that makes up the rest of the story - then Capra spoils it all by tacking on a brief and unnecessary coda that makes it indistinguishable from every other bit of feel-good plop he ever excreted.

To briefly give some credit where it's due, at least the Mr Deeds character was not entirely as wholesome as Mr Smith, making him not an exact carbon copy – and I must confess that the first forty minutes of the film was mildly entertaining in its own way, although seldom funny. The less cynical viewers amongst us who don't notice every plot device, every stock character and every recycled storyline in a film like I do, may well be able to find some enjoyment in the rest of the film as well; though I struggle with the possibility of the courtroom scene being anything less than painful.

If one thing can be said for Capra, he was many years ahead of his time - he paved the way for many of today's clueless directors with no concept of the art of cinema. I'd sooner watch a Hitchcock home movie of his grandchildren playing in a wading pool than this boring bulldust. Other than that, I absolutely loved it.