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.

Film: Tony Curtis 1925-2010

Tony Curtis, screen legend (and that word gets used a lot but is very much appropriate in this case), has died aged 85 in Las Vegas. In honour, here is one of my favourite scenes in cinema history:

Film: True Grit Trailer

Any news of new Coen Brothers material is an exciting thing in the world of Man, Culture, Love, but when a trailer appears suddenly for their next release, a remake of the seminal 1969 Western revenge story of the same name that stared John Wayne as Marshall Reuben J. 'Rooster' Cogburn, then the whistle goes and everything comes to a halt...

So here it is, in all its beautiful, eye-patching, snow-drifting, horse-galloping, pistol-cracking, revenge-taking glory:


Cogburn is played now by industry darling Jeff Bridges, sporting an eyepatch no less black and serious than Mr Wayne's in '69, and the heroine Mattie Ross is played by newcomer Hailee Steinfeld. Support comes from Matt Damon and Josh Brolin, who was immense in No Country For Old Men and will no doubt apply a similar brooding machismo to this tale.

Can't...

Fucking...

Wait...

TV: Cowards/Him & Her

Stefan Golaszewski has come onto my radar. Not in a sexual way, like he's spunked on my submarine equipment, but in peripheral vision, "look, here i am, i'm over here" kind of way...

Yes, Stefan Gonefornewskis, once President of that most elite of comedic breeding stables, the Cambridge Footlights, has since ventured into stand-up, delivering 3-star worthy stage monologues about lost loves at Edinburgh, and is one quarter of the comedy troupe Cowards, whose BBC Radio and then BBC4 (formally BBCWhoCares) show is quickly becoming the cultural know-it-all's sketch show of choice ("Oh you haven't seen [insert trendy new comedy show here] yet? Oh how sad for you. I've seen it many a time, in fact I'm having a screening of it this friday evening over herbal tea and handjobs, yes, we're going to project onto a sheet hung between my giant swinging dong and my inflated sense of self-importance...").

But Stefan Goonandkissme's talent for chuckles doesn't stop there. Oh no. It galavants on in style to the medium of writing, as he has been tipped as a "hot young thing" for penning the new talkworthy sitcom Him & Her. A story of two twenty-somethings - aren't we hilarious? - to whom work and intelligent conversation hold about as much worth as a sock to a mermaid, it's all set in one dank flat (we're in a depression don't you know) where poo-jokes pervese sex obsessions and weird neighbours abound, and has been hailed by some as being fresh, original, oddly romantic and, you guessed it fans, "honest". This is what others have thought. But here is what I think:

Him & Her is, to my varied tastes and sensibilities, an almighty turd in the pool of contemporary British comedy. "A fart in my general direction", to quote a certain French soldier. It is one of the least funny, and most self-congratulating and patronising shows that I have seen in some time. It's up there with Horne and Corden, it's sharing a studio flat with Two Pints Of Lager and a packet of crisps, it is really that dire. The characters are unsympathetic, thoroughly dislikeable even (and just because those around them are even more detestable doesn't change that, damn it!), the humour is more suitable to Bottom, and the plots of the episodes so far have been made up of tiresome, recycled relationship beans. Not magic comedy beans. Just beans. Boring, stagnant, cliched, not-even-Heinz, probably that other label, the one that the cheapos get, Branston, that's it, Branston...beans.

In episode one, in which Steve (played by the otherwise likeable Russel Tovey) has to hide from his girlfriend Becky (played most of the time in her knickers, GO'ON THE LADS, by Sarah Solemani) the fact that her sister is being cheated on by his best friend, there is, and I'm not kidding here, a repeated gag that sees Steve complaining to Becky because she has done a particularly pungent number two in his bathroom. That's it! That's about the level it gets to! Shit gags! Need I say more? The gags are quite literally shit!

In the same episode Steve does a penis dance, ponders the logistics of the back-to-front sexual position, and slavers over the idea of watching Becky go at herself with a dildo. Honestly, if that's "honest" comedy then we're all fucked! We might as well just pack it in now, because if that's what "real" twenty-something's are like then evolution has somehow slipped into reverse. Maybe it can't change gears because it's too busy knocking one out over Carol Vorderman, or trying to watch Morse, or some other tired nineties cliche. Written as though its audience were lobotomised and had reverted back to a pre-pubescent state, Him & Her treats the viewer's intellectual capacity with wantan disregard, probably having seen the Inbetweeners and thought "oh, it's all just cock and ball gags, I can do that!". But it can't. The Inbetweeners has, at least, some sort of character growth, whereas the only growth in this lame duck of a show is...oh I can't bring myself to do it.

It gets me riled up. You can see that.

HOWEVER, it does get me wondering, because Stefan Getamoveon occupies this other space in my cultural awareness, as a performer in the aforementioned Cowards, which is actually rather good. There's only been one series as far as I can tell, but the writing is slick and confident and, importantly, funny. It's not full of stock characters and incessant catch-phrases, and it's got a very British sensibility, recognising comedy of the past whilst trying to forge its own new style. Very droll, very dry, very smooth, and ultimately quite niche (your parents wouldn't get it you don't think), but ambitious and different. Of the four actors that make up the central cast, Tim Key is the most recognisable name, having been a cult favourite on the comedy circuit for years with his deadpan and decidedly tickling poetry, but Stefan Goldmininginfaliraki, Tom Basden and Lloyd Wolf are just a competent in their funniness (funniness? I'm running out of steam here, clearly...).

Of anything in the show though, and that includes odd scenes about barristers, strange men in pet shops and four men living in a caravan together, the highlight for me are the songs of Tom Basden. This is my personal favourite:


Short, sweet, and particularly funny, they have more originality and laughs in them than any amount of pube-plucking, arse-scratching, dick-swinging banality that Him & Her could muster.

And there you have it. Stefan Gncjdncnvcjnvinjoijifnwcski, you have been placed precisely on the fence. Spend your time with your mates, not on your own, and good comedy will be more likely. That is my suggestion.

(As an afternote, I would like to point out that this post has, really, nothing to do with Stefan Golaszewski himself, but he is a convenient link between two shows I have seen recently that divided my attention. Stefan, if you're reading this, I've got nothing against you, so don't lampoon me in a satirical comedy way. I've seen Star Stories, I don't think I could face that kind of public send-up... Cheers.)

Music: September Playlist

BANG! Videos and songs and bands and shit to listen to if you get a chance. Bits of dance, bits of rock, bits of blues, it's all there. One constant in the whole parade is that of quality. This month seems to be a good'un. Me hope you like.

1) VIOLENS - Acid Reign (from the album entitled 'Amoral')


A NYC band to be wary of this year, these boys. A five piece with a hint of The Smiths about them (or maybe just Marr), and a driving, bass heavy yet at times ethereal, weightless sound, they have been written about before, and will no doubt continue to fill the inches. This video sucks balls, as it is a mere photo of some men (presumably la band) in a tunnel, but the song is my favourite on the album, a steamroller of a song.

