Film: Are you feeling "Lucky"?

To use such a terrible cliche of a pun as a heading for this post must mean that something extra-special is coming. Well, yes, I think so. It's a short film by Nash Edgerton that is breath-takingly fast and explosive (literally) for such a short project. The stunts, as well, are something to appreciate in a short film, as is the cinematography. Overall, an especially well-done little vignette...

Design/Film: Black Swan Posters (drool)

Darren Aronofsky's forthcoming release 'Black Swan', a pitch-black psychological thriller about jealousy and sexuality in the world of ballet stars Natalie Portman in the leading role. Up until now the posters for the film have shown just Portman's face, painted a ghostly white shade with thick silver eye-liner and an icy crown as it is in parts of the film. This is not hugely imaginative, even if it is somewhat striking.

Compare that though, with these new designs from British design company LaBoca that are clearly influenced by poster design from the 20s and 30s, as well as the Polish and Czech designs of the 60s, those that I have previously drooled over on this very blog.

What's interesting is that despite being similar in a thematic and symbolic sense (each poster uses a human image, as well as that of a swan, and moonlight etc), the four posters become quite different visually when you imagine what tone they convey. At times, it can even seem that they are selling entirely different films. See which one you prefer:

Is it this one? The most classical, probably, of the four images, it looks almost like a poster for a crime thriller or a murder mystery or a film noir. The ballerina is built, rather superbly, into the swan's wing as if the two were made of porcelain, and the title and the words above hark back to the regency era and Noel Coward. Spiffing:


In this next design, we are presented with a tone more akin to horror movies. The Swan's nose splitting the ballerina's head in half reminds one instantly of the classic poster for A Clockwork Orange, and the bright, blood red, angular lettering at the poster's bottom looks as though it was designed for the cover of a Stephen King:


Poster three suggests, to me, something military. The way that the swan's wings are curled around the smaller figure in the centre of the design make the viewer think of badges, of regalia, of those authoritarian stamps that are emblazoned on fascist chests in dystopian science fiction and graphic novels like V For Vendetta:


And finally, a futurist's wet dream. This poster couldn't hark back more to the iconic Metropolis poster if it wanted to. Straight lines, shaded corners and a human figure made to look almost robotic, it is flooded with recognisable imagery, but completes a set of four designs that are both closely linked but greatly different at the same time:

Film/Sport: Totally Rad Biking Video

It's not often I write about anything sporty on here (which doesn't mean I don't like sport, trust me) but I saw this rather beautiful video directed by Felix Urbauer and enjoyed it thoroughly.

Music: 2010 - Music Of The Year (and shit...)

Welcome all, to the end of 2010 Man Culture Love round up. A feast of meaningless, self-infatuated lists that serve hopefully to look back at the high points of this year and my listening to music and stuff. What's more, I've gone to the outlandish, almost Herculean effort of creating a tidy little Spotify playlist (other streaming music providers are available...I think) so that those without past experience of some of the bands or artists might be able to check them out, in a listening way, not a "ooh, yeah, nice tight trousers on the lead singer" kind of way.

These thirty albums, split into the three categories into which I invest most of my time, will hopefully reveal some low-flying albums that may have flown under your radar this year. Or over your head. Whichever untidy metaphor you want...

PLEASE NOTE: the use of over-blown, gushing praise when describing these records, the kind you'd usually find on this blog, will not be featuring in this round-up. It's 11:30, I've got work in a couple of hours, and frankly I've read enough self-important and predictable opinion blogging (*cough* Pitchfork/Quietus *cough*) already in the past week or so to have to put up with my own. Just assume that every album on this list I think is fantastic in its own way.

They are, also, in no particular order of preference. The numbers at the side represent nothing but my need to jazz things up a little. You like? It's my blog version of tinsle. Oooooooooh, looky.

ALTERNATIVE:

1. The Arcade Fire - The Suburbs
2. Kat Frankie - The Dance Of A Stranger Heart
3. The Black Keys - Brothers
4. Best Coast - Crazy For You
5. Darwin Deez - Darwin Deez
6. Everything Everything - Man Alive
7. Future Islands - In Evening Air
8. Sleepy Sun - Fever
9. Morning Benders - Big Echo
10. White Denim - Last Day Of Summer

AMERICANA/COUNTRY/BLUEGRASS:

1. Isobel Campbell and Mark Lonegan - Hawk
2. J. Tillman - Singing Ax
3. Pete Molinari - A Train Bound For Glory
4. Carolina Chocolate Drops - Genuine Negro Jig
5. Dylan LeBlanc - Paupers Field
6. Mountain Man - Made The Harbor
7. Ida Jenshus - No Guarantees
8. Justin Townes Earle - Harlem River Blues
9. Ferraby Lionheart - The Jack Of Hearts
10. Phospherescent - Here's To Taking It Easy

FOLK:

1. Anais Mitchell - Hadestown
2. Joanna Newsom - Have One On Me
3. Laura Marling - I Speak Because I Can
4. First Aid Kit - The Big Black And The Blue
5. Sharon Van Etten - Epic
6. Laura Veirs - July Flame
7. Tallest Man On Earth - The Wild Hunt
8. Bombay Bicycle Club - Flaws
9. Smoke Fairies - Through Low Light And Trees
10. Julia Stone - Memory Machine

So there you have it, the first of this blog's yearly music round-ups. Obviously there are things I have had to leave out which I wish I didn't have to, and honourable mentions go to Violens, Maps And Atlases, Black Mountain, Johnny Flynn, Lonelady, Yeasayer, The Black Angels, Frightened Rabbit, John Grant, Sufjan Stevens, Surfer Blood, The Soft Pack, Villagers, Two Door Cinema Club, Wolf Parade, Caitlin Rose, Greg Storer, Ray Lamontagne and the Pariah Dogs, Sean Hayes, She & Him, Gorillaz, Janelle Monae, Big Boi and Peggy Sue.

And that's not all their is in Santa's deep sack (don't think about it too much, just keep going) as a Spotify playlist has been built of most of the bands in the lists. Some glaring holes are apparent (no Arcade Fire or Joanna Newsom on Spotify, I mean REALLY?), but it's a good listen, so go check it out:

Spotify Playlist: Man Culture Love Round-Up 2010

And with this aside, here's a list of TWENTY TRACKS OF THE YEAR (again, in no particular order but most of which, out of choice, are by artists that don't feature on the album lists). Click on the tracks to watch/listen on the youtube:

1. Violens - Acid Reign
2. Villagers - Becoming A Jackal
3. Janelle Monae - Tightrope
4. James Blake - Limit To Your Love
5. Major Lazer - Pon De Floor (naughty vid, be careful)
6. Skrillex - Rock 'N Roll (Will Take Your To The Mountain)
7. Mystery Jets - Dreaming Of Another World (video of the year)
8. The Soft Pack - More Or Less
9. The Drums - Let's Go Surfing
10. Yeasayer - O.N.E.
11. Kelis - Acapella
12. Vampire Weekend - Holiday
13. Sleepy Sun - Open Eyes
14. Lonelady - Intuition
15. Cee-Lo Green - Forget You (or, if you're past the watershed: Fuck You)
16. Rihanna - Rudeboy or Only Girl (In The World)
17. Beach House - Zebra
18. Foals - Blue Blood
19. Screaming Females - I Don't Mind It
20. Megafaun - Volunteers

AND NOW FOR A FEW AWARDS:

Firstly, the award for BEST LIVE ACT goes to SCREAMING FEMALES, who did the gracious thing of blowing the arsehole out of a relatively small crowd at the Luminaire in Kilburn and revealed to me my new rock and roll goddess, the pint-sized, axe-shredding, shrieking mormon banshee that is Marisa Paternoster. Left my jaw on the floor and my heart racing after a blistering set of punk/grunge fury. See them at the first opportunity, and marvel at them.

