GoneWithTheTwins_com
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GoneWithTheTwins_com's rating
Batman could learn a thing or two from Dr. Syn, alias the Scarecrow. He's a ceaselessly interesting character, an antihero who strikes fear into the hearts of the men who serve him, yet one who executes only noble acts. In his mission to save his people from the tyranny of King George III, he presents himself as a borderline villain; donning a fearsome mask, gravelly voice, and cackling laugh creates Darth Vader intimidation, as well as a perfect ruse when it's revealed that he's actually a vicar for the Dymchurch parish of Romney Village.
It's the early 1700s and Dr. Christopher Syn (Patrick McGoohan), a country priest, uses the disguise of a terrifying scarecrow mask to lead his band of rebel "gentleman" to lash out at King George's treacherous naval press gangs and his ruinous taxes. The Scarecrow menacingly insists that unjust laws can be altered. The smuggler's successes cause the frustrated ruler to dispatch the Royal Army's General Pugh (Geoffrey Keen) to clean up the village, no matter what the cost. Caught up in the mix is the lenient Sir Thomas Banks, his daughter Katharine (Jill Curzon) and her lover Lt. Brackenbury (Pugh's second-in-command), and Harry (David Buck) - a soldier recently returning from deserting service.
Originally a three-part television series chopped together into one feature-length film, the movie version doesn't lose much of the appeal of the full version, nor is it painfully obvious that scenes have been edited out. Only once is there a break that feels out of place. The story, based on the historically-set series of novels by Russell Thorndike, makes sense, is sharply paced, and is nonstop fun. With a riveting theme song and plenty of action, it's no wonder this relatively obscure production is so highly sought after on home video.
The perfectly cast McGoohan uses a blend of makeup mixed into the scarecrow mask to reveal an eerily realistic moving mouth during scenes of conversing. The vizard is a striking extension of his face, even though its nothing more than a burlap sack when removed. The design is a cleverly demonic blend of horror and awe, paired intuitively with an insane, shrill cachinnation. With an anonymous identity, an expressionless visage, and a frightening presence, the Scarecrow is one of the most gratifying cinematic crosses between protagonist and antagonist, always ready with a plan that serves as both a lesson for his men and a warning for the king. And to match such an engaging hero is the merciless Pugh, a man whose evil is bested only by his superiors, generating a pleasantly devious hierarchy of villainousness. Dramatic, exciting, suspenseful, and swashbuckling (even though only one sword is brandished), "Dr. Syn, Alias the Scarecrow" is an absorbing film whose title character takes his rightful place alongside the likes of Robin Hood, Zorro, the Scarlet Pimpernel, and every other hero who valiantly fights against injustice.
– The Massie Twins
It's the early 1700s and Dr. Christopher Syn (Patrick McGoohan), a country priest, uses the disguise of a terrifying scarecrow mask to lead his band of rebel "gentleman" to lash out at King George's treacherous naval press gangs and his ruinous taxes. The Scarecrow menacingly insists that unjust laws can be altered. The smuggler's successes cause the frustrated ruler to dispatch the Royal Army's General Pugh (Geoffrey Keen) to clean up the village, no matter what the cost. Caught up in the mix is the lenient Sir Thomas Banks, his daughter Katharine (Jill Curzon) and her lover Lt. Brackenbury (Pugh's second-in-command), and Harry (David Buck) - a soldier recently returning from deserting service.
Originally a three-part television series chopped together into one feature-length film, the movie version doesn't lose much of the appeal of the full version, nor is it painfully obvious that scenes have been edited out. Only once is there a break that feels out of place. The story, based on the historically-set series of novels by Russell Thorndike, makes sense, is sharply paced, and is nonstop fun. With a riveting theme song and plenty of action, it's no wonder this relatively obscure production is so highly sought after on home video.
The perfectly cast McGoohan uses a blend of makeup mixed into the scarecrow mask to reveal an eerily realistic moving mouth during scenes of conversing. The vizard is a striking extension of his face, even though its nothing more than a burlap sack when removed. The design is a cleverly demonic blend of horror and awe, paired intuitively with an insane, shrill cachinnation. With an anonymous identity, an expressionless visage, and a frightening presence, the Scarecrow is one of the most gratifying cinematic crosses between protagonist and antagonist, always ready with a plan that serves as both a lesson for his men and a warning for the king. And to match such an engaging hero is the merciless Pugh, a man whose evil is bested only by his superiors, generating a pleasantly devious hierarchy of villainousness. Dramatic, exciting, suspenseful, and swashbuckling (even though only one sword is brandished), "Dr. Syn, Alias the Scarecrow" is an absorbing film whose title character takes his rightful place alongside the likes of Robin Hood, Zorro, the Scarlet Pimpernel, and every other hero who valiantly fights against injustice.
– The Massie Twins
It begins with a cacophonous medley of environmental sounds, such as crickets chirping, before cutting to absolute silence and the title. And then to a shot of severed heads. Perhaps this is Scorsese adding in some of his signature bits of artistic representations and violence. But what follows is an excruciating exercise in repetition, as faith is tested again and again for nearly three hours, with a relentlessness better reserved for succinct motifs, not heavy-handed, protracted lessons on religious dogmata.
"There's little peace for us now." The progress of spreading Christianity in Japan has been halted by persecution and destruction. The remaining padres have - along with their followers - been brutally murdered. Some even ask to be tortured to demonstrate their faith in God, but the end result is the same.