2) EVERYTHING EVERYTHING - MY KZ, YR BF (from the album entitled 'Man Alive')


Everything Everything, a four piece from various patches of the UK, have already received rounds of applause and industry handjobs for their debut album. And rightly so, it is a very very good'un. This is the first track from it, and a single from it. A very pop-friendly, disco-tinged number reminiscent of Friendly Fires and the like. The album itself swerves around a fair bit, and sounds in parts like Radiohead or Elbow (the vocals on 'Final Form' certainly have a touch of the Guy Garvey about them). But all of it is enjoyable and fresh and different. Listen if you like the angular sound of Friendly Fires, Foals, Post Way Years et al.

3) THE BLACK ANGELS - Sunday Afternoon (from the album entitled 'Phosphene Dream')


Alright! See, if Letterman's were a bar there'd be a guy in a Doors t-shirt down the front on acid and a girl making love to a Budweiser bottle somewhere near the amps. It's a hell of a groovy show, and I can't wait for them to come over from Austin, Texas and slide around England in their leather pants. Very classic-sounding, very very rock and roll, and very very very good. Find the album if and when you can, it doesn't disappoint.

4) JULIA STONE - This Love (from the album entitled 'The Memory Machine')


No videos have surfaced it seems for anything on Julia Stone's (of Angus and Julia Stone) new album. This is because it is not out yet. So get me! Anyway, I've heard it and it's very pretty indeed, very quiet, very becoming, very heartfelt. A must listen for any fans of Emiliana Torrini.

5) QUEST FOR FIRE - Set Out Alone (from the album entitled 'Lights From Paradise')


For those who like their music with a bit of balls, see Quest For Fire. New album Lights From Paradise will please fans of riffs, solos and drums hit harder than a crash dummies nutsack. Nuff said.

6) INTERPOL - Barricade (from the album entitled 'Interpol')


Continued decreases in quality songs, self-titled fourth albums, disappointing festival performances, wild horses, it seems nothing can hold me back from this god-forsaken band. Ever since 'Turn On The Bright Lights' I have been a slave to the doom and gloom that is Interpol. I'm still longing for a return to the blistering, hypnotic standards of old, and the new release isn't going to change that, but there's a few good numbers on there. This track, along with 'Lights' and 'Safe Without', at least pricks the ear.

7) CHROMEO - Don't Turn The Lights On (from the album entitled 'Business Casual')


Dancefloors everywhere beware, the middle-class white kids are coming a-grooving as everyone's favourite electro sex-pests release a new album of groovy, funky, sultry sounds. For me, personally, it's no Fancy Footwork, as the simplicity, the arrogance, the filth, the macho swagger of tracks like Needy Girl, Bonafide Lovin and Outta Sight have been replaced by something a little more predictable, a little safer, and therefore a little more forgettable. It hasn't yet charmed its way into my grundies, but then again, who can resist track names like "I'm Not Contagious" and "You Make It Rough".

8) JUSTIN TOWNES EARLE - Harlem River Blues (from the album entitled 'Harlem River Blues')


Steve Earle's son is a talented but troubled fella, having started taking drugs apparently at the age of 12. 12!!! When I was that old I was dressing up as a turtle, not hitting the crack. But then it's not for us to judge, all we can do is listen. And the sound he makes, in his fourth album, is a lovely bluesy country that reeks to high heavens of the beers and backwaters, not to mention the musical heritage, of his home town of Nashville.

9) THE STRANGE DEATH OF LIBERAL ENGLAND - Rising Sea (from the album entitled 'Drown Your Heart Again')


Did anyone say Arcade Fire? A team of musicians, soaring melodies, euphoric chanting, it's all there. But it sure ain't a bad knock-off, and the rest of their album has a similarly impressive quality. Not much else to say. I like his wafro. And he looks a bit like Andy Murray, no?

10) SHAPES AND SIZES - Tell Your Mum (from the album entitled 'Candle To Your Eyes')


A Canadian outfit whom I have never heard of before, but who have forged two albums on Sufjan Stevens' Asthmatic Kitty label prior to their new release. They're not everyone's cup of tea, a bit sparse and difficult, and may well end up on the iTunes heap, but for now i'm intrigued. I like her voice. And they don't look like they should be a band. More like a nursing home staff meeting, but then hey, who am I to judge?

11) BOBBY DARIN - Mack The Knife


Frank Sinatra just pips Darin, I think, as the king of swing, but Bobby was one hell of a showman, and I can't help but love the energy, the professionalism and the charm of performances like this. As he dances off into the sunset at the end I get a little emotional, as I think he died shortly after this recording. Michael Buble can eat my socks, there's nothing like the greats.

Film: Winter's Bone

Winter's Bone, a new film directed by Debra Granik and adapted from the novel by Daniel Woodrell, has made waves this festival season with its brutal portrayal of a girl's struggle to find her father and save her family in a drug-fuelled backwater world of isolation, secrecy and bone-chilling violence. Granik's astute, unflinching direction and a stunning lead performance from a young actress by the name of Jennifer Lawrence make this film deserving of its praise, finding as it does a glowing hope in the heart of a truly dark and desolate American hell.


Ree Dolly (Lawrence) is a seventeen year old girl who quietly survives in her trailer-cum-cabin in the bleak and cold Ozark Mountains: a wide-spreading Missouri plateau now ravaged by poverty and drugs and where the same genes have been spread thin by years of close breeding. With her father Jessop nowhere to be seen and her mother in a glazed state of mental exile, Ree is left to care for and raise her younger brother and sister. She just about gets by, doing her best to teach them everything she knows - from spelling and cooking to skinning squirrels and shooting a shotgun - but money is short, and only the brief generosity of her neighbours feeds them for another day.

When a sheriff arrives at the house then to tell Ree that her father used the family's house and land as capital against his bail, and that unless he can be found for his approaching court date she and her siblings will be evicted, Ree has little hesitation in setting out to find her drug-cooking daddy amongst the dangerous social terrain. In doing so she seeks the help of those that scare her most, including Jessop's brother, Teardrop (John Hawkes), and local legend Thump Milton (Ronnie Hall). The question of the story is whether Ree can withstand the almighty force of aggression and paranoia working against her to save her family and defy her seemingly doomed fate.

With this story and this film there has been uncovered a host of exciting talent. Granik's direction, helped immensely by the cold and cutting cinematography of Michael McDonough, is exceptionally bold. A recognisable opening sequence finds children playing innocently amongst the squalor of their impoverished life, but quickly we are introduced to Ree, and then hurled into a world of horrifying violence and anger, where fear and aggression, against a backdrop of drug cooking and addiction, sizzle relentlessly. Women are everywhere under the rule and fist of men, and secrets are kept with a burning intensity. Those who step out of line, who break the rules, will be punished, and they will know it too.

