This is an intriguing and sometimes unsettling film, directed and written by Chantal Akerman, and starring Aurore Clement.
The story follows a film-maker (Anna) as she journeys across Europe on business. Along the way she has encounters with friends, strangers, relatives, acquaintances and lovers. She listens to the other people as they tell their stories and their gossip, but she seems curiously distant and disengaged. This is a film about isolation, the personal price of success, and about the human condition in general, set against the backdrop of an economically and socially stagnant continent, rendered so by the energy crisis and its effects.
I would say that the world portrayed in this movie is dreary and impersonal, characterised by uniformity, routine and ennui. There is almost a surreal flavour at points, conveying the unnaturalness and loneliness. The relative sparsity of the dialogue heightens the unreality and the discomfort, as does the relative absence of bystanders when characters are interacting with each other.
Aurore Clement is perfect for the role of Anna. Effortlessly elegant and compelling, but possessing the ability to maintain an impassive visage, which at the same time is curiously evocative.
The impression which emerges is of people fighting against the coldness and superficiality of their lives, seeking humanity and emotional contact amongst the torpor, their discussions fluctuating between the trivial, the profound and the incongruous. This leads to awkwardness, people struggling to be natural, relaxed or expressive. Communication, or genuine communication, is difficult.
Throughout, the writer/director appears to be essaying a commentary on post-war Europe. The adults of that time are still affected by their experiences, and the legacy of, World War Two. Some of the routines and regimentation of the war, and the post-war epoch, are still evident.
Some of the unreality experienced by creative people is perhaps explored here. Anna struggles to express herself in everyday discourse, so maybe she leaves things to her films;easier that way.
The cinematography and backdrops are in accord with the general tone. Darkness, cold and overcast weather predominate, and they complement the illustrations of the grind and occasional futility of life, the feeling of being powerless and on a treadmill.
Viewing this picture provoked ruminations in me about how much has really changed since the late 1970s. I have a feeling, or more specifically a hope, that things might have changed in another forty years from now, but I fear that even then this work will have a heavy contemporary pertinence.
The dialogue sometimes hints that work blocks out, or assuages, some of our dissatisfaction or disillusionment, at least for a while. One might enquire what sort of life that is, or is that what life is actually supposed to be, all along?
We are all searching for something, usually fruitlessly. The sense of transience may persuade some that life is a series of moments, and that we must extract the maximum possible from those moments.
I wouldn't necessarily describe this as a life-affirming film, but it is one which powerfully illustrates forces and factors which we constantly need to be aware of, as they have the potential to damage us, or define us.
Showing posts with label 1978. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 1978. Show all posts
Tuesday, 8 October 2019
Monday, 29 February 2016
The Kick Inside - Kate Bush (1978) - album review
The mid-to-late Seventies were full of noteworthy debut albums by an array of artists; Boston, Television and Heart to name but a few. Another outstanding record by a newcomer was The Kick Inside by Kate Bush, which appeared in the year 1978.
There is no doubt that this is an ambitious and mature work, particularly bearing in mind how young the singer-songwriter was when these songs were written and recorded. She certainly hit the ground running, and this was seemingly the culmination of her youthful endeavours. The thought occurs that her later work failed to match the focus and sharpness of The Kick Inside. Either she peaked early, or she failed to fulfill her potential.
The timing and context of Kate's arrival on the music scene is intriguing. She didn't conform to any notion of pigeon-holing. She tends to be labelled as "art pop" or "art rock", which to my mind are usually tags attached to artists who otherwise defy precise and easy categorization. By 1978, the singer-songwriter boom was spent, and punk, new wave and disco held sway. Against this backdrop, it is easy to see why she made such an impact. An original talent, with a different, challenging take on things.
One criticism is that too many of the songs on this debut sound alike. This may partly be down to the instrumental backing and the nature of Kate's voice. However, these factors do imbue the record with a certain aura and cohesion.
Her influences are tricky to pinpoint. Clearly the female singer-songwriters of the previous era are here in spirit, if not always overtly in style. The effect of Laura Nyro is detectable to my mind, in the form of the uncompromising arrangements and lyrics, the prevalence of piano and also the subject matter.
The album exudes a bright and fresh sound, even several decades later. This was the period before everything became submerged by electronics and the urge to experiment with all the shiny new technology coming on stream.
The list of topics tackled by these songs, such as "Strange Phenomena", was not exactly standard back in 1978, Indeed, Kate Bush might have been a pioneer in addressing "awkward" issues, a practice which later became so fashionable.
