The Mixed-Up Files of...

ATTENTION

2008-11-18T21:09:00.002Z

I'm taking a hiatus from this blog. (The cries of shock and disapointment reverbering around the internets is deafening!). But hey, I'll be regularly posting snippets, news items and music over at my new digs, also called the Mixed-Up Files. Cause you know that name rocks. I just think the quick 'n easy tumblr-style is what I'm in the mood for these days. See you on the other side!

Alphabet Meme

2008-11-16T13:07:00.004Z

1. Pick one film to represent each letter of the alphabet.

2. The letter "A" and the word "The" do not count as the beginning of a film's title, unless the film is simply titled A or The, and I don't know of any films with those titles.

3. Return of the Jedi belongs under "R," not "S" as in Star Wars Episode IV: Return of the Jedi. This rule applies to all films in the original Star Wars trilogy; all that followed start with "S." Similarly, Raiders of the Lost Ark belongs under "R," not "I" as in Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark. Conversely, all films in the LOTR series belong under "L" and all films in the Chronicles of Narnia series belong under "C," as that's what those filmmakers called their films from the start. In other words, movies are stuck with the titles their owners gave them at the time of their theatrical release. Use your better judgement to apply the above rule to any series/films not mentioned.

4. Films that start with a number are filed under the first letter of their number's word. 12 Monkeys would be filed under "T."

5. Link back to Blog Cabins in your post so that I can eventually type "alphabet meme" into Google and come up #1, then make a post where I declare that I am the King of Google.

All About Eve
Badlands
Clueless
Double Indemnity
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
Far From Heaven
Gloria
Hannah and Her Sisters
The Ice Storm
Jackie Brown
Key Largo
Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring
Mean Girls
Now, Voyager
Opening Night
The Piano
It's Quite odd that I can't think of one film I liked beginning with Q...
Rebecca
Singin' in the Rain
Todo Sobre Mi Madre
The Umbrellas of Cherbourg
The Visitor
A Woman Under the Influence
X-Men 2
Y Tu Mama Tambien
Zodiac

Open tag, y'all. Go wild.

Choking on pretzels

2008-11-09T22:59:00.006Z

Yet again, I offer up apologies for my prolonged leave of absence. My bad. As a combined welcome back to myself, and a sorry note, I present two new reviews. Shock and, indeed, horror!

Paying to see W in the cinema, less than a week after Barack Obama’s historic ascent to be the first black President-Elect of the United States, and coming at the wind-down of a politically riveting two year campaign in which I (and most of the Western World) became saturated up to our eyelids with policies, candidates and CNN, feels like a bit of a ripoff. You wonder why on earth Oliver Stone felt the need to make this particular film, a biopic of the sitting US leader, at this point in time. JFK and Nixon, Stone’s two other Presidential targets, were made years after each men had left office, surely its far too early to make the kind of incisive, thoughtful feature the topic deserves. Without the benefit of hindsight to shade in all the consequences, the film feels frustratingly unfinished. Even worse, after two years of exciting new political figures and rhetoric, the subject translates as boring and tired.

So, Stone is left floundering between these two poles - on the one hand, too early and on the other, too late. Post-Obama, post-Palin, post-Joe the Plumber, does he really expect an audience to still chortle at Bush’s mangled syntax? This film seems stuck in 2004, when everyone passed on those Bushism emails and made jokes about cowboys. The political landscape has changed drastically since then, and one-liners which might have seemed amusing a few years ago now appear vaguely embarrassing. A number of familiar remarks are shoehorned into the screenplay - “"Rarely is the question asked, is our children learning?", “Misunderestimated” - sounding more like the product of laziness on screenwriter Stanley Weiser’s part, than cutting satire.

A reliance on cheap laughs (which, incidentally, didn’t seem to inspire much mirth in the, albeit mostly empty, screening I attended) wouldn’t be such a problem if W dared to probe deep into its protagonist’s inner world. Josh Brolin’s Dubya comes across as bit of a dunderhead, someone fundamentally confused about his place in the world and constantly struggling to escape his father’s shadow. So far, so common. But, frustratingly, that’s as far as it goes. We learn nothing new about any of the main shakers ‘n players of the Bush administration, nor do we gain any radical understanding of the events that transpired throughout their rule. Many epochs are, in fact, left out altogether. Nothing big is made of 2004’s election scandal and Katrina isn’t mentioned at all. To the film’s credit, this version Bush isn’t crudely drawn as the cartoonish villain, but I’d argue it swings too far back in the opposite direction; by leaving out some of the most reprehensible acts of his administration, it basically hands him a Get Out Of Jail Free card.

Thankfully, many of the performances are worth a look, in particular Brolin’s leading role. It’s not a particularly subtle portrayal - but Bush is not a subtle kind of guy - and Brolin shades in just the right amount of differing emotional facets (and neatly side-steps the traditional Gurning Monkey impression) to create a vivid character. The always-welcome James Cromwell is probably the standout in the cast; he is frankly terrifying as Bush Snr, and his performance exists as the most celluloid-ready in the picture, as he doesn’t rely on a physical similarity. At the complete opposite end of the spectrum is Thandie Newton, who thankfully has little to say as Condoleeza Rice. Her performance is frankly bizarre; she looks like Condi, but speaks as if she’s only just learned how to form vowels with her mouth. She appears to be in acute physical pain during her scenes; whether this was a conscious actor’s choice or an actual ailment was hard to say. Seriously, I’m baffled to what she was doing in this part. Newton’s Condi would have looked out-of-place on SNL, where Tina Fey’s Sarah Palin at least sounded like a human. The cast as a whole are shockingly un-united. It’s as if they picked up on the unfocused direction and sloppy script and misinterpreted them as a thematic choice rather than faults; some of them seem to think they’re in a proper adult drama while others simply chew the scenery and play for laughs.

It’s not a complete disaster - aside from everything previously mentioned, plus the disorientating cinematography and editing AND its overly long- and there are some choice moments. Toby Jones pops as Karl Rove and the final shot, employing an old but visually arresting baseball metaphor, is well done. Yet the film, on the whole, fails to deliver. It speaks volumes that, during my screening, I was itching for it to end so I could go home and visit the various punditry blogs I’ve been reading. When a film, which should be bolder, more exciting and inventive than real life only leaves me yearning to get back into reality, you know you’ve got a failure on your hands.

High School Musical

Despite the groaning shelf loads of East High Wildcats cheerleading uniforms and embossed lunchboxes, the Disney moguls have neglected one key merchandising option for the High School Musical 3 franchise: a limited edition can of Ronseal paint. That said, it is debatable whether it would sell, but Ronseal’s famous tagline - “Does exactly what it says on the tin” - serves as a handy summation of exactly why High School Musical 3 is, in fact, a Good Film. In this respect I share in the sentiments of Mark Kermode, the reviewer-in-residence over at Simon Mayo’s BBC 5 Live Friday slot, who recently named the third instalment of the franchise as his movie of the week, much to the disgust of a number of regular listeners to texted and emailed in to complain. Where I differ from the Good Doctor in one respect is that the film didn’t make me tear up, but apart from this, I share his enthusiasms wholeheartedly. HSM3 delivers exactly what you’d expect: a heart-warming, inspirational story peopled with good looking young stars and a song-and-dance routine every few minutes. This is all to be expected, but what I didn’t anticipate was the tricksy choreography, the homages to Fosse, a number of good belly laughs and a general accumulation of good feeling that lasted long after I stepped out of the cinema. After a rake of disappointing features in the cinema this past month, I’m surprised and a little perversely happy to say this is one of the most enjoyable films I’ve seen in theatres for months.

There’s no question of who the star is. Zac Efron bookends the film, his blandly anodyne features engulfing the screen, sweaty and focused during the opening basketball game, and beaming in what can only be relief at the end. I don’t know where I’d gotten the memo that Efron was leaden-footed, but it was obviously mistaken: the boy can dance surprisingly well, and some of the most enjoyable moments in the film come when he gets his Saturday Night Fever on. Yet Troy’s main storyline, his romance with the irritatingly perfect Vanessa Anne Hudgens, who plays Gabriella, provides us with some of the film’s least interesting moments. A rendezvous in a tree house, a wardrobe-consultation meeting on the roof of their school that develops into a Waltz 101, yet another romantic tree-based conversation; the filmmakers seem determined to lift these two lovebirds high in the air, but it’ll take more vertical height to elevate this rather pedestrian storyline. As usual in films such as this, the supporting characters steal the show and in this case it falls to scheming drama queen Sharpay Evans and her campy choreographer brother Ryan. Their main number, the so-catchy-it-hurts “I Want It All”, is the film’s undoubtable highlight, with snazzy production design that almost seems cribbed from the dream sequences in classics like Singin’ in the Rain. Ryan, all perma-grin and Jazz Hands, and Sharpay, who’s own blend of Britney/Paris/Nicole-lite obliviousness and Academy of the Dramatic Arts deviousness, have a great rapport and the film immediately perks up whenever they’re on screen, This doesn’t leave Troy completely flailing around in their dust, however. An energetic dance routine in a scrap yard with Troy and Chad (Corbin Bleu) isn’t likely to leave the ghosts of Gene Kelly and Donald O’Connor nervously looking over their shoulders, but packs just the right amount of playful muscular bravado and fancy footwork to make the scene pop.

Coming from an Irish, Catholic second level school, I can’t claim to relate to the world of High School Musical, but then again, I doubt very much if American teenagers could relate to it either. It’s not so much the impromptu musical numbers which destroy any semblance of realism, but the fact that nobody ever seems to go to class or study for exams. The characters’ fears for the future are broached tentatively, but not in any way that would allow a regular teenager - worried over grades and colleges and jobs - to identify with. In its narrative and characterisation, the film treads on many toes. For example, is Sharpay, supposedly a seasoned and talented amateur actress, really so disgusted by the onstage appearance of Troy’s understudy that she gives up on her lines and blocking completely? Would a basketball star really hand over the reigns to an inexperienced doofus freshman at the critical juncture in his last ever game? Are we supposed to find a puerile exercise in bullying and public humiliation endearing? This questions, and more, float around the peripherary of the whole HSM 3 experience, but don’t expect to hold on to them for very long. No sooner had a quibble formulated in my head than the next glitzy set piece had shoved it right out again. You could strike up a black mark for this shameless seducing of the audience, but then you’d be missing the point. Placed back to back with a supposedly more serious film such as W, there's no question of which work comes across as fuller, more even-handed and, best of all, most inviting.

DFW (1962-2008)

2008-09-15T01:04:00.004+01:00

Sad news, folks. A true original and a mind-bogglingly talented writer, David Foster Wallace, was found dead in an apparant suicide at his home in California on Friday. It's an incredible loss, not only to his thousands of devoted fans, but to his wife Karen Green, and his students at Pomona College, where he has been teaching creative writing for the last few years. I've been an admirer of Foster Wallace since I happily plowed through what we can now say is his definitive work, the gargantuan Infinite Jest, last summer. I've also enjoyed numerous essays by him, on topics as diverse as John McCain's 2000 presidential bid, luxury holiday cruises, playing tennis and David Lynch. Whatever he turned his attention on, he illuminated with wit, depth and a characteristic curiousity about the world. His writing was lucid, funny, sometimes melancholy, often challenging but never obtuse. I'd often approach a new piece by him with a dictionary at my side, but finish reading with a head full of new concepts and questions about the world, and a heart full of emotions, rather than just a list of new vocabulary.

But while his own fiction often showcased his mastery of postmodern pyrotechnics — a cold but glittering arsenal of irony, self-consciousness and clever narrative high jinks — he was also capable of creating profoundly human flesh-and-blood characters with three-dimensional emotional lives. In a kind of aesthetic manifesto, he once wrote that irony and ridicule had become “agents of a great despair and stasis in U.S. culture” and mourned the loss of engagement with deep moral issues that animated the work of the great 19th-century novelists.
- from The NY Times

I'm really shocked and upset by this news, as are many writers, bloggers and others literary types. If you try to enter the McSweeney's site, you're greated by a blank page. "Timothy McSweeney is devastated and lost". I know how they feel.

Dr. Smith’s Lost in the Space at the End of Summer Movie Quiz.

2008-09-01T01:29:00.003+01:00

I'm partaking in one of the seasonal Q&As hosted by Sergio Leone and the Infield Fly Rule. In comparison with the veteran commenters over at the site, I'm woefully uneducated, but this was a helluva lotta fun to do.

1) Your favorite musical moment in a movie
This includes musicals, right? If not, I’ll have to rack my brains a little harder, but if we are including musicals, then it has to be the Gideon & Jagger scene from All That Jazz. There are so many iconic moments in that film - the entire opening sequence for example - but the moment that hits me right in the solar plexus is this one. Seen out of context, it’s wonderful;
Peter Allen’s singing, the natural camaraderie between Ann Reinking and Erzsebet Foldi and of course, the dancing. But seen as part of the whole film, it becomes almost too much for me to bear. When I first saw All That Jazz, I rewatched this one scene maybe 10 times. Since then, I have no idea how many times I’ve watched that one scene, but it must be nearing the hundreds. The thought of Joe Gideon’s girlfriend and daughter working on that routine for hours, to get it just right for the notorious perfectionist. The knowledge that even if it wasn’t perfect, he’d be bowled over regardless. The fact that Kate is so loving and caring with Michelle, and thatall the basic ingredients for a happy family are here, ut yet Joe continues to sleep around and throw his life away. The part where Reinking plays Michelle’s stomach like a piano, glances at Joe and says “Pretty pictures.” Joe’s funky apartment, with all the theatre paraphernalia and those “whatchamacallit lights”. The part where the duo rush at Joe to kiss him. Finally, and most importantly, Joe’s face throughout. I don’t know how Roy Scheider does it. Amusement, regret, incredulity, sadness, pride - they’re all there. The killer: during the line, “And every gal only had one fellow”. His face at that point slays me. It’s a little flash of recognition, of regret and embarrassment and still you can see he’ll never change. Beautiful.

If we’re not talking musicals, Martin Sheen and Sissy Spacek slow dancing in the dark to Nat King Cole in Badlands. I am so excited about the upcoming rerelease.

2) Ray Milland or Dana Andrews
I have this unwritten rule, which states: if you are presented with a multiple choice question and one of the answers is connected to Laura (1944), this is your best bet.

3) Favorite Sidney Lumet movie
You can’t go wrong with a most of his films, but I’ll pull out something a little different: Garbo Talks, while not a great film by any means, is entertaining purely because of Anne Bancroft. She plays this firecracker New Yoiker whose dying wish is to meet Greta Garbo. Every minute when she’s not on screen (a quite sizeable amount of time, tbh) is quite dull, but near the end Lumet grants her this great, lengthy monologue about the similarities between herself and Garbo. Fantastic acting.

4) Biggest surprise of the just-past summer movie season
The pregnancy quotient is way down on last year.

5) Gene Tierney or Rita Hayworth
Remember the rule! Gene Tierney.

6) What’s the last movie you saw on DVD? In theaters?
On DVD: Raising Arizona. “Mighty fine cereal flakes, Mrs. McDonough!”

In theaters: The Strangers.

7) Irwin Allen’s finest hour?
Pass.

8) What were the films where you would rather see the movie promised by the poster than the one that was actually made?
It hasn’t been released yet, but I’d be 24% more likely to go watch the remake of The Women if it featured Vanessa Williams doing an impression of Annette Bening. Which, you know, I'm not completely sure it doesn't.

9) Chow Yun-Fat or Tony Leung
Tony Leung.

10) Most pretentious movie ever
Garden State.

11) Favorite Russ Meyer movie
Pass.

12) Name the movie that you feel best reflects yourself, a movie you would recommend to an acquaintance that most accurately says, “This is me.”
Hannah And Her Sisters or Mean Girls.

13) Marlene Dietrich or Greta Garbo
To be honest, I really need to see more work by both women to make a fair judgement. But this is a blog, where fair appraisals aren’t required and I’m saying Dietrich purely because of her role in Witness For The Prosecution. The twist in the tail of that character! I’m still as gob smacked as I was the first time I saw it, years and years ago.

14) Best movie snack? Most vile movie snack?
I usually sneak in sweets; peanut M&Ms, Minstrels, Smarties. Most vile? Buttered popcorn.

15) Current movie star who would be most comfortable in the classic Hollywood studio system
Rachel McAdams.

16) Fitzcarraldo—yes or no?
Pass!

17) Your assignment is to book the ultimate triple bill to inaugurate your own revival theater. What three movies will we see on opening night?
Everyone needs a good laughing work-out, so I’ll kick start my theater off with three of my favourite comedies: His Girl Friday, Tootsie and The Lady Eve.

18) What’s the name of your theater? (The all-time greatest answer to this question was once provided by Larry Aydlette, whose repertory cinema, the Demarest, is, I hope, still packing them in…)
The Local. Okay, that's a terrible name. The Fleapit. No, that's worse. The Local Fleapit? PERFECT. Hilarity will ensue.

19) Favorite Leo McCarey movie
Pass.

20) Most impressive debut performance by an actor/actress.
Angela Lansbury in Gaslight. She celebrated her 18th birthday on set! Watch the video, she talks about her experience on the film and there’s a photograph of the birthday, with Ingrid Bergman cutting her cake!

21) Biggest disappointment of the just-past summer movie season
Many, many subpar dramas. I know the summer isn’t prime drama season, but there were quite a few movies that looked promising enough until I actually watched the damn things. Smart People, Married Life, bleurgh.

22) Michelle Yeoh or Maggie Cheung

23) 2008 inductee into the Academy of the Overrated
The Dark Knight. I liked it a lot, but I mean - come on. It wasn't even the best film I saw that month, let alone the best film of all time.

24) 2008 inductee into the Academy of the Underrated

Tom McCarthy.

25) Fritz the Cat—yes or no?
No. I prefer Tommy the Cat!

26) Trevor Howard or Richard Todd
Trevor Howard was in The Third Man. Nuff said.

27) Antonioni once said, “I began taking liberties a long time ago; now it is standard practice for most directors to ignore the rules.” What filmmaker working today most fruitfully ignores the rules? What does ignoring the rules of cinema mean in 2008?
The best answer would probably be to say Paul Thomas Anderson, which I partly agree with. But I also have to pitch in a mention for Tom McCarthy, who has shown us, in a mere two films, that there is still room for bittersweet, character driven pieces and that Big Liberal Ideas can form an integral part of a film without overtaking it.

28) Favorite William Castle movie
Pass.

29) Favorite ethnographically oriented movie
Aren't most films ethnographically oriented? West Side Story, I guess.

30) What’s the movie coming up in 2008 you’re most looking forward to? Why?
Ah, so many. Blindness, because the book haunts me with regular nightmares and I’m curious to see how on earth it’ll translate to screen. Burn After Reading, because even the trailer makes me laugh. The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. Doubt. Synecdoche, New York.

31) What deceased director would you want to resurrect in order that she/he might make one more film?
I wonder how Hitch would have handled the 21st century? New technology and all.

32) What director would you like to see, if not literally entombed, then at least go silent creatively?
Tim Burton could keep mum for a couple of years and I’d be happy. Not for ever, you understand, just five years or so. Let some new ideas percolate around his brain. Spend some quality time watching dvds, catching up on recent actors who aren’t called Johnny or Helena.

2008-08-22T23:07:00.004+01:00

It’s hard out there for a Tori Amos fan.

Not only do you have to deal with the inevitable "She's just a poor Kate Bush for the nineties!", but you also have to defend her while at the same time acknowledging that her body of work includes The Beekeeper. She appears in public sprouting off about faeries. She indulges in tedious dress up games. She cannot edit her albums for shit. All these things are qualities that would usually turn me off an artist immediately, but because of the entirety of Little Earthquakes, Under The Pink, From The Choirgirl Hotel, Boys For Pele bits and pieces of Strange Little Girls, Scarlet's Walk, and American Doll Posse, the live disc of To Venus And Back, the odd interview in which she can be hysterically funny and a whole load of b-sides, I make a huge exception for Tori. She can release half a dozen albums that are on the same level as The Beekeeper from now on, if she so feels like it (I hope she doesn't, obvs) but because of that back catalogue, I'm an Ear With Feet for life. So, in honour of her 45th birthday, I'm making a Top Ten Tori Tunes list.

Even leaving a handful of her studio albums off the longlist, a top ten will be hard to compile especially taking into account all the b-sides and covers and live tracks available. Lady is prolific. And I'm so fickle, this list will be obselote tomorrow, when I decide that 'Winter' or 'Cooling' or her version of 'Famous Blue Raincoat' or 'Tear In My Hand' or any number of other songs deserve a placing. You get the picture. But for now, here they are:

10. Father Lucifer

An example of how her left-of-centre interviewee style sometimes works really well can be found during the VH1 Storytellers concert. This song opens that concert, and I laugh every time I hear her introduction to it: "And my dad and I...I...I really do love my dad, it took us many years to, um, I think, respect each other's spiritual beliefs. So, um, when I came home, I guess it was a Thanksgiving because I remember a bird, and forks going down at the table, when my father said to me, "Tori Ellen, I can't believe you wrote this song about me". And I said "I write everything about you, what are you surprised about?". And he said, "No, but I'm really hurt about this one." And I said, "Well, which one is it?". And he said, "Well, you call me Satan." And I said, "No! I was taking drugs with the South American shaman and I really did visit the devil, and I had a journey!" And he went, Oh praise Jesus!". The version above isn't necessarily my favourite (like I said before, I love the Storytellers version, and you can't beat the studio cut) but it's still fantastic.

09. Mr Zebra

This only negative thing I can think to say about this song is that it's way too short. At 1 minute and 6 seconds, its over before you get a chance to appreciate all its jaunty, wry offerings. My solution: play on repeat. I listened to this song on repeat every morning during Transition Year, while walking up to school. It was like my own personal theme tune. That last line! "Too bad the burial was premature, she said. And smiled."And watch the above live video, where she completely screws it up but manages to save it just at the last moment.

08. Northern Lad

Okay, ignore the stupid homemade video and just listen to the song. I could've chose a live version to put here, but the studio version makes me cry. It's the only song I can think of containing an f-bomb that can make me well up every time it comes on. I think it's the line "I guess you go too far / When pianos try to be guitars".

07. She's Your Cocaine / Raspberry Swirl

Shoot me. I couldn't choose between the two, so they can jostle for space together at number seven on my list. Both are on From The Choirgirl Hotel (at times my overall favourite), both are fast, sweaty and slightly sleazy. Love it.