Much has been made of the Ozarks as a character unto themselves, and it is a hugely affecting place, all washed out hills and valleys filled with burnt out cars and stray animals, but it is still, overwhelmingly, the occupants of this godforsaken land and the social environment, rather than physical, that provides the story its dark and deadly heart. What Granik does so marvellously is use Ree's character to search for signs of humanity in a world of hellishly selfish and hateful people with little to no soul, where self-preservation rules and where knowing can be deadly. With the continuing assertion by those who meet our heroine that she will not benefit from asking questions, we find the tension and mystery of story build and build, and as Ree pushes on against all odds and logic, as if pulling herself through a swamp, we find revelation in others.

There are recognisable faces amongst the cast, and some fine performances from seasoned American actors. John Hawkes (familiar from the HBO masterpiece Deadwood) as Teardrop gives a fine display of a man for whom redemption is no option, slave as he is to drugs and violence, but to whom Ree, he realises, represents a chance to do good by his family and brother. Elsewhere Garret Dillahunt (also in Deadwood), and Lauren Sweetser (also in, well, nothing...) give fine performances as local sheriff and Ree's friend respectively, but it is Dale Dickey who stands out from the supporting cast in her performance as the terrifying Merab, a weather-beaten but hard-as-nails woman who speaks for the rarely seen Thump, and who is the instigator of some of the film's most breath-snatchingly scary and tense moments, including a memorable scene towards the film's climax that takes place on the water and that will haunt me for some time.


But really there is only one star of this show and that is Jennifer Lawrence, the young actress who, as Ree, instills in the story a courage, a determination, a heart and drive that churns through the scenes with gusto. Ree is a swirling mesh of vulnerability, pride, desperation, focus and anger and she is as believable in her conviction as anything I have seen on screen for some time. It is an astonishing performance from a young actress, the very backbone of this excellent film, and it is in her that we, and the world we have been surrounded by, find hope.

Winter's Bone is expertly done from start to finish, and is a breath of fresh air and hugely different (though it reminded me, in spirit and tone and visuals, of recent films such as Frozen River and White Lightnin'). A dark and dangerous world vividly brought to life where secrets are buried beneath the soil and water like bodies and where only the truly strong and courageous will pierce a hole for light.

Film: Trailers 3

Riddle me these trailers three...

1) THE TOURIST (Dir. Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck)


Oh lick the lips, cinema fans, at the taste of this teaser for the new film by the brilliant German director of 2006's foreign-language smash hit The Lives Of Others. Jolie and Depp look to have forged a sizzling partnership, all sexy and sassy and sharp, and Paul Bettany, a very underrated actor indeed, brings up the rear. The trailer is funny in parts (though I worry about Depp's apparent channelling of a certain Captain for slapstick laughs...), but also leaves the plot relatively in the dark, and so excites the mind as well. Looking forward to it very much. Could be the big thriller hit of the year.

2) RED HILL (Dir. Patrick Hughes)


Recent examples such as The Proposition and The Assassination Of Jesse James (the latter directed by an Australian), prove that our friends down under have a way with westerns. This film, though far more crash, bang, boom than those mentioned above, still excites to no end this fan of all things gunslinging. Revenge is a dish best served explosively it seems, as is often the case, and the lead actor Ryan Kwanten's face is one you might recognise from the brooding, bloody and sometimes brilliant True Blood series. From the festival circuits this will hopefully pick up a wider release as I'd love to get a peak.

3) RARE EXPORTS: A CHRISTMAS TALE (Dir. Jalmari Helander)


It's not often I'm completely stumped by a trailer, as so often they do little but throw plot at you like a monkey tossing its turds, yet I've watched this maybe three or four times now and I still, for the life of me, can't figure out what it is. Seemingly part monster/horror movie, part festive children's story, part comedy action pastiche. With lines like "Have a peaceful christmas, and a happy fucking new year", amongst clips of a caged santa claus and exploding arctic silos, it will at least make me chuckle. It's on at the London Film Festival so catch it while you can...

Misc: Being A Dickhead's Cool

Bit of fluff for a thursday arvo...


Oh, the constant bickering about what's cool, eh? The irony is that most of the people who watch this video and twitter it to their bro's are most likely the same people that the song sets out to lampoon (or is it harpoon?). It has, therefore, fucked itself. Deary deary me.

Nathan Barley, it was on to something.

TV: This Is England '86

I posted a while back about the trailer for this momentous televisual event - british director par excellence, Shane Meadows' small screen debut (even if he only directed two of the four episodes) and a four part sequel to his superlative cinematic original. Now it has hit our screens, and though I watched the first episode abroad where I couldn't therefore post about it, I have since returned for the second instalment and am chomping at the bit to express my true, unstoppable love of this expert piece of drama.


With the return of Shaun, Woody, Lol, Milky, Gadget and the rest of the gang (but no Combo as yet, though his name has been dropped and I'm bursting at the seams to see if he returns), Meadows and pro TV scribe Jack Thorne (Skins, Cast-Offs), have brought the film's trademark wit, nostalgia, tension and heart to our boxes in wonderful style. What's more, Tom Harper's direction of the opening two episodes has at no time felt at odds with Meadows' usual style, and will segue seamlessly into the following, final two hours.

Shaun (Tom Turgoose) has left school with no future, failing his exams almost on purpose and cynical about his chances of finding work like his mum insists. He has also cast himself out of the gang that took him in so warmly before, and now, years on, Woody (Joe Gilgun) is struggling to find the money, the conviction and the courage to commit properly to his long term girlfriend, the gorgeous and striking Lol (Vicky McLure). The rest of the gang are drinking and bickering their way around as heart attacks, returning fathers, clumsy sexual adventures and secret affairs bring an intoxicating blend of cut-throat tension and slapstick hilarity to the story.

At the end of the second episode, Lol's relationship with the loveable man-child Woody is on the rocks as she gets closer and closer to old friend Milky (who is also Woody's best pal). Vicky McLure's performance as Lol is brilliantly assured and bold as brass, and Gilgun's Woody is her ultimate foil - an innocent jester who, try hard as he might, can't seem to meet her emotional and financial needs.

Elsewhere, Turgoose again shows just how exciting a prospect he is (and how few child actors there are out there with real talent) as he continues to bring a contrasting vulnerability and anarchy to young Shaun. His mother, Cynthia, is a caring woman with great emotional depth and played excellently by Jo Hartley, who is just one member of a fantastic surrounding cast.

Where the story will end up is for us to wait and see, but Meadows is due to take over directing duties from Harper (who, incidently, directed The Scouting Book For Boys last year, and which was written by Thorne and starred Turgoose) so expect the tiny creases that are there at the moment - some awkwardly stunted scenes between Milky and Lol, a bit of reliance on melodramatic montage towards the end of the second episode - to be firmly ironed out.

A HUGE thumbs up from me. The box set will be mine. Oh yes, it will be mine.

Music: August Playlist

Due to my having been vacationing, last months playlist hits you full in the face a good two weeks late. How dare I. But it's still here, and crammed with some good stuff, some even gooder stuff, and admittedly some filler that I may well never listen to again after I've written this but that, for some reason, grabbed my ear in the month of Augusta.