"The Saxophone Song" has a haunting quality to it, and "Kite" is a standout, being both sparky and vibrant. "The Man With The Child In His Eyes" is probably my favourite from this LP, having a dramatic sweep and cinematic flavour. The lyrics are still cryptic and the imagery enigmatic, but the melody is more direct and digestible.
"Wuthering Heights" is one of those tracks which has suffered in my mind from over-exposure, thus making it tricky to evaluate. Despite the literary overtones, it feels a little artificial and sterile, as if the artist was trying too hard to impress.
Of all the pieces on The Kick Inside, the one which most betrays the influence of Laura Nyro is "Feel It". It reminds me somewhat of the New York Tendaberry-era material in its general atmosphere and style. The concluding song, the title track, might just be the highlight of the whole thing...
The mix sometimes makes it difficult to make out the words clearly. This might have been intentional; the need to listen attentively in order to understand the songs renders the album a real challenge. The intensity is unrelenting, with no let-up. Every song matters, and has something worthwhile to say, demanding our attention. A rare quality in any record, let alone a debut.
There is no doubt that this is an ambitious and mature work, particularly bearing in mind how young the singer-songwriter was when these songs were written and recorded. She certainly hit the ground running, and this was seemingly the culmination of her youthful endeavours. The thought occurs that her later work failed to match the focus and sharpness of The Kick Inside. Either she peaked early, or she failed to fulfill her potential.
The timing and context of Kate's arrival on the music scene is intriguing. She didn't conform to any notion of pigeon-holing. She tends to be labelled as "art pop" or "art rock", which to my mind are usually tags attached to artists who otherwise defy precise and easy categorization. By 1978, the singer-songwriter boom was spent, and punk, new wave and disco held sway. Against this backdrop, it is easy to see why she made such an impact. An original talent, with a different, challenging take on things.
One criticism is that too many of the songs on this debut sound alike. This may partly be down to the instrumental backing and the nature of Kate's voice. However, these factors do imbue the record with a certain aura and cohesion.
Her influences are tricky to pinpoint. Clearly the female singer-songwriters of the previous era are here in spirit, if not always overtly in style. The effect of Laura Nyro is detectable to my mind, in the form of the uncompromising arrangements and lyrics, the prevalence of piano and also the subject matter.
The album exudes a bright and fresh sound, even several decades later. This was the period before everything became submerged by electronics and the urge to experiment with all the shiny new technology coming on stream.
The list of topics tackled by these songs, such as "Strange Phenomena", was not exactly standard back in 1978, Indeed, Kate Bush might have been a pioneer in addressing "awkward" issues, a practice which later became so fashionable.
"The Saxophone Song" has a haunting quality to it, and "Kite" is a standout, being both sparky and vibrant. "The Man With The Child In His Eyes" is probably my favourite from this LP, having a dramatic sweep and cinematic flavour. The lyrics are still cryptic and the imagery enigmatic, but the melody is more direct and digestible.
"Wuthering Heights" is one of those tracks which has suffered in my mind from over-exposure, thus making it tricky to evaluate. Despite the literary overtones, it feels a little artificial and sterile, as if the artist was trying too hard to impress.
Of all the pieces on The Kick Inside, the one which most betrays the influence of Laura Nyro is "Feel It". It reminds me somewhat of the New York Tendaberry-era material in its general atmosphere and style. The concluding song, the title track, might just be the highlight of the whole thing...
The mix sometimes makes it difficult to make out the words clearly. This might have been intentional; the need to listen attentively in order to understand the songs renders the album a real challenge. The intensity is unrelenting, with no let-up. Every song matters, and has something worthwhile to say, demanding our attention. A rare quality in any record, let alone a debut.
Tuesday, 20 May 2014
Early World Cup Memories
With the football World Cup rapidly approaching, I am trying to summon up some enthusiasm for the tournament. Even the current flurry of squad announcements has not totally succeeded in this regard, and my next resort may be to watch some old footage. Of course, wallowing in nostalgia may also aid the process...
I was a mere toddler when the much-mythologized 1970 World Cup took place, so the 1974 version is the first one which I can vaguely remember, although clear recollections are cloudy and elusive. By 1978 I was a fully paid-up football fanatic, and so Argentina 78 was a big deal, although I was oblivious to some of the manifold unsavoury aspects of that tournament, and the fact that in strict footballing terms, it was quite mediocre.
