John Boorman’s Deliverance (1972)

At my school we were encour­aged to join one or more of the many extracur­ric­u­lar clubs and soci­eties, and I recall a bewil­der­ing array of choic­es from archery to play­ing the zither (not real­ly, but it begins with Z and illus­trates the point). I chose Film Club because it didn’t involve any more effort than sit­ting in the lec­ture the­atre and watch­ing a movie, and this seemed like a fair extracur­ric­u­lar activ­i­ty to me. Some stu­dents must have been in con­trol of the actu­al film selec­tion because I can’t imag­ine any of our teach­ers sug­gest­ing 1975’s vio­lent­ly dystopi­an sci-fi flick Roller­ball (set in the then-dis­tant future of 2018) or 1972’s grit­ty and nudi­ty-con­tain­ing mob movie, Prime Cut, yet both these movies fig­ure promi­nent­ly in my Film Club mem­o­ries. Anoth­er movie that some­how made the cut was Deliv­er­ance.

Deliv­er­ance was a land­mark 1972 movie pro­duced and direct­ed by British film­mak­er John Boor­man, and chron­i­cles the sto­ry of a group of city slick­ers embark­ing on a canoe­ing adven­ture in the remote wilder­ness of north­ern Geor­gia. Burt Reynolds plays Lewis, the most sea­soned out­doors­man and leader of the group, with Jon Voight play­ing his friend Ed, and new­com­ers Ned Beat­ty and Ron­nie Cox appro­pri­ate­ly play­ing novices Bob­by and Drew. Unfor­tu­nate­ly for all con­cerned, things don’t turn out quite the way they were planned.

The film is not­ed for the music scene near the begin­ning, in which one of the vis­i­tors, Drew, plays Duel­ing Ban­jos on gui­tar with a gift­ed ban­jo-pick­ing coun­try boy, played by fif­teen-year old local Bil­ly Red­den (whose large head and almond-shaped eyes ticked the box­es for Boor­man look­ing for a char­ac­ter sug­gest­ing an “in-bred from the back woods”, with all due respect to Red­den). Red­den didn’t actu­al­ly play the ban­jo and wore a spe­cial shirt that allowed a real ban­jo play­er to hide behind him!

Duelling Ban­jos

Deliv­er­ance is also noto­ri­ous for the scene lat­er on in the movie when the adven­tur­ers are now deep in woods coun­try, and in which Bob­by and Ed encounter two shot­gun-wield­ing moun­tain men. These men turn out to be the last peo­ple you would want to meet in such a remote set­ting, and they tie Ed to a tree by his neck whilst one of them puts Bob­by through a gru­elling and humil­i­at­ing ordeal: he is com­pelled to strip down and then to “squeal like a pig” as his attack­er tor­ments him, before final­ly being raped. It’s grim view­ing, and only relieved when Reynolds’ capa­ble char­ac­ter Lewis hap­pens upon the scene and comes to the res­cue (if a lit­tle late for Bob­by) by killing the rapist with his bow and arrow and induc­ing the sec­ond hill­bil­ly to scarp­er into the woods. The rest of the film involves the pan­icked reac­tions of all con­cerned and the dra­ma of their attempts to escape back to civil­i­sa­tion (where you can safe­ly imag­ine Bob­by would be remain­ing ever after).

There is a scene in which the guys fall from their canoes whilst rid­ing a par­tic­u­lar­ly dan­ger­ous stretch of rapids. Dum­mies were used in the film­ing but hav­ing viewed the scene, Burt Reynolds request­ed to have the scene re-shot with him­self in the canoe rather than a dum­my, in the inter­ests of authen­tic­i­ty. Boor­man agreed and Reynolds pro­ceed­ed to ride the rapids, but fell out, smashed his shoul­der and head on rocks and float­ed uncon­scious down­stream, before wak­ing up with Boor­man at his bed­side. Reynolds asked “How’d it look?” and Boor­man said, “It looked like a dum­my falling over a water­fall”!

Get a flavour of the movie by watch­ing this mon­tage below.

Gustav Mahler’s Symphony No. 5 Adagietto (1902)

Although Gus­tav Mahler (1860–1911) is right up there in the pan­theon of com­posers, his music gained its true cur­ren­cy only well after his death. Sure, he was famous in his life­time as a con­duc­tor but his com­po­si­tions were large­ly neglect­ed and indeed banned in Europe dur­ing the Nazi era (Mahler was an Ashke­nazi Jew), and it was only after 1945 that a new gen­er­a­tion of lis­ten­ers redis­cov­ered his music and turned him into one of the most fre­quent­ly per­formed and record­ed com­posers which has sus­tained to the present day.

Mahler com­posed his Sym­pho­ny No. 5 between 1901 and 1902, most­ly dur­ing the sum­mer months at his hol­i­day cot­tage at Maiernigg in Aus­tria (his “com­pos­ing hut” is now a lit­tle muse­um). At near­ly sev­en­ty min­utes long, it’s a musi­cal can­vas with some seri­ous scope, but today we’ll look at the fourth move­ment or Adagi­et­to, a ten­der piece of music that was said to have rep­re­sent­ed his love for Alma Schindler whom he mar­ried in March 1902.

The Adagi­et­to is undoubt­ed­ly the sin­gle most well-known piece of Mahler’s music. Leonard Bern­stein con­duct­ed it dur­ing the funer­al Mass for Robert Kennedy at St Patrick’s Cathe­dral in New York in 1968, but it was its use in Luchi­no Visconti’s 1971 film Death in Venice that sky­rock­et­ed it to fame.

Death In Venice was Ger­man author Thomas Mann’s 1912 novel­la about a famous and enno­bled writer, Gus­tav von Aschen­bach, who is sojourn­ing in Venice for health rea­sons and becomes increas­ing­ly obsessed with a young hand­some Pol­ish boy, Tadzio, who is stay­ing in the same hotel on the Venet­ian island of Lido.

In the movie, Vis­con­ti turns von Aschen­bach (Dirk Bog­a­rde) from writer to com­pos­er, which allows the musi­cal score (which also includes music by Beethoven and Mus­sorgsky) to rep­re­sent Aschen­bach’s work. The end­ing scene in which the dying com­pos­er watch­es Tadzio strolling and wad­ing through the sea­wa­ter to the enrap­tured tones of Mahler’s Adagi­et­to (before von Aschen­bach prompt­ly keels over dead) is strik­ing. You can go watch the movie (despite the spoil­er!) but for now, lis­ten to the music itself:

Gus­tav Mahler