06. Playboy Mommy

The saddest Tori song, bar none.

05. Talula

I surprised myself by putting this on the list. I came to Pele later than most of her other stuff, so I'm not as familiar with some of the tracks on it in the same way as, say, Little Earthquakes. Yet this song stays in the mind for a number of reasons. The harpsichord and mandolin are possibly my favourite instrumentation of every Tori Amos song, but I think it's this section:

I got big bird on the fishing line
with a bit of a shout a bit of a shout
a bit of an angry snout
he's my favourite hooker of the whole bunch
and i know about his only bride
and how the russians die on the ice
i got my rape hat on
honey but i always could accessorise
and i never cared too much for the money
but i know right now
that it's in god's hands
but i don't know who the father is.

I love the phrasing of that whole piece, it's great to sing along to. When she suddenly breaks out the falsetto on "and I never cared too much for the money", she sounds like Prince.

04. Muhammed My Friend

Every time I listen to the studio version of this, the introductory piano solo drives me insane. I can't wait to delve into the main body of the song, goddamit! And yet, I couldn't do without that piano solo. It creates a tension, an anticipation, a pause before that triumphant opening couplet. I hate David Letterman, but the above version is worth a watch.

03. Siren

Anyone remember the 1998 Great Expectations movie, directed by Alfonso Cuaron? No, me neither. Looking it up on IMDB, the castlist is crazy: Robert deNiro, Anne Bancroft, Chris Cooper, Ethan Hawke, Gwennie Paltrow. Maybe it's just me, but I had no idea any of those people were ever in a film together. Anyway, I'm thankful for it because it gave us one of Tori's best recent songs. I always think of circles when I listen to it. That chorus. It sounds elliptical
to me, or something.

02. Take To The Sky

I never actually told anybody this, but 'Take To The Sky' was the unofficial sponser of my Leaving Cert year. Anytime I felt grumpy or tired or bogged down in exam revision, I listened to this. It's defiant and quietly furious, catchy as all get out and features some bitchin' piano slaps. Exams? "Here I stand with a sword in my hand!". (Yeah, I know how lame that sounds. But it worked like a charm!)

01. Precious Things

I said that this list is exremely subject to change, but I have a sneaking suspicion that this will always be numero uno. It was the first Tori Amos song I absolutely fell in love with. Let me flash back for a second, to Christmas 2003. I was heavily in the throes of my Nirvana phase, but I spotted a review of an best-of album called Tales of a Librarian in some music mag and liked what I read. After downloading 'Cornflake Girl' as a taster, I decided to buy it and so I purchased it the next time I was in town. I had liked 'Cornflake Girl' (who doesn't, right?) but when I heard this song, I was blown away. It opens the collection and is the absolute best primer a newbie could hope for. Everything essential about her is contained in this one song: beautiful piano playing, a novelistic sense of storytelling, the Catholicism, spurts of sudden rage - those jarring bursts of electric guitar still give me the shivers - humour, even the Trent Reznor friendship ("those demigods / with their nine-inch nails"). I always associate this with Margaret Atwood (I think I was reading Cat's Eye for the first time around this period). The song and the book kind of bleed into one another, both are extremely important to me. To borrow a line from another song not on this list, "They say you were something in those formative years". Yeah, I was something. Obsessed with this song. Still am. Listen!

The man who walked on air

2008-08-10T22:45:00.004+01:00

Yeah, I know. Long time no blog. There's no particular excuse or reason, other than general ambivalence towards it, but I had to post about the most recent film I saw in theaters, James Marsh's film, Man On Wire. Give and take a Wall-E here and a The Visitor there, this is one of the best films I've seen all year. Come to think of it, all three have something in common. The critically-adored Pixar smash, the low-budget immigration story buried inside Tom McCarthy's character based second film and the award winning documentary about wire-walker Philippe Petit all share a common feeling. Watching each of the three, I felt the urgent need pressed upon me to really appreciate life, to take chances, to create art. Believe me, I know how cheesy this all sounds. But watching Philippe Petit dancing across the empty space between the twin towers, his only support a tiny cable, I felt truly exhilarated. There's a beautiful moment when he spots a policeman on the top of one of the towers, urging him to come back to safety, and Petit's face breaks into this beatific smile. It's hilarious, extraordinary, terrifying (at this moment, he's 400 metres up in the air).

The basic story has been told and retold to death. Petit, a French street performer and self-taught wire walker (a much classier term than tightrope walker, don't you think?) became obsessed with the World Trade Centre towers as they were being built. He followed their progress in the French newspapers, all the while formulating a plan in the back of his mind. He wanted to walk across them. He needed to walk across them. The towers became a full blown obsession for him. So he acted on his obsession: gathering a town, scoping out the towers, reading, sketching, making diagrams. Insane preparations. He rigged up a mock cable in a Frencg field and got a bunch of friends to jump up on down on it as he crossed, to stimulate the probable wind conditions. He had notebooks filled with complex instructions and doodles. He made contacts inside the WTC, so his team could have mock I.D. cards. 6 years of intense planning, all culminating in 45 minutes on a clear August morning in 1974. Having snuck up to the highest floor, hidden from the guards and rigged the cable across the two towers (an incredibly complex manouevre), early birds in New York city were treated to the spectacle. Petit crossed back and forth 8 times, pausing at different points to kneel, lie down and look up at the clouds and, insanely, to actually look straight down. I'll repeat that: he knelt on the wire and gazed down into New York city, 400 metres above it. I get dizzy climbing the stairs into the attic!

It's an interestingly constructed film, mixing talking heads, archive footage and artful reconstructions in order to dazzle the audience. Petit himself, now 59, is a lively, engaging storyteller. His wide eyed retelling of his escapades are amusing, but his gleeful joie de vivre is set off by some of the other contributers. His former girlfriend, Annie Allix and one time best friend, Jean-Louis Blondeau, both provide moving accounts. They are both impressed and saddened by Petit. After the feat, his relationship with both people fizzled out; perhaps a necessity after collaborating on something that intense. It's one of the things I liked most about the documentary, its focus on the intense planning of the 'before' and the bittersweet letdown of the 'after', as well as the glorification of the event itself. Go see it, please. It's the most thrilling, moving paean to art and the creative impulse that you'll see in the cinema all year.

More on Petit:

I observed the tightrope 'dancer'—because you couldn't call him a 'walker'—approximately halfway between the two towers. And upon seeing us he started to smile and laugh and he started going into a dancing routine on the high wire....And when he got to the building we asked him to get off the high wire but instead he turned around and ran back out into the middle....He was bouncing up and down. His feet were actually leaving the wire and then he would resettle back on the wire again....Unbelievable really....[E]verybody was spellbound in the watching of it

- the eyewitness report of Sgt. Charles Daniels, the officer assigned to coax Petit down.

'Many people use the words "death defying" or "death wishing" when they talk about wire-walking. Many people have asked me: "So do you have a death wish?" After doing a beautiful walk, I feel like punching them in the nose. It's indecent. I have a life wish.'

- in his own words. From an interview with the Observer.

I also discovered that Paul Auster (i.e. my favourite writer) has a connection to Petit! Living in Paris in the early seventies, he encountered Petit as a street performer. Captivated, he followed his career with interest, which ended up with a meeting between the two men. Auster helped Petit with getting his book, On The High Wire, published, and he also translated it into English from the French original. In the preface to the book, Auster writes a piece on his appreciation of Petit and I have it in my Collected Prose. Here's a short excerpt, describing his first sighting of Petit. He taps into what's so magnetic about the man:

"Unlike other street preformers, he did not play to the crowd. Rather, it was somehow as though he had allowed the audience to share in the working of his thoughts, had made us privy to some deep, inarticulate obsession within him. Yet there was nothing overly personal about what he did. Everything was revealed metaphorically, as if at one remove, through the medium of the performance. His juggling was precise and self-involved, like some conversation he was holding with himself. He elaborated the most complex combinations, intricate mathematical patterns, arabesques of nonsensical beauty, while at the same time keeping his gestures as simple as possible. Throught it all, he managed to radiate a hypnotic charm, oscilliating somewhere between demon and clown. No one said a word. It was as though his silence were a command for others to be silent as well. The crowd watched, and after the performance was over, everyone put money in the hat. I realised that I had never seen anything like it before."

Thank God it wasn't Infinite Jest...

2008-05-12T21:48:00.003+01:00

J.D. has tagged me and I duitifully respond. This time it's a gleefully pointless bookish meme:

Pick up the nearest book.
Open to page 123.
Locate the fifth sentence.
Post the next three sentences on your blog and in so doing...
Tag five people, and acknowledge who tagged me.

I say pointless, because taking three lines from the middle of a book won't necessarily yield up any great surprises, although my closest at hand, Margaret Atwood's The Robber Bride, did throw up a curse.

"A neatly lettered message, relatively polite - in the States it would have been Cunt - and ordinarily Roz would have merely calculated the cost of the repair and how much time it would take to get it done, and whether it's deductible. Also, she would take out her annoyance by making a scene with the parking lot attendent. Who did this?"

This book has been sitting on the living-room shelf for a few months, after I stupidly bought it in the midst of a book buying spree at Borders. Why stupidly? Because I already own a copy of the book and have read it a few times. In the bookshop, I somehow got confused and bought it, thinking I was getting The Blind Assassin. It wasn't until I got home, cracked it open and read the first line that I went "....wait a second...". So, anybody in the market for a copy of The Robber Bride? It's good, I swear. So good, I bought it twice!

Humphrey Lyttleton

2008-04-26T23:17:00.002+01:00

I was sorry to hear that veteran trumpet player Humphrey Lyttleton passed away last night. Despite being one of Britain's foremost jazz talents (he was invited to the States in 1968 to play for the crew of Apollo 8), he was also a cartoonist, a calligrapher and a broadcaster. I knew him mainly from I'm Sorry, I Haven't a Clue, still the funniest panel show ever broadcast on any media. Of course, there's also his appearance on Radiohead's Life In A Glasshouse. Jonny Greenwood wrote and asked him to play on Amnesiac's closing track and the result is phenomenal. I urge people to check out Radiohead performing the song on Jools Holland, with Humph onstage. Here's what he said about the experience:

".... it was very interesting indeed. When they asked me to bring some members of my band along and do something with them for their new CD, I had to ask my daughter who they were. I then met up with Jonny Greenwood and heard a tape of their music. And if you'll pardon the expression, I thought to myself, "What the Hell?" - this is a kind of music new to me and it presented a challenge. In the process I got to appreciate their music and I think they got to appreciate mine and I think that can't be bad."

A young Humph with Duke Ellington

Just the thing...

2008-04-26T22:42:00.002+01:00

...to get me posting again.

That's Don DeLillo (in the greenish cap) and Paul Auster (beside him), along with two Gotham Book Market employees at a Yankees game. Yesssss.

Picture credit http://blog.myfinebooks.com

G-L-O-R-I-A

2008-03-19T00:03:00.006Z

Can you feel the love tonight? I can. It feels like waves of love radiating through the screen, warm fuzzy pink clouds emanating from my modem. But where is it coming from? What's the source? Nope, it's not Elton John cozying up to Clinton - although that does merit a mention, just for the sheer oddness of it - but Final Girl's Hey, Internet, Stop Being Such Cynical Effing Doucebags Blog-A-Thon! I'll let the creator herself spread the gospel:

Write about a movie you adore. Write about a single movie moment you adore. A performance, an actor, a trailer you're looking forward to like crazy. Write about that time you went to the movies and what you saw made you so happy you wanted to make out with the screen. Write about that film you couldn't stop thinking about for days, and how awesome that feeling is.

In other words, for just one day, internet, don't be a cynical effing douchebag. Wear your heart on your sleeve and tell us all why you love something. That's not so hard, is it?

Ya got that? So, I really wanted to participate in this and so I started tossing ideas around. At first, I couldn't get Scorcese's vastly underrated Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore (1973) out of my head, especially the scenes involving Ellen Burstyn and her son, played with brittle, precocious hilarity by Alfred Lutter. Their water-fight, the extended driving scenes, the "shoot the dog!" joke - I love their relationship in this film, because it feels so fresh, so unclichéd, so true-to-life. Sadly, I don't own it on dvd (yet!), but it did remind me of another mother/son film that I do own; Gloria (1980). In the case of John Cassavete's nod to the gangster genre, Gena Rowlands isn't actually Phil's mother, but she's as good as. When the little fella's family get killed in a brutal, yet somehow trivial, mobster killing, Gloria takes reluctant charge of him. Cue a lengthy (some would say too lengthy) series of escapades through the bars, seedy hotels and public transport of New York city. There are many pieces to love in this messy, flawed yet invigorating film, most of them having to do with Gena Rowlands. Check out her character introduction; first we see a shot of her smoking, though a keyhole

After espying Gloria, Phil's father turns to the camera, pauses for an exagerated length of time and then makes this face

and says, "It's Gloria" in a tone of voice that nobody would ever use in real life, ever. It could possibly be described as frustration + bewilderment + exasperation + humour + the director told me to say it like we were shooting clips for the trailer = "It's GlOOriA!" I can't even adequately describe it and as I can't take sound clips, you're going to have to take my word for it. It's great though, especially as it occurs 11 minutes into the film. The exagerated line-reading would make perhaps an iota of sense if it were the very first scene, but we've just been spending time with the Dawn family. Don't worry though, they're about to get blown up in a few minutes by the gangsters who are milling about in the foyer saying things like "Nice staircase they got here" and wearing shirts like this

Ooh. Threatening.

Anyway, everybody in the family is a target and so Jeri Dawn tries to foister her youngest kid, Phil, onto Gloria, who really just needed to borrow some coffee.

She isn't wild about this idea.

GLORIA: Hey, Jeri, you know I'd do anything for you. But...I don't like kids. Especially yours.

Well, too bad Gloria. Because the kid is yours. Here's where the film starts to get really good. Gloria drags Phil (literally) back to her apartment, to protect him from the mob. She's not really the most competent babysitter and Phil is hardly the most obliging child. It's the most awkward babysitting ever.

Gloria: I've got some goldfish in the bedroom. You wanna play with them?
PHIL: *blank stare*
GLORIA: You wanna play twenty questions?
PHIL: *blank stare*
GLORIA: How bout watching the tv for a while? *pause* Hey, can you understand what I'm saying to you?
PHIL: Yes.
GLORIA: (to her cat) Where's my boy, eh? Yeah. Come on, big fella. There's my baby. Yeah. You like him? You like cats?

From then on, the film just gets better. The plot meander along lazily, gaping plot holes are neatly side-stepped, nothing is ever fully explained, characters develop and grow before suddenly reverting back to how they were before - and I LOVE IT! Seriously, I would be perfectly happy to watch this film constantly on a loop for the rest of eternity. So, without further ado, here are my top 5 favourite things about "Gloria", in no particular order.

1. The many faces of Phil.

John Adames won a Razzie for this, his one and only screen appearance (he actually tied with Laurence Olivier!) and his performance is regularly siezed upon as being one of the worst examples of child acting in the history of film. I don't agree; he's supremely annoying and whiney, but that's partly because its how the character is written. He speaks every line as though it's causing him actual pain to say the words, but look at that face!

2. Gloria' s face when she sees herself on television.

3. The quasi-romance between Gloria and Phil. It's a love/hate thing, one minute he's asking her if she's ever been in love and trying to stroke her hair, the next he's all "Bye, chiquita! Bye, little sucker!". They're like an old married couple, really.

4. The clothing. We have Gloria's red satin dressing-gown, the ridiculous wig she gets landed with and the newest line from the My 'lil Pimp Clothing range.

5. Bam!

That's it.

Hey, internet! Stop being such cynical effing douchebags! Take a leaf out of Phil's book; his whole family have just been killed, he's been wearing the same awful bell-bottoms for days, his only guardian is a gangster's moll and he won a Razzie. Yet somehow, he's still happy.

Eggs. A golf-club. A remote control.

2008-03-16T00:52:00.008Z

Why did I watch Funny Games, Michael Haneke's 1997 psychological, meta, 'horror' film'? The answer is simple; the director's shot-by-shot remake arrives on Irish shores soon (it opened this weekend in the States) and I wanted to watch the original before I saw the new version, because I'm nerdy like that. After watching it, I'm excited about seeing the new one. The draw of seeing how Tim Roth and Naomi Watts, two fine actors whom I like very much, react to the awful events that they are subjected to, is substantial. Naomi Watts, incidentally, is one of my Actress picks (see below) and while I very much doubt this will win favour with the Academy, I have a feeling there'll be a rigorous campaign and critical buzz attached to it. From the trailer and a few screengrabs which are floating around the net, the remake looks very clean and bright, unlike the original (a stupid point, perhaps, but I dig the white, crisp streamlined look that's such at odds with the dim graininess of the original). Plus, it's in English, which will add an extra dimension of unease to my viewing. While the original's German created an extra welcome barrier between me and the characters, I have a feeling the harsh starkness of hearing their pleas in English will have the adverse affect. Before last night, I had never even heard of Susanne Lothar and was only marginally familiar with Ulrich Muhe, but I've seen Naomi Watts and Tim Roth countless times. I don't know if this'll will add to or detract from the terror, but we'll see.

The premise of Funny Games is simple. Two eerie, polite men in their 20s terrorise an affluent family of three in their summer house. That's it, really. By that description alone, you'd be forgiven for assuming it was your run o' the mill genre flick, a "torture porn" film created for and by those with the adolescent boy mentality. Well, you'd be forgiven until you saw the name Haneke was involved. If you're at all familiar with the Austrian director, you realise that what you're getting into is something much more intellectual, more challenging, more infuriating. More disturbing. And let me warn you, although nearly every instance of violence occurs off-screen, this film is disturbing. Muttering feverently under your breath disturbing. Nails digging into palms disturbing. Clutching a soft, cuddly toy like you haven't clutched so hard since you were a toddler, disturbing. At one point, I found myself singing softly under my breath as a means of half distracting myself! It's not just because of the "your imagination is scarier than anything a director could construct" old chestnut that is regularly trotted out. This clichéd maxim readily applies to FG, but the feeling of unease that this film generates is not because of that alone. The creeping dread that descends over you has to do with the way in which the film implicates you in the violence. You're the voyeur, you're the one causing these awful events by the very fact that you choose to watch this film. That's another point, you never forget that what you're watching is a film. It's unrealistic and uber-stylized. There's a scene (I won't say what it is, but if you've seen it you know what I'm talking about) where Haneke pretty much gives his audience the finger, messing with your head and your preconceptions of what a film should be. Apparently, this scene is the reason why people have such negative reactions to the film. I can understand this stance, but it didn't make me hate it. In fact, the scene made me appreciate the film more; by not allowing the narrative to function as a straight-forward film, it made it clearer that this was something to be appreciated as an intellectual exercise, rather than a thriller in which good prevails, the bad guys get their come-uppance and all is right with the world.

By the film's end, I felt hollow, but not unhappy. I wasn't trembling and I didn't require a viewing of Clueless or The Incredibles, both of which I had lined up in case I needed a post-viewing boost. It was difficult to fall asleep afterwards, but because I was thinking about my reaction to the film, about what it all meant, about how people would react when it's released here. I wasn't terrified of two men breaking into the house (although I do admit that the shot of the golf-ball rolling in a slow circle on the wooden floor will stay with me for a good while). I do get the feeling that I'm not exactly the target audience. If the film is intended as a polemic against those who queue in their droves to watch teenagers be slaughtered, the "gore hounds", the people who really appreciate a good finger-slicing scene, I'm not included in this category of film-lovers. Running quickly through a mental list of my favourite films, violence only lurks at their peripherary and gore is almost non-existant. I've never responded well to acts of onscreen violence, ever since I watched Scream at a sleepover when I was 11. The scene where Drew Barrymore is being dragged across her lawn with a hook in her neck, whimpering scratchily to her parents, stayed with me for a long time....I've still never gone back and watched that film because it upset me so much the first time. Undoubtedly, it's probably a lot tamer than what I've imagined, but I still have no desire to revisit that scene. That's the same reason why I've never seen a "Saw" film, why I don't ever plan to see "Cannibal Holocaust" or "I Spit On Your Grave", why horror (with a few notable exceptions) isn't usually my cup of cinematic tea. If I were somebody who enjoyed this, I daresay I would have been even more disturbed and uncomfortable with this film, but I'm not and I wasn't.

I wouldn't recommend Funny Games to everyone, not by a long shot. I wouldn't even say I enjoyed it, per se, but it does provoke a reaction. By holding the camera still for interminably long sequences, for sustaining a fine balance between horror and ridicule, for treating the viewer as an accomplice (and not a very bright one at that), Haneke's film forces you to question the reason for your viewing of it, bullies you into thinking long and hard about the art of film and violence and the way in which the two intertwine. For me, it dredged up that memory of Scream, which I hadn't really given any thought to for years. I don't regret watching it for a second, although it was sometimes unpleasant.

The trailer for the remake is weird. Seriously, "In The Hall of the Mountain King"? Cheesy as all hell, that piece of music is. I'm guessing that's just something they've added in for the trailer, because if Haneke has included it in the film, he's probably lost his marbles. The overwhelming silence is such an integral part of the original and its inclusion in the trailer is completely overblown and hilarious. That said, the much-admired poster is truly something.

Actress Psychic Contest

2008-03-12T15:02:00.004Z

Holla'.

Just a quick note before I run back to hit the books (with a stick, naturally). Nathaniel Rogers of The Film Experience has opened the floodgates for his annual Actress Psychic Contest.
If you're at all interested in the Best Actress contest, have a masochistic streak or are a compulsive gambler, head on over and make your predictions. The entering criteria are simple; pick 5 women who have films opening in 2008 and throughout the year there'll be a running tally, with points being allocated for awards, publicity, critical buzz and a whole host of other bits 'n bobs. It's all very mathematical and complex, but all we have to do is send off an email with 5 names and then start praying that our picks will amount to something. For those of us who need a little reminder of what's to come in the cinematic year ahead, Nathaniel has helpfully provided a comprehensive list of 50 or so women who could be making waves with their coming films. My 5 names are listed below:

Anne Hathaway - Dancing with Shiva
Rachel McAdams - The Time Traveller's Wife
Julianne Moore - Blindness
Naomi Watts - Funny Games
Kate Winslet - Revolutionary Road

I submitted this line-up mere minutes ago and I'm already filled with doubts. The list is skewed towards the young end of the actressing scale and leaving Meryl Streep out of any line-up seems foolhardy, but I'm sticking with these five. I strongly doubt this will reflect the 2009 Oscar nominations (except maybe Winslet and Moore), but my five could possibly whip up some excitement between them on the publicity circuit. I have Hathaway and McAdams for the publicity trail, Winslet and Moore for the prestige spot and Watts for the critical approval/leftfield spot. I think my picks are a little too scattered and perhaps too beholden to my own personal biases, but we'll see how this goes. Expect many updates, upsets, curses and perhaps some minor miracles (i.e. Funny Games not being branded "too dark" for major buzz) as the year progresses.