Because of the time difference between South America and Europe, many of the games were televised live late in the evening here, and satellite technology was thankfully still a touch rough and ready, so the picture quality was not always pristine, and the commentary came through in that gloriously evocative "telephone line" flavour. Digital technology soon arrived and ruined everything....
My chief recollections of the 1978 edition are falling asleep shortly after the start of the epic Argentina v France match, and being told the next morning by my brother of the numerous dramas which had unfolded. Another incident which lingers in the mind is the France v Hungary encounter, where a clash of kits resulted in the French players donning the shirts of a local club team. In another match, a pitch-side microphone picked up a piercing cry of pain from one of the Italy players who had been heavily fouled - I think it was Renato Zaccarelli. Of course, any summary of 1978 would not be complete without mention of Archie Gemmill's slalomesque exploits against the Netherlands, or indeed of the two remarkable long-range goals scored by Arie Haan, or the "plaster-cast" gamesmanship immediately before kick-off in the final...
A central part of World Cup culture in those days was the Panini sticker album. Agonisingly, my older brother collected all the stickers in 1978 except one. I recall that the missing player was one of the Scotland squad;it might have been someone like Bruce Rioch or Don Masson...
In 1982, I was at secondary school, and I vividly recall the customary rush home after lessons to catch the beginning of the afternoon game. It was faintly surreal to see England involved, after their absence in the previous two World Cups, and many must have found this disorienting. The preponderance of bubble perms and excessively tight shorts could not disguise our abject mediocrity, despite a misleading opening win against France. We duly ran out of steam and ideas in the second phase games. Unbeaten, yes, but that was really meaningless.
Spain 1982 was a curate's egg, featuring some excellent football alongside some less appetizing aspects. The Brazil team of that year entranced everyone with its panache and flair, and I was one of many who struggled to come to terms with their exit at the hands of Italy. Even then, I failed to grasp the idea that a team needed to defend as well as attack in order to prevail against the better opposition. It was only with the benefit of time and discernment that I was able to recognise the overall quality of that Italian team, and the fact that they were very worthy winners.
People generally tend to wax lyrical, and make inflated claims, about "cultural" events which occurred just as their consciousness of those types of events was dawning. 1978 and 1982, I can see now, were nowhere near as good as 1974. Indeed, I think there is a strong argument for saying that 1974 was the best World Cup, in terms of the strength in depth of the teams involved, and the overall quality and tactical interest of the football on display. 1970 and 1986 were both lavishly entertaining, but the altitude and heat distorted matters, leading to tired defences and innumerable mistakes. 1974 was "proper" football, physically robust but enterprising.
I just hope that the 2014 competition approaches the glories of the past.
I just hope that the 2014 competition approaches the glories of the past.
Tuesday, 21 January 2014
Some Girls - The Rolling Stones - album review
Much misty-eyed mythology surrounds the recordings which the Rolling Stones made during the period 1968-72, and indeed those prior to that, and it is commonly asserted that much of the band's existence since then has been spent living off past glories, and that their albums have often been made on auto-pilot. However, the 1978 record "Some Girls" emphatically gives the lie to this view, and stands comparison in its own way with anything in the Stones' catalogue.
There were numerous reasons for this sudden re-invigoration. Personal problems, creative inertia and a changing musical landscape appeared to be conspiring against the Stones as the Seventies moved towards their conclusion. People were asking whether the Stones were still relevant,and if they had run out of steam artistically. This tight and zestful set was an resounding response to such misgivings.
Being perceived as having their backs to the wall, the defiance shines through on "Some Girls", as if they were simultaneously putting a metaphorical two fingers up to the world, and revelling in the refuge and escape offered by music. It has often been said that this was the point where Mick Jagger began to stake a claim to de facto leadership of the band, but the sentiments were collective.
The focus, energy and strength of purpose could not present a starker contrast with the relative lethargy and nebulousness of the previous three studio albums. Yes, the emergence of punk and disco did contribute to the album's mood and content, but not to the extent that the Stones simply wrote and recorded "punk and disco songs". They absorbed the ethos and vitality of those two genres, and the consequences revealed themselves naturally within a broadly familiar framework. This is still very much a "Rolling Stones album".
One of the most startling features of "Some Girls" is the dearth of instrumental padding and decoration. Many of the songs are performed at a hefty rate of knots, reflecting perhaps a mixture of anger, frustration and even liberation from the directionless and torpor of the years which went before. The modern Stones sound is taking shape, seen in the guitar interplay and the nature of the riffs.
