I started watching Rene Clair's And Then There Were None on Prime and was surprised to find firstly that it was in colour and secondly that the colour was so shonky- with overstated oranges and blues. Then I realised I wasn't looking at an interesting and imperfect early colour process but at a black and white print that had been colourized- which is to say vandalized- probably by Ted Turner for the sake of advertising revenue- so I switched off.
And in its place I watched All The Money in the World- the movie about the Getty kidnapping which had to be partially remade after shooting wrapped when Kevin Spacey suddenly became a non-person. It is sufficiently entertaining, but trite, with Mark Wahlberg- an actor I cordially dislike- shoehorned into the story so that it can be centred round a tough but righteous all-American dude- instead of around the kidnapped boy's mother- merely a woman after all- who, as played by Michelle Williams- not a bankable star, after all- is its most interesting and least stereotypical character. Christopher Plummer- a handsome and upstanding alpha male- is miscast as John Paul Getty- who in real life was an ugly little goblin- and I've no doubt Spacey- an actor of far greater range- was more convincing in the role. Perhaps one day- when the hysteria dies down- someone will release the movie in its original form and we'll get to judge. I miss Kevin Spacey.
Earlier in the week Ailz and I sat down to watch Agnes Varda's Cleo do 5 a 7. The films of the French New Wave- even though they're now 60 years old- are still wonderfully fresh. Only its pre-feminist ending- with the alienated heroine being saved by the love of a good man- traps this one in its time.