1) BEST COAST - When I'm With You (from the album entitled 'Crazy For You')



This song is the bonus track from the debut album of a band who have captured many a dreary London heart with a heavy dose of sugary teenage California love-pop. Best Coast are every one's favourite new surfer band, and join The Drums, Surfer Blood and the like in invading the UK consciousness with scuzzy aplomb. Plus the lead singer is a GIRL!!! And she plays GUITAR!!! And she doesn't look like COURTNEY LOVE!!! HOORAY!!!

2) RAY LAMONTAGNE AND THE PARIAH DOGS - Repo Man (from the album entitled 'God Willin' And The Creek Don't Rise')



The husky-voiced singer comes back at us with a great band and good new album, and it is, majoritively, a success. We grumpy brits seem to dislike his voice more than those on the stateside, however the composition of this new record, a more bluesy, more heart-wrenched, gutsy and painful collection of songs than he has played before, presents Lamontagne with a secure base on which to do his thing. In this video he sounds like he's had a few too many rollies, but on disc it all comes together rather nicely. More than just dinner party stuff, thankfully.

3) KIDS OF 88 - Downtown (from the album entitled 'Sugarpills')



For fans of Miami Horror, Neon Indian, Goldfrapp and other such dance-pop stylings, Kids of 88 have all the bass for your face that you need. A New Zealand outfit, they're a bit filthy, both musically and lyrically, and though they aren't going to win any Novello's, turn it up loud enough and there's not much you can do to stop the head bobbing. Infectious, like crabs in a jacuzzi.

4) MOUNTAIN MAN - Animal Tracks (from the album entitled 'Made The Harbor')



At Green Man festival this year they failed, quite spectacularly, to light up the stage, annoying and mumbly enough as they were to bring even the twee-est of middle-class mud-trudgers to wander off for a Pie Minister. HOWEVER, despite their letting me down so, I have still come back to their album, because it is a wonderfully frail, delicate and beautiful collection of expertly harmonised ballads. Yet another group, therefore, to add to the girl-folk vocal talent pile, along with First Aid Kit and The Unthanks and the like.

5) J. TILLMAN - Three Sisters (from the album entitled 'Singing Ax')



The bearded blues genius returns with a new record, and yet again my heart melts. This man will NEVER fail to tickle and tweak my heart, with his haunting voice and subtle, downbeat guitar coming together again in a flood of imagery and emotional weight. More and more brilliance, and this is the first track from the album, set to some sort of crap photography show. Ignore the pictures, just listen to the song. BLOODY LOVE IT.

6) ISOBEL CAMPBELL AND MARK LANEGAN - You Won't See Me Down Again (from the album entitled 'Hawk')



She's a Glasgow girl who sung with Belle and Sebastien, he's a burly American rocker who sang for Screaming Trees and was once a member of Queens Of The Stone Age. You'd never put them together but Hawk, their third album, proves once again that this a duo with a wealth of talent and spirit between them, and who possess an insatiable, sexual, harmonious chemistry. This song is from that third album, and is drenched in Americana, which in turn makes me a little damp. I'll be listening to this album for a while yet...

7) DYLAN LeBLANC - Emma Hartley (from the album entitled 'Paupers Field')



More American singer-songwriter now, and this guy is a special talent. He's got the early Neil Young long hair, the pitch black wardrobe, the heart-broken songs, tales of lost loves and nature's power. He's pretty much the full troubadour package, and he's written a brilliant debut album which will please many a Ryan Adams or Ray Lamontagne fan. What's more I know a girl called Emma Hartley. Go figure...

8) KLAXONS - Echoes (from the album entitled 'Surfing The Void')



Brits ahoy!!! I only realise while adding this Klaxons effort that they might well be the only British band on my list. OOPS. Oh well, you like what you like don't you. Nevertheless, this new single from Les Klaxonnes is a good return from the band who have taken a while to get back to us after their barn-storming debut a few years back. The new album, though I haven't given it the most time, seems to be more traditional than their first, which may be a sign of the group maturing, but may also be a sign of label influence in trying to homogenise a less marketable, less stadium-filling sound. Let's hope it's the former. Atlantis to Interzone will always rule for me, but this is a solid effort.

9) LE LOUP - Forgive Me (from the album entitled 'Family')



A little Animal Collective, a little Arcade Fire. A little boring at times, if I'm honest, but then I never have been a huge fan of that brand of that "epic", layered indie sound. It's not too bad, but it's not going to grace the iPod for too long I don't think. MOVING ON!

10) BLACK MOUNTAIN - Old Fangs (from the album entitled 'Wilderness Heart')



BOOSH!!! Black Mountain come storming into the place, kicking you off your stool and drinking your shot of Jack before making out with your wife. I think they're awesome, real good rock and roll like Zeppelin used to make, with some spacey effects and thick riffs and enough mustangs and heavy metal hair to get a cactus pregnant. Last album, In The Future, was great, and the new album is just as good. Industry insiders love them, and there is about to be a resurgance in the classic rock scene, with bands like Warpaint and Sleepy Sun making waves around the world.

11) WEEZER - Say It Ain't So (from the album entitled 'Weezer (Blue)' or something like that, who knows...)



With their new album out and sounding brilliant, I have revisited Weezer's old albums and found that they still give me that warm and tingly feeling inside. Many a classic grungy track stands up to the critical modern ear, but for me it has always, and will always, be Say It Ain't So that makes me sing and shout the most. A truly brilliant track that epitomised a period of American rock music. "Somebody's Heiny, is crouding my ice box, somebody's cold one, is giving me chills..." GENIUS.

See you in a couple of weeks my lovers x

Film: Scott Pilgrim Vs The World

Another day in Hollywood, another adaptation of a popular cult graphic novel, and with Scott Pilgrim Vs The World comes Edgar Wright's (Shaun Of The Dead, Hot Fuzz) first foray into the glitz and glamour of Stateside studio film-making. A friend of all things genre, Wright has stayed true to the source material in blowing open the doors of the teen romance story with a blast of kung fu and computer game cliches (or homages for the less cynical).

To the plot-mobile!


Scott Pilgrim (Michael Cera), is a 22 year old bass player in Sex Bob-omb, and lives with his gay room-mate Wallace (Kieran Culkin). He's dating high-schooler Knives Chao (Ellen Wong) and slacking his way through life, playing kung fu computer games, when he meets the pink-haired legend that is Ramona Flowers (Mary Elizabeth Winstead). He falls madly in love, and squirms his way into her pants before she reveals to him the important news that might put a spanner in their relationship works; that in order for them to date, Scott must first fight, and defeat, her seven evil ex-boyfriends. Count it, seven. And so the movie continues, with Scott dealing with the usual teen paranoia and awkwardness whilst simultaneously engaging in fist-flinging, backflipping, wall-busting combat with a slew of Ramona's exes.

A cast of hip young things and a springy neo-punk soundtrack make this a film aimed majoritively at younger audiences - boys in their teens for whom retro means the original grey box GameBoy and girls with short hair and insatiable crushes on Fall Out Boy - but there is much to admire in the verve and style, the blistering action and consistent wit, that Wright has brought to the screen.