The resolve possessed by the band is amply displayed on the album's opener, "Miss You". Much has been made of its "disco" leanings, but I would also argue that it is part of the broader trend of rock bands in the Seventies to embrace more rhythmic and funky patterns (Little Feat, Steely Dan). The sleazy electric piano and guitars, and punchy rhythm section, allied with a sneering Jagger vocal, give it its potency
The breathless immediacy which pervades most of "Some Girls" really kicks in on the second number, "When The Whip Comes Down". Freshness in abundance.
The pace is maintained with the cover "Just My Imagination (Running Away with Me)". This is not a straight cover version, and the Stones' rendering shows a strong power pop/new wave sensibility. It has a spontaneity to it, as if it was being performed at a sound check a few hours prior to a gig. This is not a criticism, and a lack of the over-reach and artifice often associated with cover versions is a joy to behold.
Moving on to the title track, and leaving aside the controversial lyrics, this son typifies the approach and mood on the album. Very bluesy and raw, accentuated by the harmonica and the ragged vocal harmonies. The Stones' "bad boy" image and notoriety was kept flickering by songs like this. The melody is simple and straightforward, but powerfully delivered.
"Lies" is stripped down, frenetic, almost minimalist. "Meat and potatoes" one could say, but a statement of intent, and far from dull or pretentious. "Respectable" is similar in character, but is marginally more tuneful, and lyrically more decipherable, if not containing much in the way of emotional or psychological depth!
Of all the Stones' excursions into the domain of country music, "Far Away Eyes" is one of the most authentic and sincere, but equally one of the least entertaining or memorable. Some relief is introduced by "Before They Make Me Run", forming the usual Keith-on-lead-vocals slot, with what appear to be semi-autobiographical lyrics.
"Beast of Burden" is one of the most durable of Rolling Stones songs. High quality pop/rock which has stood the test of time. This one contains more intricate guitar work, and a more considered and complex melody. The album closes with "Shattered", another quick and sparse rocker, exhibiting a vaguely 50s flavour, and redolent of some of the New Wave sounds which would appear in the years ahead. A slightly odd choice to conclude the album?
So there we have it, "Some Girls" by the Rolling Stones. No-nonsense rock n roll, packing a considerable punch, and exuding the restless vigour of the those times. After this, the Stones enjoyed a new lease of life, and it was both a symptom and a cause of their continuing strength. Above all, it is an enjoyable and important collection of songs.
There were numerous reasons for this sudden re-invigoration. Personal problems, creative inertia and a changing musical landscape appeared to be conspiring against the Stones as the Seventies moved towards their conclusion. People were asking whether the Stones were still relevant,and if they had run out of steam artistically. This tight and zestful set was an resounding response to such misgivings.
Being perceived as having their backs to the wall, the defiance shines through on "Some Girls", as if they were simultaneously putting a metaphorical two fingers up to the world, and revelling in the refuge and escape offered by music. It has often been said that this was the point where Mick Jagger began to stake a claim to de facto leadership of the band, but the sentiments were collective.
The focus, energy and strength of purpose could not present a starker contrast with the relative lethargy and nebulousness of the previous three studio albums. Yes, the emergence of punk and disco did contribute to the album's mood and content, but not to the extent that the Stones simply wrote and recorded "punk and disco songs". They absorbed the ethos and vitality of those two genres, and the consequences revealed themselves naturally within a broadly familiar framework. This is still very much a "Rolling Stones album".
One of the most startling features of "Some Girls" is the dearth of instrumental padding and decoration. Many of the songs are performed at a hefty rate of knots, reflecting perhaps a mixture of anger, frustration and even liberation from the directionless and torpor of the years which went before. The modern Stones sound is taking shape, seen in the guitar interplay and the nature of the riffs.
The resolve possessed by the band is amply displayed on the album's opener, "Miss You". Much has been made of its "disco" leanings, but I would also argue that it is part of the broader trend of rock bands in the Seventies to embrace more rhythmic and funky patterns (Little Feat, Steely Dan). The sleazy electric piano and guitars, and punchy rhythm section, allied with a sneering Jagger vocal, give it its potency
The breathless immediacy which pervades most of "Some Girls" really kicks in on the second number, "When The Whip Comes Down". Freshness in abundance.
The pace is maintained with the cover "Just My Imagination (Running Away with Me)". This is not a straight cover version, and the Stones' rendering shows a strong power pop/new wave sensibility. It has a spontaneity to it, as if it was being performed at a sound check a few hours prior to a gig. This is not a criticism, and a lack of the over-reach and artifice often associated with cover versions is a joy to behold.
