Gertsamtkunstwerk

Blitz

Bored and listless on Saturday evening I proposed we watched a film. The free-at-source channels, terrestrial and satellite, offered very little we hadn't seen and could both watch together, so I chose Blitz. I probably wouldn't have chosen it to watch by myself but the premise seemed reasonable. a cop on the trail of a serial killer.

A starry cast including my perennial favourite David Morrissey, the enigmatic Paddy Considine, Zawe Ashton (Vod from Fresh Meat) and even Mark Rylance.

It wasn't a bad film, but it just wasn't very good. David Morrissey and Mark Rylance were entirely wasted in peripheral roles, so I can only assume they turned up as a favour to a friend. Paddy Considene and Zawe Ashton put in decent but not great performances. The official star was Jason Statham, of whom I have frequently heard mention but am not sure I have ever seen in a film. It seems that he generally plays bad guys and I think that sums up part of the problem with the film. I'm entirely cognisant of the concept of the 'rogue cop', a thug, but they tend to have some self-awareness, a realisation that they are not conformist, and quite often a sense of purpose. I didn't really understand how he'd ever found the braincells to pass his Sergeant's exam, and I could find no sympathy with the character.

A greater problem was the story. I think there was a decent plot somewhere, but just as I didn't sympathise with the main cop character, I also found the killer Aiden Gillen to be two-dimensional. Sure, we found out that he hated the police, but there was no insight into his psychology. Many people are anti-police and may even be violent towards them, but there was no explanation as to why he should carefully plot a series of assassinations of the police officers who had previously arrested him. 

It was so predictable, which I admit is not necessarily a bad thing. I don't like it when films or TV dramas have a twist for the sake of having one, but when there were no real character exposition, no insight into policing techniques, no eye-catching cinematography, a mundane plot doesn't attract.

And, at 90 minutes, it was too long. It would have worked better as an hour long (or 48 minutes on ITV) TV drama. It seems to have been based on a series of novels, and, as far as i can be bothered to research (not very much!), this wasn't the first. Perhaps I would have understood it more if I had read or seen the earlier ones, understood what motivated the Statham character. It filled the time in between two sessions of doing very little on a lazy afternoon.

The Women vs Erin Brockovich

A few weeks ago I watched some films on a Saturday night and promised you, the reader, my thoughts on The Women. But you know what I'm like, a flibbertygibbet a will o' the wisp a clown, I never got round to it.

Last night, I watched Erin Brokovich. I looked at the listings of available TV, and thought - I don't actually remember watching Erin Brokovich, so it can't be that good. I then thought, well, there's nothing else on, and I am feeling listless and demotivated, I might as well watch it and craft a blog post on how forgettable it is. After a couple of minutes, I realised I had never actually seen it.

So, eschewing all thoughts of being trendy and cutting-edge I bring you a review of a ten year old film! Still, it could be worse, I realised far too late that Some Like It Hot was being shown, and that's over 50 years old!

What I liked about Erin Brokovich is that it contains a real story. By that, I don't particularly refer to the fact that it's based on a real person fighting a real legal case, but that it takes place in the world outside the inner life of the character.

It wasn't until I read up about The Women after seeing it that I realised that it contained no men whatsoever. I find it sad that in 2008, this is what counts as female autonomy. I know it's based on a 1939 film; I also recognise that it is potentially an interesting device.

Unfortunately, I found a lot lacking in the film. Not least the absence of any real story. Sure, there was a linear narrative. I just found it so vain and self-absorbed. These women, supposedly intelligent, educated, high-achieving, were interested only in their relationships and in fashion. Making one of the peripheral characters lesbian didn't do much to diminish the notion that women should be defined purely by who their men are and what they wear.

Sure, the Meg Ryan character finally found fulfilment away from the husband, by magically setting up her own business which was an overnight success thanks to her fashion products being bought by Sacs of Fifth Avenue, who, clunkily awkwardly, obviously paid a lot of money for frequent name checks and product placement.

There were several sub-texts and asides that no doubt were supposed to show just how 'pro-women' the film makers were - the daughter with body-image problems, for example. But the underlying theme was unashamedly misogynist: Annette Bening's character, a magazine editor, was a cold-hearted bitch until she was relieved of her job, because we don't want to give women the idea they can succeed at a job, let alone a career. Meg Ryan's business succeeded because it was funded by inherited money. Inherited from her mother, yes, but I think we can be pretty clear that Mother inherited it from a man.

There was no sense of struggle in setting up the business. It was all so effortless, and, in the end, the only work it involved was the the staging of a fashion show: no sales or marketing, no budgets, no manufacturing crises. Just fluffy make-believe land

I will freely admit that I enjoyed watching it: the sets were well chosen and well-filmed, the dialogue was crisp and sharp, and all actors succeeded in credible portrayals of their characters. But there was no substance to the characters, and the plot was wafer thin, coming back time and again to the notion that women only have value as clothes-horses and appendages to (successful, rich) men.

Erin Brokovich in contrast seems a product of an earlier age. Although bearing little similarity to my own life, it nevertheless reminds me of the lives of countless women I know and have met over the years (minus the $2 million bonus cheque, of course!).

What resonated was that she was torn between her job and her family. No homespun homilies implying that women are better off as homemakers, or running guilt trips past women who apply themselves to a job, just an acknowledgement that many women, especially lone mothers, are constantly having to juggle the twin responsibilities. There are no easy answers, life isn't easy, it's just real.

Clothes and men weren't avoided as such. Erin dressed inappropriately for a law office, even by California standards. And her love life was turbulent. But these were not the matters that defined her. They were just aspects of fully-rounded character.

I liked that she was no paragon of virtue and warmed to the impetuosity, the ill-judged rudeness. I also liked the fact that she used her 'feminity' where necessary, not least in winning the confidence of the ordinary people involved in the law-suits. She had a natural empathy for the impact on ordinary people of the disastrous hexavalent chromium in the water supply. Yet this wasn't bludgeoned into the plot with big signs saying 'Look if you employ women you benefit from feminine attributes and your business advances!'