Runners up: Megafaun, Wild Beasts, Everything Everything

Then, on the flipside, the award for WORST LIVE ACT goes to THE DRUMS, those most annoying of new bands, the preening, strutting kids from California who write songs as intellectually weighty as an over-cooked sponge. Every member of the band, who were seen disgracing live music at the Kentish Town Forum, deserves a lesson in standing FUCKING up, and the lead singer flopped around onstage neglecting to actually SING, but never forgetting to sweep his fringe over and wobble his knees around like a pissed up George Michael in WHAM. Awful in every sense, and the kids love them. It boggles the mind.

Runners up: Violens, Mountain Man

For MOST UNDERRATED ACT, we give the award to SHARON VAN ETTEN, who manages to be praised by just about every band and underground music mag out there, and who writes such beautiful, haunting, heartfelt songs, but whose name you can say to almost anybody on the street and get a response similar to this: "errrrrrrrrrrrrr....no?" Fingers crossed she breaks it this year with a few festival performances and some good press. A great talent.

Runners up: J. Tillman, White Denim, Screaming Females

MOST OVERRATED ACT, one of the most hotly contested of the year, goes to HURTS, who showed that a sweepy haircut and some synthesisers can go a long way in convincing a multitude of people that your are creating music that isn't just a mindless rip off of eighties electro stalwarts. This year's La Roux, and with even shitter songs. Laters!

Runners up: Liars, Warpaint, Vampire Weekend, Ariel Pink, Marina And The Diamonds, The Drums

With BIGGEST TWAT IN MUSIC comes a chance to shine a spotlight on someone who does all they can to sour the room with their own arrogance, vanity and general twattery. And this year the decision is unanimous, and the same as last year, the year before that, almost every year since this knobber arrived in fact. It is, of course, the unstoppable twat that is KANYE WEST. A whirlwind of pompous arseholery, with a sprinkling of innocent-girl-attacking thrown in for good measure. Well deserved.

Runners up: Mark Ronson, Lady Gaga, The Drums

BEST FESTIVAL goes to Green Man. Well, it was the only one I went to, but the line up was fantastic, the venue was brilliantly laid out and not too big, and the atmosphere was one of community, fun, silliness and, most importantly, a love of music. We'll meet again. Don't where, don't know when. Well, okay, I do know where, but I don't know when. %50 right.

Runners up: didn't go to any others, and this was a massive shame...

The Peter Pan Award for REFUSING TO GROW UP, goes to WEEZER, whose album, 'Hurley' was about as a purple ronnie nappy. Utter shit, from start to finish, and only good for one thing, which is reminding us just how good the blue album was. Oh, to experience Say It Ain't So for the first time again...

The Gillian McKeith Award for MOST OVERSTAYED WELCOME has to go to KINGS OF LEON, who having pitched at tent at the back of every festival stage or sports arena this side of the bayou have finally been found out for not really being a "stadium band" after all by releasing an album of repetitive, thoughtless sing-a-longs. Hopefully now they will be escorted from the premises and told to listen to Molly's Chambers and Holly Roller Novocaine.

Right, that's it. That's all I'm doing. This is officially the longest post i've ever done. I'm exhausted. See you soon for the film round-up. I'll make that MUCH shorter.

Film: Hollywood strikes midget gold again...or does it?

Ladies and gentlemen, I introduce to..........

TIPTOES.

It is a beautiful medley of heart-warming romance, slapstick comedy, oh yes, LITTLE PEOPLE. Bound to throw its weight around at the top of the box office, this obviously well-judged and seemingly naturalistic portrayal of love, life and height issues stars the oscar-bait method actor Matthew McConaughey and a-lister come cinema academic Kate Beckinsale, as well as (BITING LIP) Gary Oldman.

And now. Witness the greatness of what is surely bound to be the next Annie Hall/Spinal Tap/Withnail and make its mark on comedy history:



HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Fucking genius.

Film: CIAO SCOTT PILGRIM!!!

The trailer for Scott Pilgrim dubbed into Italian. Tweeted by the man himself, Mr Edgar Wright. Must be good.

For me, the little funky sound affects, the flicks and cracks, sound better when the voice following them sounds like its advertising cleaning fluid or car insurance and is rushing through the small print.

Comedy: WOOF, what do we think boys, is she funny?

In honour of the typically lightweight debate knocking about on a certain left-leaning newspaper website over the differences between male and female comedic talent (he says Morgana show isn't even that good, she says women are under-represented on panel shows, he says female comics not good enough, she says male comics not much better, he says what about Thick Of It, everyone goes mental...) I have turned to my favourite comedic song, possibly my favourite comedic performance of all time.

Men, women, dogs, cats, whatever, I don't care what my comedy's got between its legs, all I care about's the laughs, and they don't thicker and faster than when watching the goddess Victoria Wood:

TV/Comedy: GRANDAD!!! The Morgana Show

It's 10:25 in the morning and I'm in bed watching TV (suck on that nine-to-fivers, ha!). I've not watched much TV recently, so I decide to catch up on some things I've missed. Then I see The Morgana Show. I remember the adverts. I remember giggling at the adverts. Then I remember thinking that well, the adverts are probably just all the best bits and it'll probably be a let down. Then I think, alright, what the heck, it doesn't cost anything, I'll give it a crack. All this remembering and thinking takes about five minutes.

Thirty minutes later, and I feel like the scales have fallen from my eyes. I have a new hero. Her name is Morgana Robinson.

This program is without doubt one of the most refreshing things to hit the box in some time. Not necessarily because it does anything different, because lots would argue that it doesn't, but because a comedian (and a female one at that, eh Germaine? RIGHT ON) is performing a perfectly judged mix of silliness and satire with a skill and talent and energy that has been seriously lacking in TV sketch comedy for some time.

Celebrities are lampooned (Cheryl Cole and Danni Minogue are justifiably speared, Lady Gaga is rightly mocked, Fearne takes a satisfying beating...literally), outlandish and vile creations (such as a bitter Hollywood dame and an ignorant perma-tanned Newsreader) are free to tear up the screen with aplomb, and then British culture, small and so close to home, is put under the microscope with a loving heart which enjoys the silly idiosyncracies of everyday "plebs". My favourite character, BY FAR, is Gilbert, who has his Grandad behind the home video camera as he tries to make his own show. It is, and I will say this again and again, comedy GOLD:



Episode 1 was a blistering start, and I look forward to the remaining series. On the back of its success, The Guardian has started a debate about female comedians getting more air time, and though The Morgana Show could, if you REALLY want to, be chalked up as a win for the girls, woohoo, it would be better to recognise that there are a host of rather rubbish female comedians out there (Miranda, for one, and the often lazilly vile Lucy Porter for another) who prove that it is not her being a woman that makes her show satisfying, it is the pure delightful funniness of it all.

More clips:





Her Fearne Cotton is UNCANNY. MUMFORD AND SONS!!!! Skills.