My Dinner with...

2008-03-07T20:45:00.008Z

It's meme time!

1. Pick a single person past or present who works in the film industry who you'd like to have dinner with and tell us why you chose this person.

This is a headscratcher; not only are there numerous technical virtuosos, who wouldn't necessarily spring to mind straight away, yet who would be fascinating to dine with (I'm thinking of people like Roger Deakins, Christine Vachon, Philip Glass, Colleen Atwood) but the sheer plethora of chatty actors, directors and scriptwriters that I wouldn't mind sitting down with renders my answer to this question dependant on whatever mood I'm in. If you'd asked me a week ago, my answer would have been Sissy Spacek. On any number occasions, it could have been Pedro Almodóvar, Laura Linney, Cary Grant, Roz Russell or Donald O' Connor. Dinner-table manners have to be taken into consideration; Robert de Niro circa 70s would be fascinating, but according to Jodie Foster, he wasn't such a great lunch partner back then. Likewise, I'd have a million questions for Alfred Hitchcock, but he'd probably play some awful practical joke on me and leave. So, I'm looking for somebody intelligent, verbose and who I'm assured will be polite and warm, somebody who I have many questions for but who remains a bit of a mystery, and somebody who I've recently been watching. Todd Haynes, care to join me for dinner?

2. Set the table for your dinner. What would you eat? Would it be in a home or at a restaurant? And what would you wear? Feel free to elaborate on the details.

I'm afraid of poisoning any potential dinner guests, so we'd head out to the city for our meal. Maybe Acapulco, the Mexican place on Georges Street. Not only is it my favourite restaurant (I'm going there tonight, actually) but it adds a certain ping of intertextuality referencing to our evening. Its a casual enough place, so we wouldn't have to dress up fancily - although Mr Haynes has proved that he can scrub up as well as he dresses down. After the meal, we could drop into a cafe for some coffee and maybe a slice of cake, in honour of our shared birthday (Jan 2nd).

3. List five thoughtful questions you would ask this person during dinner.

1. You graduated from Brown with a degree in semiotics. Perhaps as a result of this, your films have been dismissed by some critics as university projects, dominated by intellect rather than emotion. How do you respond to this?
2. I've noticed you tend to surround yourself with superb actors and technicians. Especially in a film like "Far From Heaven", which functions as a real "team effort", between your script, Julianne Moore's acting, Elmer Bernstein's score, Edward Lachman's camera and Sandy Powell's costumes. So, on one hand you cultivate an air of intense collaboration, yet there's also a very singular vision dominating all of your work. Do you see filmmaking as a solitary or collaborative pursuit?
3. Did you experience even a small twinge of disapointment when I'm Not There was almost roundly passed by during awards season? I don't think you've ever been a director who tries to court awards, but your latest had great critical buzz.
4. Are there any actors who you'd love to work with, but haven't yet? What about Julianne Moore, any plans to write another script for her? She has a tiny part in I'm Not There, but I'm harking back to films such as [safe] and Far From Heaven, films that showed me that Moore is a great talent, rather than just a lousy mother who mopes around on swings.
5. Finally, what music are you listening to at the moment? I already know we share some tastes; Haynes directed a Sonic Youth video (and Kim Gordon has a cameo in I'm Not There). He has also made biopics of Bob Dylan, Karen Carpenter and Glam Rock; and these feel more like personal obsessions, rather than studio-urged projects. What's your favourite Sonic Youth album? Mine is either Daydream Nation, Goo or Murray Street. Care to recommend me any other musicians you're into? How about we trade mixtapes?

I can't think of 6 people to tag for this, but anyone who comes across it is free to run with it. That means you, Ann Marie, Damien et all. Thanks to Piper for the original idea and Emma for the tag.

Ed Norton as The Hulk

2008-02-29T21:37:00.004Z

This is what Empire Magazine just sent to my inbox. I think that's the first picture I've seen of him actually...Hulkifying. The only other still I've seen is that old one with a pensive Norton gazing into a glass vial. The email included a quote from The Hulk's director, Louis Letterier; "We didn't want to make a cerebral movie...Admittedly, I'm not the most adult director, but just because we're making a superhero movie, it doesn't just have to appeal to 13-year-old boys. Ed and I both see superheroes as the new Greek gods, so there's a classical undercurrent to Bruce's psycho-drama. It's Prometheus, Pandora's Box, Hercules...but with explosions!". A film starring and written by Edward Norton can't help but be cerebral, I think - but this sounds like a good sign that they're not taking this too seriously. If The Incredible Hulk turns out to be something akin to Spiderman or X-Men II, consider me intruiged. The supporting cast seem interesting as well; Robert Downey Jr, Tim Blake Nelson, William Hurt, Tim Roth and...Liv Tyler? I had completely forgottten she was an actual actress and not an elf.

The wrap-up party

2008-02-27T13:01:00.003Z

My predictions were, to be honest, crap. But even if the names called out didn't quite correspond to my picks, the 80th Academy Awards were still a treat. Diversity, multi-culturalism and a certain giddy relief were the themes of the evening, "You're here! You're here! I can hardly believe it, you're here!". Most of the right people were awarded and the rest of them made up for it with amusing, barely coherant, sweet speeches. Javier Bardem enthused in Spanish, Frances McDormand had loving hysterics in the audience and Gary Busey attacked Jennifer Garner on the red carpet, who was swiftly rescued by Laura Linney. Cate Blanchett showed us how to lose graciously and Jack Nicholson was, well, Jack Nicholson (that man has one default facial expression). Cameron Diaz, Jennifer Hudson and HRH Helen Mirren all flubbed their lines, one with a magnificent Freudian slip, one with insincere bumbling and the other with absolutely no engagement with the audience. Jon Stewart was an exemplar host; witty, charming and scrubbed up nicely in his tux. I had originally thought that he had toned down the acerbic political humour, but I then realised that for some odd reason, RTE's highlights cut out all the topical stuff, neatly severing the Hillary Clinton/Away From Her quip from the opening monologue. How strange...

As predicted, No Country walked away with the closest thing to a sweep (though it could hardly qualify as a sweep, the accolades were fairly well distributed throughout) and I was thrilled. It's not an easy film - and it's certainly not a plotless series of violent events, as I heard a RTE commentator remark on Monday afternooon, did he watch the film? - and seeing people really grapple with it is gratifying. The Coens' nonchalant speech, after Martin Scorcese called their name, was probably my favourite moment of the night (aside from Blanchett's horror at her own Elizabeth clip), but I still find Glen Hansard incredibly irritating. Heck, with Hansard's whingeing and Colin Farrell's unkempt shuffling, I was almost ashamed to be Irish (thank you, Saoirse Ronan and Daniel Day-Lewis, for not being total idiots).

I'm off now, but I'm going to direct you to some of the best Oscar coverage around the net, from writers much more talented and erudite than me:

Nick gets all lovesick over Swinton - Nathaniel has some interesting truths to share (browse around, the Film Experience has everything you need for full blown Oscar-obsession) - Kim Morgan shares her highlights - the Fug girls sharpen their tongues - Emma does a quick run down with great pictures and Glenn lets us in on some red carpet whispers...

Oscar Predicts.

2008-02-23T19:10:00.005Z

I've never done this before. Yikes!

Best motion picture of the year
“Atonement”
“Juno”
“Michael Clayton”
“No Country for Old Men”
“There Will Be Blood”

WILL WIN: I’m calling it for No Country. People are wondering whether TWBB will effectively split the dark, male film vote, but No Country just feels right.
SHOULD WIN: Not Juno or Atonement. Well, I haven’t seen Atonement, so dismissing it so readily seems like narrow-mindedness. And it is! I really find it hard to get worked up about the film and I disliked the book so vigorously that it’s probably ruined for me anway.
PERSONAL SNUB: The fact that Zodiac was so thoroughly snubbed still has me baffled. Are Academy Members that forgetful? True, removing Juno or Atonement and adding a three-hour serial killer film would only heighten the dark masculinity of this Best-Picture line-up, but it deserves to be in there.

Achievement in directing
“The Diving Bell and the Butterfly” Julian Schnabel
“Juno” Jason Reitman
“Michael Clayton” Tony Gilroy
“No Country for Old Men” Joel Coen and Ethan Coen
“There Will Be Blood” Paul Thomas Anderson

WILL WIN: The fact that the Coens are finally giving us a two-for-one deal makes me hopeful for them.
SHOULD WIN: I really don’t mind, in this category. While I don’t feel Juno is a best picture contender, I think Reitman did a good job. There Will Be Blood still hasn’t opened here (my initial enthusiasm is waned slightly, stop making me wait this long for things I want!) but I respect PT Anderson enormously, Michael Clayton and The Diving Bell were both very masterfully put-together, so I’m not too fussed about who takes it..
PERSONAL SNUB: Todd Haynes, for I’m Not There’s dazzling audacity, playful spirit and enormous scope. Having only seen the film a meagre two times, I’m impatient to see it again.

Performance by an actor in a leading role
George Clooney in “Michael Clayton”
Daniel Day-Lewis in “There Will Be Blood”
Johnny Depp in “Sweeney Todd The Demon Barber of Fleet Street”
Tommy Lee Jones in “In the Valley of Elah”
Viggo Mortensen in “Eastern Promises”

WILL WIN: Daniel Day-Lewis.
SHOULD WIN: I like Day-Lewis, despite not yet seeing TWBB, but Tommy-Lee Jones broke my heart in The Valley of Elah. A surprise win is not on the cards, but if it had to be anyone else, I’d pick TLJ.
PERSONAL SNUB: Chris Cooper, in the vastly unseen Breach (if it’s out on dvd and you haven’t yet watched it, do so!)

Performance by an actor in a supporting role
Casey Affleck in “The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford”
Javier Bardem in “No Country for Old Men”
Philip Seymour Hoffman in “Charlie Wilson’s War”
Hal Holbrook in “Into the Wild”
Tom Wilkinson in “Michael Clayton”

WILL WIN: There’s no point even tossing a coin on this one, friend-o. Javier Bardem’s oddly coiffured pyschopath has this one locked up.
SHOULD WIN: Cry category-fraud all you want, Casey Affleck still deserves to be recognised for his weak-willed Robert Ford. Affleck plays him with such a twitchy neurosis that is such at odds with the winsome stillness of the rest of the film that it stays in the mind for weks after the fact.
PERSONAL SNUB: Having finally snuffled my way through The Diving-Bell And The Butterfly, I can’t understand why Max von Sydow is getting so little attention. In two short scenes, he completely reverses our sympathies, bringing pathos and humour to the stock, cantankerous old-father role. Watching old men crying, especially legends like von Sydow, is always discomforting, but when it’s done with such abandon and pain, it becomes nearly unwatchable.

Performance by an actress in a leading role
Cate Blanchett in “Elizabeth: The Golden Age”
Julie Christie in “Away from Her”
Marion Cotillard in “La Vie en Rose”
Laura Linney in “The Savages”
Ellen Page in “Juno”

WILL WIN: Julie Christie. I feel it in my fingers…I feel it in my toes…
SHOULD WIN: Laura Linney’s not as showy, as snarky, as shouty as some of the other nominees (and she’d never be caught dead saying the words “fo shizz”). A Christie win would be okay with me, however.
PERSONAL SNUB: Anamaria Marcina. I came out of 4 Months feeling very uncomfortable. It took a little while to process it, but Marcina's peformance helped a lot. Sympathetic, frustrating, utterly believable - and that look at the end (only rivalled by Jude Quinn's slow smile in the taxi).

Performance by an actress in a supporting role
Cate Blanchett in “I’m Not There”
Ruby Dee in “American Gangster”
Saoirse Ronan in “Atonement”
Amy Ryan in “Gone Baby Gone”
Tilda Swinton in “Michael Clayton”

WILL WIN: This is the hardest acting category to predict, I think. At one Amy Ryan looked set for a sweep, but in the meantime Ruby Dee, Blanchett and Swinton have all garnered major prizes. I’m going to go out on a limb and say Blanchett‘s going to take it. The Academy wants to award her, and they’re definitely not going to go for Elizabeth, so this could be her night.
SHOULD WIN: I’ve only seen two of these, so I’m not really at liberty to say. I enjoyed both of them (Blanchett and Swinton), but as a whole I preferred I’m Not There.
PERSONAL SNUB: Kelly McDonald, Charlotte Gainsbourg, Imealda Staunton, Marisa Tomei. Hell, even Cheryl Hines in Waitress.

Best Original Screenplay
"Juno"
"Lars and the Real Girl"
"Michael Clayton"
"Ratatouille"
"The Savages"

WILL WIN: I’ll be astounded if Juno doesn’t get this one.
SHOULD WIN: Ratatouille scores points for Anton Ego’s speech about criticism, The Savages for the brother-sister rapport, but neither are enough to push them over the edge for me. I’d probably favour The Savages over anything else, though.
PERSONAL SNUB: 4 Months, 3 Weeks, 2 Days.

Best Adapted Screenplay
"Atonement"
"Away From Her"
"Diving Bell and Butterfly"
"No Country For Old Men"
"There Will Be Blood"

WILL WIN: This is a tough one. I could go the way of the tide and say No Country again (you can’t stop what’s coming, after all), but I’m saying Diving Bell.
SHOULD WIN: Away From Her. I’m always impressed when writers can sketch out a feature-length film from a slim short story.
PERSONAL SNUB: Zodiac. Gah! I was watching All The President’s Men a few weeks ago and I was astounded at the similarities between the two films. Makes you wanna work at a news desk in 1970s America, on the trail of a serial/Watergate buggers.

Best Foreign Film
"Beaufort" -Israel
"The Counterfeiters" -Austria
"Katyn" -Poland
"Mongol" -Kazakshtan
"12" -Russia

WILL WIN: The Counterfeiters, because it’s the only one I’d heard of before the nominees were in.
SHOULD WIN: *tumbleweed*
PERSONAL SNUB: It’s so obvious I feel stupid even typing it; 4 Months, 3 Weeks 2 Days.

Animated Film
"Persepolis"
"Ratatouille"
"Surf's Up"

WILL WIN: Ratatouille.
SHOULD WIN: Ratatouille/Persepolis. NO MORE PENGUINS, OKAY? YOU’RE JUST ENCOURAGING THEM WITH THIS NOMINATION.
PERSONAL SNUB: *tumbleweed*

Cinematography
"Assassination of Jesse James" -Deakins
"Atonement" -Garvey
"Diving Bell and Butterfly" -Kaminski
"No Country For Old Men" -Deakins
"There Will Be Blood" -Elswit

WILL WIN: Will the Deakins double nod half his chances? Probably. It’s a pity, he’s an interesting guy and a great photographer. I’ll say…Kaminski.
SHOULD WIN: Deakins, but I’m not sure which film. Both left lasting impressions.
PERSONAL SNUB: Edward Lachman, on I’m Not There. Heath Ledger sitting in the blue-romanticism of a New York coffeehouse, the dusty orange of Riddle, Marcus Carl Franklin solemnly walking though the dark deep blue of the ocean, even the stark black and white of the opening.

Art Direction
American Gangster -Max
Atonement -Greenwood
The Golden Compass -Gassner
Sweeney Todd -Ferretti
There Will Be Blood -Fisk

WILL WIN: I honestly have no idea. Fisk?
SHOULD WIN: For all it's Whovian charm, The Golden Compass. A flawed film for sure, for I adored parts of it.
PERSONAL SNUB: I know I've said it a million times, but where the hell is Zodiac? That cluttered newspaper office, with its used coffee mugs, stacks of paper, retro phones... I think I have some kind of office fetish?

Costume Design
Across the Universe -Wolsky
Atonement -Durran
Elizabeth the Golden Age -Byrne
Sweeney Todd -Atwood
La Vie En Rose -Marit Allen

WILL WIN: Durran.
SHOULD WIN: None of these particularly excite me, tbh.
PERSONAL SNUB: Okay, this is the only category that I’d have loved a Juno nod. The clothes suited the characters perfectly and I really, really want that slinky tee.

Achievement in sound editing
“The Bourne Ultimatum”
“No Country for Old Men”
“Ratatouille”
“There Will Be Blood”
“Transformers”

WILL WIN: I still don't understand this category, but I think No Country will do it again.
SHOULD WIN: Come back to me when I have time to read some book explaining the logistics of Sound Editing. I swear I'll get around to it one day.
PERSONAL SNUB: See above.

Best Film Editing
The Bourne Ultimatum -Rouse
The Diving Bell and Butterfly -Welfling
Into the Wild -Cassidy
No Country For Old Men -"Roderick Jaynes" (i.e. The Coen Bros)
There Will Be Blood -Riegel & Tichenor

WILL WIN: "Roderick Jaynes"
SHOULD WIN: It nearly made me throw up, but the BOURne uLtiMAAATum!
PERSONAL SNUB: Jindabyne. To be honest, I could probably put this film into every Personal Snub, but read this piece and tell me it shouldn't have at least gotten this.

Original Score
3:10 To Yuma -Beltrami
Atonement -Marianelli
The Kite Runner -Iglesias
Michael Clayton -Howard
Ratatouille -Giacchino

WILL WIN: Atonement...clackclackclack.
SHOULD WIN: Haven't heard most of them.
PERSONAL SNUB: Jonny Greenwood, biznitches. It's [probably extremely intrusive when watched in the context of the whole film, but sometimes that works. Think Philip Glass in The Hours. Think Bernard Herrman in, well, anything. Think Jaws!

Best Original Song
"Falling Slowly" Once
"Happy Working Song" Enchanted
"So Close" Enchanted
"That's How You Know" Enchanted
"Raise It Up" August Rush

WILL WIN: Hollywood coes over Once and rewards “Falling Slowly”.
SHOULD WIN: I know I’m a disgrace to my country and to my reputation as somebody who likes music, but I prefer Enchanter’s “That’s How You Know” than the Once duet. Earnest singer-songwriters, especially if they’re named Glen Hansard, just don’t do it for me.
PERSONAL SNUB: Kate Bush. She probably wouldn’t have turned up, but still

Meghan is a Punk Rocker

2008-02-19T14:05:00.006Z

Who said this?

Little known fact: I am an insomniac and create playlists when trying to fall asleep on the road so if I create them in excess, please forgive. This playlist is a combination of what's been shuffling around my iPod at the moment. Noonday Underground's "Boy Like a Timebomb" will be stuck in your head after one listen, it's fantastic. I have been a huge fan of The Dead Milkmen since high school ever since an ex-boyfriend told me they would change my life. Other additions including Wilco and Siouxsie and the Banshees are absolute musts.

Any idea? No? Okay, I'm going to tell you - the insomniac, Banshees'-loving, Hornby-emulating girl is none other than Meghan McCain, daughter of current presidental nominee John McCain (R-AZ). McCain, along with two other girls, are documenting the campaign trail over at McCainBlogette, where you can follow an onging feature called Blogette Playlists.

I'm not going to lie and say I wasn't surprised to see Sleater-Kinney, TV On The Radio and Pulp on Meghan's lists. There's nothing odd about a twenty-something woman loving Modest Mouse or Garng of Four or the Stooges - but when you look at who her dad is, I sort of assumed she'd be the kind of person who loves Shania Twain or listens to Bruce Springsteen unironically. Or follow in daddy's footsteps and like ABBA. (Okay, ABBA is awesome. But that quote is just too good to pass)

But c'mon! Even I can't find much to criticise about her music taste. These playlists are actually good, and full of interesting tidbits. Want to know how winning a Florida Primary feels? "It feels like The Doors song 'Break on Through'..." And how appropriate is her choice of Smiths song? (Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want).

This is in no way an endorsement for McCain *shudder*. But hey, we Siouxsie and the Banshees fans are few and far between, so kudos, Meghan McCain!

Oh no you didn't...

2008-02-17T02:19:00.006Z

Sure, Hollywood has occasionally served up edgy female outcasts, such as Winona Ryder in Heathers or the forlorn geek girls in Ghost World played by Scarlett Johansson and Thora Birch. But those characters were more weirdos than antiheroes. - EW's Juno article

Dismissing a film's predecessors (whom it obviously owes a LOT to, btw) and insinuating that Juno McGuff is somehow better than Veronica, Enid and Rebecca in two throwaway lines? Nice one, Entertainment Weekly. I don't buy that Juno is an antihero (this is one of the many threads not fully developed in the film - she's presented as this 'wacky loner!' but is then, inexplicably, best friends with a cheerleader, not traditionally the company kept by cinema's oddballs), but she is sarcastic and intelligent and funny, like the girls in Ghost World and Heathers. Blithely chucking away their legacy as "more weirdos than antiheroes" - could somebody clarify what the hell that means? - is just rude and dishonest.

I liked Juno. I liked it a lot, actually. But I have one large quibble with it; Ellen Page's smart-alecky Juno is not the definitive voice of my generation. I'm two years older than Juno and her friends were supposed to be in the film, but if anyone had ever said "Honest to blog?" to me, I would've been horrified. Same goes from the forced ebonics that are so laboriously ladled onto the script, in a film utterly devoid of black characters or black culture, it just looks embarrassing. I'm less appallled by the barrage of pop-culture references, everyone has certain films/tv programmes/whatevers that they quote from, regularly and often tediously, (why hello Mean Girls!) but it's not the be-all and end-all of a person's character. I liked Juno best when she was chatting honestly with her father or Bleeker, rather than namedropping Iggy Pop. It's a frivolous worry, but I'm concerned that Juno's tastes will be absorbed by osmosis by teenagers who couldn't be bothered formulating their own. A generation of girls who assume Sonic Youth are "just a bunch of noise"? Noooooo!*

But back to the original article. Like Juno, Veronica, Enid and Rebecca were all smart, individualistic girls with their own set of problems, interests and quirks. Acting like Juno is somehow a superior, more accurate portrayal of being a teenager is ridiculous. In my opinion, the earlier three were better developed characters, less like a fictionalised version of a smart-aleck teenager, more real and true-to-life; but in the Great Big Cinema High-School In The Sky, they'd all probably get along (or, at least have grudging respect for each other). Lord knows we already have a small enough number of interesting teenage girls in the movies; there's enough for one more without throwing the others out.