I struggle to remember how I thought back in 2000, but I am fairly certain that I would have considered Erin Brokovich as being a fairly unremarkable portrayal of women, a good but not perfect role model for young women.

Fast forward eight years and Hollywood is implying that the only women who matter are ones who conspicuously consume whilst nothing actually goes on in their heads.

I'm sure there's supposed to be some big message there: Women Don't Want to Be Pressurised Into Working. Well, I guess not. I think most men don't either, but sometime we have to grow up and realise that for most of us, paid work is the only option.

Sure, for many women, and some men, there are good reasons to take time out of the workplace for child-rearing, but this is sustainable for very few of the entire 50 years that constitute 'working life'. Not least, the absence of of social contact and 'status' soon becomes difficult for many people.

I've got nothing against the occasional film that serves as pure escapism, but the production-line of shallow flicks peddling the message that women shouldn't have opinions, shouldn't campaign or hold down jobs, that women shouldn't bother their heads with matters in the wide-world, that nothing matters other than your emotional life and your manicure, well, it's depressing and insulting, and ultimately insidiously quite nasty.

Chloe, The Women and Not the Last Night of the Proms (Part 2)

Not being in the mood for the jingoistic Last Night of the Proms and being in the throes of an attack of CFS-induced-CBA, I needed something fairly mindless to watch on the TV. A filum, I thought, and found two that didn't include any of aliens, shootouts*, American soldiers saving the world from Moslems, thin-plot-barely-justified-by-CGI & all the other elements that make up most of the film content on TV.

I didn't have high expectations of either film, and they didn't disappoint. 

*SPOILER ALERT*

I actually enjoyed The Women more but know that Chloe was the better film, Chloe suffered from being aimed at a North American market. It has been described as sexually graphic - it wasn't, it carries a 15 classification in the UK - and erotically charged - only up to  a point.

The basic premise of the film was a good one but too thin to hang an entire film on. I wish there had been more exploration of the relationship between the two female characters. Perhaps that is just a bi-product of my own sexuality (I am totally happy to acknowledge my own partial bi-sexuality - I enjoy female-female erotica but have never sought a female-female sexual encounter or relationship). I just don't think that Julianne Moore could have had a one night stand with Amanda Seyfried and then just gone back to being entirely hetero. I also found Amanda Seyfried's character troublesome.

She was a sex worker and conveniently drop-dead gorgeous. There didn't seem to be any clear reason why she was a sex worker, no drug habit for example. They attempted to use her dishonesty and slight obsessiveness to hint at mental ill health, but that just seemed like the normal (ish) behaviour of a normal person consumed by a passing crush. There was no hints at emotional scarring or the characteristic brittleness of sex workers. So she was this female character who served a purpose in the plot but wasn't a whole person with a real life, as opposed to Julianne Moore and Liam Neeson who lived rounded lives with jobs, friends, a son, marital disharmony and so on. It was slightly odd that Neeson's character was ostensibly a professor of music, but the only diegetic music was so mainstream as to be ClassicFM-lite. And other than lecturing in music and attending a couple of concerts, music didn't seem to be of any importance to him.

The performances from the three main leads were convincing, the settings were obviously well chosen, and shot with some fairly good cinematography, but there were wasted opportunities for  some more self-consciously gorgeous lingering shots of scenery and interiors, perhaps combined with some thoughtful music.

I felt this was a reasonably good film with the potential to be very good. At times they captured well the erotic tension, often by understatement and by not making it particularly graphic. But it was obvious they were trying to avoid shots that would invoke the wrath of the censor, and that made it clumsy. It attempted to portray the psychology of the main protagonists but only succeeded partially. It has whetted my appetite to see the French film Nathalie from which it was adapted which I suspect will be more satisfying both erotically and psychologically.

Liam Neeson was his usual handsome self, Julianne Moore was satisfactory in her role, but the real star was Amanda Seyfried, whose understated acting create an irresistible aura around her.

This film is currently available in the UK on Sky Box Office, and, presumably also Pay Per view from other providers.

* actually several of my favourite films include shoot-outs: Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, Pulp Fiction, In Brussels, and Sound of Music. But they have to be done well!

Waltz with Bashir

This had been sitting on the box for a few weeks. I thought that Jimmy would like it, but he was put-off by the subtitles being white on an often light background. I found that irritating, but only in a minor way compared to the film as a whole.

I am not familiar with the genre of adult* cartoon feature-films, although I have often as an adult watched Disney-style cartoons. I was really impressed by the way it was used in this film.

I was amazed by how the use of cartoons made the humans seem more realistic or at least naturalistic than would have been possible using actors. Facial expressions and the movement of bodies seemed more akin to real people behaving un-self-consciously than would actors pretending to be those people. Graphical portrayal allowed for graphic detail that may not have been permissable live - most notably the blood being mopped from a van, and, somewhat hilariously, the porn film (plumber visits woman at home) that was being shown on the TV in a seized villa.

The film's subject was harrowing -  an Israeli soldier trying to recall his participation in the Sabra and Shatilla massacre. I sort of remember this, I was 14 and therefore paying attention to the news and reading the Guardian most days, but I lacked the intellectual or emotional maturity to understand and the experience to put into a context.

The film was made from the viewpoint of the Israeli soldier and was in Hebrew; it was not, however, overtly propagandist for Israeli bellicosity. I suppose the underlying theme was that conscript soldiers, not much older than I was at the time, were just thrown out of their depth into something they didn't understand and weren't really in control of. They shot indiscriminately, and they bulldozed Beiruit with their tanks, and none of them looked back with any pride at that time. ~And, ultimately, it was the Lebanese Phalangists who were blamed for the actual massacre.

I wasn't entirely comfortable with the POV but it never tried to disguise that most victims were non-combatants, not did it try to provide a moral justification for Israel's actions.

Its strength lay in its message about the horror of war; this was achieved by amazing animation, excellent dialogue, and a powerful soundtrack. As long as you can deal with white subtitles on an often light background, I would highly recommend it.