Music: Videos videos videos (WARNING: one of them contains nipples...female nipples)

The music video, once the toast of town, remember? The most important marketing tool to any band hoping to tickle open the doors of success, it strutted its stuff on MTV through the nineties, was poked fun at by Beavis and Butthead, was religiously recorded by innocent fans/victims and springboarded famous movie directors like Spike Jonze and Michel Gondry into the bigtime.

Well now the world has changed, and MTV cares more about the shameful self-infatuation of a team of Hollywood airheads (The Hills, The Osbournes, The Kardashanianisnaaisns, take your pick). YouTube rules, and bloggers feed on internet scraps to see who can find the most unheard-of act in the industry (tip: he's under a bush on Hampstead Heath, he bangs conkers together, apparently he's fusing West Indian jazz with a new brand of Japanese dubstep and it sounds b-anging...), but the music video lives, just, and there is still an audience for well-made, interesting images to accompany the hottest new sounds.

Pitchfork, that coolest of cool websites, the lovers of somewhat bland indie bands, your Deerhunters and Animal Collectives, but with a predictable soft-spot for electronica, has not let the music video down, and in its endless compiling of lists that come with every new year, they have begun with a collection of their favourite music videos from the past year.

Find...it...HERE

And for those of you with neither the time nor the inclination to visit the other website, here are a few of my favourites:

PLEASE NOTE - these videos have been selected because I like the VIDEOS, not necessarily the music. Although most of that is good too. ALSO NOTE: that the first video contains shots of partial female nudity. Not my fault, but a bonus.

El Guincho - "Bombay"



The Books - "I Didn't Know That"



Janelle Monae (Feat. Big Boi) - "Tightrope"



AND, because we're praising the humble music video, I thought I'd post a few videos that have remained with me over the years...quality, all of them...

White Stripes - "Fell In Love With A Girl"



Radiohead - "Street Spirit"



Korn - "Freak On A Leash"

Film/TV: Leslie Nielsen

The comedy legend, star of Airplane and Naked Gun and other such cracking send-ups has died, and left a lot of people laughing in his wake, purely down to the fact that they have trawled youtube to find suitable clips to post as tributes online.

I landed on this one from the short-lived TV series 'Police Squad'. Absolute class:



"He's got a signed Picasso!"
"He's got herpes! He's got cold-sores!"

Doesn't get much better than that...

Music: Javelin and Jay-Z get all mashed up...

I like Javelin. But I also like Jay-Z. But which one's better? There's only one way to find out:

MASH UP!!!!

Music: Gay Pirates

Hmmmmm. Is it intended to be funny? Who knows. Personally, I had a bit of a giggle AND a bit of a cry when I first heard this song. Lyrics like "But it's you my love/You're my land ahoy" can't help but bring a smile to my face. I hope you like it too.



PS. Is it not just a brilliant video as well? More music videos shot on theatre stages please. Yessir.

Music: November Playlist

The candle of new musical talent is still burning bright. Despite the persistance of Westlife to release the same song for the fifteenth time. Wait for the key change, then they'll get of their stools and walk forward. Watch...watch...THERE IT IS!!!

1) KAT FRANKIE - Love Me (from the album entitled 'The Dance Of A Stranger Heart')



A truly sumptuous and stirring album by this Australian-born, Berlin-based songstress reminded me of PJ Harvey, of St Vincent, and of other fantastic female musicians. The guitar work is exemplary; brooding and sparse put complimentary of her powerful vocals, and the song-writing gives her ample room to be both delicate and explosive at the same time. Lovely jubbly.

2) ERIC LINDELL - That's Why I'm Crying (from the album entitled 'Between Motion & Rest')



Delicious jazz-inflicted blues from this smooth-voiced Californian. The album is short but sweet, and reminds one of John Mayer (if you don't hate him).

3) SEAN HAYES - Garden (from the album entitled 'Run Wolves Run')



Stunning song from this excellent album. Sean Hayes has a fantastically throaty and pained voice that will burrow into your head and stay for a while. Very very nice indeed.

4) RYAN BINGHAM AND THE DEAD HORSES - Depression (from the album entitled 'Junky Star')



Hard-nosed country from the man who is best known to me for having written Academy Award winning song 'The Weary Kind' for 2009 film Crazy Heart. Somewhat traditional, but with a contemporary weight to its production, Junky Star is a great album that rouses even the weariest country fan.

5) FRANCIS INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT - Monsters (from the album entitled 'In The Woods')



Euphoric choruses and upbeat, soaring chords abound in this standout single from this Austrian (I think...) band whose press release compares them, predictably and, frankly, lazilly, to indie darlings Grizzly Bear and Beach House. This is so, but I would urge any band not to try too hard to match these good, but highly overrated bands, lest they become self-important and a magnet for music snobs. Animal Collective? Best band ever? So much more intelligent than normal indie bands? Yeah, great, see you later.

6) GYPSY AND THE CAT - Time To Wander (from the album entitled 'Gilgamesh')



This Australian electro outfit are channeling an EXTREMELY 80s sound, but to reasonable effect. The album has shades of Duran Duran, some Human League, some Wham!, and a splurge of that epic dance ballad that you might hear on a Dirty Dancing soundtrack. Very tacky and camp, and this track is BY FAR the standout track, as it reminds me of a certain Yeasayer.

7) TANG IN THE ATTIC - Leftside (from the album entitled 'Bank Place Locomotive Society')



Scottish rockers do little harm with some twangy choons aboot not much. Fine.

8) JAVELIN - Vibrationz (from the album entitled 'No Mas')



Funky sounds of summer from Javelin, whose album was released in the summer and is a good little LP for those who like their music electronic, chilled and seamless.

9) SMOKE FAIRIES - Hotel Room (from the album entitled 'Through Low Light And Trees')



Beautiful, hypnotic, haunting folk landscapes from this much-hyped band come thick and fast on their debut. This track is more structured, more punchy than some of the other stuff on the album, and I would actually sell them as a better version of Warpaint, who I think lack a certain something to make them stand out. These guys, though, seem to have an edge that I cannot ignore. Very marvellous indeed.

10) SHARON VAN ETTEN - One Day (from the album/EP entitled 'Epic')



This singer songwriter is fast becoming a cult favourite, such is the power of her voice and songs. Here she shows off her majestic and heart-breaking sound to full effect. Watch the space.

11) MUDDY WATERS - Got My Mojo Working



A fantastic documentary about Chess Records brought me back to Muddy Waters, who almost single-handedly launched the label back in the late 1950s with his fresh and exciting brand of full-band blues that had Chicago, the windy city, in a fever. This is one of his most recognisable records, one a few sex-driven, upbeat hit singles that made him the toast of the town, and this recording, if you ignore the strangely-goateed guy that seems to be on acid doing the introduction, shows just how energetic and unstoppable the first full electric blues bands were, just when the harmonica was being introduced as a leading instrument by players like Little Walter. Absolutely, positively, finger-clickingly brilliant.

Film: Source Code Trailer

A trailer for this interesting film, directed by the hugely talented Duncan Jones (whose debut, Moon, was utterly brilliant, but a very different project), has me torn. On one hand it looks like an interesting concept, the idea of having a short amount of time, over and over again, to try and figure out who is at fault for a terrorist attack. Throw in a pretty girl (which they have) and some big explosions (which, well, obviously they have) and you've got yourself a blockbuster.



On the other hand, there are already glaring questions to be answered. Why, for instance, if our hero can repeatedly return to the same train, does he not just search each passenger on the train with each visit, gradually ruling everybody out until the guilty person is found.