Cera as Scott is just as Cera as ever, and soon his shtick will wear thin, but this is a film in which the wide-eyed mumbling is paired with a quite exhilerating array of kicks and tricks, spins and slaps. The cliched "girl of my dreams" romance is a bit of a damp squib, and Winstead's Ramona is cool in an arrogant, dislikeable way than a cool aloof fashion, but Wright's attention in this picture lies heavily on the visual and referential, on the over-whelmingly energetic action sequences and the use of gaming symbolism - the shower of coins that burst from a defeated opponent or the glowing bar that decreases as Scott takes a leak. With this focus comes sacrifice in story and character, and the tied up ending is a mess (a result, perhaps, of the comic series on which it is based still having not finished itself...), but this is a cult flick from the start, and never dreams of having great emotional or symbolic weight.

Outside of the flat love story, and when the screen is not being burnt through by chop socky, there are some fine comic performances from Kieran Culkin as Scott's predatory gay housemate, and surprisingly by Chris Evans (as one of Ramona's exes), whose talent for funny has flickered occasionally amidst his superhero performances as the human torch in Fantastic Four, but here shows itself as being more than capable of stealing a scene. Brandon Routh (known elsewhere as "the new Superman"), as well, makes a good tongue-in-cheek appearance a psychic vegan enemy, and future stars (you heard it here) Anna Kendrick and Aubrey Plaza put in sterling comedic support work.

Overall, this is a hell of a ride, but no great marker in 21st century cinema. It is all gloss, and lacks some of the heart of Wright's previous work, but what it lacks in emotion it makes up for in style, energy and bravado, and does the comic strip proud with its wit and cool. Wright will no doubt do bigger and better things in Hollywood, but for a start this an excellent warning shot to the industry that shows off his talents as a keen observer of the past two cultural decades, as well as a refreshing cinematic voice.

Music: Green Man Festival 2010 - The Greenies

With a sad look on my face I returned from wet and wonderful Wales, and from the Green Man festival. It was my virgin visit to said fest, which had arguably the most premier of all the line-ups of the year, depending on your taste. Joanna Newsom, The Flaming Lips and Doves were the headline acts, but for me it was further down the bill, and on the other stages, where my weekend was made.

In honor of this great coming together of music and idiots (myself included), and to recognise those acts that put the cheese on my cracker, I have forged an illegal awards ceremony (keep it shtoom) called, simply, The Greenies. Henceforth come the guests...RELEASE THE DOVES (this ceremony is brought to you by John Woo)...


1) THE JESUS QUINTANA AWARD FOR BEST ENTRANCE...
...has to go to THE FLAMING LIPS, who made the effort to emerge onstage from a fifteen foot high projected image of a light-emitting woman's love cave. As the dancing beauty, all neon green and pink and shapely, lay on her back and spread 'em, the musicians strolled out of a strategicaly placed door and down a ramp to take their positions. Then Wayne Coyne, frontman of choice for many a pant-wetting muso (put him next to Thom Yorke and that's 500 million copies of Q magazine shifted right there), rose from the floor into an inflating zorb/spaceball and rolled his way over the crowd before setting off the confetti cans and releasing the giant balloons. Not something he hasn't done before, but damn does it kick things off right!

2) THE NAPOLEAN DYNAMITE AWARD FOR BEST ONSTAGE DANCEMOVES...
...is given to DARWIN DEEZ and his band of wigglers and jigglers who, inbetween almost every number, wandered into formation at the front of the stage (the poor drummer was up and down like Paris Hilton's knickers) and whipped out some quite unexpectedly brilliant shapes to eighties classics and disco beats. Highlights included a bop to "Do The Bartman" and a slide to "Single Ladies". There was also a strange, slightly fascist, crowd participation session involving fist-raising. It could have gone horribly wrong, all of it, but in the end it was very tongue-in-cheek, and a giggle.

3) THE JOE PASQUALE FALSETTO PERFORMANCE AWARD...
...could easily have gone to the most wonderful, beautiful, slightly unhinged Joanna Newsom, and the judges had some very strong words with each other about this one (I was outside but I heard "twazzock", and I don't want to name names but Keith, if you're reading this, totally uncalled for), but after the dust settled it was decided that the mighty WILD BEASTS are deserving of this high-pitched accolade because of their ability to provide not one but two lead vocalists with the ability to sing like their nuts are in a particularly tight vice. Hayden Thorpe and Tom Fleming, here's to you. May your skill in hitting the high notes remain unharmed and intact. Love you both.

4) THE GERMAINE GREER "CHEER UP LOVE" AWARD FOR TAKING EVERYTHING TOO SERIOUSLY...
...is being fought for by a number of acts who took to the stage as if they'd just been given some horrible news. These New Puritans' frontman Jack Barnett was a veritable whirlwind of mono-syllabic self-importance, and Laura Marling, though a stunning talent, could really do with a good tickle. But the award this time goes to JOHNNY FLYNN, who played a set in which his very brilliant songs were undermined by a look on his face that would make kittens cry. Maybe he thought he was auditioning for the new Michael Haneke movie. Who knows. We found him later on watching a band with his family, and we congratulated him on his performance before very politely asking for a picture. His reply was "seriously?". Then we took it and he left sharpish. Can't wait to get that cracker back from Boots...CHEER UP JOHNNY. WATCH SOME PYTHON FOR FUCKS SAKE.

5) THE MOTHER BROWN AWARD FOR BEST KNEES UP (IN ASSOCIATION WITH BANJOS)...
...goes to the loveable MEGAFAUN, whose humble and goofy nature was accompanied by some serious hoe-down fun of the most enjoyable kind. Banjos ripped, voices whooped and hollered and arms went into the air as they stormed the stage for their forty five minutes. Mumford and Sons were similarly raucous, and drew probably the biggest crowd of the weekend for their main stage party, and various acts in the Chai Wallah tent brought their horn sections and trilbies along for the ska party, most notably the Sheelanigans, who were Irish and Yiddish in equal measure and a thrill to behold, but Megafaun were a band whom, by the end of their set, had every single person in the tent chanting and stamping like possessed Carolinian believers. They also brought Tallest Man On Earth onstage for a number by inviting "all of our friends back their, or anyone who fancies, to come sing it with us". Joyful.

6) THE CHIROPRACTORS ASSOCIATION AWARD FOR SERVICES TO SPINE-TINGLING...
...is going to leave Mumford and Sons empty-handed once again I'm afraid, though they ran a good race by defying the success-hating music nazis and providing a fair few moments of touching togetherness in the crowd. Fanfarlo as well did their best to emulate The Arcade Fire and soar over the soggy fields. A few goosebumps were delivered all across the line up in fact, with The Flaming Lips triumphant "Do You Realise?" and the first few notes of Joanna Newsom's encore of "Peach, Plum, Pear" causing the audience to collectively hold on to each to, like, feel the love. But for me, above all else, it was the majestically euphoric set by BEIRUT that brought the hairs on almost every part of my body to stand up, and in particular the wave of horns and harmonies of "Cherbourg", and the anthemic and apt chorus of "I will lead the way, oh, lead the way, when I know" that brings the song to a close. Everything went a bit hazey round about that bit. Could've been the continuing flow of Aspalls cider in my veins. Maybe a bit of both.