* by which, I mean, target audience, grown-ups, preferably with brain attached, not, nudge nudge wink wink. Can we reclaim the language, please?

Away from Her

I don't go to the cinema very often these days, certainly not for films. It seems quite an expensive way to see them, particularly considering that I go to a fair few live performances and have a fairly extensive/expensive satellite TV package.

I have watched a fair few films of late, but many of them are old, many of those are rehashes for me, and several of them were inconsequential and forgettable. 

A week or so ago we settled down to watch Away From Her. A fascinating work and probably not one for young people.  The basic plot is that a woman develops early-onset Alzheimers and eventually moves into a residential home.

It's a film that focuses the mind somewhat. I suppose we all prefer not to think about Alzheimers, certainly not about it happening to us, especially not if we have one or more parents alive. I think that the woman was the same age or younger than Jimmy is, which is young, and I suppose seeing it happen to someone who lives a healthy and active life is poignant.

Jimmy reflected that it must be very difficult for the one who is left behind in good mental health. I suppose what made me sad was the early stages when she knew it was happening and was lucid as often as she wasn't. That must be very frightening. It's probably less frightening when the mind goes. I did reassure Jimmy that I'd tell him if he started showing early signs, such as forgetting people's names. He gave me a look (he's spent his entire life forgetting people's names). I then ran the same theory past a friend who is a bit of a Julie Christie fan - and he gave me an identical look, for identical reasons!

A plot spoiler, a bit. I wondered about the part where the husband-left-behind started dating a woman whose husband was also in the home. Jimmy commented that there would be people who would condemn them, but he doesn't see anything wrong in it. I don't see anything wrong and I certainly don't think the malicious outrage of village gossips is ever a reason for not doing something. I think I have always accepted that such a relationship doesn't really count as infidelity - often what keeps people going on caring for incapacitated partners is the emotional release they get from a functioning relationship. I suppose my concern is that when people feel a bond with someone going through the same turmoil, they can confuse that with something more enduring. But I don't think that the risk of one of them getting hurt should ever in itself be a moral argument against two people getting together.

It was a very beautiful film, beautifully filmed and full of light. Julie Christie and Gordon Pinsent both delivered performances that were the more poignant and dramatic because they were sparse and understated.

I suppose what troubled me was that it was too clean. The residential home seemed perfect. Perhaps it's like that in Canada, but it seemed unreal to me. I don't just mean the absence of abuse but although there only seemed to be one nurse, she was able to take a close interest in the life of the patient's husband. And all the residents seemed happy and occupied. And the husband seemed too accepting, too full of equilibrium. He didn't seem to be angry or depressed, a bit lost maybe. I got no sense of chaos or crisis. Made for an enjoyable film, but not particularly realistic.

The Waiting Room

Nothing on free-at-source TV, nothing recorded that we both want to watch, and yet an evening at home together with nothing much to do but watch TV. Flick through the list of films on Sky Pay-Per-View, and nothing much appeals. There are a couple that seem sufficiently promising to fulfil our immediate needs, so we plump for The Waiting Room. The on-screen synopsis describes it as 'beautiful and intelligent', which in some ways is all one really wants from a film.

And it was beautiful and intelligent. Apart from the characters who weren't all that, and the actors who were all very ordinary looking, except for the fact that the women were bizarrely androgynously flat-chested.

What was strange but nice about it was the location where it was filmed - a mixture of Tooting and Wandsworth Commons. The inaccurate moulding together of the two was not really a problem, even though it did seem strange to see a character leave Wandsworth Common station and walk down a path on Tooting Common to the bridge that carries the railway between Balham and Streatham Hill. It's not the first time I've seen such incongruous continuity but it's something  I can live with, especially because I know it works perfectly for the overwhelming vast majority of the audience.

And they - especially Tooting Common - looked gorgeous. It was shot in early autumn, and I was particularly pleased to see that they used exactly the same self-consciously arty shot that I uploaded as a photograph just yesterday.

Overall, I would give it a good solid three-and-a-half out of five. Definitely worth watching but possibly not worth making time to catch

Marie Antoinette

You know from time to time, you come across a film soundtrack with something a bit different.

When you find a film where the soundtrack includes Carolyn Sampson singing Rameau, and Adam and the Ants (not to mention Bow Wow Wow and Siouxsie and the Banshees).

I wonder how big that niche market for punk opera fans with History A-Level is...?

Marie Antoinette - the Soundtrack

Brokeback Mountain

When a film generates a long, completely Off-Topic post on an opera newsgroup that doesn't especially permit Off Topic, and then gets cited by The Sun "newspaper" as a must-see film, you know it's time to mosey on down to the Ritzy.

I found it profoundly shocking.

I never realised that sheep exist and are herded in the USA. I don't think that Roast Lamb features very highly in the American diet.

I had enjoyed Shipping News, a previous film made from the writings of Annie Proulx. Note to self: read some Annie Proulx.

I have read a jokey reference to it as 'Bareback Mountain'. Hint, it wasn't in The Sun. But, actually, I think that's unfair.

I would suppose - despite all our supposed gay-tolerant credentials - a film about male gay sex would be unappealing to mainstream film-going audiences. But, actually, that wasn't what it was about. And the fact that the early evening showing was filled to capacity is no indication of anything. One couldn't exactly call the Ritzy audience as 'mainstream' despite its transformation in the fifteen years I have resided in these parts from pure Arthouse to intelligent-mainstream cinema. Heck, people were queuing and imploring for returns for "Time of the Gypsies" part of the Gypsy Film Festival...

So what was Brokeback Mountain about? Certainly not about sex, although there was some. Was it about love? I'm not sure. I suppose what came out most forcibly was the inability of Ennis Del Mar (Heath Ledger) to communicate. not merely that he was a man of few words, but, to me, he also failed to do the listening part of the communication. Often we think that communication is about articulating our thoughts and feelings. We forget that it's equally about listening to the needs of others. And because Ennis wasn't able to understand that other people have emotional needs, he was unable to reach his own emotional potential, and thus, unable to reach the necessary level of happiness.