Moving on to the title track, and leaving aside the controversial lyrics, this son typifies the approach and mood on the album. Very bluesy and raw, accentuated by the harmonica and the ragged vocal harmonies. The Stones' "bad boy" image and notoriety was kept flickering by songs like this. The melody is simple and straightforward, but powerfully delivered.
"Lies" is stripped down, frenetic, almost minimalist. "Meat and potatoes" one could say, but a statement of intent, and far from dull or pretentious. "Respectable" is similar in character, but is marginally more tuneful, and lyrically more decipherable, if not containing much in the way of emotional or psychological depth!
Of all the Stones' excursions into the domain of country music, "Far Away Eyes" is one of the most authentic and sincere, but equally one of the least entertaining or memorable. Some relief is introduced by "Before They Make Me Run", forming the usual Keith-on-lead-vocals slot, with what appear to be semi-autobiographical lyrics.
"Beast of Burden" is one of the most durable of Rolling Stones songs. High quality pop/rock which has stood the test of time. This one contains more intricate guitar work, and a more considered and complex melody. The album closes with "Shattered", another quick and sparse rocker, exhibiting a vaguely 50s flavour, and redolent of some of the New Wave sounds which would appear in the years ahead. A slightly odd choice to conclude the album?
So there we have it, "Some Girls" by the Rolling Stones. No-nonsense rock n roll, packing a considerable punch, and exuding the restless vigour of the those times. After this, the Stones enjoyed a new lease of life, and it was both a symptom and a cause of their continuing strength. Above all, it is an enjoyable and important collection of songs.
Thursday, 29 March 2012
1978 Monaco Grand Prix
I recently watched a full video of the 1978 Monaco Grand Prix, and this prompted me to make some observations about the Formula 1 scene back then, and the odd comparison to our modern racing.
Viewing footage of this particular race served to remind me that this was the end of an era, and the dawn of a watershed in the sport's development, although few realised it at the time. This was the last race before the introduction of the revolutionary and ground-breaking Lotus 79. The complexion of F1 altered almost overnight, and the contest in the principality was the last glimpse of the "old order". Grand Prix racing lost some of its innocence, and the modern era commenced. Not only were "ground effects" about to become de rigueur, the commercial side of the sport was also beginning to be transformed, largely through television exposure.
These things are keenly felt by the likes of myself, who maintain that the period 1970-1977 represented some kind of golden age of F1 racing. However, I acknowledge the merits and appeal of the ground effects and turbo eras which were being ushered in as the teams raced at Monaco in '78.
So, to the race itself. New talent was emerging and making its mark, in the form of Gilles Villeneuve,Patrick Tambay, Didier Pironi and Riccardo Patrese. In the early stages of the race, the Williams of Alan Jones was quite prominent, symptomatic of the continuing rise of Frank's team.
The pole man was Carlos Reutemann in the gorgeous Ferrari 312T3, arguably one of the best looking F1 cars of its era. However, the grid was extremely competitive, with no one team or car/driver combination enjoying any discernible margin of superiority. This was all to change at the next race in Belgium, when Colin Chapman's latest creation shook the status quo to its foundations.
The pattern of the race was influenced to some degree, as ever at Monaco, by the start. Lauda and Reutemann clashed, and the Argentine driver had to pit with a damaged rear aerofoil. Caught up in all this was James Hunt, who brushed the barrier whilst taking evasive action. One of the curious things about Hunt's F1 career was his relative lack of prowess and success on street circuits, although the failures were not always attributable to him.
John Watson took the lead at the start, and had the race under some kind of control, exhibiting his flair and fluency. Alas, he was not to prevail this time, and as in so many races in 1977/78, he was denied victory. The Brabhams were pointedly competitive at this event, all this before the introduction of the notorious "fan car".
Watching the race in full, I was reminded how people's perception of Formula 1 has been affected by the role of television. There is a tendency to lionise and wax lyrical about "the good old days", but much of this thinking is based on snippets of footage and brief highlights, in the days before widespread live TV coverage. There were lengthy "fallow", uneventful and even tedious phases in races in those days, and Monaco '78 was not a lights to flag thriller itself. Contrary to what some people might have you believe, processions are not a recent innovation....