*I'm partly joking about this. The music of Juno is a topic for a whole other blog post, but the ragging on Sonic Youth was uncalled for!

The Ice Storm (1997)

2008-02-15T14:34:00.009Z

I watched The Ice Storm for the fifth or sixth time last night, cementing its place as one my best loved films of all time. I'm not sure I could accurately pin-point why this film feels to important to me, but the fact remains that every time I decided to watch it I get utterly absorbed. The ending still shocks me, every single time. It happens on every viewing; the clenching of my stomach, my heart beginning to pound, the "It's going to be different this time" feeling...and then BAM. Of course, it's not just the ending that gets to me. Every frame is integral to the film, every fumbled line and moment of humour ( Paul Hood standing on the steps and hopefully yelling "The Idiot!" at the retreating Libbets Casey, Wendy's inappropriate Thanksgiving speech, the original discussion of the Key Party, the tuba...). In my head, this film is perfect.

"To find yourself in the negative zone, as the Fantastic Four often do, means all every day assumptions are inverted. Even the invisible girl herself becomes visible and so she loses the last semblance of her power. It seems to me that everyone exists partially on a negative zone level, some people more than others. In your life, it's kind of like you dip in and out of it, a place where things don't quite work out the way they should. But for some people, the negative zone tempts them. And they end up going in, going in all the way."

What are the films that are special to you? That you could watch on repeat for eternity quite happily? Do spill.

Sticking to what you know

2008-02-14T16:01:00.004Z

From The Guardian: Madonna has turned her hand to directing. Now, I know what you're thinking, "Wow! What with the deaths of Altman, Bergman and Antonioni in the last few years, I've just been longing for a new autuer to step up and start making films again, and good old Madge has taken up the helm. Where can I see this masterwork?" Well, I'm sorry to dissapoint but unless you were at the Berlin Film Festival this week, you're going to have to wait for "Filth and Wisdom". Dayum.

I don't mean to be condescending. It could be a masterpiece, couldn't it? What do you say, Peter Bradshaw ?

Madonna's script is a nightmare of crass and fatuous stereotypes: south Asians, Jews, gays - no one escapes her lack of insight or common sense. Despite living in Britain for many years, she has only the sketchiest notion of what the place is like. Her film reaches a Zen state of pure offensive awfulness when the lap-dancer's mentor comes round with a gigantic wad of £20 notes. This was her "tips from last night". Her "tips"? From "last night"?

Hmm. Maybe not, then.

But my absolute favourite part of the Guardian article is this extract from Madonna's programme notes. "I have always been inspired by the films of Goddard [sic], Visconti, Passolini [sic] and Fellini and hope that I may one day make something that comes close to their genius." Right. Good luck with that, then. And maybe the next time you namedrop some Greats, spell their names correctly*.

I'm not ragging on Madonna. But this is great.

*I know the typos are probably nothing to do with Madonna herself (though I wish they were), but it's still hilarious.

Oscar Nominations

2008-01-23T21:17:00.000Z

Here we go. Everyone reading this has probably heard these a thousand times before, but I want to repeat them here. I was on tenderhooks all day yesterday during school, waiting to find out who has made it in.

Best motion picture of the year
“Atonement”
“Juno”
“Michael Clayton”
“No Country for Old Men”
“There Will Be Blood”

Achievement in directing
“The Diving Bell and the Butterfly” Julian Schnabel
“Juno” Jason Reitman
“Michael Clayton” Tony Gilroy
“No Country for Old Men” Joel Coen and Ethan Coen
“There Will Be Blood” Paul Thomas Anderson

Performance by an actor in a leading role
George Clooney in “Michael Clayton”
Daniel Day-Lewis in “There Will Be Blood”
Johnny Depp in “Sweeney Todd The Demon Barber of Fleet Street”
Tommy Lee Jones in “In the Valley of Elah”
Viggo Mortensen in “Eastern Promises”

Performance by an actor in a supporting role
Casey Affleck in “The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford”
Javier Bardem in “No Country for Old Men”
Philip Seymour Hoffman in “Charlie Wilson’s War”
Hal Holbrook in “Into the Wild”
Tom Wilkinson in “Michael Clayton”

Performance by an actress in a leading role
Cate Blanchett in “Elizabeth: The Golden Age”
Julie Christie in “Away from Her”
Marion Cotillard in “La Vie en Rose”
Laura Linney in “The Savages”
Ellen Page in “Juno”

Performance by an actress in a supporting role
Cate Blanchett in “I’m Not There”
Ruby Dee in “American Gangster”
Saoirse Ronan in “Atonement”
Amy Ryan in “Gone Baby Gone”
Tilda Swinton in “Michael Clayton”

Best Original Screenplay
"Juno"
"Lars and the Real Girl"
"Michael Clayton"
"Ratatouille"
"The Savages"

Best Adapted Screenplay
"Atonement"
"Away From Her"
"Diving Bell and Butterfly"
"No Country For Old Men"
"There Will Be Blood"

Best Foreign Film
"Beaufort" -Israel
"The Counterfeiters" -Austria
"Katyn" -Poland
"Mongol" -Kazakshtan
"12" -Russia

Animated Film
"Persepolis"
"Ratatouille"
"Surf's Up"

Cinematography
"Assassination of Jesse James" -Deakins
"Atonement" -Garvey
"Diving Bell and Butterfly" -Kaminski
"No Country For Old Men" -Deakins
"There Will Be Blood" -Elswit

Art Direction
American Gangster -Max
Atonement -Greenwood
The Golden Compass -Gassner
Sweeney Todd -Ferretti
There Will Be Blood -Fisk

Costume Design
Across the Universe -Wolsky
Atonement -Durran
Elizabeth the Golden Age -Byrne
Sweeney Todd -Atwood
La Vie En Rose -Marit Allen

Achievement in sound editing
“The Bourne Ultimatum”
“No Country for Old Men”
“Ratatouille”
“There Will Be Blood”
“Transformers”

Best Film Editing
The Bourne Ultimatum -Rouse
The Diving Bell and Butterfly -Welfling
Into the Wild -Cassidy
No Country For Old Men -"Roderick Jaynes" (i.e. The Coen Bros)
There Will Be Blood -Riegel & Tichenor

Original Score
3:10 To Yuma -Beltrami
Atonement -Marianelli
The Kite Runner -Iglesias
Michael Clayton -Howard
Ratatouille -Giacchino

Best Original Song
"Falling Slowly" Once
"Happy Working Song" Enchanted
"So Close" Enchanted
"That's How You Know" Enchanted
"Raise It Up" August Rush

Cause of glee: Laura Linney for The Savages. Having been snubbed at basically every single awards precursor, I had begun to accept that Linney would not be getting her third nomination. But hey, my griping was NOT all for naught! The only tinge of sadness comes from the fact that Angelina Jolie didn't get in for A Mighty Heart, which I loved.
Cause of glum: I know it was a long, long shot that Todd Hayne's would recieve a nomination for I'm Not There, but the slight possibility was always in the back of my mind. Other inevitable lock-outs included Gabriel Byrne for Jindabyne and Kate Bush's original song.
Still fuming: Jonny Greenwood. Argh.
Source of nationalist pride: Ireland's claiming four nominees: the song from Once, Daniel Day Lewis, cinematographer Séamus McGarvey and, of course, Saoirse Ronan.
Source of nationalist distain: Saoirse Ronan is really not that hard to pronounce. Neither is Marion Cotillard, mind you.
Qu'est ce-que? Three songs from Enchanted? Really? "That's How You Know" is the only one that's been in my head at all since I saw the film. That would have been enough, I think (leaving room for Kate. Voilá!)

I'm officially declaring myself Team Affleck, Linney and Coen. The rest I still have to see/decide on.

Heath Ledger (1979 - 2008)

2008-01-23T13:50:00.001Z

Eugh.

There Will Be Blood....at A Punch Up At A Wedding

2008-01-22T08:03:00.000Z

I've refrained from posting much about the Oscars lately (even though they've crept into my dreams, along with some of the US Presidential nominees!) but it goes without saying I'm excited about the nominations, which are gonna be broadcast in a few hours.

But at the time of writing, I'm not too happy about one shameful thing; apparently, Jonny Greenwood's score for There Will Be Blood is not eligible for an Oscar Nomination. Let's just let that thought sink in there for a while. Jonny Greenwood, virtuouso guitar player and respected musician, with one of the most original and nervy scores of the year for one of the year's most talked-about films, is not allowed into Oscar's party.

Read about why this is a poor decision at The Film Experience. It's not because he used "other music". It's because he's a "rockstar" or English or young or a "first-time composer" (he's not, btw. Remember Bodysong?) or...or...or he has no 'h' in his first name. Or else a bunch of people in the Academy are devout Radiohead fans and they're blaming Jonny for why In Rainbows was so lacklustre. ("Let's teach him he shouldn't be dabbling round in film music and make him devote all his time to the band, mwahahaha!")

Grr. I'm really quite upset about this. I was rooting for Jonny from the get-go, but especially after I actually heard the music. He was also likely to be the only Oscar-nominee who I'd seen live.

On High In Blue Tomorrows

2008-01-03T02:47:00.000Z

I was thinking about typing out what exactly I admire/love/obsess about in my top ten (below), but I'm too inarticulate and lazy to bother. BUT, I found another person discussing INLAND EMPIRE (I waver between thinking Lynch is an asshole to insist on the all-caps title and thinking, what the hell, it's Lynch). Rich from fourfour (which, btw, is probably the funniest website in this immense series of tubes, especially if you're into ANTM) talks about what he loves about Lynch's latest, helpfully providing us with visual aids of the myriad of expressions Laura Dern can contort her face into. It's a hilarious, fascinating read and he highlighted what I, myself, loved about the film.

I think, why I love INLAND EMPIRE so much.,,, Lynch's principal character is right there with the audience trying to sort things out, and I find so appealing -- it's like having a friend who stares blankly at you for just under three hours. Whether it's intentional or not (that Lynch's intentions are so oblique so much of the time make his work inherently review-proof, as identifying intention is, like, the first thing to do when critically analyzing something, even if you go on to reject that intention), what Lynch is doing is answering the criticism that his films are about being disorienting by making a film about being disoriented.Disorientated? YES. I watched this film in my bedroom one evening. At various points, I had to stop it to catch my breath, turn on a lamp, take a break for a few seconds. It's long, it's terrifying, it's funny and it's brilliant.

Anyway, head onto to fourfour and read the post. It's illuminating, really. Don't worry if you haven't seen the film - spoilers are pretty much obsolete in a film like this.

My Top Ten o' 2007*

2008-01-02T15:25:00.000Z

*Irish release dates only. That excludes No Country For Old Men, There Will Be Blood, Sweeney Todd and other critical darlings.

This list was not hard to compile at first, but then I took a second look at it and began switching titles, taking off names completely and scratching my head with puzzlement. Funnily enough, the top five are the locks; I was blown away by each of those films and the top place has been firmly there ever since I first saw it back in the summer. These films aren't necessarily the best of the year; to qualify, I had to be engaged both emotionally and intellectually, and also be able to appreciate the craft of the film. What follows is a mixed bag; political thrillers, children's films, adult dramas and a musical. Not all will appeal to everyone, but I can assure that each will provoke discussion, thoughts and opinions.

10. Michael Clayton

09. Ratatouille

08. A Mighty Heart

07. Away From Her

06. Hairspray

05. Breach

04. Zodiac

03. INLAND EMPIRE

02. I’m Not There

01. Jindabyne

Each of these films shocked me, thrilled me, made me laugh or left me with tears in my eyes. Not all accomplished all four criteria, but some definitely did. Glancing over my list, I cried at six of the titles, squirmed in fear at four and in every case left the cinema (or living room, in the case of the two I watched on dvd) feeling like I was walking on air.

Where is the love?

2007-12-20T17:18:00.001Z

The Screen Actor's Guild (SAG is such an unfortunate acronym, no? It's doubly unsuited for actors, for whom sagging is anathema) announced their noms this morning. I had expected them to show some love for Laura Linney's turn in The Savages. She's getting left out in the cold for her portrayal of Wendy Savage and not one of the American critics have nominated her, which is baffling. Linney is an actor's actor, it's an unshowy but memorable perf and she's continuously been excellent in everything she's done. Let's look at the Best Actress SAGs:

Best Actress
Cate Blanchett
Julie Christie
Marion Cotillard
Angelina Jolie
Ellen Page

I thought Christie and Jolie were both excellent in Away From Her and A Mighty Heart respectively. I'm kind of surprised that Jolie is getting recognised, I thought she was lovely and understated as Marianne Pearl but there's so much baggage attached to the role (like, she kind of blacked-up...not exactly pc...I didn't have a huge problem with it but nobody seems to be talking about it). Cotilard got a lot of hatred and muck thrown at her, but I was still moved by her Piaf. The film was muddled, but Cotillard didn't edit the damn thing and in my opinion she deserves her placing. Juno hasn't opened her yet, but I'm enthusiastic about the indie/young actress push. Which leaves Blanchett. Ahem. Some people don't exactly love her and are (perhaps rightly) angered by her place here. I didn't bother seeing The Golden Age but from what I heard it was a godawful mess in which Blanchett yelled a lot. Reviews were universally middling, so why the constant worship? She's not an actual queen, ballot writers. Heads won't actually roll if you don't write her name on the ballot paper! I actually am quite fond of Blanchett (this is residual habit, left over from her Galadriel. We used to have fights in the playground, Galadriel v Arwen and I always backed the Lothlorien Queen) but she doesn't have to be nominated for everything she appears in (even though she didn't get a Best Supporting Oscar for her best role yet, in Coffee and Cigarettes).

The solution, as I see it, would have been to give Blanchett a Supporting nod and leave the fifth space for Linney. But no, look at the Supporting Actress noms:

Best Supporting Actress
Cate Blanchett
Ruby Dee
Catherine Keener
Amy Ryan
Tilda Swinton

Oh. Hi Cate. Again. Why a double nod? Why? She is a good actress, but The Golden Age is not a good film and you've already rewarded her in another category. Gah! Stop being such an award hog!

I haven't actually seen The Savages yet (it opens in Ireland late January). But I'm still cross that Linney's being snubbed. Partly because of this. Also, this. But mainly because I'm saddened that Jindabyne is not getting any notice whatsoever, in any category.

Bah. Dispelling any bad vibes I'm transmutting through the web, Hairspray got an Ensemble nod and three of the Michael Clayton team (Clooney, Wilkinson, Swinton) got recognised.

Top Thirty Songs of 2007

2007-12-19T14:12:00.000Z

2007 was, I'll say it here right now, an amazing year for music. New albums by some of my favourite artists (Radiohead, Buck 65, the blessed triptych of female rock Polly Jean, Tori and Bjork, solo work from Siouxsie), new discoveries (Feist, The Bird and the Bee, Janelle Monae, Panda Bear), some of the best pop singles of the new millenium and some wonderful live shows made the musical scene a great place to lose a few days, absorbing all the good tunes. We had our missteps (Fergie, Fergie and...uh...Fergie), but overall I enjoyed this year's output more than I have in ages.

Naming my top ten albums is still proving a headache, but I've finally compiled my top thirty songs of 2007. The criteria were loose, my only restriction being the One Song Per Artist gamit, Not all of these were singles and some were even released in 2006, but they were the songs that had the greatest impact on me during the year. I don't profess to have the most finely tuned musical taste in the world, but I know what I like. These thirty tracks represent my tastes; esoteric covers, tearful ballads, pop songs that blazed through my skull, pop culture referential rapping, wit, imagination and, above all, great tunes. Enjoy.

1. “Violet Stars Happy Hunting”
Janelle Monae
It couldn’t be anything else, really. Since I first heard of her in July of this year, there hasn‘t been a day when I haven‘t spun VSHH. I listened to it during my exams, to cheer myself up. I listened to it in the car. I listened to it out walking. It was the soundtrack to most housework and shopping I did throughout the year. It got to the point where I felt guilty for listening to it too much. If Janelle Monae isn’t the darling of the blogosphere this time next year, I’ll despair of people’s ears. The robotic cackle of the intro is only a taster of the sensory assault that’s to follow in the next three minutes. If Michael Jackson circa “Thriller” released “Hey Ya” on the Blade Runner soundtrack in the year 2719 and stored it in a time capsule which was hurled back to the present day in the Tardis…the resulting tune wouldn’t be half the song VSHH is. It sounds futuristic, timeless, tongue-in-cheek and totally earnest. Glittering production, the best vocal work of 2007 and, wait for it, a narrative concept involving cyborgs and drones and a chase and doomed love and something called Electro Daggers. Download, buy, steal, borrow or beg for this song. Damn, she's good. Listen to the song here.

2. “Too Little, Too Late”
Daniel Rossen
The acoustic-version-of-pop-song trend has lost a lot of it’s original appeal. For one, the smug “Aren’t we ironic?” thing grates very quickly and for another, the original songs (Toxic, Breathe, Umbrella) are often a lot more enjoyable and musical than a dour pale bloke with an acoustic guitar. There are exceptions, however, “Too Little, Too Late”, formerly recorded by JoJo and covered earlier this year by Daniel Rossen. Far from being one guy bashing out the tune on an acoustic guitar, it’s a lush production affair. Layered vocals caress the painfully unironic lyrics over a fragile guitar and piano backdrop, drums quietly intruding now and again and driving the song forward with a welcome sense of urgency. The descending guitar line giving way to “I was young and in love” tingles with anticipation and longing. Although fragile and delicate, the song never feels like it’s about to collapse in on itself or suffocate under the singer’s knowing grin (both traps which are laid anytime an “indie” covers something like this). Repeat listens uncover a subtle menace undercutting the sadness. I listen to this song and give thanks for JoJo - a measure of this song’s worth. Listen here.

3. “Out Of Control (Song for Mutya)” Groove Armada.

The introductory note of “Out Of Control” instantly fills me with happiness. Finally out of the series of revolving doors that is the Sugababes, it took Mutya Buena a collaboration with Groove Armada to create the best mainstream pop single of the year. The self-referential vocal, false ending and that squelching fuzzy bass at the song’s into make this the best ‘Babes-related song since “Freak Like Me“. One of the few singles I bought this year (along with The Go! Team, Feist and PJ Harvey), on vinyl with three different remixes attached. Listen here.

4. “1234”
Feist
Wait, hear me out. An iPod advertisement and widespread plays does NOT a bad song make. I admire Feist for letting this song be used in an ad and thus spreading the joy to thousands more listeners than she would have otherwise had. Feist deserves the acclaim she’s finally receiving (it’s been a long time coming) and “1234” was the perfect song to catapult her into the big time. Leslie Feist has one of the most unique voices in pop music, careening, wild, haunted and warm. Something about the lyrics calls to mind “Rubber Ring”, an overlooked Smiths b-side, which is such a positive point of reference for me that I nearly cry every time I hear this song. The song’s best attribute however, one of those spine-tingling, heart-warming moments of perfection, is the rapid piano slide at 2.30. Listen here.

6. “Colleen”
Joanna Newsom
Newsom is so uncool that it aches. Who else would have the blind self-belief it takes to release a 7 minute folk song about a woman realising she was once a whale and release it on an EP called “Joanna Newsom and the Ys Street Band”? That awful pun alone would alert you to the fact that Joanna does not care a fig what others think of her, and that’s before you examine the lyrics. She’s still the only modern artist I can think of who can use the word ‘perturbed’ without batting an eyelid. “Colleen” is relatively simple in structure, compared to some of the songs on “Ys” but the quiet way it builds up, the odd yelps she squeezes in between verses and the power of storytelling worm it into my top ten, unexpectedly. Watch it live here.

6. “Take Pills”
Panda Bear
“Person Pitch” is a very good album, although I sometimes find it a draining listen. Sounds slip in and out of your headphones, recognisible snippets of a tune siddle in but are replaced by organic dreamscapes, electric drills or what spiritual harmonies. Everything blends in to one another, creating a comforting quilt of an album that could prove smothering in too strong a dose. Sick in bed with a muzzy head, listening to the album and reading “number9dream” was an overpowering experience, to say the least. Everyone fawned over “Bros”, but the second track was my personal favourite. It noodles along unassumingly until the track’s real intention reveals itself, a jaunty pop ditty instructing us to”Take one thing at a time”. Drowned in otherworldly noises and squelches, Panda Bear’s looped vocals are warm, harmonic and unexpectedly sensible. A delight. Watch it here.

7. “1957”
Buck 65
I like Buck 65 a lot, enjoying both his earlier hip-hop stuff and his more recent albums, which pay a heavy debt to Tom Waits and that particular brand of grizzled Americana. I never thought this enjoyment would waver, but he surprised me with his new album, Situation. Not that it’s bad, far from it. It’s purely that the first song (not counting the intro), leads with the lines, “I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed / Devoid of conviction, conflicted, annoyed” made me almost punch the air with delight. Buck 65 referencing Howl? My brain just about exploded and I fell for this song, hook-line-and-sinker even before he name checks Humphrey Bogart. In a year when I was relatively disappointed by hip-hop, Buck 65 swoops down in a busted Chevy to rescue me. Here's the mp3.

8. “All My Friends”
LCD Soundsystem
Once upon a time, James Murphy penned funny dance tunes about hipsters. The indie world was delighted and they praised Murphy for giving them dance music they could relate to. He got the geeks up and dancing and across the land, Daft Punk were playing at everybody’s houses. A few years later, Murphy grew up and he penned introspective dance tunes about hipsters. Some people didn’t like these as much, but most did and Murphy found himself topping lists all over the internet. “All My Friends” starts off like Steve Reich-lite but when his distinctive sing-talking voice starts, lamenting ageing and growing up and realising your life might have been a waste, I begun to understand where the list-makers were coming from. Whether the people calling this the best song of the year were identifying with the lyrics or just getting blissfully lost in the repetitive keyboards, “All My Friends” stands as one of the most iconic, and sad, songs of the year.