And how, if every time he goes back the pretty girl doesn't know him, is he going to make her understand, or even believe, in just eight minutes, that he is part of this confusing military experiment. Because they have to fall in love, don't they? And she can't fall in love with the guy he's pretending to be. That's not how it works. She has to fall in love with the Jake, not the weird preppy-looking guy that Jake's been put into. So either he's going to prove to her VERY quickly that he's not who she thinks. Or she's just going to believe his weirdo sci-fi ramblings like a ditsy idiot. I'm going for the latter.

Music: Megafaun

With a groggy head (last night was a late one...oops) and soggy heart, I have revisited one of my most favourite bands of recent times, the magnificent and adorable Megafaun. Recognise the loveliness of this song, The Fade, from their album entitled Gather, Form, Fly...



In newer news, their new EP, entitled Heretofore, is available on general release, and is a beautiful, slow, ethereal country record. Well worth a look, and hopefully a precursor to some more recordings that I believe are just being finished in WI, USA. This track, Volunteer, is a standout...



On a slightly damp day this summer at Greenman Festival in Wales, I had the pleasure of seeing these three North Carolina boys bring the second stage, some tent with a name I can't remember, to it's feet and knees at the same time. Hoedowns, throwdowns, banter, it had it all. Afterwards I bumped into the band's lead singer and guitarist, Brad Cook, who I then complimented profusely and offered a drink. He turned it down initially (don't they all...) but then found me and told me he was going to get some food but he'd come back and find me. I waited. He never came. Was I foolish? I don't know. He was lovely, and I wanted to buy him a beer, so I stayed. What happened Brad? Huh? WHAT HAPPENED? I was cold, I was NOT naked, but still, were you there, were you there? No you were not.

Film: Rosario Dawson jiggles while the rest of us giggles...

Clerks 2 was an okay film, not a patch on the first but still funnier by far than most contemporary attempts at Kevin Smith's brand of purile gross out banter. This scene is a bit of dance fun for a thursday arvo, and for those with a more adult mind, Rosario Dawson doesn't seem to wearing the most rigid of support systems.

ENJOY!

Film: Harry Potter and the blah di blah blah Pt 1

To be perfectly honest with you, I've not got the energy or the time to write about this film in particular detail, such was my lack of energy upon leaving screen eight. So what I'm going to do is do a list of brief points, as if I were drunk in a pub at eleven o clock, somewhere near the Wandsworth Town rail station, probably The Alma, scrawling notes for this review on the back of a beer. So here we go. Let's get into character...

Okay. Sitting in a pub, sitting in a pub, Wandsworth Town, nice pub, full of rich middle class types, lots of tweed, lots of tracksuit bottoms with big letters on, gillets, lots of gillets, bottles of wine, bar snacks, olives, everyone has olives, I have a pint, I have a pint of beer, I paid a lot for it, I paid an extortionate amount for it, probably can't afford the train home now but hey, I have a pint, I've just been to the cinema, just been to see Harry Potter, just watched Potter, eaten lots of sugar, didn't drink anything, very dehydrated, full of sugar, teeth tingling, meant to go home and do proper review, can't be bothered, want beer, write it here, got pen, got beer mat, pen and paper, pen and mat anyway, right, ready, here we go:

1) If one is expecting the first part of the two-part final chapter in this monstrous franchise to stand alone as a film in it's own right and not just act as an extended prologue to the actual last film, then one would be sadly mistaken. HPDH-1 (as I'm now recalling it, and I don't care if it sounds the name of a printer/scanner) is hollow in humanity, lacking in character development of any real note, and flat as a proverbial witch's in its plotting; a succession of great escapes performed by the central trio of heroes that merely re-address the fact that they need to find a bunch of things and that there are people looking for them and it'll be hard. Not to sound like someone from The Hills but, well, like, DUH.

2) It is too long. Probably an hour, even an hour and a half too long in fact. If the second film is similarly over-extended, then there will be no arguing that splitting the films was not a creative decision but an act of greed.

3) The National Trust may well have slipped Warner a little something juicy over the past year or so, such is the feast of British countryside imagery on show in HPDH-1. Snowy hillsides, luscious rolling fields, mystical, magically woodland, it's all there, backdropping the tedious teenage love triangle that makes you pine for Twilight's melodramatic, pasty-faced, Dawson's Creek-meets-Buffy romping. It's not a great sign if, when the final credits roll, you can turn to your companion and say, with a straight face, that there were some lovely places to go camping in that film, weren't there...

4) With this new (is it new?) power called Disapparation, which is essentially a fancy pants way of saying teleportation, there is an undermining of the tension in many of the sequences in which Harry et al have to escape from the clutches of something or someone evil. Rather than fight their way out with wands and girly slaps and the like, our troubled heroes can simply hold onto each other's hands like their about to do the hokey cokey and - POOF - magically evaporate and reappear somewhere else, usually somewhere that somebody's been thinking of. With this power at their fingertips, it doesn't fill you with such dread when they find themselves trapped in a corner by some leather-wearing Dire Straits fan with a wooden stick. It goes: "Oh bloody norah, there's someone after us with a wand and a VFX snake, and there's no way out, no way at all, not even a magic toilet, I mean how the hell are we ever going to...oh, no, hang on, sorry, I just remembered, hold my hand, hold it, then I go like this..." and BAM, they're back in the woods, or on a cliff edge, or on Shaftesbury Avenue (suspiciously close to the windmill, the dirty blighters). Magic, yes, but a bit of a buzzkill, tension-wise.

5) Where once there was light, now there is darkness. Harry Potter of old was a bit of a laugh, remember? Little kids, all cute and cuddly and accidentally zapping each other in a bumbly British way, turning each other into goats and whatnot, fancying each other and having red hair and big round specs and losing control of their brooms so they flap around in the air like gloves in a hot tub. Remember that? The good old days? Fun, weren't they? Well, not anymore. Oh no. There's no laughs now, it's all got serious. It's all dark and green and grey and every time there's a chance for someone to say something funny, they cut away to another wide shot of some heather or something, or some ice, something cold and emotionless, because that's what's happened, it's all got dark and cold and scary, see?

6) Despite having a billboard cast of some of the finest British acting talent on offer, most rehearsal time seems to have been spent focusing Daniel Radcliffe's ability to look serious, despite wearing a frankly laughable pair of wire-framed spectacles. He pulls the same deadpan, pursed-lipped face when he's shouting as when he's thinking, and the only time in the film where I think I saw him smile was during a rather surreal dance sequence between Harry and Hermione in which it seems someone has pumped laughing gas into the room (maybe it was Danny DeVito as Penguin, sticking his umbrella underneath the edge of the tent and hissssssssssssss), because Harry starts twirling Hermione round and grinning like he's a plastic automaton in Mr Bubble's Bubbleworks (if you haven't been on it, you haven't lived, and get you to Chessington World Of Adventures).

7) The end is a bit of a damp squib, yes, as EVERYONE and their dog has pointed out, but that's what you get when you split a book in half. It's not the emphatic end to the show that we're used to from a Potter, but then the rest of the film isn't exactly Muse at Wembley, so what does it matter?

8) The end is nigh, both in Potterland and for the franchise, and it seems like its run its course. The relationships have become strained, and though the production quality is still as high as ever, especially in the visual effects and cinematography department, it seems the makers have lost sight of what attracted many cinemagoers who perhaps hadn't read the books (and that would include myself) to the films in the first place. Fun. Excitement. Adventure. These things have taken a back seat now to plot exposition and emotional angst, and I for one have slightly lost my taste for it.