When a letter reaches Father Valignano (Ciaran Hinds), purporting that one of the strongest of all priests, Father Ferreira (Liam Neeson), has apostatized and taken up a Japanese wife, two young padres refuse to accept such an unequivocal falsity. Resolute in clearing his name, they determine to make the hazardous journey to Japan to find out the truth about Ferreira's whereabouts. Father Garrpe (Adam Driver) and Father Rodrigues (Andrew Garfield) were directly under his tutelage, and so procure a Japanese man, Kichijiro (Yosuke Kubozuka), living in Macao, to aid in their smuggling onto the island.
By 1640, Garrpe and Rodrigues are the last two priests to witness the aftermath of the 20 years of Jesuit persecution in Japan. They make their way to the tiny village of Tomogi before moving on to Goto, where remnants of Christian believers still secretly practice their faith. They must hide during the day and hold mass in the dead of night, always in fear of being found out by the Inquisitor (Issei Ogata), an elderly, somewhat comical man charged with seeking out and eradicating the perceived threat of Christianity.
"Silence" does exhibit stellar performances, especially when it comes to exceptional courage through unshakeable beliefs (Driver being far more convincing than Garfield, in appearance and speech). There are also opportunities for contrasts and fluctuations in adherence to such religious principles, particularly with Kichijiro, who comes to represent many of the failed ideologies mistranslated or misunderstood in proliferating a system so fundamentally alien to many of the formerly Buddhist inhabitants. Doubt also creeps in, as Garrpe grows impatient and Rodrigues questions the illusory habits of a deity that unexplainably remains absent in the most anguishing of times. The two priests, along with most of the villagers, are desperate for tangible signs of faith - signs that occasionally become more valuable than faith itself.
In this perpetual search for validation and proof of God's omniscience, there are numerous sequences of profound conviction, made more striking by the increasing pitifulness of the survivors and the escalation of tortures inflicted on those who refuse to renounce the invading religion. But, correspondingly, in this indulgent, overlong epic of potent morals, where the individualization of religious implications routinely trumps the bigger picture (along the lines of the infuriating yet purposeful justifications seen in "A Man for All Seasons"), there's fleeting entertainment value to be found. It's a historical lecture more than a moving examination of theological unity or human weakness, and surely a plodding series of reiterations on shaping spirituality through pain and fear. It's not quite the "priestsploitation" nonsense that it could have been, but it's nevertheless redundant, light on engaging drama, heavy on physical and psychological trials, and sparse on monumental ideas. Particularly with its finale, "Silence" attempts to think for the audience, so that they don't have to strain to uncover subtle genuineness; religious viewers will certainly interpret various sequences to a greater (or different) degree than those without perspectives comparable to the characters on screen.
"There's little peace for us now." The progress of spreading Christianity in Japan has been halted by persecution and destruction. The remaining padres have - along with their followers - been brutally murdered. Some even ask to be tortured to demonstrate their faith in God, but the end result is the same.
When a letter reaches Father Valignano (Ciaran Hinds), purporting that one of the strongest of all priests, Father Ferreira (Liam Neeson), has apostatized and taken up a Japanese wife, two young padres refuse to accept such an unequivocal falsity. Resolute in clearing his name, they determine to make the hazardous journey to Japan to find out the truth about Ferreira's whereabouts. Father Garrpe (Adam Driver) and Father Rodrigues (Andrew Garfield) were directly under his tutelage, and so procure a Japanese man, Kichijiro (Yosuke Kubozuka), living in Macao, to aid in their smuggling onto the island.
By 1640, Garrpe and Rodrigues are the last two priests to witness the aftermath of the 20 years of Jesuit persecution in Japan. They make their way to the tiny village of Tomogi before moving on to Goto, where remnants of Christian believers still secretly practice their faith. They must hide during the day and hold mass in the dead of night, always in fear of being found out by the Inquisitor (Issei Ogata), an elderly, somewhat comical man charged with seeking out and eradicating the perceived threat of Christianity.
"Silence" does exhibit stellar performances, especially when it comes to exceptional courage through unshakeable beliefs (Driver being far more convincing than Garfield, in appearance and speech). There are also opportunities for contrasts and fluctuations in adherence to such religious principles, particularly with Kichijiro, who comes to represent many of the failed ideologies mistranslated or misunderstood in proliferating a system so fundamentally alien to many of the formerly Buddhist inhabitants. Doubt also creeps in, as Garrpe grows impatient and Rodrigues questions the illusory habits of a deity that unexplainably remains absent in the most anguishing of times. The two priests, along with most of the villagers, are desperate for tangible signs of faith - signs that occasionally become more valuable than faith itself.
In this perpetual search for validation and proof of God's omniscience, there are numerous sequences of profound conviction, made more striking by the increasing pitifulness of the survivors and the escalation of tortures inflicted on those who refuse to renounce the invading religion. But, correspondingly, in this indulgent, overlong epic of potent morals, where the individualization of religious implications routinely trumps the bigger picture (along the lines of the infuriating yet purposeful justifications seen in "A Man for All Seasons"), there's fleeting entertainment value to be found. It's a historical lecture more than a moving examination of theological unity or human weakness, and surely a plodding series of reiterations on shaping spirituality through pain and fear. It's not quite the "priestsploitation" nonsense that it could have been, but it's nevertheless redundant, light on engaging drama, heavy on physical and psychological trials, and sparse on monumental ideas. Particularly with its finale, "Silence" attempts to think for the audience, so that they don't have to strain to uncover subtle genuineness; religious viewers will certainly interpret various sequences to a greater (or different) degree than those without perspectives comparable to the characters on screen.
- The Massie Twins