9. “Umbrella”
Rihanna
It was so tempting to stick “Breakin‘ Dishes” at this spot. While everyone who heard “Umbrella” acted like an idiot, dancing ironically with their own raingear, I was a firm believer that there were better songs on Good Girl Gone Bad. “Breakin’ Dishes” is Rihanna’s version of Carrie Underwood’s “Before He Cheats”, except a little more psychotic. It had a great beat and a giddy little keyboard refrain, but even as I was typing up the short blurb about the song, “Umbrella” came on Windows Media Plater and I had to stop. Disregarding Jay-Zs half-hearted opening, “Umbrella” is an amazing song. Rihanna may profess to be an RnB singer, but I’ve a feeling she wants something else. Remember her sample of “Tainted Love” on “SOS”? The hint she gave there fully manifested itself here; Rihanna loves her dirty synth pop. Quite apart from the lazy, disinterested vocals she’s blessed with, “Umbrella” works because of it’s backing instrumentation. Listen to the synths that kick in after the “Because!” that signals the arrival of each chorus. Inanimate objects were so hot this year (see; “Lipgloss”) and Rihanna’s monster of a chart-topper song (allegedly passed over by both Britney and MJ Blige) was the undisputed champ.

10. “Tears Dry On Their Own”
Amy Winehouse
I was in France when this song first became big and I was so frustrated that I had no means of listening to it. There was a record shop near where we were staying which had “Back to Black” on one of those listening posts and when I discovered it I fell upon the headset, dying to hear this song. Imagine my disapointment when I realised that it only played 30 seconds of each song. Still, I devoured those thirty seconds over and over again. Based on the backing track of “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough”, Winehouse transforms the Gospel song of praise into something entirely different; beaten down, her voice cracking, “Tears Dry On Their Own” is a feel-good song rooted in harsh reality. It could turn into the “I Will Survive” of our generation if we allow it. Whatever else you might think of Amy Winehouse, there is no denying she has a true talent.

So, that's the top ten. Here are my next twenty.

11.“Identity Theft,” Nellie McKay The latest album from the tiny snarky Miss McKay was so hit and miss I'm astounded people weren't injured by her stray arrows. When she's good, she's very good and "Indentity Theft" is her at her very best.

12. “Black History Month,” Saul Williams. Trent Reznor (of Nine Inch Nails) tried to ruin Saul's latest album by smothering it in a horrible industrial fuzz. Still, one of the best poets of our generation could rap himself out of a paper bag and he managed to make this a furious, intelligent listen.

13. “Under The Ether,” PJ Harvey I really don't know what's going on with Polly Jean at the moment, whether the air of disassociated melancholy so prevelant on "White Chalk" is her real mood or just an act. Either way, it makes for a haunting, pared-down listen.

14. “Fucking Boyfriend,” The Bird and The Bee. Gratuitous cursing is so fun on sweet indie-pop ditties like this. The Bird and The Bee soundtracked my lazy Summer days, with air trickling in the open window like a drug.

15. “Grip Like A Vice,” The Go! Team. Yes, it sounds exactle like their old album. Yes, it's still brilliant. Feel-good track of the year.

16. “For Reverend Green,” Animal Collective. The standout track from Animal Collective's much admired/discusssed 8th album. Some disliked the way the vocals were brought to the front of the mix; I embraced it.

17. “Break My Body,” Hanne Hukkelberg. A Pixies cover that's better than the original? By a twenty-something from Norway? Awesome.

18. “None Shall Pass,” Aesop Rock. I found the parent album to be a locked door, but this single was the key. The "I Huckabees" namedrop is just the entrygate to Aesop's intelligent, brooding vocabulay-rap.

19. “Everything I Am,” Kanye West. (Alternate title) In which West stops worrying and learns to love his faults. Kanye in an introspective, quiet mood for a change. And it works.

20. “Three Steps,” Paris Motel I don't know much about Paris Motel save for it's one woman who isn't from France. A minor epic which wind swirls and violin scrapes and lyrics about sailing ships to Galway (for some inexplicable reason).

21. “Nude,” Radiohead. If you had told me that I'd ever place a new Radiohead song outside a top twenty, I'd have looked at you in disbelief. Consider yourself scathingly glared at. Even though it's not actually a new song, dating from around OK Computer time, it's the only track I can really get worked up about on In Rainbows.

22. “Say It Right”, Nelly Furtado. It's no "Maneater". What it is, is a lovely slice of melancholic pop, complete with wistful, Timbaland-voiced "Oh"s.

23. “Hot in Herre”, Jenny Owen Youngs. Another cover, this time of the Nelly classic. I'm not sure who Jenny Owen Youngs is, but this cover is a lot of sassy fun.

24. “Heaven and Alchemy,” Siouxsie Sioux. The news earlier this year that Siouxsie had divorced long-time partner and bandmember Budgie shocked me. The couple had been going for years, ever since the Banshees and had released many albums together under The Creatures. She refused to divulge the exact details of their split, but it's all here to see in the lyrics of this (gasp) ballad. Heartache has never sounded lovelier.

25. What’s A Girl To Do?” Bat For Lashes. The Bat For Lashes album kept frustrating me. There were times when I was thinking "This is great...this is great...keepitupkeepitupkeepitup" and then the song would just end flatly. I'm maybe being a bit harsh, because every now and then there would be a song like this.

26. “Big Wheel,” Tori Amos. As time goes by, my feelings towards Tori wax and wane. Sometimes I can't get enough of her craziness, at other times she irritates. Still, having the balls to call yourself a "MILF" in the lead-off single for your new concept album was genius. Too bad the rest of the album didn't follow in this rocking, rollin' vein.

27. “Like A Boy” Ciara. I keep forgetting about this song, even though I loved it when it first came out. Extra bonus points for the hilarious video

28. “Northern State”, Sucka Mofo. Hooray for cheesy female rappers! Okay, Northern State aren't really that cheesy. They're whipcrack funny, smart-alecky, jokey and socially aware. Just wait till you get to the line about global warming...

29. “LoveStoned/I Think She Knows” Justin Timberlake. I know. I know. It's not really 2007. But it's beautiful.

30. “Earth Intruders” Bjork. The album was a frustrating listen, but "Earth Intruders" is the best Icelandic, Timbaland-produced, battle cry against global warming of the year. And that's a fact.

Comment! Listen to the tracks, spread the love, tell me what you think, rag on my taste or tell me I'm wrong.

Top 100 Tracks

2007-12-17T16:22:00.000Z

Well, I posted just in time. Pitchfork's top 100 tracks have been published today, with their albums due tomorrow. I forgot to mention it yesterday, but for me, reading lists of individual songs is more enjoyable than full album capsule reviews. A 3 minute pop song (or 12, if you're Panda Bear) can be sweet perfection and may inspire full fledged love, passion, hatred or regret.

Trawl the net at Pitchfork, where they've helpfully given links to downloads or videos of each song. No surprises with the top spot, LCD Soundsystem's All My Friends. I'm so glad I finally heard this song, it's appearing in everyone's list right now. A deserving win, I think, although it won't be my favourite of the year.

Take a gander at their top 10. I've helpfully provided YouTube videos of each song you can make your own judgements, especially if you haven't heard any of them (I wasn't familiar with two). Not bad, although I'd have made different selections from the Animal Collective, Rihanna and Panda Bear albums.

10: Jay-Z [ft. Beanie Sigel]
"Ignorant Shit"

9: Animal Collective
"Fireworks"

8: Justice
"D.A.N.C.E."

7: LCD Soundsystem
"Someone Great"

6: UGK [ft. Outkast]
"Int'l Players Anthem (I Choose You)"

5: Rihanna [ft. Jay-Z]
"Umbrella"

4: M.I.A. [ft. Bun B and Rich Boy]
"Paper Planes (Remix)"

3: Panda Bear
"Bros"

2: Battles
"Atlas"

1: LCD Soundsystem
"All My Friends"

I'm working my own Single Song list. Expect it within the next few days.

What you waiting for?

2007-12-16T21:19:00.000Z

I've been checking Pitchfork daily for their annual Best Music list. I have a love-hate relationship with Pitchfork; they are great for music news and free tracks, but then they write a review like this (pretentious drivel) or this (oh, how funny?). Their approval is notorious for making/breaking bands and theirs is probably one of the most anticipated music lists in the western world (the music press are dying a slow, prolonged death). It's not likely to arrive for a while, but I'm curious. LCD Soundsystem are taking the top spot in lots of lists this year (which I found completely odd, I can't remember the album having any buzz when it came out - though I've finally heard it and it's goooood) with Boxer by The National (which I haven't heard) also proving popular. Will the Gods of Indie Snobbery follow suit? I'm going to hazard a guess and say Battles, Animal Collective, Panda Bear, lil Wayne, Jens Lenkman and Feist are going to figure prominently.

I'm also torn over my own list. Unlike Pitchfork, it's going to be a more subdued affair, with 10 or 15 places instead of 50. But I'm finding it sososo difficult. I was on a forum the other day when I was asked for my top 10 albums of 2007, no rankings necessary. I typed away merrily, clicked out of the screen and then, a minute later, was filled with dread. The list was awful. I'd forgotten half the people I needed to reward, gave spots to albums I only half liked. I was distraught (well, not really, but I was still upset). And that was without ranking them.

Of course, it's not a big deal. I'm not having a major crisis over it, for example. But I would like to know, do I rank Thurston Moore over PJ Harvey???

While I'm deliberating, here are some fantastic music-related photos from 2007 that I nicked from the site.

Sufjan looking like a badass angel

Karen O outdoes herself in the fashion department

The Go! Team

Jarvis Cocker

And her soul walks beside her...

2007-12-13T17:18:00.000Z

The ending of a film is really important. Unexpected twists are fine when utilised properly (and disasterous when they're lazy or poorly conceieved) but I'm referring rather to the moment when the screen fades to black, usually with musical accompaniment; if it's done well, it can be overpowering, surprising, beautiful, moving, funny or a combination of all three. It goes without saying that music is integral to this process. A good example I can think of is "Imagine Me And You" playing at the end of Adaptation. Another, more recent film would be The Golden Compass. Of course, I knew Kate Bush was contributing a song to the film, but I'd forgotten and so was thrilled when it began to play over the credits. I haven't been that pleasantly surprised during a credits sequence since Siouxsie and the Banshees turned up and the end of the greatgreatgreat Monster House.

"Lyra" was written by Kate especially for the film, and you can tell. Some of the lyrics aren't the greatest ("Lyra...and her face..." is especially laugh-worthy). But she only had 10 days to write and record it, which is a stunning achievement for a noted perfectionist like her. And it is beautiful. Her voice has matured so well, if you listen back to some of the earlier recordings of Wuthering Heights, she sounds like she's strangling herself sometimes (in a good way, of course) but in "Lyra" you can really appreciate her vocals. There's not much of a tune, so if you're a die-hard tunesmith this probably won't tickle your pickle. But for those who appreciate a bit of ambience and fans of Kate Bush will certainly enjoy it (that's two for me, then).

Anyway, the point of this was to look at the songs eligible for the Oscars. The full list can be read with disgust here. There's nary a decent song on there (save for about three or four), so I'm crossing my toes in hope "Lyra" gets a nod. Purely to see Kate at the ceremony, because that woman is downwright crazy and brilliant and it could be the funniest performance since "It's Hard Out Here For A Pimp".

I like to be in America...

2007-12-11T17:14:00.000Z

If I said to you, "It's Aunt Mirta's birthday!", would you care? Probably not. What about Cousin Anita? Thought so. Today marks Rita Moreno's 76th birthday, which is kind of astounding. Not to sound rude, but I had no idea she was so old! She was a welcome addition to the camper-van of celebrities that appeared in Ugly Betty last year (that's where Aunt Mirta comes from). West Side Story is obviously Moreno's masterpiece, showcasing her warmth, her strength of characterisation and her singing talent. Yep, she was dubbed on "A Boy Like That" (my favourite from the film's soundtrack, it's underrated, no?) but that voice you hear on "America" is pure Rita. Soeaking of that country, there's another famous birthday today (Mos Def) who manages to encapsulate the U.S.A. in a piece of art.

I don't believe I've seen any of his films, but I have to give the man a respectful mention because of one piece of music. An album that is so distinctive, so evocative, and so much fun. Filled with heart, vinegar and beats. One that defined a culture. What you talking 'bout, Catherine? Well, I'm talking about "Black Star", the 1998 collaboration album between Mos Def and Talib Kweli.

It's such a strong album, furious and positive and playful all at once. Kweli and Def have distinctive rapping styles, but they work well together. It'd be a stretch to say it's my favourite hip hop album, but it's probably my most important, the formative work in my collection. C'mon,

One two three
Mos Def and Talib Kweli
We came to rock it on to the tip-top
Best alliance in hip-hop, wyahhhhh
I said one two three
It's kind of dangerous to be a emcee
They shot Tupac and Biggie
Too much violence in hip-hop, wyahhhhh.

The Golden Compass (2007) Weitz

2007-12-08T12:41:00.000Z

If The Golden Compass had been an hour longer, it would have easily been one of my favourite films this year. Director and screenwriter Chris Weitz should have believed in the strength of the material as strongly as Peter Jackson, Fran Walsh and Philippa Boyens did for The Lord of the Rings trilogy, letting the enormous back story, history and culture of the world seep into the film while giving the characters time to breathe before rushing into the next battle scene. It’s far from being a short film clocking in at just two hours, but it’s not lengthy enough to fully absorb us into the world. And, despite having never read the books, I can tell it’s a world that deserves to be as magnificent and enticing as Middle Earth.

Thankfully, the film is still more LOTR than Hogwarts or Narnia in the depth of story, visuals and general tone. The comparisons to the LOTR trilogy are numerous; from the opening image of New Line’s logo that still immediately brings to mind the trilogy (The Fellowship of the Ring was, I think, the first film in which I took note of the production company) to the presence of Ian McKellen (wonderful as the voice of the armoured bear, Iorek ) and Christopher Lee (woefully underused). Unlike Harry Potter, which mixes the mundane and the magical to comedic effect, The Golden Compass is fully immersed in its magical aspects. Set in a world parallel to our own, where our souls are represented as tangible animals called Daemons who walk beside us and the menacing Magisterium (a thinly veiled version of the Church) watch over everything, the story concerns the orphan girl Lyra (a spirited performance by the “other” Dakota) who lives in Oxford under the guidance and tutorage of her uncle, Lord Asriel (Daniel Craig, who deserves much more screen time). To describe the intricacies of the plot would be futile, as I have no idea where to start, save to say it moves at a zippy pace, throwing out information at the viewer at a dazzling speed. If you’re unfamiliar with the source material, as I was, then you need to have your wits about you, paying careful attention at all times. Like the LOTR, the source material is heavily allegorical (although Tolkien would reportedly fume whenever anybody referred to his books as such) and this seems to be where many of the books fans get annoyed; in order to make the film financially viable, all mentions of religion and god were shaved off completely. I can understand how this would anger people, yet I don’t think the filmmakers completely disregarded this integral element. Although it is never explicit, it must be very obvious to the more thoughtful members of the audience that the Magisterium stands for organized religion and that their policy of severing children from their Daemons is a pretty blatant statement about how religion cuts off our faculty for independent thought and free will (at least, that was my spin on it. Not having read the books, I can’t be sure if this is the exact meaning, but it’s close enough). To many of the children sitting in the cinema watching this film with me, these subtleties were undoubtedly lost, but I would hope that their parents would have picked up on them. Laying on the subtext any heavier would have transformed the film into something completely different; but this is what we are given and we must judge the film on what it is, rather than what it isn’t.

What it is, is a solid fantasy epic, with terrific acting, lovely set-pieces and a welcome sense of threatening doom. The Daemons, although not always fully realistic in appearance, are a delight nonetheless; the human character’s interactions with their Daemons, especially in the case of Ms Coulter (Nicole Kidman, surely in line for some Best Villain award) and her spiteful orange monkey, provide some great cinematic moments. In Lyra, we have a fantasy film with a proper female heroine, plucky, inquisitive, brave and sometimes misguided. Dakota Blue Richards gives a vibrant, stubborn performance, creating a rounded character with plenty of faults as well as her considerable talents. Acting against an inanimate object isn’t the easiest job in the world, but her interactions with her CGI Daemon (voiced by, of all people, Freddie Highmore, who has suddenly become the requisite casting choice for every family film) and Iorek feel unrehearsed and natural. It’s certainly darker than most recent family film, with some frightening scenes in which I was genuinely troubled.

Great plaudits must be given to the production cast of the film. Despite its faults, one can’t deny it is visually stunning. Neither claustrophobically mal-lit nor aggressively bright; each location has its own distinctive lightning and palette; the costumes are both fully believable as wearable clothes, and marvellously over the top. The CGI for the most part holds together well. The parallel world is rendered in good detail (but it’s hardly, it must be said, Middle Earth) and there’s a playful spirit in some of the early scenes in Oxford, with the Daemons scampering around their humans, that are a joy to behold. This is sadly forsaken as the film progresses, and the two battle scenes are frustratingly cut short, leaving us with no real idea of their outcome. I had major problems with the very last battle; primarily because it seemed incredibly short and I had no idea who lived/died/was wounded etc, but also because when the witches and Gyptians and the bears banded together to fight a common enemy, the triumph and jubilation I was aching to feel wasn’t there. If we had been allowed more time to get to know these characters, to doubt their motivations a little more, then that final fight would have been breathtaking.

I left the cinema on a high, discussing the film with my sister eagerly as we left the building. We both had questions about the plot and faults to discuss, but on the whole she felt the same as I did about it; namely, WOW! Above all, I was left curious about the source material. If Chris Weitz’s film has accomplished one thing above all else, is that he has served to increase the appeal of Phillip Pullman’s book. Typing that sentence, I am wondering whether there are any kids in the world who haven’t read His Dark Materials, or whether I’m the lone freak. To be fair, I once began the first book when I was about twelve, but I then heard a radio interview with Pullman where he criticised some aspect of Tolkien’s writing and from thereafter I swore never to read His Dark Materials ever again (I was going through my hardcore LOTR phase back then). I’ve grown up a little since then, and my loyalties to Tolkien are no longer so fiercely defended. Watching this film has piqued my interest in something that had eluded me for years. In that respect, if no other, it has triumphantly succeeded.

As a last point, if none of that entices you to go see the film, please take this into consideration: you get to hear Ian McKellen say the line “You want to ride me, do you?” which made both me and my sister crack up, while everybody else either pretended not to get the joke or suppressed their giggles. Now there’s a reason to see the film.

Feist's entire career wiped out!

2007-12-06T20:41:00.000Z

Although I dervive great enjoyment (and occasionally mild heart-attacks) by reading End Of Year music lists, I have no interest whatsoever in The Grammy Awards. Partly because they're so boring and stodgy and mostly because their musical taste have no correlation with my own. Unlike, say, the Oscars which will usually showcase at least one or two of films I've loved during that year, The Grammys are annually an impenetratable minefield of U2 albums. This year however, they've actually pulled a few surprises out of the bag. Nominating the psychotically brilliant "Before He Cheats" for a couple of awards including Best Song, for example. Yet one choice fills me with wonder, horror and amusement. Lemme show you:

Best New Artist
Feist
Ledisi
Paramore
Taylor Swift
Amy Winehouse

Okay, you could quibble with the Winehouse being on the list, but direct your eyes upwards to that first name. Leslie Fiest has released three albums since 1999 (four if you include last year's remix album). She's collaborated with Broken Social Scene since 2000 and has been mixing and shakin' with various groups and solo stars for yeeeeears. I'm not arguing that she shouldn't be recognised, but just because one has a iPod commercial that brought one's music to the masses doesn't mean one is a new artist. She already won a New Artist of the Year in 2005, anyway.

Airbag

2007-12-04T13:50:00.000Z

I got tagged! The lovely and enthusiastic Joe (of Joe's Movie Corner) instructs me to undertake this fun meme, whereby I put my media player on shuffle and fire away with these questions. Some of the answers turn out to make an odd kind of sense and others are just plain stupid. Enjoy!

The Rules:
1. Put your music player on Shuffle
2. For each question, press the next button to get your answer.
3. YOU MUST WRITE THAT SONG NAME DOWN NO MATTER WHAT (this is in capital letters, so it is very serious.) Catherine's note - I didn't fully stick to that rule, as my playlist in Window's Media Player also contains all my podcasts (NPR, Guardian Bookworm, Mark Kermode etc). When one of these came up, I disregarded it because they're not technically songs.

1. IF SOMEONE SAYS “IS THIS OKAY” YOU SAY? "Sold Out" by Sleater Kinney, . Uh that seems a little rude of me. Or else really punk rawk.

2. WHAT WOULD BEST DESCRIBE YOUR PERSONALITY? "Folk Jam" by Pavement.

3. WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A GUY/GIRL? "Love Stoned" by Justin Timberlake. I'm all about the junkies.

4. HOW DO YOU FEEL TODAY? "They Also Mourn Those Who Do Not Wear Black" by Sufjan Stevens. Cheerful.

5. WHAT IS YOUR LIFE’S PURPOSE? "I Looked All Over Town", by Magnetic Fields I'm either going to be an explorer, Private Dectective or a homeless person.

6. WHAT IS YOUR MOTTO? "Consuelo" by Belle & Sebastian. Shittiest. Motto. Ever.

7. WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS THINK OF YOU? "Washington D.C." by Magnetic Fields I'm going to be president?!? Niiiiice.

8. WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR PARENTS? "I Hate Camera" by The Bird and the Bee Hahahha. Nothing to make of this one.

9. WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT VERY OFTEN? "Good Life" by Kanye West Every morning when I wake up, all that's going through my head is "I, I go for mine, I gots to shine..."

10. WHAT IS 2+2? "Save Me" by Aimee Mann. Funny, that's exactly the thought that goes through my head, sitting in maths class.

11. WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR BEST FRIEND? "One Year A.D." by Feist. This song actually mentions friends, but not in a very positive way.

12. WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THE PERSON YOU LIKE? "Kennel District" by Pavement

13. WHAT IS YOUR LIFE STORY? "English Girl" by Eagles of Death Metal. Wrong country.

14. WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP? "Mike" by Xiu Xiu. Okay, so I couldn't really remember this song and so I looked up the lyrics. I have some serious issues, according to the lyrics which I will post in full:

"Dad, what was Nigel supposed to do with your body?
a life that I will never understand
whose false teeth were gently pushed back into your
mouth by your daughter's husband
what am I supposed to do with this?
I feel like I am not nice because sometimes
it is hard for me to think something happy about you
except for that dad, I love you and will always, always miss you
pull my finger-"

15. WHAT DO YOU THINK WHEN YOU SEE THE PERSON YOU LIKE? "Oompa Radar", by Goldfrapp. Oh, the innuendo.

16. WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU? "Peacebone", Animal Collective.

17. WHAT WILL YOU DANCE TO AT YOUR WEDDING? "Grand Canyon", Magnetic Fields

18. WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL? "Hate That I Love You", Rihanna. I kind of like this choice. I'm imagining the mourners all grooving, but in a really...mournful way.

19. WHAT IS YOUR HOBBY/INTEREST? "Kneeling Bus", Pavement. Ah, a Pavement b-side. I can take this to mean I have very esortic, indie and disorganized hobbies. Yup!

20. WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST SECRET? "An Buinneán Buí", Skara Brae. My biggest secret? That I actually listen to trad sometimes.

21. WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR FRIENDS? "Motivators" by A Tribe Called Quest. Well, they are "motivators". Although whether they bring "Rugged, raw material" is up for debate...

22. WHAT SHOULD YOU POST THIS AS? "Airbag" by Doveman

Feel free to mock my musical tastes, empathise with some of the dodgier choices or even better, do your own version!

"I had a great time tonight...

2007-12-01T20:42:00.000Z

...it was like the Nuremberg Trials."

Woody Allen is an old man. Well, that's nothing new - Woody has been an old man since he popped out of the womb, an incredible 72 years ago today. And he's still churning out films like his life depends on it (which, y'know, it probably does). I'm no great Allen fan, but I have to hand it to him for Hannah and her Sisters (1986), his best, most sympathetic and warm-hearted film. It's a favourite of my mam's, and we watched it together as a family last year. It's funny, beautifully acted and shot (New York is idolised in Manhattan, but it's a real, living city in this film) and there's a genuine goodness of heart to be found. Take this scene, when Mickey (played by Allen himself) describes how he managed to overcome his depression:

            MICKEY
          Well...
                 (chuckling)
          I'll tell you.
                 (sighing)
          One day about a month ago...

The film abruptly cuts to Mickey's flashback, a visual
counterpoint to the story he is telling Holly.  A close-up
of a nervous, perspiring, and panting Mickey alone in his
apartment appears on the screen as his voice is heard.

                       MICKEY (V.O.)
          ...I really hit bottom.  You know,
          I just felt that in a Godless
          universe, I didn't want to go on
          living.  Now I happen to own this
          rifle...
                 (coughing)


Mickey raises the barrel of a rifle to his forehead.  He
shuts his eyes tightly.

                       MICKEY (V.O.)
          ...which I loaded, believe it or
          not, and pressed it to my forehead.
          And I remember thinking, at the
          time, I'm gonna kill myself.  Then
          I thought...what if I'm wrong?
          What if there is a God?  I mean,
          after all, nobody really knows that.

The camera moves past the desperate Mickey to a mirror on
the wall behind him.  Its reflection shows his spiral
staircase and some standing lamps.  A clock faintly ticks.

                       MICKEY (V.O.)
          But then I thought, no.  You know,
          maybe is not good enough.  I want
          certainty or nothing.  And I
          remember very clearly the clock was
          ticking, and I was sitting there
          frozen, with the gun to my head,
          debating whether to shoot.

The gun goes off with a loud bang.  The mirror shatters.

                       MICKEY (V.O.)
          All of a sudden, the gun went off.

Mickey, holding the rifle, is seen running over to the
shattered mirror.  The sounds of his excited neighbors,
their shouting, a knocking door, are heard as he continues
his tale.

                       MICKEY (V.O.)
          I had been so tense, my finger had
          squeezed the trigger inadvertently...

                       NEIGHBOR #1
                 (offscreen, overlapping)
          What's happening?  Wh-wh-what's
          going on?

                       MICKEY (V.O.)
                 (continuing)
          ...but I was perspiring so much,
          the gun had slid off my forehead
          and missed me.

                       NEIGHBOR #2
                 (offscreen, overlapping)
          I don't know.  I heard a gun.  Is
          everything all right?

Mickey, still brandishing the rifle, runs into his sunlit
living room.  He looks around frantically, his shirt loose.

Finally, he throws the rifle down between the sofa and the
coffee table.  The gun goes off a second time.  Mickey,
standing nearby, jumps, his hands flying to his head.  The
doorbell rings; the neighbors begin pounding at the door.

                       MICKEY (V.O.)
          And suddenly, neighbors were, were,
          pounding on the door, and-and I
          don't know, the whole scene was
          just pandemonium.  And, uh, you
          know, and I-I-I-I-I ran to the door.

Mickey runs offscreen briefly to answer the door.

                       MICKEY (V.O.)
          I-I-I-I didn't know what to say.
          You know, I was, I was embarrassed
          and confused, and my-my-my mind was
          r-r-racing a mile a minute...

He returns onscreen, panting; he looks frantically once
again around the living room.

                       MICKEY (V.O.)
          ...and I-I jus knew one thing.

The film cuts to a West Side street.  It's an overcast day.
Mickey, walking slowly along the sidewalk, passes several
other pedestrians and numerous storefronts, including
Klein's Pharmacy and a "Bar-B-Q" take out.  Occasionally, he
is obscured by a tree trunk on the opposite side of the
street; a few taxis go by as he talks over the scene.

                       MICKEY (V.O.)
          I...I-I-I-I had to get out of that
          house.  I had to just get out in
          the fresh air and-and clear my head.
          And I remember very clearly.  I
          walked the streets.  I walked and I
          walked.  I-I didn't know what was
          going through my mind.  It all
          seemed so violent and un-unreal to
          me.  And I wandered...

The movie cuts to the exterior of the Metro movie theater,
with its smoked glass entrance doors and its Art Deco feel.
An old publicity photo hangs inside.  Mickey's reflection is
seen at the almost-transparent doors, as well as the
reflection of the street and various cars whizzing by.  His
reflection walks towards the theater entrance; he continues
his story.

                       MICKEY (V.O.)
          ...for a long time on the Upper
          West Side, you know, an-and it must
          have been hours!  You know, my, my
          feet hurt.  My head was, was
          pounding, and, and I had to sit
          down.  I went into a movie house.
          I-I didn't know what was playing or
          anything.

Mickey walks into the movie house.  He is seen through the
glass doors, which still reflect the street and traffic
outside.  He makes his way through the lobby into the actual
theater.

                       MICKEY (V.O.)
          I just, I just needed a moment to
          gather my thoughts and, and be
          logical, and, and put the world
          back into rational perspective.

The film abruptly cuts to the theater's black-and-white
screen, where the Marx Brothers, in Duck Soup, play the
helmets of several soldiers standing in a line like a live
xylophone.  The sounds of the "xylophone" are heard as the
movie cuts to the darkened theater, where Mickey slowly sits
down in a balcony seat.  The "xylophone" music stops and
changes to "Hidee-hidee-hidee-hidee-hidee-hidee-ho" as sung
by the Marx Brothers and ensemble in the movie.  The singing
continues faintly in the background as Mickey continues his
tale:

                       MICKEY (V.O.)
          And I went upstairs to the balcony,
          and I sat down
                 (sighing)
          and, you know, the movie was a-a-a
          film that I'd seen many times in my
          life since I was a kid, an-and I
          always u-uh, loved it.  And, you
          know, I'm, I'm watching these
          people up on the screen, and I
          started getting hooked o-on the
          film, you know?

The film cuts back to the black-and-white movie screen as
Mickey continues to talk.  The Marx Brothers, as well as the
hundred-odd other cast members in Duck Soup, are kneeling
and bowing as they sing "Hidee-hidee-ho." They kick their
heels up in the air.  They sway back and forth, hands
clasped, singing "Oh-h-h-h-h-h..."

                       MICKEY (V.O.)
          ...And I started to feel how can
          you even think of killing yourself?
          I mean, isn't it so stupid?  I
          mean, l-look at all the people up
          there on the screen.  You know,
          they're real funny, and, and what
          if the worst is true?

The movie cuts back to Mickey, sitting almost obscured in
the dark theater.  The Oh-h-h-h-h-h's coming from the
offscreen movie are heard as he continues to speak.

                       MICKEY (V.O.)
          What if there's no God, and you
          only go around once and that's it?
          Well, you know, don't you want to
          be part of the experience?  You
          know, what the hell, it-i-it's not
          all a drag.  And I'm thinking to
          myself, geez, I should stop ruining
          my life...

As Mickey talks, the film cuts back to the antics of the
Marx Brothers on the black-and-white theater screen.  The
four brothers are now swaying and singing and strutting,
their voices indistinct over Mickey's narration.

                       MICKEY (V.O.)
          ...searching for answers I'm never
          gonna get, and just enjoy it while
          it lasts.  And...you know...

The film is back on Mickey's dark form in the audience.

                       MICKEY (V.O.)
          ...after, who knows?  I mean, you
          know, maybe there is something.
          Nobody really knows.  I know, I
          know "maybe" is a very slim reed to
          hang your whole life on, but that's
          the best we have.  And...then, I
          started to sit back, and I actually
          began to enjoy myself.

This is why we watch films, the transcendental nature of movies. The almost spiritual connotations of the cinema. something Allen understands very well. There are times when I really, really dislike him; and then there are times like this.

Happy Birthday.

Doctor Who + Kylie + Goldfrapp = wow.

2007-11-30T22:08:00.000Z

What the bleep. I just posted literally five minutes ago about a couple of things that brightened up my day today and then clicked onto Popjustice and came across this.

Oh. My. Doctor.

I thought my eyes were decieving me. But no. Oh no. A Doctor Who/Kylie themed single that's based off a Goldfrapp song, featuring Tardis noises with a Killers sample, and a title that seems to reference "Song 4 Mutya". ARGH! Isn't that just amazing?

Answer: yes.

Well, on one level it's awful. It's cheesy and pun-filled. It's by something called The Fast Ood Rockers. It's designed to hit the Christmas Number One spot.

But on the other hand...

Listen to it!

I'm (So) There

2007-11-30T21:08:00.000Z

Picture the scene. It's a dark, windy evening in Dublin city centre, with rain splashing around my hood and my bag uncomfortably heavy with textbooks. I'm not in altogether the best of moods, the bus into town was crowded and smelt of hot, damp bodies and I now have to go to Irish classes for an hour and a half. On my way, I decided to take a tiny detour and nip into the IFI to check if their new brochure is out. Within seconds, my mood has changed, there's a lightness in my step and glee rising in my throat; I'm Not There is opening on 21st December. It's the first I've heard of an Irish release date for the Tod Hayne's Dylan biopic, which I've been patiently waiting for for quite some time. I'm by no means a Dylan buff, or even much of a fan - I like some of his songs, but not enough to ever purchase any - and I know next to nothing about his life (to give you an idea of the lack of depth in my Dylan knowledge base, I'll confess that for years I thought he was singing Tango Lovin' Blues, which I still think is a superior title). Yet, everything I read about I'm Not There appeals to me. The initial premise, the cast, the cinematography, the director, Tobias Funkee as Ginsberg - I honestly think it's one of the most novel, interesting and downright exciting ideas of 2007.

The soundtrack disc seems tailored to my tastes, too.* Have a look (I've bolded the ones that interest me the most)

Disc 1
1. Eddie Vedder and the Million Dollar Bashers: "All Along the Watchtower"
2. Sonic Youth: "I'm Not There"
3. Jim James and Calexico: "Goin' to Acapulco"
4. Richie Havens: "Tombstone Blues"
5. Stephen Malkmus and the Million Dollar Bashers: "Ballad of a Thin Man"
6. Cat Power: "Stuck Inside of Mobile With the Memphis Blues Again"
7. John Doe: "Pressing On"
8. Yo La Tengo: "Fourth Time Around"
9. Iron and Wine and Calexico: "Dark Eyes"
10. Karen O and the Million Dollar Bashers: "Highway 61 Revisited"
11. Roger McGuinn and Calexico: "One More Cup of Coffee"
12. Mason Jennings: "The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll"
13. Los Lobos: "Billy"
14. Jeff Tweedy: "Simple Twist of Fate"
15. Mark Lanegan: "The Man in the Long Black Coat"
16. Willie Nelson and Calexico: "Señor (Tales of Yankee Power)"

Disc 2
1. Mira Billotte: "As I Went Out One Morning"
2. Stephen Malkmus and Lee Ranaldo: "Can't Leave Her Behind"
3. Sufjan Stevens: "Ring Them Bells"
4. Charlotte Gainsbourg and Calexico: "Just Like a Woman"
5. Jack Johnson: "Mama You've Been on My Mind"
6. Yo La Tengo: "I Wanna Be Your Lover"
7. Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova: "You Ain't Goin' Nowhere"
8. The Hold Steady: "Can You Please Crawl Out Your Window"
9. Ramblin' Jack Elliott: "Just Like Tom Thumb's Blues"
10. The Black Keys: "Wicked Messenger"
11. Tom Verlaine and the Million Dollar Bashers: "Cold Irons Bound"
12. Mason Jennings: "The Times They Are a-Changin'"
13. Stephen Malkmus and the Million Dollar Bashers: "Maggie's Farm"
14. Marcus Carl Franklin: "When the Ship Comes In"
15. Bob Forrest: "Moonshiner"
16. John Doe: "I Dreamed I Saw St. Augustine"
17. Antony and the Johnsons: "Knockin' on Heaven's Door"
18. Bob Dylan: "I'm Not There"

But that wasn't the best film news I got all day. Oh, dear me no. That honour would go to the rereleasing of All About Eve! A brand new 35mm print, no less. It's showing for three days after Christmas. Just thinking about watching it on a large screen, in the sensory depravation zone of a cinema, with a bevy of other Eve-fans, makes me feel all tingly inside.

*If you trawl over to the film's MySpace (I find it slightly disconcerting that films have social networking sights, but whatever), you can listen to a selection of the cover songs, including Sufjan Stevens and Cat Power.

Cinematography

2007-11-25T12:56:00.000Z

Okay, so yesterday I said I had some definite ideas about this year's Cinematography greats. Turns out I lied. I had originally been backing Jindabyne, for those sprawling, uneasy landscapes but then I got to thinking. What about Martin Ruhe's work on Control?

To make a glimmering Australian landscape look beautiful is easy, but to extract the poetry from everyday life is more difficult. There were a number of standout things about the Ian Curtis biopic (and many that fell flat) but the photography was impeccable. Crisp, streamlined and fluid, the b&w lent Curtis' life a kinetic beauty filled with gravitas.

Harris Savides has had a busy year. He's the DP on three of the year's most anticipated films, American Gangster, Margot at the Wedding and the one you can see to your left, Zodiac. Poor old David Fincher; despite Zodiac's prestige it seems to be left behind when it comes to Oscar buzz. Was it too long, too convoluted for the AMPAS? Too wordy? Released too early in the year? Whatever the reason for the lack of hype surrounding it, people shouldn't neglect Savides' work in this picture. He's a prestigious cinematographer, working with some of the most respected directors around (van San, Fincher, Scott) and I think this is he best work yet. I couldn't find any stills from the opening scene, the haunting murder set to Donovon's "Hurdy Gurdy Man", but it was one of the most chilling
and beautiful scenes I've watched this year.

Question - can animated features be nominated for Cinematography accolades?

Soak that in. Mmmmm. I've been searching the net for an answer to my query, and the only thing I've found out is that Who Framed Roger Rabbit was nominated in 1988, but seeing as how that was a mixture of live action and animation, I don't know if that counts. Nope, judging from my quick resarchm a fully animated feature is not eligible for inclusion (which makes sense, I guess) but just look at the pretty!

If I chose the Oscars...

2007-11-24T17:10:00.000Z

I've come to the conclusion that there's not much point me doing Oscar predictions this year. Partly because I haven't been following the ceremony for very long and therefore don't have the valuable knowledge and empiricial sense that is necessary for predictions. Secondly, anything I single out for nomination, whether it be best actor, cinematography or score, will be singularly be filtered through my own personal tastes. I refuse to even consider Ikea Knightly for Best Actress, (I haven't seen Atonement so I can't judge her performance in that) because I find her impossibly wooden and irritating. I acknowledge that she's a likely lock, but screw that. I vote with my heart as much as with my head, and I cannot even reluctantly grant her a placing on my own list. Thirdly, living in Ireland is somewhat a disadvantage as regards getting out to see the films. Not for lack of quality screens and cinemas, but distributors are often months behind the US and it's frustrating reading rave reviews of a film recently opened in the states and knowing you have to wait to get to see it yourself. Release dates can be severely skewed, and so certain performances I loved this year (Maggie G in Sherrybaby,Laura Dern in INLAND EMPIRE) won't be eligible for this year's awards. So, casting all these difficulties aside, I present what I would be overjoyed to see at this year's AMPAS ceremony.

Best Picture: Zodiac

Best Director: Ray Lawrence, Jindabyne

Best Actor in a Leading Role: Chris Cooper, Breach

Best Actress in a Leading Role: Laura Linney, Jindabyne

This is the category that inspires the most torment on my part. Linney's quiet portrayal of a woman struggling against an inpeneratable problem was the first performance that blew me away this year, yet the film itself didn't make a splash. Jindabyne was released in a very Linney-ish year, with The Savages looking to actually garner her a nomination (something I'd be very pleased with, Linney is one of my favourite actors working today and the clip of The Savages I've seen looks great). Yet the field is strong, with Julie Christie's devilish Alzhemier's victim, Marion Cotillard's spirited Edith Piaf and the nobility that Angelina Jolie brought to A Mighty Heart. There were other good female leads this year of course, but these four were my favourite, appealing on different levels. I watched Away From Her last night and so Julie Christie is freshly imprinted on my brain and thus I am inclinced towards giving her my number one spot, but I know Linney will stay with me for longer.

Best Actor in a Supporting Role: David Strathairn, The Bourne Ultimatum

Best Supporting Actress: Samantha Morton, Control

I'll eventually get around to looking at the other categories. I have strong favourites for music, cinematography, screenplay etc. I still haven't seen many of the big hitters this year, so in a month or so I'm guessing these picks will look outdated and poorly thought out. But for the moment, I'm sticking by them.

"Cats say, you know, fuck this shit"

2007-11-18T22:04:00.000Z

RIPPLE EFFECTS OF THE WRITERS' STRIKE.

by John Moe

- - - -

Airline pilots

Lack of scripts means pilots are unable to perform "welcome from the cabin" announcements, which are customarily lengthy, loquacious, and infuriatingly drawn out. Having dedicated their careers to the complex task of operating commercial aircraft, pilots reveal themselves to be woefully inept at extemporaneous speaking, as their attempts ("We're in air. High up. Weather. No crash. Temperature!") prove disastrous. Filled with self-loathing, pilots refuse to leave their homes and eventually die. All air travel ends.

Grocery-store produce managers

Unable to skillfully phrase sales like "Grapes—$1.99/lb.," retailers panic and choose instead to throw fruits and vegetables at customers while screaming, "MONEY NOW!" Frightened by the prospect of facing a grocery store full of wild-eyed produce managers clutching rotten bananas while cloaked in ersatz-broccoli cloaks (fashioned after long bouts of existential madness), customers stay away. Consumer economy collapses.

Clergy

When you think about it, it's a bit too much to expect someone with an exceptionally profound sense of spirituality to also be a gifted crafter of prose. I mean, what are the odds, right? But since the strike means no new sermons written, the clergy must simply read from sacred texts and then stare forward, blinking. Attendance at religious services plummets, churches are boarded up, and, perhaps most importantly, God just says, "You know what? Screw all of you," and walks out.

Brides and grooms

Roadside direction signs like "Johnson-Turpin Wedding—Turn Left" are no longer possible and are replaced by feeble nonunion attempts such as "Girl! Ring! Left! I am Turpin! Turpjohn! Dress! Ah!" With would-be attendees unable to find events, weddings cease. Then love ends.

Rock-concert attendees

Shouting the classic written line "Play 'Free Bird'!" has historically been a quick way to convey to fellow concertgoers the message "I am aware that I am watching a concert by a band that would be highly unlikely to ever play a Lynyrd Skynyrd classic, but by shouting out such a request, I demonstrate that I am a student of popular culture, that I am intellectually superior to Skynyrd fans, and that I have mastered irony." But with no one to write such lines, fans soon forget about shouting "Play 'Free Bird'!" The result: the whole world starts going to more concerts, live music thrives, the human condition is elevated, beauty proliferates, and fewer douchebags get themselves stabbed at shows.

Pet-store owners

Without the assistance of professional writers, such droll puns as "purrfect pets" prove impossible, leaving shopkeepers to describe their offerings as "perfect pets." This results in unrealistic expectations being placed on the pets. Eventually, an acrimonious pet/owner dynamic emerges that proves impossible to overcome. After a surprisingly short period of time, cats say, you know, fuck this shit and they leave. The human/cat arrangement, which, to be honest, has been on thin ice for centuries, finally collapses and the domestication of the cat ends.

Poets

With their natural predators, the screenwriters, out of the literary ecosystem, poet herds thrive and proliferate, soon overrunning their native habitats and exhausting their food supply. Before long, having any unlocked windows in one's house becomes an invitation to poets to bust in, which they unfailingly do, spouting some goofy-ass nonsense while grabbing whatever is in the fridge. All are shot on sight, of course, creating an unwelcome sanitation problem. Heartened, God gives us one more chance.

Taken from McSweeney's

Happy Birthday Maggie!

2007-11-16T22:04:00.001Z

Jake's older sister turns the big 3-0 today. I've always thought she's one of the most interesting and versatile actresses working today. Which other starlet could you imagine doing Secretary? Or lending their voice to an animated film that's not Pixar or part of the Shrek franchise (Monster House)? Or babbling away in French in this years Paris, Je t'aime? She has an adorable baby with Peter Sarsgaard and her favourite actress is Gena Rowlands, so I can forgive her even that dreadful boiler suit she once sported.

"I've realised that the only way to make movies that you're proud of, that don't fall into the sentimental bullshit that so many movies fall into, is to fight. You have to fight. So many people are willing to sleepwalk through things and fall into the not human, not interesting choice".