I'm not sure what it was really about. Probably worth seeing again, or reading the book. And if it couldn't have a happy ending, at least it had a redemptive ending. I think.

Perhaps the most profound thought it left me with was regarding the passage of time. I first moved to SouthLondon fifteen years ago. At that time, fifteen years seemed like an eternity - I would have been looking back to my eight-yera-old self. Yet, it seems like the blink of an eye. I haven't changed in that time - have I? There are people I have known throughout that period who seem to be recent acquaintances. It is too easy to let the years pass by with increasing speed, failing to take the opportunities that life presents. Not the career/success/money opportunities, but the people options.

I wonder how the film has gone down with the Religious Nutcases. I'm sure they absolutely hate it. More fool them...

Film?

There's a bloke dribving a car along a mountain pass somewhere in the USA. He's subjected to Road Rage by a truck driver, and the rest of the film is about how that plays on his mind.

J. says says Jeff Goldblum. I say Dennis Quaid.

But what's the bloody name of the bloody film?

J. says it's been made three times. Bt he might be wrong.

Saturday Culture

Saturday turned into a really rather hectic day. In the early afternoon we went to see Closer at the Clapham Picture House. A stroke of genius on my part, I have to say. When we got there, the evening was already sold out; when we emerged the late afternoon was also sold out. And there was only a couple of spare seats in our showing.

It wasn't quite as I expected. I think I had imagined that it would feature a lot more naked flesh and copulatory writhings. Quite the opposite, in fact, it was extraordinarily chaste. It was a dialogue- based work with a significant element of psychology. A tight ensemble piece with only the four main characters mattering.

I thought that Julia Roberts and Jude Law were very good, but the real stars were Clive Owen and Natalie Portman. I guess they are lesser stars - not stars at all - hence their nominations for 'Best Supporting' Oscars. A perfect example of the cynicism of Hollywood driven by commercial not artistic considerations.

I thought the dialogue was excellent -for example, when Jude Law told Natalie Portman and Julia Roberts told Clive Owen that it was over, I really believed that I was inside those arguments, not observing some artifice of a TV lackey divorced from reality.

To a limited extent it was thought provoking. Especially the way that Jude Law equivocated between the two women. It did not cliché him as a serial philanderer, but portrayed him as a reasonable person genuinely torn between two women. I thought the Clive Owen character was extraordinarily three-dimensional - it was impossible to decide whether or not to like him.

I saw some advertising that it is the most significant film of the year. I think that is overhype.

And I am somewhat annoyed it has revealed the secret of Postman's Park

Hunk alert

Clive Owen in the news, winning a Golden Globe as best supporting actor.

Jimmy was watching The Bourne Identity yesterday, whilst I struggled to unphugger my phlog. To me, it seemed to be mainly Matt Damon. I asked hhim to call me when Clive was on screen. He didn't.

Still, I rather think I must go and see Closer, of which I have read some extraordinarily good reviews from intelligent people.

Of course there's also the infantile reaction

Both Julia Roberts & Natalie Portman are top rate actresses, why would they stoup so slow as to take on this "B" film? The explicit, filthy language of sexual situations coming out of their mouths was shocking. Natalie Portman as a stripper was unbeleivable, though she was not nude in this film, she might as well should of been. She had no self respect left, these scenes of Natalie as a stripper really cheapened her as an actress. I lost respect for both Julia & Natalie. The story line was confusing, it kept going from the past to present, to future. This movie should really hurt their careers. Julia Roberts is the highest paid actress of our time. What was she thinking????? I would not recommend this movie to anyone, it is best forgotten.
Shame on you Julia & Natalie!!!!!!!

Which blogger has or had a 'Beautiful Males' page - I'm tempted to set one up myself...?

Dodgy and not so dodgy telly

Oh we made a mistake of staying in this evening. There wasn't actually a great deal on tv. Something recorded from *five* on Thursday, about the Moorish influence in Andalucia - which we explored a little on a package holiday two years ago. It was just starting to get interesting when it ended.

We then watched Atlantic Britain, which actually just gets better and better, and is one of the highlight's of the week's viewing.

Then a film called Thirteen, about teenage angst, but confusingly, with an 18 certificate. The reviewer on IMdB sums it up fairly accurately, although the comments about the inter-racial relationship - that's obviously a reflection of the reviewer's screwed up attitude - it all looked perfectly normal and not very significant.

I think it should have a 12 or 12A certificate, because it actually tells a very good story for that age group, with a strong moral ending. It's not really an adult film, even though it has some slight sexual references, and some scenes involving drugs. The message is, don't be taken in by surface glamour. And do your homework.

Not any great psychology for adults. Sort of entertaining but in horror/car crash way. What really struck me was that not one character had anything interesting to say, at all, about anything.

Then we watched Parkinson. Oh dear. I like Lenny Henry but I do find it unnerving that he switches so eaily beetween goofy and socially aware modes. It's just not natural. Then Matthew Pinsent was on. I'm sorry, but these days, sporting heroes do not make good chat show guests. They are so single-mindedly focused on winning that they have no personality. I would say the same for Jonny Wilkinson. I admire and respect them both, and they seem nice guys, but boring and bland. Steve Redgrave only seems to have developed apersonality in the past couple of years. And I really like him. But he's bland and boring, too.

Then there were some dreadful lounge singers singing a bad cover version of 'Unbreak My Heart'. Toni Braxton's version is probably in my top fifty, definitely my top 100, but the insipid emotionless crooning from this bunch of pretty boys is almost enough to make one actually hate the song. They decided to sing it in a foreign language, but what language was anybody's guess. Well, I'm guessing it was Moldovan, because it was quite possibly a Latin language, and I think I would have recognised French, Italian, Spanish or even Portuguese, whereas I'm not so hot on Moldovan.

It makes perfect sense to appear on English TV and sing with no emotion in Moldovan a raw passionate song with meaningful English lyrics

Un-break my heart
Say you'll love me again
Undo this hurt you caused
When you walked out the door
And walked outta my life
Un-cry these tears
I cried so many nights
Un-break my heart
My heart

In fact, I'm not sure I would have recognised it if Parky hadn't spelt it out in Big Headlines as he introduced them.