9) Lastly, but not leastly. For all you yummy mummies out there. If you're thinking of taking your eight or nine year old child to see this, and that is your right with this being rated a 12A, can I just I just say this: DON'T. It's very scary, very scary indeed, for the younger audiences, or even the older audiences with a fear of slithery bastard snakes. It's better suited for older children, and even some of them might struggle.

That is all. I'm drunk now. I need to home go.

Film: Senna

The usual sensation I am struck by when faced with motor racing is of being rather under-whelmed, such is the way the sport fails, much of the time, to deliver any sort of explosive excitement. There are crashes, and there are surprises, but in between these moments are tens of minutes, even hours, of repetitive boredom and number-crunching. Tactical pitting; lap times; Qs one, two and three. I care not.

That being said, I do remember, despite being a little boy, the thrill that surrounded Ayrton Senna and his racing of a car. He was heralded as a maverick, a new breed of driver, an instant superstar. And then, tragically, he died. He was young. And the racing world, the sporting world, every world, mourned him.

Working Title have put their name to a new documentary about this almost mythological character, and the trailer suggests that it will bring all the heat, humour, heart and hurt of Senna's story to the vivid foreground. I look forward to it greatly:

Music: James Blake - Limit To Your Love

Hullabalooh! Is this or is this not just heart-breakingly, spine-tinglingly, speaker-meltingly lovely? I don't think i've met anyone, scenesters, dubstep fans, metalheads, anyone, who isn't impressed by this cover of Feist's original.

Music: October Playlist

This month's musical melange has spent the best part of three days avoiding Kings Of Leon and going round to pick up the last of its things when they're not there...

1) FERRABY LIONHEART - Harry and Bess (from the album entitled 'The Jack of Hearts')



Happy and jolly like brollies and lollies. Okay, that was a little weird, but it really is an infectious little tune this, and follows the pattern for the rest of the man's album. Bit Belle and Sebastien, bit Sondre Lerche, but all round fun and friendly frolicks.

2) WHITE DENIM - Tony Fatti (from the album entitled 'Last Day Of Summer')



I think this is their third album so far, and it's by far and away my favourite. More accessible and tighter than their previous offerings, and with a sunny, jazz-infected sound that sounds at times like Local Natives or Cold War Kids. "I'm like an engine but I got no gas/feel like an outlaw without a badge". Love that lyric.

3) ALOE BLACC - I Need A Dollar (from the album entitled 'Good Things')



This song is/was the soundtrack to the HBO series 'How To Make It In America'. I ain't never seen it, and I think I'm very late coming to this guy but I love his soulful voice. An observant chappy on youtube has commented that he "loves the bit where he needs a dollar". I can't concur more.

4) PETE MOLINARI - Streetcar Named Desire (from the album entitled 'A Train Bound For Glory')



STELLA!!! Okay, it's not a literal translation of Arthur Miller classic, and Brando isn't anywhere near this bitch, but doesn't it just make you want to hit the diner and put some records on the jukebox, then maybe go park with that cutie from Main Street? It does over here, I tell you. I put this album on and shut my eyes and I can almost taste the coke float. Love it.

5) HUNGRY KIDS OF HUNGARY - Coming Around (from the album entitled 'Escapades')



Like good old Rob Gordon, I'm feeling pretty basic today, and so here comes another "track one, side one" from this four-piece pop rock group from Brisbane, Queensland, Australia (The Earth). The album's a curious beast, at times poppish and simple, sounding a bit like Blue Album Weezer, and then there are sudden changes into a more angular, experimental sound that reminds one of Minus The Bear (the kings of that brand jazz-influenced psych-indie, if that even exists...). Either way you like your music, it's all done with charm and energy. What more can you want. Maybe a footrub? Not today. Okay.

6) DIE! DIE! DIE! - We Built Our Own Oppressors (from the album entitled 'Form')



Punky punks (though they look more like nice students) doing some sort of contemporary indie punk. From New Zealand. Very good. Find album. Listen to album. Over.

7) BELLE AND SEBASTIEN - I Didn't See It Coming (from the album entitled 'Belle and Sebastien Write About Love')



The new album by B&S is excellent, and has rightly received praise. They're just so damn likeable. I don't need to say much more about it, as it speaks for itself. Beautiful sound, beautiful songs. They get better with age, like a fine wine, or blues musicians...

8) IDA JENSHUS - No Guarantees (from the album entitled 'No Guarantees')



Caitlin Rose got a lot of praise for bringing back country music, and I hope that this lass will get a similar slap on the back. Her album is quite beautiful, a real heartbreaker. She may well not though, seeing as her name is almost unfathomably hard to say without sounding drunk or on meth.

9) GARETH LIDDIARD - Strange Tourist (from the album entitled 'Strange Tourist')



He writes long songs, and doesn't play with greatest accuracy, but there's a gripping heart to this guy's music, and this song I think shows his talent for passionate story-telling.

10) REVEREND PEYTON'S BIG DAMN BAND - Clap Hands (from some album, I can't for the life of me find out...)



Mental. Blues and country all mashed up and spewed out. It's great stuff, and when was the last time you saw somebody playing the washboard? Exactly.

11) HUNDRED REASONS - I'll Find You (from the album entitled 'Ideas Above Our Station', and WHAT an album)



I was fishing through my music collection the other day and I found Hundred Reasons' phenomenal debut 'Ideas ABove Our Station'. Back came the memories, flooding on with force. Drinking in the park. Heatham House band night. Secret gigs at the Underworld in Camden. Patches on the bag. I was such a huge fan, and having rediscovered the album, am again.

Music: Screaming Females

Hold the phones, I think I've found a new punk rock heroine, and she comes in the shape of a surly, sulky pint-sized guitar goddess with hair like the lovechild of Chrissie Hynd and Justin Bieber and a scream like nails in a frying pan. She is Marissa from the band Screaming Females and she took me and the rest of the audience to pieces last night in the goold old Luminaire in Kilburn.

Man alive can she play. Fucking yes she can. Watch:



The band's new album, Castle Talk, is out any day I suggest you do all in your power to wallow in its grunge-punk fury. It's absolutely, ear-bleedingly, head-bangingly tops. Plus, their live show beats anything they've recorded. Literally. With a stick. It is a sight to behold.

Word to the wise though, approach this little fucker with caution. She ended the set yesterday with a twenty second long solo in which her eyes rolled into the back of her head like the sick chick in The Exorcist. Then she collapsed to the floor. I have reason to believe she is, officially, a demon.

Film: How I Ended This Summer/The Kids Are All Right

LFF comes to a close (for me at least, considering I'm neither successful nor desperate enough to get tickets for the gala screenings this weekend) with these two very different films. I will be swift I think with these, as I'm getting tired of typing such lengthy prose merely to give either a thumbs up or a thumbs down (or, let's be honest, a fair few thumbs in the middle) to a film...

HOW I ENDED THIS SUMMER is a sparse and slow, yet surprisingly suspenseful story set in the unforgiving Arctic, where two Russian fellas are stationed in a decrepit weather research station, measuring radiation levels. When the younger of the two men, on work experience and a childish fool in the eyes of his surly supervisor, receives the delicate news that the family of his boss have tragically died, he makes the strange decision to with-hold the information from his counterpart.