7) THE ROYAL VARIETY GENERALISED ENTERTAINMENT AWARD...
...is intended to recognise the achievement of something or someone at the festival that wasn't performing on a stage but that still provided the weekend with precious entertainment. This year there were many, many contenders for the honour. Alcohol is, as ever, a serious contender, as is the mud and of course the hills, and when the three combined we were witness to some tumbles worthy of an olympic diving medal. But this year a major upset has been caused by the sudden storming to the title of THE CHILDREN. Usually noisy, intrusive, and unwelcome wherever there's booze and swearing, this year the children provided endless entertainment, whether it was spontaneous games of cricket outside the second stage that drew crowds of hundreds in quick time to cheer and sing and call for referrals, being so desperate for empty cups to take to the bar in return for cash that they could bribed into impersonating Alan Shearer and his now legendary celebration, or even allowing one certain chap to borrow their diablo (a toy filed next to fire poy and cocktail juggling as a sure fire route to being a wanker) and then attempt a trick that resulted in the same child being hit in the face by the silly plastic peanut-looking. For all these reasons, children have taken the award, and good luck to you all. Now go Shearer to the end of room and back for this half drunk lager. There's a good plaything.


Well that's it! All over. And what fun we had, didn't we? Now let's all just sit back and wait for next year to roll around so we can do all this boo-ha again.

For those of you interested, there were some other awards handed out, and these are listed below, but unfortunately I can't be fucked to elaborate on them. ADIOS!!! x

Other winners:

THE DAVID BLAINE AWARD FOR MOST INSUFFERABLE MUMBLING ONSTAGE - Mountain Man
THE CSS/MGMT AWARD FOR MOST OVER-HYPED ACT - Egyptian Hip Hop
THE "WHO SORRY?" AWARD FOR LEAST APPRECIATED ACT - Tindersticks
THE ROBERT PLANT AWARD FOR SERVICES TO ROCK AND ROLL HAIR - Sleepy Sun
THE GLASTONBURY AWARD FOR HIPPIEST MONUMENT - The wish tree...
THE JARVIS COCKER AWARD FOR BEST PROTEST - The note on the wish tree that read simply "I wish this tree would fuck off!"
THE EBENEZER SCROOGE AWARD FOR BIGGEST BUZZ-KILLER - The frumpy little girl/toad thing that stopped us from dancing on the pub stage in the late late hours of Saturday night...we were all the way up there, having a nice time, not causing anybody any harm, not drawing hitler moustaches on the DJ, not sacrificing lesbians, nothing. And then she started prodding us like a twat and telling us that we weren't allowed. Well we went for it again fifteen minutes later with an army and she couldn't do nuffink! We just sat there and sang bohemian rhapsody like the pissed up knobs we were. HA.

Short Film: Your Lucky Day

This is a short film shot by a clearly heinously talented fella called Dan Brown (not the same, before you ask...). It's a little of a modern cliche in its twisty premise and gunplay and Tarantino-inspired dialogue, but technically it is almost flawless, from the cinematography to the sound, to the editing and music, it all fits together. Very very impressive, and makes you wonder where the money came from to make it! Watch it if you can, though it is a little long...

Film: Trailers 2

This months exciting sneak-peeks and trailers are:

1) The Social Network (Dir. David Fincher)



A weird one on paper. The Social Network is directed by the undoubtably brilliant David Fincher (Seven, Zodiac, Fight Club etc) and the script, penned by West Wing's Aaron Sorkin, is being hailed as a modern great. But then again, it's a movie about Facebook. FACEBOOK. I struggle to see how the creation of a website and the greedy bickering of its creator and his friends (and Trousersnake) is going to make for good cinema but we will see. Jesse Eisenberg looks to have put his work in, and as usual with Fincher the images look sublime. Could swing either way.

2) Catfish (Dir. Ariel Schulman, Henry Joost)



More trouble started by Facebook, but this time with a far darker tone. This trailer does exactly what trailers are intended to do, to tease you, to leave you asking questions and wanting more. There's been lots of talk about this film as the next Blair Witch/Cloverfield/Paranormal Activity, low budget horror success, and it looks very intriguing. Let's hope that the hype can deliver.

3) Lovely, Still (Dir. Nicholas Fackler)



Oh, now, don't look at me like that, don't pretend you didn't smile watching this. It's such a very sweet-looking film with an amazing cast (both Landau and Burstyn are oscar winners, and Burstyn in particular is a darling of the academy, having been nominated another five times in her career) and seemingly just the right balance of touching romance and off-kilter comedy. It's not often you see a film look closely at the lives of the elderly with anything other than a side-glance, but this trailer suggests that this will be the best to have done so since Venus in 2006. Can't wait.

Film: Gainsbourg (Vie heroique)

I don't really have the most time to chat about this one, but then that shouldn't be much of an issue given my lack of intelligence (or particular interest I might add) in Serge Gainsbourg or his music. HOWEVER, I'm not reviewing an album here am I...

This colourful and enigmatic new biopic of the controversial french musician most famous for his Brigitte Bardot-inspired, multi-million selling single 'Je t'aime...moi non plus' and for his hard-smoking, hard-drinking playboy lifestyle, is directed, as well as adapted from his own graphic novel, by artist Joann Sfar, and with a strange mix of character study, luxurious erotica and lucid poetic fantasy. Like Gainsbourg himself, Sfar is a French-born Jew and reads much into the influence on the singer's emotional, artistic and mental development of the Nazi occupation of his childhood. As a child, Serge is told he is ugly, and this idea of his embarrassing "mug" leads him to develop a complex that then manifests itself as two hallucinatory alter-egos, one a portly bollock-shaped thing, and the other a gangly, bone-fingered humanoid with a long snout and big ears that wouldn't look out of place in Pan's Labyrinth.

With his imaginary friends in tow, the young Gainsbourg struts, peeps and flirts with women into his mature life, when the child actor is replaced by the star of the film (and be star I really do mean star), Eric Elmosnino. From here on in, the story focuses on Gainsbourg the charmer and the lover rather than Gainsbourg the artist or Gainsbourg the cultural icon. For this it benefits as an intriguing artistic project, but deteriorates as a film.


As Gainsbourg's career slowly builds, and his song-writing becomes more and more known, the singer begins to attract female attention from all angles, and he confidently beds successfully singers and actresses at wim. From Juliette Greco, to Brigitte Bardot, to Jane Birkin and finally the almost unmentioned Bambou, his periodical conquests form the base of the film's structure and are relied upon to bring much of its emotional heft (of which there is little, so "cool" and cold is Gainsbourg). All this is then interspersed with the surreal interactions that Serge has with the lankier and more aggressive of his two alter-egos. In this we see a more interesting side to both Gainsbourg's personality and Sfar's creative ability. There is a very dark, very odd nature to the hallucinatory moments, but Elmosnino's brilliantly accurate performance contrasts them with Gainsbourg's droll and effortless deadpan. Here was where I began to feel a sort of magic and intrigue that I had expected after the film's opening twenty minutes or so.