Then it was 'after the break, Frank Skinner', so the TV was definitely going off. I used to think Frank Skinner was funny. But he wasn't actually. He was just a decent sidekick to David Baddiel.

Weekend TV

While we were out at the curry house I managed to record two programmes simultaneously on Sky+. Ooh, it's so exciting. One of the programmes I recorded was that night's Prom. It carried on recording after the finish, eventually giving up the ghost after about four and a half hours. I think it must have read the finish time as the finish time of the evening's second, after midnight, broadcast.

I then watched it on Saturday afternoon. I'm not sure what I think of this instant reaction that BBC4 has been running, where you can contact the programme by email or text. Friday night seemed to be just a show of national testosterone as various males - Charlie Hazlewood - metaphorically allowed their tongues to hang out at Anna Netrebko. Not surprisingly - she is a bit of a babe. And I did really like her dress. She's in Rigoletto next year, with Paolo Gavanelli, who is totally fab in the DVD of this production, and Piotr Beczala, about whom I know nothing. The other cast includes Dmitri Hvorostovsky and Rolando Villaz�n. Yum, yum...

I really enjoyed the first half - a nice mix of songs, but I found it very difficult to sit through Shostakovitch's Fifth. I'm trying, honestly, I'm trying, but...

My Lord and Master then watched Crystal Palace lose at Portsmouth. With just one point, they are firmly anchored t the bottom of the Premiership. Of course, he claims it's early yet - last season they looked like being relegated until an amazing late run.

And United are still indifferent. Indeed when Bolton went ahead in injury time I shut my ears to Final Score and deleted my text messages, so it took me half an hour to find out that David Bellion had equalised - although it was originally credited to Smith. It was good to see van Nistelrooy back, even though he looked like a duck out of water (well, makes a change from a horse, then!)

We then settled down for the Last Night of the Proms. We ate dressed crab from the fishmongers, followed by a gorgeous Rick Stein Baked Haddock with mussels and spinach, and roast potatoes. Unintentional entertainment came from Alan Titchmarsh's patronisingly stupid comments. I know Charlie Hazlewood isn't everybody's cup of tea, but his knowledge and enthusiasm is astounding. Titchmarsh assumes that the viewers are all thickos. Perhaps the dolt who put Titmarsh in the presenter's chair thinks the viewers are thickos. It always fascinates me why they put the first half on BBC2 and the second half on BBC1. That having been said, I didn't think the first half was that great a programme. Although Thomas Allen was magnificent in Vaughan Williams' songs.

The second half - accompanied by strawberry cheesecake and fresh strawberries - was to be expected. Half of me really hates it, the other half of me thinks it's all a good laugh. I do wish arseholes like Titmarsh would cut the crap about 'it's not jingoistic, it's not xenophobia, it's just rollicking good patriotism'. Just shut the fuck up Titmarsh. Please allow your viewers to make their own judgements. It's none of them, IMO. It's certainly not patriotism, which, as well as being the last refuge of the scoundrel, is a bit more than waving a flag and having a jolly good sing-song to some old familiars. I found it fun looking at all the different flags on display - as well as the Union flag (did Arsemuch call it the Union Jack - ignorant fucker), and English, Welsh and Scottish flags and the Royal Standard, I also spotted Irish, Manx, French, German, US, Australian, New Zealand, South African, Canadian, Norwegian, and Brazilian. There may have been more.

I did like Thomas Allen's little list (re-written by Kit Hesketh-Harvey) - violinists in wet t-shirts, pianists who retire just because they've got their bus pass and teenagers who can download, email and text without getting out of bed.

On Sunday, whilst eating stilton and broccoli soup, we watched the latest episode of Adam Nicholson's Atlantic Britain, which is a little gem of a TV series. This week it was mysticism in the West of Ireland. Oh did we giggle at these idiots climbing Croagh Patrick in bare feet!

We then watched - salmon en croute for me, moussaka for him, followed by a luscious sherry trifle from Tesco's Finest range - Mystic River. It took a while to get going, and it left me feeling rather uncomfortable and disturbed. I would highly recommend it if you want something a bit more than mental chewing gum. It's the second film we have watched recently starring Sean Penn, the previous being 21 Grams. 21 Grams is a very confusing film, and again, very intelligent and thought provoking. I have to say for years I have dismissed Sean Penn as the former Mr Madge with a reputation for disagreeing with photographers, but if these two films are any indication, he is becoming one of my favourite actors. Mystic River also had excellent performances from Tim Robbins, Kevin Bacon and Laurence Fishburne.

Jimmy then watched The Van, which I had taped for him a few weeks ago. I didn�t - it got just two stars in the Radio Times, and I don't watch 2 star films. It is said to be the least of Roddy Doyle's three filums. Although his watching of the film took until eight o'clock, the start time of a programme I really wanted to watch, I was unperturbed, because I had it recording in Sky+. Then, when he went to bed (and dreamed about vans), I could do a live rewind on the programme I wanted to watch, whilst also having it recorded to the hard drive. I thoroughly enjoyed Domingo - A Musical Life. I'm not divulging what my dreams were last night...

Okay, how many different categories does this post fit into...

Piccadilly

On Wednesday, I got Sky+ and decided to record something, anything, just to experiment. What I recorded was the 1929 film Piccadilly. A silent film. It was excellent. I was startled at how good it was. Without dialogue, and with just occasional captions, the actors had to act with their faces. Interesting to see just how much nuance and plot can be conveyed by face alone. It was also interesting to see just how similar 1920s London was to the present day.

It will be interesting to see how much I use the extra functionality of Sky+ - being able to watch and record simulataneously. I often find that a half hour programme that I have taped because I'm out gets stuck on a tape between two things I want to keep. This should eliminate that.

Swimming Pool

In lieu of getting splashy-splashy this weekend, we have just watched Swimming Pool, starring Charlotte Rampling.

NB, do not click on IMDB's Board. there is an awful lot of discussion of symbolism.