The secret-keeping continues, the chilling intensity and isolation of their barren surroundings only helping to heighten the tension between the two men, until the truth eventually escapes and the younger man is forced to flee for his life into the ice-cold wilderness, lest he be shot. At this point the film resembles something like a cross between The Road and Apocalypto, as the young boy has to scramble for food and shelter in the most inhospitable of terrains whilst being hunted down by the only other man for miles.

Though tenuous at times, the plot does turn at the right points, and supports both character and action well despite a restrictively (or is it liberatingly?) barren setting. Very tense, very taught, but also frequently touching and witty, the director, Alexei Popogrebsky, has found some great performances by Grigoriy Dobrygin and Sergei Puskepalis as Pavel and Sergei, as well as some good cinematography and punchy music, but it is the film's location that guides the plot, tone and drama of the story. A very smart and able showing indeed.

HOWEVER. My award for film of the fest just has to go to THE KIDS ARE ALL RIGHT, a brilliantly touching, dramatic, witty and original take on the marital drama. Lisa Cholodenko directs a stellar cast to inject a vibrant wit and charm and heart into the story of a lesbian wife and, well, wife (played by Annette Benning and Julianne Moore) whose two children seek out their sperm donor father (played by Mark Ruffalo).

Upon this man's arrival though (in all of his organic, free love, motorcycle riding glory), the family dynamic is grossly disrupted, and previously comfortable notions of love, loyalty, sexuality and motherhood are put to the test. Benning and Moore are superb as the married couple that drive the story, and bring an intoxicating charm and naturalism to the central relationship. Ruffalo is excellent as the free-spirited but ultimately destructive figure who interrupts our protagonists' lives, and Mia Wasikowska and Josh Hutcherson offer ample support as the confused, somewhat angsty, children.

There are moments of contriteness, especially surrounding the younger figures and their teen problems ("oh man, my dude friend with his skateboard is a bit of a douche but I don't know if he's a douche, but he is a douche..."), and there are some slightly uneasy references to popular culture that will always, no matter who they're directed by, seem ill-fitting and desperate, but overall this a film that avoids gay cliche sensibly and is instead a universally affecting, funny, heart-warming and original take on the myriad difficulties of family life. My hope is that it will be a huge success at the box office, and that Annette Benning in particular receives awards recognition for her superb performance.

Laters x

Film: Another Year

Mike Leigh's spirit of improvisation, realism and emotional investment continues in 'ANOTHER YEAR'; a deft, touching, meandering work that explores themes of loneliness and support in a group of ageing friends and family over the course of one year.

Tom and Gerri (Jim Broadbent & Ruth Sheen), are a married couple, seemingly the exception that proves the rule that finding love and happiness is a difficult, stressful and often fruitless task. Gerri is an occupational therapist, and throughout the film her house is transformed in an unofficial sanctuary for the lonely and depressed. This is most clear when one of Gerri's colleagues, the scatty and delusional Mary (played with show-stealing desperation by Lesley Manville), continues to return to the house, drinking herself into a stupor, flirting with the couple's son, Joe (Oliver Maltman), and pouring her heart out about love, loneliness and her troublesome new car.

Though Mary's character is the main focus of much of the film, and it is through her that Leigh can provide some resemblance of narrative arc, there are other characters in the story that move in and out of Tom and Gerri's lives and ultimately all contribute to the film's bigger picture. Ken (Peter Wright) is a crumbling man, drinking and smoking with abandon and a figure from Tom and Gerri's past, the history that is inevitably in danger of being left behind. Katie (Karina Fernandez) arrives as Joe's surprise new girlfriend, and quickly makes Mary bitterly jealous and competitive. Ronnie (David Bradley) is Tom's brother who, when his wife dies, is reunited with his volatile and hate-filled son, Carl (a tension-boosting cameo by Martin Savage). All of these characters show us the complexity of life outside of Tom and Gerri's comfortable London home and carefully tended allotment, it shows us that there is life that needs tending to above the ground, just as much as there is below it. In this sense 'Another Year' could be said to be a film about caring in all of its forms; for others, for the earth, for ourselves.

What Leigh does in his approach to film-making is gather together a group of actors who are intelligent, extremely talented, and who he trusts to develop characters outside of his immediate control. The result is a cinematic equivalent of devised theatre, a sort of mural that encapsulates and represents a number of creative voices and themes. It has a rambling effect, but one that is painted with such a natural palette that small looks and gestures become hugely meaningful. On occasion there are moments of stagnant theatricality, where dialogue seems to become formulaic, but then often there are passages of brilliant wit and camaraderie between the actors and characters that is thoroughly and almost achingly touching.

One thing that cannot be said of 'Another Year' is that it is superficial. Though not a ground-breaking or particularly revelatory piece of story-telling, it is nevertheless an expertly performed cinematic delicacy, and a heartfelt and personal project by a long-standing pillar of British film-making deserves to be seen merely for its existing at all.

Film: The American/Meek's Cutoff

Two more LFF offerings find me tired and restless but, ultimately, still alive...

George Clooney makes sure, in 'THE AMERICAN', that nothing and no-one will detract from his being the centre of attention. Rarely off camera as Jack, a hired gunman fleeing to the Italian hills in hiding before taking on one last job, he fights off worthy adversaries in the brilliant cinematography of Martin Ruhe and the beautiful scenery and quaint rustic towns of Abruzzo to be crowned star of the show.

Anton Corbijn's follow up to 'Control', his expert debut, does little to detract from the idea that he is a photographer making films. Along with screenwriter Rowan Joffe he has taken Martin Booth's novel 'A Very Private Gentleman' and turned the protagonist from an Englishman into an American. Hence the title, then. But in his adaptation, Corbijn has approached the lead character with a photographer's eye for examination and study. 'The American' is a reflective film, slow-moving and often quiet and interested in picking apart the mind of its hero, who, in Jack's case, seems determined to find meaning, or possibly redemption, in his life.

When an explosive opening sees Jack ruthlessly despatch two men come to kill him, as well as his previously ignorant ladyfriend, he has no option but to go into hiding. His main contact, Pavel (played with typically menacing white hair by Johan Leysen), sends him to Italy, where he settles into a quaint town, all cobbled streets and small empty cafes with Sergio Leone on the TV (a nod to the westerns that Corbijn has said influenced the movie). Alone and suffering from painful dreams about his past misdemeanours, Jack befriends two people; a local priest, and a beautiful prostitute.

With this in mind the contemplative story moves between Jack's last job - the building of a gun for a fellow assassin, all be it one of the sexy, ice cold female kind - and the symbolic battle for Jack's soul. Will he find saviour? And if so, will it come from his body and heart, or from his faith? As the film comes to a close (with a twist that, due to the small number of characters in the story, is mundanely forseeable), Jack begins to find salvation, and the tension mounts as the action (of which there is significantly little) arrives. But there is a sense that the story has left too much unsaid, too much untouched, for us to be fully invested.

In the end, the film reminded me somewhat of 2007's Michael Clayton, which saw Clooney in a similarly dark and heartless role. In that film it was "fixing" troublesome issues for a major corporation that left Cloons cold and disenchanted, and here it is his ability to kill without hesitation, and his precise, craftsmanlike ability to build a weapon of death. Yet 'Michael Clayton' had a breadth of character and a resonance with contemporary audiences that 'The American' lacks, all-be-it a stylish, intelligent addition to the lone assassin canon, and not one that will upset George's CV.