The two Brabhams and Patrick Depailler's Tyrrell were clearly superior, and forged ahead into a race of their own, providing an absorbing three-way tussle. Depailler constantly harried Watson, and the Frenchman drove with elan and panache, but also control and discipline. The Brabhams may have been adversely affected by the weight and thirstiness of the Alfa engine, whereas the Tyrrell was more nimble and forgiving.
Eventually, Watson stumbled at the chicane after the tunnel, and Lauda was forced to pit for new tyres, leaving Depailler to proceed in relative comfort towards his maiden triumph. Lauda's difficulties were the springboard for a spirited recovery drive, with the Austrian's car assuming some very unorthodox angles, perhaps one of the least "Lauda-esque" displays of his entire career. His audacious manoeuvre to pass Jody Scheckter in front of the pits was especially impressive.
In the end, though, it was Depailler's day, and few would have begrudged him his moment of glory. This was a fully merited victory, although as it transpired the Tyrrell team was unable to build on it to any meaningful extent.
Watching the race was a very useful and enjoyable exercise, providing a snapshot of a time of change in Grand Prix racing.
Viewing footage of this particular race served to remind me that this was the end of an era, and the dawn of a watershed in the sport's development, although few realised it at the time. This was the last race before the introduction of the revolutionary and ground-breaking Lotus 79. The complexion of F1 altered almost overnight, and the contest in the principality was the last glimpse of the "old order". Grand Prix racing lost some of its innocence, and the modern era commenced. Not only were "ground effects" about to become de rigueur, the commercial side of the sport was also beginning to be transformed, largely through television exposure.
These things are keenly felt by the likes of myself, who maintain that the period 1970-1977 represented some kind of golden age of F1 racing. However, I acknowledge the merits and appeal of the ground effects and turbo eras which were being ushered in as the teams raced at Monaco in '78.
So, to the race itself. New talent was emerging and making its mark, in the form of Gilles Villeneuve,Patrick Tambay, Didier Pironi and Riccardo Patrese. In the early stages of the race, the Williams of Alan Jones was quite prominent, symptomatic of the continuing rise of Frank's team.
The pole man was Carlos Reutemann in the gorgeous Ferrari 312T3, arguably one of the best looking F1 cars of its era. However, the grid was extremely competitive, with no one team or car/driver combination enjoying any discernible margin of superiority. This was all to change at the next race in Belgium, when Colin Chapman's latest creation shook the status quo to its foundations.
The pattern of the race was influenced to some degree, as ever at Monaco, by the start. Lauda and Reutemann clashed, and the Argentine driver had to pit with a damaged rear aerofoil. Caught up in all this was James Hunt, who brushed the barrier whilst taking evasive action. One of the curious things about Hunt's F1 career was his relative lack of prowess and success on street circuits, although the failures were not always attributable to him.
John Watson took the lead at the start, and had the race under some kind of control, exhibiting his flair and fluency. Alas, he was not to prevail this time, and as in so many races in 1977/78, he was denied victory. The Brabhams were pointedly competitive at this event, all this before the introduction of the notorious "fan car".
Watching the race in full, I was reminded how people's perception of Formula 1 has been affected by the role of television. There is a tendency to lionise and wax lyrical about "the good old days", but much of this thinking is based on snippets of footage and brief highlights, in the days before widespread live TV coverage. There were lengthy "fallow", uneventful and even tedious phases in races in those days, and Monaco '78 was not a lights to flag thriller itself. Contrary to what some people might have you believe, processions are not a recent innovation....
The two Brabhams and Patrick Depailler's Tyrrell were clearly superior, and forged ahead into a race of their own, providing an absorbing three-way tussle. Depailler constantly harried Watson, and the Frenchman drove with elan and panache, but also control and discipline. The Brabhams may have been adversely affected by the weight and thirstiness of the Alfa engine, whereas the Tyrrell was more nimble and forgiving.
Eventually, Watson stumbled at the chicane after the tunnel, and Lauda was forced to pit for new tyres, leaving Depailler to proceed in relative comfort towards his maiden triumph. Lauda's difficulties were the springboard for a spirited recovery drive, with the Austrian's car assuming some very unorthodox angles, perhaps one of the least "Lauda-esque" displays of his entire career. His audacious manoeuvre to pass Jody Scheckter in front of the pits was especially impressive.
In the end, though, it was Depailler's day, and few would have begrudged him his moment of glory. This was a fully merited victory, although as it transpired the Tyrrell team was unable to build on it to any meaningful extent.
Watching the race was a very useful and enjoyable exercise, providing a snapshot of a time of change in Grand Prix racing.
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