Whisky Online Blog

Cinema Paradiso is one of those films that everyone remembers. Its the sort of epic, passion infused, sumptuous narrative that reeks of masterpiece. Its a kind of cinema that I think really doesn’t exist outside Europe, sure there are many life affirming films from many parts of the world, its just something about the sheer celebratory joy of this film that is so unmistakably… continental.

One of many famous images from the film.

Taken from a critical standpoint this is, on the surface, a film that is probably overly long, over indulgent, shamelessly sentimental and melodramatic. In short, its not without its flaws, its just very difficult to care about any of them. When I was at university, I did four years of Film and Television studies. Four years of analysing films and learning to deconstruct every shot and frame to wring meaning from a complex canvas of dialogue, music, mise en scene and narrative. You learn to read a film, it becomes second nature and after this it is difficult to switch it off, even during something as disposable as Transformers 2 you can still find yourself subconsciously deconstructing what’s going on. This is not as annoying as it sounds, for me it adds to the richness of the film experience but it is something that is almost impossible to loose. Cinema Paradiso is one of the rare films where I find myself just getting lost in the film, I often react against a film’s attempts to pull me in but with Cinema Paradiso the joy is in letting go, surrendering to the film and being dragged down into it.

The film is basically an unashamed celebration of the joys of cinema and film. It is a love story on many levels, romantic love, love of cinema, love of life, family and, perhaps most crucially, friendship. It is long and sprawling but its length is so liberally filled with moments of overwhelming beauty you can’t help but become caught up in its narrative. It is really a film that is defined by its moments, whether they are single, beautifully realised shots or tiny classic scenes that brim with wit and pathos. Its beauty is in the sum of its parts and its greatness is in the majestic skill with which it weaves those smaller parts together so seamlessly. It is one of those rarest of films, one that revels in beauty and joy, there is no bitterness, no cynicism, no hyper-stylised excuses for lack of substance, it is simply masterful, joyous story telling. If you can make it to the end scene in the cinema with the kissing montage without shedding a tear you should see a doctor about the shard of ice in your heart.

This delicious Bruichladdich is just one of many utterly mind blowing Italian bottlings from the seventies and eighties.

It seems appropriate that such a masterful piece of cinema should hail from Italy, especially when considering matching it with a whisky. I say this because Italy, during the 1970s and 80s probably had a higher and more consistent stream of world class bottlings done for it that any other country at any time. Samaroli, Intertrade and Sestante, to name but a few, between them managed to import some of the greatest whiskies yet known to man. It was a stroke of ingenuity and foresight that was largely thanks to a pioneering whisky enthusiast named Edward Giaccone who imported some utterly stunning casks (particularly some legendary Clynelish). Of course others soon followed of which the most famous is undoubtedly Mr Silvano Samaroli. I recommend here the Bruichladdich, shown above, because it is a fantastic example of beautiful, old school, life-affirmingly good whisky. However you could pick almost any of the Samaroli bottlings from the late seventies and eighties, he selected stunning examples from Bowmore and Glen Ord for his glorious ‘Bouquet’ series, wonderful aged speysiders like Glen Moray, Strathisla and Glen Grant, top class Ardbegs and not forgetting the 1967 black sherried Laphroaig. These were whiskies that give you the same overwhelming sense of joy that is to be found in the film. Some whiskies are so spellbinding with their depth of flavour, balance, complexity and seemingly endless and multifaceted characters that they offer something of an affirmation that life can, on that rare occasion, be fucking marvelous. Obviously many of these whiskies are neither cheap nor common these days but this is to be expected. If you do want to try them then the best bet is, as usual in these cases, to check the multitude of rare dram stands at some of the more serious festivals in Europe. Still, its always worth keeping an eye out for the occasional bargain bottle here and there, you never know, there are always hidden gems to be found gathering dust on obscure shelves in the darker rural recesses of the continent. These are drams that truly make life worth living and liquid worth drinking. Just remember, if you do happen to crack one of these bottles open, make sure you have some sound friends around to help you send it on its way.

Bud Cort and Ruth Gordon take liberal lessons in life.