If the American, though, felt somewhat meditatory, it was made to look like a veritable carnival in comparison to 'MEEK'S CUTOFF', a 19th Oregon-set "western" in its loosest form. A flash of the occasional gun does not a stand-off make, and this film is certainly not for those who like their bullets whizzing and their watertroughs popped full of caps...

Kelly Recihardt's film follows a group of settlers as they travel across the harsh and unforgiving desert under the guidance of gruff-voiced, hairy-faced frontiersman Stephen Meek (Bruce Greenwood). Desperate for sustenance, their only hope for survival seems to rely on a captured Native Indian, who they believe may take them to water if they, in turn, show him kindness.

Two hours long and consisting of numerous slow and poetic shots - people staring, women hanging up clothes, women hanging up clothes and staring - it is reminiscent of arthouse fair that is ambiguous and vague as a means of study, bringing to my mind Nicolas Roeg's 1971 film 'Walkabout'; a similarly difficult story set in Australia that focused, as well, on notions of time, race, spirituality and the treatment of native cultures.

Ultra-real in its pace and dialogue, 'Meek's Cutoff' forgoes excitement for a sense of artistic merit, but in doing will sacrifice all but a very slim audience. Good performances from Michelle Williams, Paul Dano, Shirley Henderson and Will Patton mean that any drama, when allowed, is watchable, but too often are we left with a sense of ponderous importance, with large chunks of dialogue said offscreen and intriguing histories or conflicts left untouched.

Not a waste for those who appreciate or enjoy their arthouse, but a struggle for those more inclined to visit the multiplex.

Film: Trailers 4

Riddle me these trailers three...

1) A TOWN CALLED PANIC (Dir. Stephane Aubier)


Belgian lunacy in animated form, out in the cinemas any day now I think. The short films, of which there are quite a few, are all unspeakably bonkers, but also adorably catchy. Click HERE for a quicky to tickle your childish tastebuds. Expect the feature to just as, if not more, insane.

2) BLUE VALENTINE (Dir. Derek Cianfrance)


Two terrific actors, Ryan Gosling and Michelle Williams, star in this forthcoming indie release that examines the ups and downs of a relationship. Simple stuff, but if done well, and it looks like it might have been from the footage here, then we could be on to a nice little watcher. Let's just hope that there aren't any zombies in act three. Or that Ryan Gosling doesn't turn out somehow to be a vampire.

3) THE KINGS SPEECH (Dir. Tom Hooper)


Oscar buzz already surrounds this upcoming film directed by Tom Hooper, accomplished TV director best known in the film world for 2009's The Damned United. Another biopic, then, but this time with a more political, historical, and triumphant core. It's protagonist is the man who would become King George VI, and a great cast, some nice dialogue and stirring passion seem to suggest that this will contest for awards come the early months of next year. Up the Brits!

Film: Little White Lies

As the London Film Festival continues to provide bountiful nourishment for honest film fans, buffs and snobs alike, I'm going to do my best to leap like a proverbial salmon between large, over-crowded dark rooms and find some shiny apples on the fruitful festival tree...

Today though, is not one of those days, as with LITTLE WHITE LIES, the new offering from 'Tell No One' (2006) director Guillaume Canet, the fruit is more like a moulding banana; a slapstick, slippery joke wrapped around an inedible, mushy mess. For whilst this film is peppered with some good comic moments, some occasionally honest and dramatic scenes and the odd chucklesome set-up that wouldn't seem out of place in 'National Lampoon's Vacation', it is too often bogged down in a very French self-importance, the kind of pseudo-intellectual bourgeois love-in that brings the viewer to sickness, jealousy, pity and mild xenophobia all at once.


The film opens with an abrupt crash, as a highly inebriated man, mysteriously upset by something, leaves a club and whizzes off through an empty Paris on his scooter before colliding with a fast-moving truck. So far so intriguing. Later, at the hospital, we find a horde of handsome, chic, thirty-somethings gathered in the waiting room. These are the closest friends of Ludo (the unlucky scooterist), and are tremendously shaken up by their pal's accident and horrific injuries, yet they come to the odd conclusion, outside the doors, that despite their friend's comatose condition, they will still indulge themselves in the traditional summer trip to the holiday home of successful restaurant owner Max (Francois Cluzet). There's nothing they can do by staying here, they agree, and someone will be on hand to give them a dingle should anything happen to their pal. Then, one thinks, they'll come and rushing back, sand buckets and flip flops a-flying. Well. Phew.

In the time preceding the jaunt and the couple of weeks spent away - a veritable middle-class explosion of glamorous boat trips, wine quaffing, oysters and new age philosophy - the dynamic of the group wibbles and wobbles through sexual, marital, romantic and philosophical revelations, as each character has his or her own chance for redemption and realisation. Ludo's accident takes its toll on some more than others, most of all Marie who, played by Marion Cotillard, is not too busy flippantly sleeping with various partners (of both sex, mind, she's such a free spirit) and basking in her own charitable visits to Africa to shed a tear for the man she used to date and to whom she confesses, over the phone (in a scene that played like The Diving Bell And The Butterfly if re-made by the team who brought us Mega Shark vs Giant Octopus), that she is not very good with men, but that she always loved him the most. Of course she did.

And it goes on, with various subplots - gay confessions, romantic missions to Paris, passing visits by crooning, rugged musicians - thrown together with clumsy, ill-judged nonchalance until the film ends with a frankly baffling succession of vomit-inducing confessions. When the inevitable happens and the friends are forced to realise that they may not have been the best of friends to each other, the director unleashes, through his own writing and unrelentingly gushy direction (the soundtrack is a mixture of pained acoustic warblings by such tear-jerk specialists as Damien Rice and Antony And The Jonsons and 70s free-love anthems) are torrent of sentimentality that makes one reel back in fear of having his or her shoes doused in tears.


Though some viewers, those who seek out the latest postcard sobfest (see 'My Sister's Keeper' or 'Grace Is Gone'), may enjoy the unhinged emotional outpouring, many will find it uncomfortable, unsympathetic and unnecessary. Death and mourning has been handled before, and with far better results, and this film suffers from a clash in tone that sees melodrama and slapstick comedy forced together like square pegs and round holes. One minute someone is maniacally smashing through the walls of his holiday home with an axe in search of unwelcome weasel intruders (those pesky varmits), and the next they are sat with the rest of the herd, cuddled up like the Dawsons Creek gang, watching old holiday movies of their comatose friend.

It's a strange thing to see a director whose talent has previously been clear to see come so strangely unstuck, but Little White Lies is a very unsettling experience indeed. An air of proud gloating seeps from the screen that makes one feel insulted, angry and inevitably quite bored, and one cannot help but feel that Canet, in making this film, is a director who wanted to show an ability for both the amusing and the serious, but who failed to handle the delicate balance between the two. Like a clown climbing from the wreckage of his tiny collapsable car and then delivering the final lines of Shakespeare's Juliet...

Music: Carolina Chocolate Drops

BRILLIANT old-style bluegrass and country, with even a small splash of throat singing (a lost art) from this North Carolina threesome. Their live performances sees them swapping instruments and harmonies and always displaying the highest standards in musicianship:


And for those of you who like their bluegrass to recognise underwhelming female hip hop acts:

Comedy/TV: Harry and Paul

Harry Enfield and Paul Whitehouse, reminding us of the great tradition of sketch show comedy in this country.

Horne and Corden? Probably queer.

