Guest Review: George On The Imposter

James A. George, Eyewear's film critic, weights in on The Imposter

The Imposter is a new documentary from Bart Layton about a young boy found in a phone box in Europe. Soon after, he is returned to his grieving family in Texas that lost him three years prior. A miracle, or too good to be true? The less known about this documentary the better, that is all you should know.

Even writing the words documentary to describe this film is a weird sensation. At points it is easy to forget you are watching a documentary at all, not only due to the shocking jolts and turns in the story that seem so unlikely you could be mistaken for thinking you were watching a hastily scribbled action movie. But due also to the creative cinematography. Far from recreating scenes the strange history in a crimewatch style, the scenes are dramatised with actors and shot to show the multiple point of views of the events as they unfold; be it the police, the family or the imposter. Bart Layton and his action-movie editor toy with the idea of subjectivity through shifts in point of view visually and narratively. Many documentaries are simply voice over with archive footage and result in an ultimately informative yet not particularly filmic and rather lecturing, whereas the methods described before result in gripping cinema entertainment as well as a revelatory factual documentary.

The themes of manipulation, belief, truths and trust are not only embedded in the story and plot. Layton’s almost absent authorisation of the film, yet expert storytelling, manipulates the viewer and makes them question everyone presented to them as well as the viewers own thoughts. Information is trickled out craftily and different interviews juxtapose one another’s stories. By the time local Texan private detective gets involved, the whole thing becomes so wild, unpredictable and deceptive that it is as darkly funny as it is enjoyable.

In the tiny cinema I saw this in there was a mixture of dropped jaws, withheld sniggering and outright shrieking with words like “liar” or “nutcase” lingering around. It is without doubt one of the best films of the year and deserves all the worldwide praise it has been getting. While this review may seem rather vague (which it is vital to the true enjoyment of this film) I cannot make clear enough how fascinating, fulfilling and shocking this documentary is. See it in the cinema if you can, the visual construction definitely warrants it, as do the voices of others in the cinema. You may think you know what is coming, but you certainly do not.

IQ AND THE POETS - ARE YOU SMART?

When you open your mouth to speak, are you smart? A funny question from a great song, but also, a good one, when it comes to poets, and poetry. We tend to have a very ambiguous view of intelligence in poetry, one that I'd say is dysfunctional. Basically, it goes like this: once you are safely dead, it no longer matters how smart you were. For instance, Auden was smarter than Yeats , but most would still say Yeats is the finer poet; Eliot is clearly highly intelligent, but how much of Larkin 's work required a high IQ? Meanwhile, poets while alive tend to be celebrated if they are deemed intelligent: Anne Carson, Geoffrey Hill , and Jorie Graham , are all, clearly, very intelligent people, aside from their work as poets. But who reads Marianne Moore now, or Robert Lowell , smart poets? Or, Pound ? How smart could Pound be with his madcap views? Less intelligent poets are often more popular. John Betjeman was not a very smart poet, per se. What do I mean by smart?

"I have crossed oceans of time to find you..."

In terms of great films about, and of, love, we have Vertigo, In The Mood for Love , and Casablanca , Doctor Zhivago , An Officer and a Gentleman , at the apex; as well as odder, more troubling versions, such as Sophie's Choice and Silence of the Lambs . I think my favourite remains Bram Stoker's Dracula , with the great immortal line "I have crossed oceans of time to find you...".

THE SWIFT REPORT 2023

I am writing this post without much enthusiasm, but with a sense of duty. This blog will be 20 years old soon, and though I rarely post here anymore, I owe it some attention. Of course in 2023, "Swift" now means one thing only, Taylor Swift, the billionaire musician. Gone are the days when I was asked if I was related to Jonathan Swift. The pre-eminent cultural Swift is now alive and TIME PERSON OF THE YEAR. There is no point in belabouring the obvious with delay: 2023 was a low-point in the low annals of human history - war, invasion, murder, in too many nations. Hate, division, the collapse of what truth is, exacerbated by advances in AI that may or may not prove apocalyptic, while global warming still seems to threaten the near-future safety of humanity. It's been deeply depressing. The world lost some wonderful poets, actors, musicians, and writers this year, as it often does. Two people I knew and admired greatly, Ian Ferrier and Kevin Higgins, poets and organise

E Y E W E A R, THE BLOG - FREEDOM MEANS BEING UNAFRAID TO WRITE WHAT YOU THINK

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