A very strange film. One perhaps that you enjoy more while you watch in than half an hour after it finishes.

But very sensual. The repressed dyke in me really loved it.

Ask me again in two weeks - I'll either have forgotten it completely, or it will behaunting me.

I found the food and drink deeply sexually symbolic. And, for me, that is the perfect symbolism...

Memorable quote: "Awards are like hemorrhoids. Sooner or later every asshole gets one. "

Shawshank Reflections

I have to confess that I never heard of it when it was released. In fact I never heard of it until Spring 2001 when someone in the Smoking Room said that it was their favourite film, ever, then a few days later someone on Big Brother said the same thing. A few weeks later it came on the telly, I watched it, and raved about it to Jimmy who said it was one of his favourites, ever...

Hope springs eternal

Euro attitudes to censorship

A report on what issues are frowned on in films across Europe.

I know that the film classification is intended primarily for cinema - it is absolutely unenforcable in the home. Nevertheless, it's an interesting guideline. I'm not sure of those comments that seem to have crept in recently - contains 'mild peril' or'cartoon violence'. As for 'bad language', that does that mean regional/lower class colloqualisms, or does it mean swearing?

Opera DVDS are, generally, Exempt from classification, except, it seems, in Germany, where most are not suitable for children under 6. Hardly surprising, with all those violent stabbings and strangulations. La Fanciulla del West contains some, I assume unintentional, farce, as Ramirez/Dick Johnson slumps in a coma bleeding profusely from a bullet wound in the stomach as Minnie and Rance play poker to determine whether he lives or dies. And sing a couple of arias without thought of even elementary First Aid. In the Final Act, he stands for an inordinate length of time on the gallows with a noose round his neck as the assembled masses sing about how wonderful Minnie is.

Lohengrin, which contains only one, not especially lingering, death, no blood and no swearing, not to mention no evidence of American imperialism, is not suitable for children under 12 in Germany.

My DVD of Carmen is a cinematic film, which has a PG certificate, presumably because of the graphic bullfight scenes.

Sort of film festival...

Not as much yesterday. I suddenly developed catatonic tiredness at about half three, and retired to my boudoir, with instructions to the gentleman in my life to wake me at half four. Five he said. Half five he woke me.

We watched Cabaret, which he has never seen before, to our shared amazement. We both thoroughly enjoyed. However many times I see it, the song "Tomorrow Belongs To Me" makes goose-pimples over my entire body. It's a deeply uncomfortable feeling, even though I know it was the intention of the film-makers. It has always troubled me - if I was young and impressionable in 1930s Germany, would I have been a Nazi sympathiser. Of course, growing up a socialist in 70s/80s Britain, I would like to think I would not be. But I can't be sure.

We also tried watching Oklahoma, but it was a big disapppointment. I had really liked it as a teenager, and sort of assumed that I still did. It must be ten years since I've seen it. Jimmy said it was old-fashioned, with all the songs much the same. I was not inclined to argue.

We then watched half of Blow-Up, before he retired, defeated to the bedroom. Not before he had identified Stockwell Road, by the row of Pride and Clark (??) all along one side.

He's gone to mow his father's grass and I'm listening to West Side Story.

Gert Cottage Film Festival

There's not a lot else to do on a changeable double BH weekend with nowt on telly.

Friday evening found the intrepid filmsters in the heart of London's Leicester Square. J. was allowed to choose the film without a G. veto. (Think Blue Moons, Preston Guilds, Oberemmagau Passion Plays).

The film chosen was Open Range. I resolutely adopted an open mind, and felt that if it was truly awful, I could at least listen to Micahel Gambon's voice. Or daydream. Or fall asleep.

Actually, I enjoyed it. I'm not going to go on about greatness, Oscar nommies or whatever, but it was a good old-fashioned Western, the sort my Grandad would have thoroughly enjoyed. There was some fabulous Albertan scenery, some reasonably good acting, and one or two Western cliches, and it finished with a humdinger of a shoot-out, although quite why they couldn't have lit the aromatherapy candles and sat down over a cup of camomile tea with a trained mediator is beyond me.

Once at home we watched Godfather 2. Either you love or hate the Godfather films. Me, I'm indifferent. I recognise them as good stories, excellent acting, all that, but get me in a General Knowledge Quiz and I would star blank-faced at you. To my eternal shame, I always get Al Pacino and Robert de Niro mixed up.

Saturday afternoon was Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. Damn fine adventure movie. But more than adventure - actually, if you switch on the brain, it is also intellectually stimulating. And great scenery.

Then we had Carmen. Great music, great singing, great acting, great scenery, and opening with a gloriously gory bullfight.

So, two great films and watching Jonny Wilkinson on Parkinson combined to make Saturday afternoon/evening a veritable festival of Beautiful Men.

We also watched Parsifal The Search for the Grail

I drank large quantities of Port and also managed to send a glass of same flying all across the floor. Fortunately, I have 'wipe-clean' laminate floor and not a pale-coloured carpet. And my very own Beautiful Man wiped it up for me.

This afternoon/evening we are going to choose between some or all of Cabaret, Belle du Jour or Oklahoma. Or maybe something completely different.

What have I been doing with my life?

Cocooning, I guess is the word.

Watching an awful lot of TV. Everything from the Scotland-England rugby match (yay!) to the Porto-Manchester United match (no!).

Being depressed and that, I thought it would be a really fab idea to while away my hours watching total tear-jerkers such as Otello and La Traviata. In fact, on Friday night I put on my DVD of Otello that Mummy got me for Xmas. I said to Jimmy, 'If you don't like this, say so,' and he later said that he thought he would try for twenty minutes, and ended up thoroughly enjoying the whole two and a quarter hours.

Then yesterday we watched The Sound of Music, which, unbelievably, he has never seen before. And yes, although I have seen it thirty zillion times, I cried. Oh, and on Saturday we watched Hope Springs, which was enjoyable and probably worth ££3.75 from Sky Box Office, although wouldn't have been worth £20+ in the West End.