Typically though, the rest of the film, despite an award-worthy turn from Elmosnino that possesses all of the physical and aural precision in replica that biopic acting has come to require in recent times, fails to balance this fantastical intrigue with any real human drama, but is a valiant effort in subverting the music biopic. Comparable more to the energetic Ian Dury biopic 'Sex and Drugs and Rock and Roll' or the insane 'Bronson' than a stricter, more serious 'Ray' or 'Walk The Line', it is an imagination and enjoyment of the life of an iconic artist, but unfortunately lacks the heart or the humour to really capture a wide audience. What's more, the success of this film relies heavily on the viewer either being a follower of Serge Gainsbourg's life and music, or merely being dazzled by a series of half-dressed and unbearably sexy women strewn around and across the singer's body.

And so Gainsbourg was, for me, much like the singer's life and music itself, trying hard to rebel and subvert the norm, but ultimately just a little dull.

Film: Toy Story 3

A classic debate between cinephiles the world over is centered on the sacred title of 'best trilogy'. Violence has raged between flag-wavers of different film sagas. Gangs of Star Wars and Godfather fans in leather jackets and studded leg-warmers have been known to tussle on rollerskates in abandoned car parks, and more recently there have been reports of Bourne-lovers and Lord Of The Rings aficionados engaged in heated dance battles in smoke-filled alleyways everywhere. Could it be, though, that an unlikely front-runner for the accolade is an animated, child-friendly adventure that makes no bold social or philosophical statement, that has no jaw-dropping twists and turns, and that has no crowning of new kings, no Sicilian exile chapter, and no dark and evil emperor (okay, maybe one)?

With Toy Story 3, Pixar and its creative team have cemented themselves in the cinematic roll of honour by defying the cynics and the laws of reason to complete a consistently brilliant, technically ground-breaking, emotionally bountiful triple bill of films that appeal to all ages and are, as a result, immensely successful, both commercially and critically.


After the game-changing Toy Story was released all those years ago in 1996 and its romping, heart-wrenching sequel stole our hearts even further, those of us who have grown up to some extent with Woody and Buzz have wondered whether or not a third film would complete the trilogy with the quality that it deserved. But with the third film we come to the logical conclusion of the tale, and the question of what will become of Andy's beloved and loveable toys when he approaches maturity, and more specifically leaves home for college.

In a typically chaotic and slapstick plot, the gang find themselves mistakenly headed for the trash instead of storage, but manage to escape into the car, and a box headed for donation to a day centre emotively named Sunnyside. As Woody escapes, leaving the others behind to return to Andy's side where he belongs, the others are greeted warmly by Sunnyside various inhabitants, led by a big pink bear called Lotso (voiced superbly by Ned Beatty). What appears to be the perfect home, a place where they will be played with every day and never abandoned, soon turns into a prison however, when the day centre's dark secrets become clear and Jesse, Hamm, the Potatoheads and Rex, are taken hostage. With Buzz ingeniously turned against them, reset to his original settings, their hope is gone, but when Woody discovers the dark truth about Sunnyside's inhabitants, and indeed the loveable Lotso, he returns to the belly of the beast to set them free and take them home.

From the opening scenes, reminiscent of the first film, in which Woody and the others play their parts in one of Andy's imaginative adventures, to the montage showing Andy growing from young boy to tall and handsome teenager, we are quickly aware that we are in safe hands, and that this will be no disappointing Part III. The sight gags and top-notch dialogue are present from the start, and the script is a demonstration of perfect balance between character and plot, each one driving the other forward with alarming speed. With new characters expertly introduced and cast, there is a wealth of opportunity to do new things, but the oldies are majoritively still the goodies, with Mr Potatohead ("Hey! Nobody removes my wife's mouth but me!") and Hamm ("C'mon, let's see how much we're going for on eBay.") providing the same droll wit as before. A great plot device also sees Buzz even provide a hilarious cameo as a latino lethareo when the language setting on his back is changed to Spanish.


Undisputably though, it is one of the new characters who steals the show in the form of Ken, Barbie's soulmate and, as is often pointed out, play time accessory. Voiced by the brilliant Michael Keaton, Ken whisks Barbie away to his playhouse to show her his disco, his dune buggy, and "a whole room just for trying on clothes!", where he complains that "No-one around here appreciates clothes!" yet insists fervently that he is not a girls' toy. In a quite brilliant scene, Barbie has Ken tied up, and tortures him for information by ripping in half his prised outfits. It is this innocently satirical and character-led comedy that separates Pixar so often from other films, and Ken here is its ultimate exponent.

Elsewhere the music, still in the hands of the superb Randy Newman, is as well-judged and touching as ever, even if there is not a memorable song there to compete with "You Got A Friend In Me" from Toy Story or "When She Loved Me" from the sequel. Likewise, the animation has developed even further as the technology, and the people using them, improve, at which point now the environments and textures of Pixar's worlds are softer, deeper, darker and more enveloping than ever before.

There has been much made of this film "making grown men cry" (a clever marketing dare to dads?) but despite my not shedding a tear, it was clear that there is a significant bullseye painted on the hearts of its audience. With the trilogy's end comes the time to say goodbye, both for Andy, for the toys, and indeed for us, and it is this letting go, this realisation that a great journey has come to an end, which hit me the hardest. For others there will be a remembering of when they had to give a beloved toy away, and for some it will bring to mind the difficulty of watching your children grow to an age where they do not need you like they once did, but whatever the case, Toy Story 3 is leaving its audiences well and truly touched. And this is what we wanted. What we expect from the unmatchable Pixar. In every perfectly constructed scene of this film, in every hilarious wisecrack, every nerve-shredding action sequence, every heartfelt emotional moment, there is a warmth, an intelligence, a craft and a love that defies the laws of modern hollywood film-making, and that is why Toy Story 3 is a fitting end to the best cinematic trilogy of our times. That's right, the best.

x

Design/Film: Rolling Roadshow 2010 Posters

To celebrate this year's Alamo/Levi's Rolling Roadshow tour, in which nine nights free cinema will take place with a view to screening seminal movies in distinct locations appropriate to them, a series of supremely attractive posters have been designed by the talented and iconic Olly Moss (find other examples of his graphic bravado HERE).

I think you'll agree that they are great pieces of design, and very refreshing. Some are retrospective nods to the great Hitchcock and Preminger posters of the 50s and 60s, designed by legendary artists like Saul Bass, and others embrace more modern techniques of over-laying and shading. My personal favourites are 'On The Waterfront' and 'Rocky'.