Like many films concerned with death Harold & Maude is curiously life affirming. This is no mean feat considering that on top of its ruminations on life and death there is also the discomforting theme of cross generational romance. The film plays with ideas of love as a transcendent force, as having no borders of age, race, class or creed and it does it in a very early seventies Hal Ashby kind of way. The soundtrack is filled to the gunnels with Cat Stevens songs, in true Ashby fashion they are liberally draped across the scenes in the same method he would subsequently employ for Coming Home (1978). To some people this technique is distractingly obvious, rather than use subtlety or intertwine the songs in the narrative or within the framework of the scenes they sit on top acting as some kind of emotive harness for the movie. It may not be to everyone’s taste but I think it is part of an unfussy and bold style of filmmaking that is uncommon these days. The film is very much of its time but it shares something with many of its early seventies contemporaries that is oddly enduring, the giddy feeling of finding a new direction, the desperation of finally being allowed to say what matters but not quite knowing how to say it yet. Harold & Maude was part of a new era of filmmaking, some would argue Hollywood’s greatest era, and it remains a curious, endlessly relevant classic.

That rather heavy handed trailer effectively illustrates the entire film and its message. The real joy of Harold & Maude and its ability to be positive lies not in its cumulative effect but in the dark details, in the curious sum of its parts. In Harold’s blackly comic suicide scenes, in his bourgeoning relationship with Maude, her unquenchable thirst for automobile theft and his dismissal of all establishment figures and convention around him. Each scene has a delicate understated beauty to it that simmers quietly beneath the black bubbles of comedy. It is one of those films that will inexplicably cheer you up, it offers something a little different to most romantic fare, it even outstrips most other ‘black’ comedies for its sheer dark yet gleeful lunacy. It might even make you want to play the banjo.

Glen Moray Manager's Choice. I'd really rather you didn't know about it.

Poor old Glen Moray, the slightest mention of its name conjures up images of litre bottles of NAS whisky glaring at you from the shelves of Asda and Tesco, whispering in your ear with their big signs that say dirty things like ‘£13.99′ or ‘reduced’. You know you shouldn’t, its unseemly, its filthy but you get carried away, in the heady buzz of the supermarket you want it, you want it bad. So you do the deed and as you walk away with your shopping the first pangs of guilt arrive, ‘but its ok’ the litre bottle coos at you, ‘just wait till you get me home’. Then the first glass of spirit, its ok there’s a little fruit, but no, no there isn’t, there never was, its just nail varnish remover masquerading as pears. Then the cardboard, then the dankness and finally…the shame. You feel dirty, brushing your teeth wont help, you feel used, the bottle doesn’t whisper sweet nothings anymore, it just laughs, mocking you from the confines of its new home under the stairs. We’ve all been there, we’ve all had the one bottle stand. You promise yourself you’ll never tell anyone, its too shameful, what if your whisky friends found out, what if they knew you’d been unfaithful? What would the bottle of Lagavulin think if it knew? So you have to wait till those relatives you don’t like come round again before you can be rid of it.

Mmmmmm...mellowed in Chardonnay barrels, and only £13.99. Bargain!

Ok so I’m being a bit unfair to Glen Moray but then maybe I should be, I don’t actually want any of you to know or care about it. Older Glen Morays, like the Managers Choice above, are glorious whiskies that can still be found at great prices for what they are, I don’t want people to know about them or, god forbid, buy them. Let alone some of the really old stuff, the 1960′s and 62′s for instance, beautiful, gloriously balanced, complex, fruity, flavoursome whiskies…err…I mean they’re crap, avoid at all costs. In fact I hear they’re all fakes so if you find one please send it to Whisky Online where we can dispose of it professionally. Anyway I suppose what I’m saying is Glen Moray is something of a hidden gem, the Manager’s Choice bottling being a perfect example. Its one of those perfect sherry casks, nothing dirty at all, just layer upon layer of clean dense fruit character, rich, intensely polished, almost decadent, for me its everything I want in a sherried whisky. Its the hidden gem factor about Glen Moray that fits in so well with the film, its something that makes you feel happy just to have discovered it. Its one of those rare occasions when its nice to indulge in something by yourself, although whisky and film will forever in my mind be associated with great friends and sharing their company, sometimes it can be a beautiful thing to just enjoy something quietly by yourself. Harold & Maude with one of those slow and deep drams like the Glen Moray MC is a recipe for such an occasion, a rainy afternoon, a late night, an empty house. Sometimes all the company you need is in the glass and on the celluloid. A great thing about whisky is that it has the ability to turn the most idle flecks of time into joy and hard lost memory. A great whisky makes an imprint on the mind in the same way a great film does, you can remember seeing or tasting something wonderful for the first time, where you were, what sort of day it was, it ties up the most mundane actions around it as part of a greater whole. Even the greatest whiskies will fade in the mouth eventually, but they never truly finish, once they’re stamped across your soul they become endless. A great dram with a great film: life affirming indeed.