Favourite Maggie Gyllenhaal performances:

5. Adaptation/Monster House (both small roles, but quirky and memorable)
4. Mona Lisa Smile
3. Donnie Darko
2. SherryBaby
1. Secretary

Friday's Song

2007-11-16T21:48:00.000Z

I'm not afraid of Nichol's Park
I ride the train and I ride it after dark
I'm not afraid to get it right
I turn around and I give it one more try
I said things that I meant to say
The bandstand chairs and the Dewey Day parade
I go out to the golden age
The spirit is right and the spirit doesn't change

Sufjan Stevens, "Jacksonville"

The Headmaster Ritual Redux

2007-11-11T16:24:00.000Z

I've refrained from posting about Radiohead on here, despite the constant stream of news about them lately because I haven't yet figured out how I feel about In Rainbows. This, however, was too good to pass by.

The band recently had a party of sorts over at Radiohead.tv in which they messed about in front of the camera and played some songs, including this Smiths cover. This is the single best thing they've done in ages, I swear to God. I never thought I'd hear one of my top three favourite bands ever covering one of the others. Thom looks energetic, sprightly, even *gasp* happy. This bodes extremely well for their eventual world tour (and let me say this now, I mightn't be over the moon about In Rainbows but when they tour, I AM SO THERE).

If we care (which I do), here's a grainy video of the original Smiths version:

My Year of Reading Dangerously

2007-11-11T15:25:00.000Z

Laziness and idleness, be gone! I've just agreed to participate in a book-related blog challenge for 2008, a year of Dangerous Reading. Basically, you sign up and agree to read 12 books in 2008 that challenge you, that you're scared of, nervous about. Unfamiliar genres, intimidating authors, personal hates; they're all welcome. There are two ways of going about it. First, take your books from this list:

January: Great Expectations, by Charles Dickens (since Estella is our namesake)
February: The Bluest Eye, by Toni Morrison (African American)
March: Cat's Eye, by Margaret Atwood (Atwood for Atwood's sake)
April: Transformations, by Anne Sexton (Poetry)
May: Other Voices, Other Rooms, by Truman Capote (Southern)
June: Lolita, by Vladimir Nabokov (Russian)
July: The Chocolate War, by Robert Cormier (adolescent)
August: Maus I and II, by Art Spiegelman (Graphic Novel, Pulitzer winner)
September: The Secret Lives of People in Love, by Simon Van Booy (Independent)
October: The Human Stain, by Philip Roth (Contemporary/Jewish)
November: A Month of Classic Short Stories, Various - watch for a list
December: The Grapes of Wrath, by John Steinbeck (Dusty)

Secondly, make up your own list of 12 books. You're also free to mix 'n match, which is the path I'll be taking. I've already read most of Atwood's ouevre (including Cat's Eye), Maus (thanks Ann Marie!) and Lolita (which, to be honest, isn't really a Russian novel per se). Reading any of those three again would be a pleasure, so I'm going to have to strike them off my list. Instead, I'm going to make the following subsitutions:

March: Tender is the Night, by F. Scott Fitzgerald
June: Down and Out In Paris & London, by George Orwell
August: A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, by James Joyce

I can't count the number of times I've begun the Fitzgerald and given up after a few pages. I enjoy it's premise, but the book itself has never grabbed me. June is a bit of a cheat, as I've always wanted to read Down and Out, but I've never tried any Orwel except for the obvious two and anyway, June is my Leaving Cert and I don't want anything too long or difficult. Finally, I've had a copy of Portrait lying around my bedroom for months. Bout time I actually picked the thing up, no?

I'm between two minds with the rest of the list. January, in particular, scares me. I have never imagined myself to be a Dickens kind of girl and the thought of reading Great Expectations isn't a pleasant one. But that's what this sort of thing is all about!

Writer's Guild Strike

2007-11-10T14:36:00.000Z

A few days ago Ann Marie linked to the United Hollywood blog, which is committted to covering the writer's strike which is currently making waves in TV Land. It's an informative read, certainly. If you're unsure about why the WGA are on the picket lines, or you think it's a stunt purely done out of greed, I suggest you take a gander at the blog or watch this short video.

These people aren't demanding mega-bucks. They just want to be treated fairly and given their due. Currently, a writer recieves nothing anytime a show is streamed or downloaded online while the studios make money regardless. The fact that some executive sitting in an office somewhere is getting richer while the guy or gal who created the product, who put time and effort into making something, gets a big fat zero is discomforting. Those creative types are the key component in the tv programmes we love and watch regularly. I firmly believe that words, no matter whether it's a great work of literature or the script of Ugly Betty, have the power to change the world and all those who devote their lives to the craft of shaping them should be honoured.

Joss Whedon

One positive aspect of the strike is the communal spirit that has emerged. Screenwriters and actors, as well as guild members, have joined the picket line or signed their names to petitions. A startling fact is that many film writers have also downed their tools in solidarity - meaning a lot of next years blockbusters are left hanging. Most tv shows have only a few episodes left to run before they're forced to go on indefinite hiatus. The Big Bosses better wake up soon.

Hollywood Screenwriters

Julianne Moore

Desperate Housewives

Heroes

Show your support by signing the online peition.

A new one from Jim Jarmusch!!!

2007-11-08T22:14:00.000Z

Sometimes a piece of news comes along to brighten up your day. Not that I was having a spectacularly awful day, but the news that Jim Jarmusch is about to start work on a new film has brought a huge smile to my face. The Limits of Control begins shooting in February and will star Jarmusch regular Isaach De Bankolé. Here's the official line, taken from Paste Magazine;

Jim Jarmusch's next project, tentatively called The Limits of Control, has been acquired by Focus Features for worldwide distribution. Jarmusch will start shooting the feature this February in Spain. It looks like Focus was happy with the reception of Jarmusch's last feature, Broken Flowers, so they're hoping for a similar success this time out. It's good news for Jarmusch, whose films have sometimes had a difficult time finding distribution, or at least advertised distribution, in the past.

Focus' CEO James Schamus remarked in a statement, "Jim Jarmusch defines what it means to be an independent filmmaker for audiences all over the world, and we're delighted to rejoin with him following our success together with Broken Flowers." That's only partially PR speak, since Jarmusch probably did as much for the creation of contemporary independent film as John Cassavetes.

According to the film's press release, The Limits of Control is "the story of a mysterious loner, a stronger, whose activities remain meticulously outside of the law." Which makes him sound like nearly every other Jarmusch protagonist, but that's probably a good thing. He's played by Isaach De Bankolé (Raymond in Ghost Dog), and is completing an unexplained job that causes him to travel across Spain. The eminent Christopher Doyle (In the Mood for Love, Hero) will be working as cinematographer while Eugenio Caballero (Pan's Labyrinth) is production designer.

Nothing else is known about the film. All we can say here at Paste is that it's about time.

Broken Flowers didn't impress me. It was alright to sit through but afterwards all I was left with was a feeling of unbearable boredom. Bill Murray is severely overrated and that film did nothing for him and it's impressive roster of actresses (Swinton, Lange, Delpy, Stone) However, I adore Coffee & Cigarettes, Night on Earth and Down By Law. Jarmusch can swing between incredible tedium and greatness - often depending on his actors. Look at those involved in those three films; Tom Waits, Gena Rowlands, Winona Ryder, Roberto Benigni, Iggy Pop, Cate Blanchett (her short vignette in C&C in which she plays herself and her cousin, is in my mind, her best performance), Alfred Molina, RZA. A veritable who's who of cool in the film and music worlds.

That reminds me of another Jarmusch-related oddity, the pair of films called Smoke and Blue in the Face. Their director was Wayne Wang, but Jarmusch appears in Blue in the Face and their inimitable feel of shambling NY cool is definitely part of his ethos. Never has a piece of entertainment seemed so engineered to my taste, gape at the ensemble of actors, musicians and writers that collaborated on them: Jarmusch, Harvey Keitel. Michael J. Fox, Lou Reed, Lily Tomlin, Stockard Channing, David Byrne and Paul "Godlike Genius" Auster. Wow, that's some impressive networking going on there. Smoke is the more conventional narrative film (as if anything penned by Auster could be called conventional) and Blue In The Face is a basically a collection of extras, leftovers, jokes and singalong.

Harvey Keitel and Jim Jarmusch in Blue In The Face

Oops, sort of got off the point there. I did have a point though, it being that part of the thing I loved so much about those films was their looseness, their humour and their sense of community. Broken Flowers left me cold. Here's hoping Jim'll revert to the old Jarmuschian charm.

Saturday Night Classic

2007-11-03T22:35:00.001Z

Maybe a weekly series thing, in which I waffle about classics that I love. I haven't done anything good on films in an age, so maybe this will relight the fire. Nothing especially earth-shattering to see here, just plain old cinephilia. Join in the oldie love.

Vivian: Do you always think you can handle people like, uh, trained seals?
Philip Marlowe: Uh-huh. I usually get away with it too.
Vivian: How nice for you

Damn they don't make 'em like this anymore
I ask, cause I'm not sure
Do anybody make real shit anymore?

Yep, those are Kanye West lyrics. I like Kanye, his aggressive self-promotion can be almost endearing in it's ferocity, but I want to utilise his words in a rather different context. That is, in respect to the era of Classic Hollywood. I'm no great subscriber to false nostalgia - I wasn't alive in the 1940s and 50s and therefore am not qualified to make assumptions about whether films were better back then. I firmly believe that the craft of film is as thriving and vital as it was in the Hollywood heyday and that classics-of-the-future are being released every year. Yet, I'm itching to mutter "Damn, they don't make 'em like this anymore!" everytime I watch a film like The Big Sleep. Tonight I treated myself to a break from studying and study-related guilt by watching a two-header; Strictly Come Dancing on the BBC which has got me truly hooked this series and then Howard Hawks' 1946 classic film noir staple. Adapted from Raymond Chandler's novel by a triad of writers including William Faulkner and pairing up real life lovers Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall with auteur Hawks at the helm, The Big Sleep is a team-up to rival The Philadelphia Story. Even on my second viewing, the plot makes little sense to me, perhaps even less so than the first time I watched it. On my primary viewing I really attempted to get my head around the double crossings and murders, this time I gave up and enjoyed the sexual tension, the dialogue and the cinematography.

"How can a man so ugly be so handsome?" Marta Toren famously wondered in Sirocco, and she had a point. Bogie is not a typical Hollywood leading man, he has neither the effortless charm of Grant nor the bumbling sweetess of Stewart. He was short and gruff, with a leathery face - but his shortcomings make him. In the film, his weathered demeanour and calm delivery contain a subtle charm, his little gestures taking centre-stage over any big setpieces. I look especially fondly on the childish habit of fidgeting with his ear during moments of pondering. He's a closet romantic, and he fizzles joyously with every woman he comes across, all of whom appear to fall in love with his Marlowe. The universe of The Big Sleep is one peppered with coy women who hold their own with him, trading quips laden with innuendo, from his leading lady Bacall and her sister (in a great performance from Martha Vickers) stretching to the bookstore clerk played by Dorothy Malone and even Joy Barlow's fleeting taxi-driver. It's a world so unlike the real, drab everyday one in which we inhabit that it's tempting to imagine that this is how people actually spoke back then. The rapport between Humphrey and everybody he encounters is a delight to listen to. It's genuinely funny, "She tried to sit on my lap when I was sitting down" and the actors really sell it. The famous "horse racing" scene was reshot and added in to heighten the chemistry between the leads and it's a treat. The innuendo is ladled on so strongly that it's hard to believe they got away with it at the time, and yet Bogie and Bacall run with it, their faces masks of innocence. Seeing Bogie and Bacall verbally sparring is a sight to behold. Yet the horse-racing scene is not my favourite scene between the pair. My choice is surprisingly dialogue free. Marlowe enters a casino, looking for information. He wanders around, spying in on various gambling rooms until he espies what appears to be a sort of living room with a small gathering of people, a piano and a familiar voice. Vivian Rutledge is singing "And Her Tears Flowed Like Wine" in a bawdy, humerous way and Bogie leans against the doorframe to watch her. She slowly becomes aware that he's watching her and turns to look straight at him. Most of their time spent onscreen is spent either bickering or kissing, but here she gives him a shy smile and a small salute, all the while continuing to sing. Bogie, in turn, returns her smile and salute. It's a sweet moment, touching in it's quietness. The lovers aren't zipping off zingers, they're just enjoying each other's gaze. Bacall doesn't have a half-bad voice either.

Part of The Big Sleep's allure is that it's not a genre picture. Sure, it's film noir. Yet there's a lot more going on than a simple private detective story (okay, maybe 'simple' is the wrong word to use). It's a romantic picture, thanks to the obvious chemistry between the leads. Indeed, the plot is so convoluted it's best viewed as a romance; instead of wondering how the hell Owen Taylor died, you'd be best wondering when exactly the pair are going to get it on. It's also a succesful comedy - the sometimes heavy subject matter is given a lightness and deftness of touch by Hawks and the characters are never too put upon or endangered to engage in some jokes. Going back to my initial point about not making 'em like they used to, it is difficult to imagine what The Big Sleep would look like nowadays. There may be an actor who could match Bogart's cool, but could they rival his ugliness and beaten-down weatheredness? Would the innuendo translate to a modern setting, treading the fine line between ridiculous and dirty? I can't see any studio greenlighting a script as unpenetratable and confusing as this nowadays. Even the cinematography, sumptous black and white, creeping shadows and silhouettes, couldn't transfer to 2007.

The Big Sleep is riddled with more charm than Eddie Mars' corpse is with bullets.

Halloween Top Ten

2007-10-31T14:58:00.000Z

I’m going as a hypocrite this year. A few days ago I waxed lyrical about how I can’t make lists, but yet here I go compiling one. I thought about making a top ten favourite Halloweenish films, but I decided it would be too hard to think of ten I really loved. I settled on music, and my top ten spooky-songs. I set myself some conditions, though. There would be no horror film themes (buh bye, Exorcist) and absolutely no blindingly obvious selections (see ya, Monster Mash). Finally, Thriller is forbidden. Now, without any further ado, I now present to you…

Top Ten Sp0o0o0o0o0o0oky Songs that Remind Me Of Halloween

10. The North American Halloween Prevention Initiative - “Do They Know It’s Halloween?”
See previous post.

09. Elvira - “The Monster Rap”
My sole cheesy selection. I’m really a sucker for awful raps and you can’t get any more brilliantly awful than the Vogue-style one that we’re treated to halfway. The rhymes are toe-curlingly awful, but they’re delivered with such gusto you can’t help to go along with her. It’s probably overplayed to hell in some places, but not in my circles.

“Baby there's a monster livin' inside of you, and me!
Baby there's a monster livin' inside just dieing to be free!”

08. Bette Davis - “I’ve Written A Letter To Daddy”
I’ve restricted myself on the movie themes, but sticking this one in was too hard to resist. Is it creepy? Hilarious? Depressing? All three,really, which is where the disconcerting feel comes from. “Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?” is a favourite horror film of mine (although it’s really not scary at all) and this is the centrepiece. Davis’ creepy ballet-poise, total fervour and terrible warbling voice, with her shadow flickering on the wall, add up to a strange viewing experience. When the camera cuts away to Joan Crawford looking confused and uneasy, we know exactly how she feels.

“I've written a letter to Daddy, his address is heaven above”

07. Sonic Youth - “Death Valley 69”
This whole album could be included on this list. From it’s cover picture of a giant pumpkin to the general Atumnal air, Sonic Youth have never been more season-appropriate. Starts with a howl and a grumbling guitar riff before descending into an art-rawk duet about murdering your girlfriend (or something). It’s a mess, but great to sing along to.

“Deep in the valley
In the trunk of an old car…”

06. DJ Shadow - “Endtroducing…”
I wanted to include David Lynch in here somewhere and thought about including some of the Twin Peaks music. I decided against, though. Instead, I’ve chosen an entire album; the fabulously dreamlike collection of samples by DJ Shadow. It’s an astonishing listen, feels like a messed-up nightmare and ends with The Giant (from Twin Peaks) intoning “It is happening again…it is happening again…”.

05. PJ Harvey & Nick Cave - “Henry Lee”
A little part of Halloween is kind of romantic, don’t ya think? Polly Jean and Nick Cave were probably the strangest/best-suited rock ‘n roll couple ever. Their relationship didn’t last, but it left behind some wonderful music. Solo albums by each detail their love and the subsequent break-up, but it’s hard to get any better than this duet. The harmonies are exquisite, the sense of doomed love palpable (even though the lyrics have nothing to do romance) and in the video, the pair come across as a pair of courting vampires.

“And with a little pen-knife held in her hand
She plugged him through and through
And the wind did roar and the wind did moan”

04. Tori Amos - “’97 Bonnie & Clyde”
Scary. Scary. Scary. Out of all of my selections, this is the one that freaks me out the most. Not just the idea of Tori covering a Eminem song, but the actual song itself is terrifying. She descreses the tempo to a dreadful slowness, wallowing in the domestic violence storyline. Her voice hs never been more full of evil and dread. The Hitchcockian strings in the background, the hint of violence that enters her voice, the keening chorus….*shiver*

“Your dad'll wake her up as soon as we get to the water
Ninety-seven Bonnie and Clyde, me and my daughter”

03. Buck 65 - “463”
Not a conventional choice, perhaps. “463” could be about baseball, could be about small-time life, could be about broken dreams, or could be about nothing at all (which Buck himself has admitted). Still, songs have personal meanings and I immediately associated this with All Hallows Eve. He references Halloween in the first couple of lines and then riffs on a number of topics, but it’s that reference that sticks in my head.

“Why, when I was a kid,
Playing in the ditches
Living in fear of satan and the witches”

02. Talking Heads - “Psycho Killer”
Something a little more funkier, after the last couple of rather depressing choices. Amazingly, this was the first song David Byrne wrote with the rest of the band and it’s one of their most iconic songs. Singing a song from the perspective of a serial killer isn’t anything novel, but it’s Byrne’s pop-eyed delivery and that bass-line that make this song great.

“I can’t sleep because my bed’s on fire
Don’t touch me I’m a real live wire.”

01. Siouxsie and the Banshees - “Halloween”
Obviously. It couldn’t be anything else, really. My favourite band with a song that perfectly encapsulates the holiday. The Banshees, despite their name and style of dress, were never the cartoonish shlock-Goths they’re sometimes made out to be. Their music is rarely morose or overtly-introspective (ie: they have nothing nothing nothing to do with Marilyn Manson or My Chemical Romance) but sometimes the season calls for a bit of spooky self-indulging.

"Trick or treat
Trick or treat,
The bitter and sweet..."

Happy Halloween, all.

Do They Know It's Halloween?

2007-10-30T12:00:00.000Z

Two years ago, a motley group of indie musicians, comedians and general layabouts collaborated on a spoof Halloween song, parodying Bob Geldof's awful "Do They Know It's Christmas?" brand. Calling themselves The North American Halloween Prevention Initiative, this group recorded "Do They Know It's Halloween?", a fantastic shambling whoop of a tune which trumps Geldof on a number of points. Firstly, this song is actually great. There's no patronising lyrics or downright insulting bits (um, "Well tonight, thank God it's them instead of you"). Secondly, who would you rather be locked in a room with: Phil Collins, Paul Weller and Boy George, or Beck, Karen O and The Arcade Fire? I rest my case.

Read the full story of how this project came into being here and then watch the video below. It's fun to identify the different voices. I'm pretty sure of Karen O, Buck 65, Malcolm McLaren, the gals from Smoosh and David Cross.

More information and full lyrics can be found here.

On an unrelated, but amusing, note; while researching who exactly was in Band Aid, I came across a quote given by Morrissey on the very subject. I'd read it before, but it bears repeating:

'I'm not afraid to say that I think Band Aid was diabolical. Or to say that I think Bob Geldof is a nauseating character. Many people find that very unsettling, but I'll say it as loud as anyone wants me to. In the first instance the record itself was absolutely tuneless. One can have great concern for the people of Ethiopia, but it's another thing to inflict daily torture on the people of England. It was an awful record considering the mass of talent involved. And it wasn't done shyly it was the most self-righteous platform ever in the history of popular music.'

Three short reviews

2007-10-21T22:32:00.000+01:00

Ratatouille
It seems as if I’ve been waiting for Ratatouille for years. Okay, a slight exaggeration but it certainly has been a long time coming. Pixar’s latest has only just got an Irish release (well, last week, but I only caught it today). It seems like an odd release date, perhaps timed hopefully to coincide with the up-coming half-term? It’s far from being a kids film, though - a lengthy running time and the absence of Finding Nemo-ish belly laughs take care of that. Indeed, in the cinema packed with kids that I attented, the film’s soundtrack was complemented by a continous stream of chatter from the seats surrounding me. The noise was only a temporary annoyance, though - I was soon well and truly hooked, the delicate aromas of Pixar’s stew drawing me in.

A truly lovely film, with the scenery the best we’ve seen yet. The grimey sewer water through which our snootily loveable protaganist Remy splutters and swims is rendered almost better than the underwater scenes in Finding Nemo; the CGI Paris glitters (okay, it’s hard to make Paris look bad, but they had to create one out of nothing) and there’s an impressive kinesis to it. The chase scenes are beautifully fluid with no Bourne-style jerkiness. Peter O’ Toole gets the best vocal part, having fun as the harsh food critic, Anton Ego (who is the image of Eamon de Valera. No? Anybody see that?). For Pixar devotees, there’s also a cute little self-referential sight gag; Remy straining to grab ahold of his brother’s paw as they hurtle down the river is strongly reminiscent of the ending to Toy Story.

Unfortunately, comparing it to Toy Story doesn’t do Ratatouille any favours. True, ToY Story came out of nowhere to charm and delight, nobody had any expectaions and therefore everyone was bowled over. It was shockingly good, and nobody could accuse Ratatouille of a similar effect - everyone expects it to be great, it’s Pixar! It’s definitely not as funny as it could be, the middle section drags a little and one could possibly accuse Pixar of resting on their laurels (oh goody, yet another anthromorphic buddy/outsider film!). I thought all of these criticisms whilst watching the film, but as the credits rolled I realised I was ready to forgive the film it’s missteps. There’s a scene where hundreds of rats converge on a restaurant kitchen and set to work cooking a meal. It’s a flurry of energy and joie de vivre, a huge undertaking of colour and movement and small significant details that’s carried off with such aplomb and verve that I was completely gob smacked. The teamwork (undertaken by both the rats as they frantically work to create the perfect dish and the animators as they carefully create the scene ) is astounding, and it was that moment that I finally caved in - Ratatouille is in it’s heart a good film and there are moments of brilliance. I’m looking forward to the studio’s next output - let’s hope they raise that bar.