It's a shame that the Rolling Roadshow is an American event, and those of us over here will not get the opportunity to watch The Godfather: Part II on a rooftop near Little Italy in NY, or Rocky I, II and III on the steps of the Philadelphia Museum Of Art (imagine!!!), though there are similarly grand and inventive screenings in the UK by projects such as FutureShort's Secret Cinema and the Somerset House Summer Screen festival, and hopefully this trend of outdoor film events will continue.

Photography/Charity: Ben Golik

In a recent visit to Hyde Park I visited the Serpentine Bar and Kitchen and was struck by a series of framed prints on the wall, all of them featuring two polaroid images placed side by side on a white background. They were by the London-based photographer Ben Golik, in his first solo show, and led me to his website with the view to possible purchasing one of them for the very reasonable price of £40 (ten of which goes to housing charity Shelter, so that's nice).

He's an interesting guy, Golik (check out his website HERE), seemingly fascinated with the minutae of everyday life, with indoor/outdoor spaces and with a very graphic sense of aesthetic, in line and shape and colour etc. It brought to mind Martin Parr somewhat, but also Stephen Shore, whose book American Surfaces has a similar eye for doors, gardens, windows and other day to day simplicities.

Anyway, whether I go and grab a frame or not, I'll be keeping an eye out for more of Golik's work. And here are a few of my favourite images from the exhibition. Notice the great colours, the framing and the warmth in the shots, which is why I loved them...




x

Film: Inception/Leaving

I've seen a few films recently, but don't really have the time or space to fit them all in. Here's a few I enjoyed (in no order of preference...):

INCEPTION (dir. Christopher Nolan)
In his previous works, from Memento to Insomnia, to the Prestige and to Batman Begins and The Dark Night, Christopher Nolan has never been a director who likes to dumb down. With his films come an authority of intelligence that other film-makers can lack, especially when dealing with studio finance or outside material such as remakes or comic books, and he has always been concerned with the mind and with the concept of reality and truth. So with Inception comes Nolan's turn, after the financial successes of the Batman prequels, to bring some serious studio money and intellectual weight together. And he does so with quite staggering effect.


Inception is less a film than a piece of cinematic engineering, constructed like a bridge so that if just one minute detail, one block of stone is removed then the whole thing may fall apart. The plot is multi-layered to the point of exhaustion, and sees Leo DiCaprio's Dom Cobb bring together a crack team of "extractors", thieves who infiltrate targets' minds through their dreams in order to steal information, to pull off one last job that will allow Cobb to finally return home to America and his children after years of exile. The job is to crack the mind of Robert Fischer (Cillian Murphy), the heir to the world's most powerful energy corporation, and perform "inception" by planting in his mind (as opposed to removing it) an idea, the idea to break up his father's company. Inception is, we are told, impossible, but Cobb has no other option, and so the mind-madness begins.

I have neither the time nor the energy to try and concisely explain what follows, but the story dives into the various layers of Fischer's sub-conscious as Cobb's team try to bury deeper and deeper into the depths of his mind. Each level is designed by a talented young "architect" called Ariadne (Ellen Page), and stretches time further and further, until finally we come close to Limbo, a level of subconscious where time is so slow that one second in the real world can last fifty years. Cobb is the only one to have been there before and boy does he not want to go there again.

With a great cast of reliable youngsters in support (Joseph Gordon-Levitt and Tom Hardy in particular work hard to steal the show), Leo does a good job of bringing some heart to his character in an attempt to emotionalise the otherwise quite superficial story, but it is not the character development that we have come for in this epic, it is the concept, the construction, the scope and size of it all and I left the cinema feeling positively drained, mentally exhausted, but ultimately and entirely enthralled. The effects, the score and the production design are all faultless, building an over-whelming world (or several worlds, rather) in which we are fully invested. It is tense, twisty and most importantly it is risky to the extreme, but it shows just what can be done with cinema should those with money seek out those with brains and ambition, instead of two-a-penny infantile gamers, to build their summer hits.

As Mark Kermode has said in a recent review, this film is exactly what the movie industry needs; a hugely expensive, effects laden, star-studded summer blockbuster, funded by the studios, that makes people work, that makes an audience think and that is ambitious to the extreme. There is no excuse, he rightly says, for studios to dumb down their movies and treat the viewing public like mindless popcorn-gobbling children when this film has showed audiences' capacity to work hard and still enjoy themselves. They have come in their droves in the knowing that Inception is not going to be easy, and they will keep coming, and come again, so I say well done to Inception, and well done to Christopher Nolan and his team, for showing us the light...

LEAVING (dir. Catherine Corsini)
In this uncomfortable and unsettling drama about a bored wife in southern France who abandons her husband and children to embrace her passionate and lustful relationship with a Spanish ex-con, Kristin Scott Thomas pushes again to be recognised as one of our country's best and most over-looked actresses. Two fine accompanying performances from Sergi Lopez and Yvan Attal as sympathetic lover and scorned husband respectively make this a film for actors to relish, but there is more here for audiences to enjoy, even if they may struggle to sympathise at times with the story's heroine.


That Kristin Scott Thomas was ignored even for nomination in 2009's Academy Awards for her heart-wrenchingly frank and unflinching performance in 2008's brilliant 'I've Loved You So Long' is unforgiveable, and I for one was astounded. Over the years she has shown great talent and versatility in her performances in such English language films as Four Weddings, Gosford Park, The English Patient and, recently, Nowhere Boy, before embracing her bilingual heritage in seamlessly moving into the French cinematic arena and delivering yet more performances of real nuance and bravado.

Few people do honest emotional distress and internal struggle like Thomas, and this film provides her with the opportunity to shine as she plays Suzanne, an ex-pat who has found herself married and with children and living in rich comfort in the south of France. When she accidentally runs over a rugged builder though, things take a turn for the more deceitful, and a passionate, highly sexual love affair between them threatens to consume her. When she can't hide it anymore she confesses to her husband and walks out. Furious, he makes it his mission to sabotage their relationship in any way he can, and her desire to stay with her lover is tested more and more.

It's a very solid story - told well, emotionally engaging, brilliantly performed - and yet strangely difficult. As an audience member, it is unclear at times to what extent the director wants us to sympathise with Suzanne, a woman who has abandoned her children and a perfectly decent husband (or at least he was when they were together) in favour of a relationship seemingly built more on lust and sexual desire than emotional connection. As the film moves on, and it becomes harder and harder for Suzanne and her lover's relationship to survive, the logic in her actions is stretched. We begin to want her just to give it up, and she resembles more and more a young girl obsessed with a boy, determined to ignore her parents' sensible advice. We begin to watch with a shaking head, urging her to return home and not risk ruining everything for a relationship that is ultimately doomed (as we know, being intelligent, when we find out about her lover's criminal history).

Nevertheless, this sort of questionable motive is still intriguing and engaging and worth the rental of a DVD when it is released, if not just to see a woman engage in an onscreen affair with a man who is in his forties and normal looking, rather than some olive-skinned toyboy who paints or rescues cormorants something (see Unfaithful and other such balls).