Music: Everything Everything @ The Scala

A packed Scala played host last night to new indie scene darlings Everything Everything, whose angular, disco-influenced sound has been taken to the bosom of critics, DJs and bloggers everywhere (and that includes me, don't think I've left myself out!). A four-piece from all over who released their first single in 2008, they've burst onto the scene with their debut album, Man Alive, and sold out this medium-sized show with ease.

And it was with a keen urge to impress their numerous fans that they took to the stage, jerking into action with the scuzzy, rawkus 'Qwerty Finger'. The sound was big and bold and tight and immediately filled the room with the combination soaring keyboards, sharp, guitars thudding drums and frantic, almost schizophrenic vocals that make their record so interesting. Jonathon Everything (the band are keen to hide their full names on websites, the bastards) is a rare talent, in possession of a superb vocal dexterity and able to manipulate his voice through the ranges, hitting high notes with precise control and delicacy, whilst simultaneously using the rhythm of his lyrics as a percussive instrument, adding another joint, or point, to their already textured sound.

With further tracks from the album such as 'Come Alive Diana' and 'Schoolin' came a steady progression of lively, impressive crowd-pleasures, but there was an air of predictability about the performance, and a distinct lack of whatever it is that makes bands memorable. When the quieter, more contemplative 'Leave The Engine Room' was the start of a half-hearted crowd sing-a-long, there was a danger of this gig finishing with a disappointingly under-whelming sigh, but with 'MY KZ, YR BF' the band's flagship single, came a rejuvination. The final few tracks of the set, and the encore that followed, displayed an aggression and energy that proved that Everything Everything are better compared to a Late Of The Pier than a Foals, more Post War Years than Friendly Fires. Beneath the three-part harmonies was suddenly a wall of guitars and pummelling riffs on tracks like 'Suffragette Suffragette', that sounded more dangerous and thrilling but never looser. Still tight as ever, they just notched it up, and benefitted handsomely.

'Photoshop Handsome' brought the encore to a rawkus, reckless end, and the band were quickly offstage, bereft are they of any real crowd communication skills. It is not surprising to see contemporary, intellectual bands perform for an hour without saying more than ten words to their audience, but it doesn't make us yearn for it any less. The art of showmanship, amongst the indie community at least, does seem to be on the wain, but then this does not distract from a good show and Everything Everything did indeed perform with skill and size beyond their relatively infantile years as a group.

It is sometimes a disappointment to see a band unable to translate their recorded sound for the stage, but Everything Everything are more than able to do so, and with a refining of their onstage charisma they could have themselves a jolly good show to offer.

Misc: HOWZAT!

This may well have NOTHING to do with anything, but it's a slightly drunk guy with a limited vocab talking about some old cricket game that looks like Matthew Broderick would have played it in WarGames...



Highlights include:

"there's skill factors, some people are wankers, some people aren't..."

"yeah, so I've run, and I'm run out...fucking useless"

"one more over lets just try and hit the fucker"

Film: The Other Guys

Will Ferrell, like him or not, is clearly determined to make as many films as he can in which he does, essentially, the same thing. That things seems to be standing eerily still next to a co-star and proclaiming, with amounts of intensity ranging from the deadpan to the overtly psychotic, things like "I'm in so much pain right now!" or "Now you're just hurting me. That hurt a lot. And not just in the arm, where you punched me, but in here [he points to his chest], right in here, in the ticker [the stoners and rugby players go wild and the catchphrase is repeated indefinitely by those who are either drunk or incapable of independent communication, or quite often both]".

His routine is one that has been banked upon by various Hollywood projects over the years and has varied amounts of success. But in The Other Guys he finds solace in working again with ex-SNL writer, 'Anchorman' director and co-founder of internet comedy hub 'Funny Or Die' Adam McKay, whose talent for creating grotesquely deluded, arrogant egotists is demonstrated in 'Anchorman' as well as 'Talladega Nights' (another Ferrell vehicle) and the over-looked US comedy series 'Eastbound & Down'.

What also comes from this frequently funny new film, and comes as somewhat more of a shock, is Ferrell's being outshone by Mark Wahlberg as a source of laughs. For it is, to some people's surprise, the Boogie Nights hunk and recent action star (though most reviews of Max Payne were about as complimentary as a burning turd through the letter box) who steals the show as the other "other" guy and Ferrell's sidekick in this strangely pitched police romp.


Ferrell and Wahlberg are Allen Gamble and Terry Hoitz, two NYPD officers who, like the rest of the department, are overshadowed by the courageous real-life superheroes Highsmith and Danson (played with great tongue in cheek bravado by Samuel L Jackson and Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson). Strutting around town busting chops and blowing up the bad guys, Highsmith and Danson are the toast of the city, but when a hilariously avoidable "accident" leads to their early demise they leave a gaping whole in the department. Who will be the new heroes?

Terry, a promising officer who was demoted when he fired an ill-judged shot into the leg of the city's favourite baseball star, immediately sees an opportunity for him and Allen to step up to the plate, but Allen is happy where he is, processing building permits in the safety of the office. But when Allen finds irregularities in his paperwork and moves to arrest billionaire investment banker David Ershon (played with the same old British smirk by Steve Coogan) they find themselves at the centre of a very real and major case that could see them finally recognised as more than just the "other guys"...

With plot playing second fiddle to jokes, there is not much about the story arc of The Other Guys to surprise an intelligent viewer, but this does not stop it being honestly enjoyable. Embracing the conflict of the "odd couple" comedy structure, in which two conflicting personalities are forced together and continually come to blows but inevitably respect each other, Ferrell and Wahlberg bicker and bite insatiably, and the dialogue (some of it presumably improvised) between them is frequently hilarious. But for all of Ferrell's slapstick talent as the nerdy Hoitz (whose past experiences as a campus pimp (don't ask) come back to haunt him...), it is Wahlberg's straight-faced hardman that impresses most. With varying measures of disbelief, anger, confusion and frustration, Wahlberg's Terry is a great comedy character. In one particularly funny scene, Terry visits his girlfriend, a dancer, to try and win her back. "If we didn't break up" he protests, "then you wouldn't be here in this strip club shaking it for dollar bills!" to which she rightly replies "This is a ballet class Terry."


Elsewhere the film is a predictable jumble of cop cliches and send-ups: car chases abound, but in Allen's feminine Toyota Prius, and explosions and gunfights are painted with broadly sardonic, tongue-in-cheek strokes. It is also clear that those responsible for the economic meltdown of recent years, specifically the major corporations and banks, are in the firing line for McKay, and this is never more clear than in the strangely Michael Moore-esque final credit sequence, in which a stream of facts and figures documenting the imbalance and injustice of the American economy are screened without any sign of irony. Whether the director expects us to be in the right mindset to absorb such data in a serious manner having just watched two hours of light-hearted comedy is questionable, but it is an oddly ill-fitting end to the picture.

It does, however, not detract from the capable work that has gone before, where a pacy yet irreverant script, great leading chemistry and some strong supporting performances from the likes of Eva Mendes (as Allen's bafflingly hot and sexually liberated "ball and chain" Sheila) and especially Michael Keaton (as the guys' Captain, Gene, whose frequent use of TLC lyrics in his pep-talks is one of the funniest running gags of the film), and the film has enough laughs to re-invigorate the frat-pack comedy genre. Lets just hope that those at those with the money and the power will refrain from throwing precious cash at bad scripts and copy-cat projects in the hope of riding the wave.