And I am simply not discussing the fact that it appears that Manchester United appear to have thrown away all hopes of the Championship - February seems to have been the longest month to watch one's favourite football club slowly imploding.

Hitchens C on Gibson on Christ

A must read from The Mirror: I detest this film..with a passion

Yet the Sun, a newspaper I despise with my heart, has an article which, in its 'clever' wording manages to be even more anti-Semitic.

Speedblogging

I must get back to this blogging.

Great weekend, thanks for all your kindness. Two lovely meals, one at Sarastro and another at our favourite Chinese, Chuen Cheng Ku, plus a fair amount of drinking, lots of sleeping, and a film Something's Gotta Give. We' seem to be participating in a mini-Jack Nicholson Festival this year, having seen As Good as It Gets on the TV and About Schmidt on Sky Box Office. During the film , my phonenever seemed to stop vibating with text messages so I was surprised, angry and relieved to read that Manchester United won a last-gasp 4-3 after being 3-0 up.

I haven't really being following the news, partly because my back and shoulders seem slightly strained so I'm trying to ease off home computer use, and partly because the internet connection at work was farked, but am I right in saying that Senator John Kerry McFadden has won in the Bush? Psssst, don't tell anyone, but were I to change my name on marriage I would be called Gerry McFadden....good reason not to change my name....

And it seems that my political masters have set up a new agency named after a modern form of Calypso. Oops!

Incidentally, I believe that the deaths of the Morecambe  cocklers to be desperately sad. I do have strong opinions, although, of course, no easy solutions, but this is not the place to air those opinions.

What I did last night

Stayed in and watched TV.

Logistically perfect planning. During the afternoon, Ernani was taped, to be watched at some unspecified later date.

Next up - after eating, an important consideration - was 28 Days Later. I'm not a fan of horror films, on the whole, but I did find this worthwhile. I'm loath to say enjoyable, because it was gruesome in places, but I would say the plot hung together, the dialogue was not too cliched, and there was just about enough characterisation. Not the greatest film of all time, but one I would definitely give a thumbs up to.

After that we definitely needed Britian's Best SitCom. The programme showed clips from the Top 50, here is a list of 11-100. Of the 'bottom' 50, Desmonds and Black Books, in my opinion, are sorely under-rated. Jimmy was convinced Desmonds would be Top Ten. The actual Top Ten is here. I would expect that Only Fools and Horses is odds-on favourite, but I actually can't stand Fools and Horses, so I am currently debating between casting my vote for Blackadder or Yes Minister/Yes Prime Minister. The latter because of the tremendous insight it gave into the British Civil Service, which I subsequently discovered to be accurate. The former for Baldrick, and if for no other reason, as pointed out on the programme, that amazingly pathos of that closing scene in Blackadder Goes Forth

Instead of having Blackadder succeed in his quest, had him and his men forced to join the advance and fulfil their fears by going 'over the top' to their deaths. This grim image, the frame frozen and then dissolving into one depicting the same field full of poppies, memorably ended the series on a note of dark satire and was a fitting conclusion to a comedy premise that had always sported an underlying intelligence beneath its farcical surface.

which is almost certainly the only time I have wept at a comedy programme.

Throughout the three hour showcase, I realised that I laughed most at the slapstick-type clips. I've heard that laughing at slapstick is an unusually British character-trait. An hon mensh should go to Frank Spencer, of course.

Jimmy commented that people have compared him and his Dad to Steptoe and Son. In measured, neutral tones I replied that I couldn't imagine why.

I have very personal reasons for hating The Vicar of Dibley

Of course, like its precursors, the 100 Great Britains, and the Great Read, this exercise is guaranteed to piss off a substantial amount of people. I am almost certain that anyone reading this will experience strong disagreement with at least something I have said. I am prepared to give this exercise more time than the previous two, because the previous two were about far more serious subjects, and the results said something - something slightly uncomfortable - about this nation. However, with sitcoms, it's such a tiny part of the cultural tapestry, although terribly important on one level, so I will be prepared to accept the results, and even acknowledge Delboy to be a great cultural icon, and the famous falling through the bar flap scene as being one of the great moments of comedy.

What's your favourite sitcom?

Tempus fugit

I seem to be neglecting my reputation for blogorrhoea. I would love to woo and wow with you a dazzling parade of amazing things I have done. I have to say, the past few days have been enjoyable but not necessarily exciting and wooful. Dashing around at work - my task for Friday afternoon was to do a to do list, mainly to ensure I hit the ground running when I return after New Year. I didn't get that far.

On Thursday, I was at a social event where I was the only blogger present, yet there was a semi-intelligent discussion on blogging. There were two people present who claim to know Tom Watson.

Saturday was a TV day - firstly, Manchester United beating Manchester City by a comfortable three goals to one. Classic comments from yours truly. "That Ryan Giggs, he's turned thirty now - he's past his best." Ten minutes later: "Ooh, Ryan Giggs - he just gets better and better." Ha ha!

In the evening we watched The Pianist a stunningly moving film, set in the Warsaw Ghetto in the Second World War. At two and a half hours it is not a short film, but it never seemed to drag. I will definitely say a big-up to Sky Box Office. I would be surprised if such a film would be available to hire from my local home entertainment shop.

Sunday was Sainsburys, which was extraordinary quiet and really rather unhassled. In the evening we watched the Sports Personality of the Year. There was not a single award with which I disagreed. The highlights of the evening were the awards to the rugby team, (it was wonderful to see Jonny Wilkinson's face when Martin Johnson was announced as runner-up - the look of dread on his face that yet again he is back in the spotlight - he earlier had the grace to admit that he knows he looks uncomfortable in the spotlight - I'm sure he's getting used to it and will grow into his iconic role) and the crowning of Steve Redgrave - a truly deserved award, for his longevity, and for his tremendous achievement in winning gold in five successive Olympics, especially, latterly, with considerable medical challenges. Of course, something like that is always going to favour a recent winner, but, objectively, it would be difficult to find a more worthy winner. And doesn't he always look so proud when he receives accolades!

It was also excellent seeing the awards to Michael Watson and Lance Armstrong.

