IS ANY SCOTTISH FILM AS FONDLY remembered as Local Hero? Trainspotting may have been hipper, The Wicker Man nuttier and Braveheart more globally successful, but Bill Forsyth's melancholic comedy remains a wondrous thing of beauty. Reissued on D
VD on Monday to celebrate its 25th anniversary, what's remarkable about watching it now is how well it has stood the test of time. Some cultural references may be endearingly out of date and the early 1980s fashions quaint, but its environmental themes look incredibly prescient and its humour is still touching, funny and marvellously offbeat.
Put that down to Forsyth's genius knack for infusing whimsy with real depth of feeling and undercutting sentimental romanticism with biting sarcasm. The film tells the story of Mac (Peter Reigert), a Texan oil executive sent to Scotland by his boss (Burt Lancaster) to buy up a stretch of coastline for an oil refinery. Arriving as a brash materialist, he starts falling for the magic of the (fictional) Highland fishing village of Ferness, which leads him to experience something alien to him: true happiness. To anyone who has not seen the film, this description may make it sound hokey, a little bit Brigadoon even, which, as it happens, is an insult that has long been hurled at the film by bone-headed detractors who can't understand the difference between a Hollywoodised slice of tartan tweeness and a thoughtfully produced homegrown effort that cleverly subverts expectations at every turn. Mac's difficulties in buying up the village are not because of local protesters. On the contrary: the villagers, led by a magnificently droll Dennis Lawson, hold up the sale by trying to take this rich American and his company for as much as they can – giving Mac just enough time to fall in love with the place.
The film's ultimate brilliance lies in the way Forsyth denies us a typical Hollywood ending, finding instead a more ambiguous and moving finale that taps into feelings most of us experience at some point in our lives regarding the impossibility of ever truly being able to return to the place that most feels like home. In the film's sole extra, a new interview with the publicity-shy Forsyth, he lets us in on the accidental origins of that ending, and reminisces about working with Burt Lancaster and the importance of both Oscar-winning producer David Puttnam (who initiated the project) and Dire Straits guitarist Mark Knopfler (who composed its famous soundtrack). No other British film has ever quite captured the magic as Forsyth does here, although I'd like to think that if you examined Wes Anderson's filmmaking DNA, you might find Local Hero encoded in there somewhere.
Also out on Monday is
Sweeney Todd, Tim Burton's adaptation of the oft-revived Stephen Sondheim musical. Burton doesn't pussyfoot around here. This is a no-holds-barred musical narrative played out in a very cinematic way with typically astonishing sets and visuals. Sadly it's more of a noble failure than a show-stopping success, and the fault lies with Johnny Depp, who for all his acting abilities isn't a good enough singer to pull off Sondheim's technically complex songs – which makes it hard to care about the plight of this particular demon barber of Fleet Street. Extras include a Burton chat-track, making-of features and production sketches.
The full article contains 570 words and appears in The Scotsman newspaper.