But the overwhelming moment was seeing the '66 team and the '03 team pose together (and George and Ben Cohen being asked whether there was a young Cohen with a talent for cricket...!)

Fluff

Lori says:
Here are some light and fluffy questions for you:

I say - I was looking for fluff, not existentialism (my word of the week)

"What's your favourite film of all time and why?"

I find it difficult to choose between TheSound of Music, The Unbearable Lightness of Being and The Shawshank Redemption - trailer

Each of them is very different. I watched the first as a child, the second when embarked on womanhood, and the third only a couple of years back. One is full of happy happy songs and chaste love scenes, and great scenery. Two is dark and stunningly erotic - I had a big thing about Daniel Day-Lewis at the time and would have had about Juliette Binoche if I had been inclined. The third is set in that most ghastly of institutes, a US prison in the 40s-60s.

What they all share is a triumph of the human spirit in adversity.

The second time I saw The Shawshank Redemption was on a flight. At the breathtakingly beautiful scene with Andy playing the Mozart record, I felt a tension in the plane. There were 12 channels to choose from, but a critical mass was watching that. Palpable.

Jimmy wasn't. He explained 'I never watch a film twice and I refuse to see that four times.'

"Does anything really scare you?" There's nothing that I have an unmanageable phobia about, although plenty of things I'm not keen on - birds indoors, dogs etc. I live in an urban area with a problem with street crime. I walk round with over £1000 of geek gadgetry and jewellery, and sometimes I get sick with fear of being mugged. Even popping out to Happy Shopper for a pint of milk and a packet of fags can send paroxysms of fear coursing through my veins. I rationalise it as similar to the fear of going on a roller coaster. The darkness of the countryside would scare me, too.

My most scary experience, ever, was when I thought our plane was beinghijacked.

"What is your ideal holiday location?"

Somewhere with a variety of good food and wine available. Sea I can swim in. Interesting sites. Although I have been to the States (twice) Egypt, and Cuba, the one that meets the above criteria best was Mojacar in Spain last year, but, pleasant though it was, it lacked a certain je ne sais quoi. Probably overall, I would rate Egypt this year because of the overall combination of so many factors. Ultimately, anywhere with Jimmy. The two countries I would most like to visit are South Africa and Chile, a somewhat ironic change from the boycotting days of my youth.

"Marmite or peanut butter?"

True confession time. Soon after my father died, my mother and I guiltily, but with relief, threw the peanut butter jars out of the kitchen cupboard. We missed him dearly, still do, but the peanut butter.had.to.go.

Marmite. Mmmmmmmmm.

It bypassed video and went straight to ITV.

Scaryduck is collecting votes for the worst turkey film of all time. I'm sulking that he omitted Seven from his list. This is a much talked-about poll, the one that got a couple of other A-listers engaged in arm-wrestling over Breakfast at Tiffanys.

Dom (who he) emphasises why he doesn't agree why Apocalypse Now is on it

Especially seeing as Mrs Doubtfire isn't. Referee! How? I tried to walk out of Mrs Doubtfire, and I was watching it on a plane. That's how unutterably bad it really is.

What a day

You may be wondering why I wrote so much today, a Saturday, when I'm often out and about with Jimmy. He spent most of the afternoon with his father who's in hospital, and he didn't sleep well last night, so has gone off early to bed. After he had been to the hospital he went and had a few too many in the pub and turned up drunk.

Usually when that happens - much less frequently - I get really angry, because I'm on edge, convinced he's spoiling for a fight. It was different today; I know why he got drunk, and I was annoyed at myself for being impatient, intolerant and non-understanding.

He believes his father is dying. He barely eats anything, is as thin as a bone, and lacking in any kind of energy. Jimmy had to spend an hour persuading him to watch the Celtic match the other night. Although he says he's looking a lot better from being overnight in hospital.

I don't know what to do or say. I have to be blunt - I don't like his father. I'm not alone in thinking that he's self-centred, self-serving and manipulative. I have it on good authority that he's always been like that, it's not merely a product of old age.

And he is old - 84. Jimmy is upset that his father is so frail. I can't feel any emotion. I guess I just have to look after Jimmy. And try and make sure he doesn't try drowning his sorrows in whiskey.

We sat up for a while together watching 100 Years, 100 Passions. He was saying how dated some of the old films seem now - although he displayed an encyclopaedic knowledge of certain films - he claims it was his mother who was the enthusiastic. I suggested that it depends: Casablanca is a classic, but Brief Encounter just looks stilted and irrelevant. Guess what, Brief Encounter is not on the list, but can one really argue with the top three:

1. Casablanca


2. Gone With the Wind


3. West Side Story

Two of my favourites feature lower down: The Unbearable Lightness of Being, which I cannot remember seeing on terrestrial TV, and the Sound of Music. As one of the talking heads said - that scene in the Gazebo, where they sing "Something Good" -

For here you are standing there loving me, whether or not you should
So somewhere in my youth or childhood, I must have done something good
Nothing comes from nothing, nothing ever could
So somewhere in my youth or childhood, I must have done something good

- is one of the romantic, and whenever I see it I always full momentarily head-over-heels in crush on Christopher Plummer as Captain von Trapp.

The weekend

We ate Indian last night and Indonesian this lunchtime. This afternoon we went to see Mike Leigh's All or Nothing, starring Timothy Spall and Lesley Manville.

It should have been depressing, but it wasn't. I suppose it depends on what you know. For those who don't know Sarf London, or analogous areas, some of the characters could be seen as patronising stereotypes, but the Sarf London cinema I was in was laughing, because we recognised them as real people. It's rare that I find repeated use of "Fack off" to be funny, but this was.

Timothy Spall's facial (lack of) expression alone made it worth watching. However, there is a scene near the end which I found grating and unnecessary and just too sentimental.

I would definitely recommend it but you may struggle to find it: I doubt that the multinational capitalist multiplices will show it.

When we came out there were enormous queues for some of the Cremaster films, which are currently showing, along with installation art in a temporary porch to the cinema.