Rendition
Sometimes I’m kind of shocked that some films get made, especially ones as topical as Rendition. It’s title refers to the US governmental practice of transporting terror suspects to offshore locations where shady thugs are given reign to torture and coerce them, with the freedom of ignoring the US constitution. Here, we are presented with the story of Anwar el-Ibrahmi, a handsome and clever Egyptian who has built a comfortable life for himself in the States, happily married to Reese Witherspoon and working as a chemical engineer. On his way home from a conference in South Africa he is bundled onto a plane to an unknown destination and merciliously tortured. The torture scenes are undoubtedly nasty, he is electrofied, beaten, forced to squat naked in a tiny enclosed space for hours and subjected to the especially horrific technique of waterboarding. It’s hardly the most violence we’ve ever been subjected to, but the fact that it’s based in reality causes many a squirm.

There’s a discomforting double standard at play though; Anwar is well-educated, married to a white woman and Americanized and we are clearly on his side, yet Khalid (Mohammed Khouas), the main character in the Islamic subplot, is (naturally) part of a Jihadist group. Why? Well, the filmmakers wanted to siphon in a handy father-daughter relationship theme and needed to show a human side to the lead torturer, of course and Khalid was the perfect sacrifice. It feels slightly wrong footed, attempting to show a reason behind the malice of the torturer by pushing the sympathetic Khalid into a terrorist group.

At the end of the day, the film stumbles on one major point - we are never told if Anwar is guilty or not-guilty. Well, the film makes it fairly clear that he is, but then where did the allegations come from? The main pieces of evidence used against him are records of his phone calls, but these are quickly forgotten about at the film’s close witout giving us any dislosure. If the phonecalls were fabricated by the government, desperate to find a suspect, then why weren’t we told? It’s a final cop-out and I really, really wish they had taken the final plunge and said “Anwar was singled-out purely for the colour of his skin”, if that’s what they were hinting at. The maddeningly even-handed script makes it explicitly clear that the process isn’t a new thing (“It began under Clinton”) but doesn’t once mention Bush by name, the President who intensified it. Rendition could hardly be called a brave film; it highlights torture, but ultimately fails to condemn it.

I didn’t thoroughly dislike it, though. As a thriller, it’s very taut and engaging. With strong performances from liberal-Hollywood types (Streep, Witherspoon, Arkin, brothers-in-law Gyllenhaal and Sarsgaard) and relative unknowns (Omar Metwally in particular gives good performance in a rough role that requires him to spend most of the film sweaty and naked, begging for his life), Rendition has a worthy gravitas that ensures that it’s a good watch. Sarsgaard may be the best thing about it, but Gyllenhall is also suitably worried-looking throughout and the final scene caused tears in my eyes. Out of the number of Iraq-themed dramas coming our way, Rendition will be far from the worst; it’s enjoyable and well-crafted, yet that final failing lowers it in my estimation.

Kings
I’m finding it very hard to get excited about this film. Solid acting, fine directing, a moving story and it’s lovely to hear Irish spoken on the big screen. Maybe it’s just not emotionally engaging enough, or perhaps I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to see it (it’s quite depressing, but not in the flamboyant way I enjoy, more in the Ken Loach way). There really is nothing especially wrong with it, but the fact that it has been chosen as the Irish Oscar submission hasn’t got me holding my breath.

List-less

2007-10-21T20:40:00.000+01:00

Although something of a music nerd, I was never fully a part of the whole obsessive list-making gig promoted by Nick Hornby and his ilk. Don’t get me wrong, I like reading and debating lists of the top 100 punk albums from 1077, or the worst music videos ever, or whatever. But when it comes to compiling one of my own, I get stuck in a rut and grow bored with my subject matter. List-making is not one of my fortes, it seems inherently both too masculine and too mathematical for me to sink my teeth into. I’m currently mentally assessing the 25 or so films I’ve seen this year and wondering how many will appear on my Best of 2007 list (I hesitate to call it an end-of-year list as there’s no conceivable way I could see all the films I want by January, such a list will probably surface in February, around Oscar-time. That’s how long it’ll take me to catch up on dvds and such.) and I’m dreading the inevitable need to rank one above the other. That’s not to say I never rank things, though - I’ve just found evidence to the contrary.

Whilst going through some old files, I came across a personal list of my top ten albums of all time, circa 2004. There was no real point in compiling a list like this, but I’m glad I took the time to write it back then. It offers up some interesting thoughts. Here’s what it looks like:

1. Jennifer Warnes - Famous Blue Raincoat

2. David Bowie - The Man Who Sold The World

3. Nirvana - Unplugged in New York

4. Tori Amos - Little Earthquakes

5. Radiohead - Kid A

6. Elvis Costello and the Attractions - Armed Forces

7. Siouxsie and the Banshees - Peepshow

8. The Smiths - The Smiths

9. Velvet Underground - VU and Nico

10. PJ Harvey - Stories from the city, Stories from the Sea

Reading over it, I come to two conclusions: despite what I think, my musical taste hasn’t evolved that much in three years, and damn- I listen to an awful lot of white music. There’s not one hip-hop, jazz or soul record on that list, which would definitely change if I were making an equivalent list today. There’s nothing classical, either. At least it’s fairly evenly split between male & female and it’s not confined to just one decade, which is a plus. I’ve got to remember that back then, I had only heard a fraction of the music I’ve heard today. I was in the process of discovering new bands to obsess on and I was in my early stages of worship. The Smiths are still a band I’d swear by, but their self-titled debut isn’t their best album, their most influential one, or even my favourite one. I can barely stand listening to it nowadays, although there are a handful of classic songs, the production is so tinny and poor that it renders them almost unlistenable. I suspect that, at the time of writing, their debut was the only Smiths album I owned; but I was still able to sense that they would go on to create great things. Right now, it’d be a toss up between Meat is Murder or Strangeways for a current placing.

As I don’t distinctly remember making this list, I have no idea whether it’s meant to be in any kind of order. I severely doubt it, as that would mean I put a covers album as my number one album of all time. Famous Blue Raincoat is a great covers record though; and it certainly appealed to the my seriouser-than-thou adolescent self. Having it at number one makes a lot more sense than my number 6 placing; I don’t even own that album and I can’t remember ever liking it that much. It seems inconceivable that I’d rank it higher than Peepshow, an album which would still easily creep into my current top ten. Putting a Bowie album, let alone a fairly mediocre one, at number 2 is just plain ridiculous. David Bowie has never been an artist who I’ve gone ape-shit over - but this list begs to differ. It’s slightly disconcerting - there was once a Catherine who admired Bowie enough to place him at number two in an All-Time-Great list? Whaaa? It’s a feeling akin to meeting my long-lost twin and realising she has 20/20 vision. What a headfuck.

Okay, getting down to the business of making a similar list today, I can see three of those albums holding on (Little Earthquakes, Kid A, Peepshow). Tori Amos has probably never topped her mainstream debut (what a disheartening thought for an artist), Peepshow still gives me the shivers and Kid A is Radiohead’s triumph (stfu about OK Computer). Seven coveted spaces are left and if I wasn’t thinking about it too hard, they’d be filled with Ys, Music for 18 Musicians, Reachin‘, When the Pawn Hits…, If You’re Feeling Sinister, Gorecki’s 3rd Symphony and Rain Dogs.

Excellent. Brilliant. Completed. What's next?

But wait.

I’m still not entirely happy with that (why have I once again neglected jazz? Where is Poses?! No McGarrigles, Paul Simon or George Winston - my childhood staples? Where are Sonic Youth, My Bloody Valentine, PJ Harvey, Bjork and The Smiths?) Even after a few minutes contemplation, even the original three seem wrong; I think Boys For Pele is a superior Tori album, I just haven’t had as much time to grow into it. I've always defended Amnesiac over Kid A. Is Peepshow really my favourite Banshees album?

I’ve never been able to fully commit to a list; my taste is ever changing and too fluid to really pin down (this could be a positive or a negative thing). Even a quick attempt at this kind of thing proves too much of a headache for a Sunday night. Even as I’ve abandoned it, disembodied voices keep bouncing off my skull, telling me I’ve forgotten them (please shut up, Buck 65). If anyone out there has a top ten list they’re perfectly happy with, feel free to share. I’ll read, comment and debate it - just don’t expect me to share mine.

Rufus Wainwright 10/10/07

2007-10-11T22:00:00.000+01:00

When I was 14, Kate & Anna McGarrigle were due to play a small show in Dublin, accompanied by Kate’s son Rufus. I was all set to go, but the date coincided with my school’s night-time award ceremony, to which I had been invited. Looking back on it, I probably wouldn’t have been let into the venue anyway, but at the time I sat and fumed throughout the entire ceremony. Finally, almost four years later, I get another chance to see Rufus live. My, it was worth the wait.

Words like “spectacular” and “experience” are carelessly thrown around as regards concert reviews, but Rufus Wainwright justifies them. His stage act is a carefully honed performance, one moment crooning love-lorn piano ballads with the audience in the palm of his hand, the next strutting across the stage in a pair of Lederhosen. The real magic comes when a crack appears in the show, as it did last night during Cigarettes & Chocolate Milk. Half-way through, he forgets to change chords on the piano and stares blankly at his hands, the audience giggling. “Guess I’ll start that again,” he grins. “I was getting cocky”. The song begins again and he plays it through perfectly, elicting whoops from the crowd. It’s a funny little incident, and the night is filled with these kinds of moments, intimate, amusing, human slip-ups, banter and jokes.

Vicar Street is perfectly suited to an act like Rufus, small enough to ensure a perfect view of th stage from any location. He seems to like it too. “I played here when it first opened,” he informs us, squinting out into the dark. “It was smaller then, right? They made it bigger… cause I’m playing.” He’s chatty, milking the crowd for all it’s worth. Unlike many acts who play Dublin, he actually knows Ireland (the McGarrigle side is originally from NI, I believe) and there is none of the customary “Oh, I’m so glad to be here, I always wanted to visit Ireland, I hear it’s such a lovely country” schtick that we’re often subjected to. Instead, a haunting Machusla performed sans microphone, standing alone in a single spotlight in the style of Irish opera singer John McCormac.

The setlist is a pleasing mixture of old and new, to my immense relief. I’m not the greatest fan of “Release the Stars” but the songs translate well in the live setting and the employment of huge disco balls add to the effect. Highlights of the first act include a glitterring Tulsa and a beautiful rendition of The Art Teacher. Every time the band left the stage leaving him on stage by himself I muttered a silent prayer for Poses, yet when the interval came I was still Poses-less. The second half brought a costume change, whilst before there was a striped suit laden with brooches, now we were treated to the infamous Lederhosen. His third clothing choice is a fluffy white bathrobe, when he triumphantly returns to the stage for an extended encore. This was by far my favourite part of the night - you can probably guess why, as he sat at the piano and began those first few notes…

Hearing Poses live was probably one of the best experiences I’ve ever had at a concert. It was up there with Radiohead’s How To Dissapear Completely and Joanna Newsom’s Comia. Poses is from his best (in my opinion) album, and it was the first song of his that I ever fell in love with. If he hadn’t played it, I would have gone away enthralled anyway, but with a teeny touch of disapointment lodged in my brain. As it was, I was walking on air. It was transcendent:

“Now I’m drunk and wearing flip-flops on fifth avenue…”

Everything about that line does it for me. Has their ever been a single lyric that so perfectly summed up it’s singer? The phrasing, setting, melody, flamboyance and subtle melancholy are all pure Rufus. It was the highlight of the week.

I didn’t think anything could top that - and truth be told, nothing really did - but he certainly tried his very best to win me over again. The next two songs were also his last, a drag version of Judy Garland’s Get Happy and a hushed, reverent Gay Messiah. This holy trinity of songs couldn’t have been better chosen - the crowd went bezerk.

He’s currently playing a second date in Dublin. Right now he’s probably telling a cheeky anecdote or making the audience cry. I’d sell a limb to be there…

Rufus Wainwright

2007-10-10T14:09:00.000+01:00

In about 6 hours, I'll be listening to Rufus Wainwright sing live.

Here's a a rough outline of what he played in Berlin last week:

Release the Stars
Going To A Town
Sanssouci
Rules and Regulations
Do I Dissapoint You
Tiergarten
Tulsa
Nobody’s Off the Hook
The Art Teacher
Beautiful Child
Between My Legs
14th Street
Leaving for Paris
Macushla
The Consort
Foggy Day
If Love Were All
Not Ready To Love
Slideshow
Danny Boy
Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk
Get Happy
Gay Messiah

Looks pretty good, I can't wait to see him pull a Judy on "Get Happy". I can't find the setlist for last night's Belfast concert but it appears that he played "Poses", my favourite of his songs.
If he played "Poses", I might just keel over in happiness.

Ugly Betty Season Two, Episode One

2007-10-08T23:06:00.000+01:00

Ugly Betty sneaked up on me last year to become my favourite new show of 2006. The first couple of episodes did nothing for me, the characters were too broadly drawn, the cartoonish style grating, the humour too weak. It's premiere collided unfavourably with the hype surrounding The Devil Wears Prada and I initially dismissed it as another well-intentioned, but unfunny satire of the fashion industry. The very fact that I've been eagerly awaiting this season premiere all summer should alert you to two facts; that I'm as fickle as a pickle and that you shouldn't judge a series by it's season opening (unless it's that rare beast, a first episode that's simultaneously enormously entertaining and indictitive of the series to follow, step forward the pilot episodes of Arrested Development and The West Wing). That's why I'm not too worried that the first Ugly Betty episode of the new season wasn't quite up to the usual standard - things can only get better.

As can only be expected, "How Betty Got Her Grieve Back" primarily deals with bringing us up to date on the characters. Betty is trying to forget about Henry by taking on an even greater workload, resulting in her becoming super-stressed and even getting, um, high blood pressure. What is it with this show and stupid medical-related problems? Ignacio's heart condition was boring enough - if I wanted hospital action I'd be watching Grey's Anatomy. We discover that Bradford is Amanda's father which I think is supposed to be a major plot point, but which didn't elicit an "Oh my God!" such as an "Oh...yeah. Duh?" response. Bradford really bores me, I wish the guy would get a facial expression or two.

The Awesome Claire Meade is living with prison break-out buddy Yoga in what looks like a beach house of some description; Daniel is recovering in hospital from the car-crash that has left his sister Alexis in a coma (!), Wilhemina is still scheming to get her hands on Mode Magazine, Marc is...doing not much and Christina is still Scotish. I wonder if they'll develop her "I left a husband back in Scotland" storyline; I kind of hope not, unless they draft someone amazing in to play Mr McKinney. Somebody, say, Scottish and dark and...Timelordesque?

As usual, Mark and Amanda provide the giggles. Even fairly clichéd phrases are laden with extra humour and snark when they drip from this pair's laconic tongues.

Marc: So, this is where you grew up?
Amanda: This is it. The house of lies. [shouting upstairs] Mother! If that is your real name...

We also get a nice, if slightly awkward looking, Mark dressed up as Wilhemina. His Wili-outfit looks suspiciously like his Middle-Ages outfit from Secretary's Day. One tacky wig fits all, I guess.

Alexis wakes up from her coma, feeling thirsty. The twist? She wonders why her brother is calling her Alexis. "It's me, Alex" she croaks. I've never been in a coma, but I would hope that when I awoke I'd be able to tell what sex I was. Maybe that's just wishful thinking...

Finally, the crux of the episode - Santos' departure. The episode tries to lull us into a false sense of security by having Santos "alive" throughout the entire episode but c'mon people, after that season ending how could they leave him alive? It was slightly manipulative to have Hilda be with Santos for the entire episode just to reveal the truth at the end, but I admit I wallowed in it. When Betty opened the door to the darkened room with Hilda hunched alone in her bed...yep, I cried.

But, no fear because happiness is (hopefully) soon at hand - the glorious return of Senor Grubstick to the Big Apple! Yahoo!

Let's hope Charlie's gone for good. I like Jayma Mays who plays her but the character was such an unnerving mix of cloying sweetness and pyschopathism that she was impossible to like (Mays similar but superior character, also named Charlie, on Heroes was cruelly murdered in her first episode - this actress just can't get a break).

One question - what the hell is up with the timeline of this episode? I only watched it once, so maybe somebody mentioned how much time has passed since the last episode, but if they did I missed it and so am a little confused. Daniel is recovering in hospital but is still fairly beat up (and still poppin' those pills, good old Danny) and Alexis is in firmly in a coma which would lead to me believe only a shortish time has passed; Justin's at summer-camp and seeming quite perky despite his obvious cause for being miserable (having your dad bumped off just as you two were getting along, him showing you how to snap your fingers and all, must be a bit of a downer, no?) so I'm inclined to think a decent amount of time has passed. Conflicting thoughts! Agh. This show should not require brain power. Plus, how long did it take Amanda to confront her parents about their true identity?

Overall, it was a decent episode with some laughs, some tears and, yes, a couple of cringe-worthy moments. There was no Wowzer moments, but that can hardly be expected in a expositionary episode.

Best Line:

Claire Meade: "I’ll be dressed as a nun ... or a cat. I haven't decided yet."

(Have I mentioned that Claire Meade is awesome? That punch she administrated to Wili was dead on, much better than the lame one Bree gave to to Orson's ex-wife that I can't remember what she was called in the last season of Desperate Housewives.)

In Rainbows

2007-10-04T18:58:00.000+01:00

It came out of nowhere. Four days ago, on Monday, a short announcement appeared on Radiohead's blog, Dead Air Space. Seemingly apropos of nothing, it signalled the arrival of a new Radiohead album in the most incongruous way possible.

Hello everyone.
Well, the new album is finished, and it's coming out in 10 days;
We've called it In Rainbows.
Love from us all.
Jonny

This low-key announcement is at odds with the buzz this is sure to generate. Radiohead's last album, Hail To The Thief, was released in 2003 - it's been a long wait for Radiohead fans. This new album has been supposedly knocking around for years, with the band looking for a label to release it on. Finally they seem to have struck on a solution - to distribute the album themselves. Therefore, In Dreams probably won't be available in the shops.

Fans can get ahold of the album in two ways:

1. Order a digital copy, paying whatever you want and recieving a link to a downloadable file on Wednesday 10th October.

2. Order a "discbox". From the site itself:

THIS CONSISTS OF THE NEW ALBUM, IN RAINBOWS, ON CD
AND ON 2 X 12 INCH HEAVYWEIGHT VINYL RECORDS.
A SECOND, ENHANCED CD CONTAINS MORE NEW SONGS, ALONG WITH DIGITAL PHOTOGRAPHS AND ARTWORK.
THE DISCBOX ALSO INCLUDES ARTWORK AND LYRIC BOOKLETS.
ALL ARE ENCASED IN A HARDBACK BOOK AND SLIPCASE.

THE ALBUM DOWNLOAD AUTOMATICALLY COMES WITH THIS PACK.
YOU CAN DOWNLOAD THE FILE DIGITALLY FROM THE 10TH OCTOBER 2007.

DISCBOXES ARE BEING MADE TO ORDER AND ARE PRICED AT £40.00 INCLUDING POSTAGE.
SHIPPING WILL BEGIN ON OR BEFORE 3RD DECEMBER 2007.

I'm of two minds about this. Part of me is slightly put out by the fact that the album won't be available in the shops. There's a certain thrill in heading into town on a designated day to pick up a new album from one of your favourite bands. I distinctly remember waiting outside Tower Records in town the day Hail To The Thief was released, totally hyped about bringing it home and listening. It added a physical element to the purchase. The fact that my first listen of this will be online saddens me somewhat. Then again, part of me is totally dumbstricken in a good way, awed at this marketing tool. In allowing fans to purchase a totally free download of the album, Radiohead are almost sure of losing money. Say what you will about their music or their politics, but you have to hand it to them; this sure is a novel idea.

Which leads me onto my own confession: I opted to pay nothing for the download. My reasons for this are manifold:

1. I've supported Radiohead for roughly 6 years now. I've bought all their albums, several EPs, a couple of shirts and I've seen them live twice. It's fair to say I've spent a considerable amount of money on them.
2. The very fact that the option to pay nothing exists means we don't have to feel guilty. Radiohead expect some people to pay nothing.
3. There is no guarantee that I will actually enjoy this album. Okay, the chances that I won't are slim, but they do exist.
4. The discbox. I've yet to place an order and I pretend to be deliberating over it in my head but if I'm being honest I know I will end up shelling out the 57 euro (or whatever it is) for it.

Even though I would have been dizzy with excitement if this happened two years ago, I'm still curious to see what this will turn out like. Expect a full review sometime next week.

Ha...ha...happ...happy....happy b....happy birth...

2007-10-03T16:09:00.000+01:00

Back in January I hosted a birthday bash for Phillip Glass, but today is infinitely more special as today is the birthday of my personal favourite modern composer. October 3rd, 2007 is when Steve Reich turns 71! Reich is a personal hero of mine, ever since I went to see some of his work played in the National Concert Hall last year. Here's what I thought of that performance (bear in mind this was written just after the concert and I was still on a high, so please excuse the hyperbole)

Ladies & Gentlemen, may I please introduce one of the most influential musicians of our time.

Mr Steve Reich.

This weekend just passed marked the 3rd annual Living Music Festival, sponsored by RTE. A three day festival encompassing performances, interviews and other events all based around the theme of contemporary classical music. This year, along with performances of Phillip Glass, Arvo Paart, John Adams and others of the genre, a lot of emphasis was based on Steve Reich. Being his 70th birthday year, RTE took the opportunity to dedicate the entire festival to him. There were concerts, a seminar, a live interview and a “marathon concert” day.

On Sunday 19th February, I along with my dad, was going to hear two Reich pieces preformed live by Ensemble Modern and Synergy Vocals. Excited? What do you think?

We arrived at the National Concert Hall at about 19:00 to collect our tickets. Milling about in the foyer I got a chance to crowd-watch. They were a diverse group; middle aged couples with opera spectacles, young men in Moog t-shirts, new-age hippies, the very elderly and the relatively young. At about 19:40 the doors were opened and we were let in to the hall. No seats were reserved so we could choose where we sat. Now, I’ve been at the NCH before a number of times and in my experience, the best place to sit is up on the balcony overlooking the musicians to their left. From this vantage point you can see every member of the orchestra and exactly what they’re doing. It’s also the closest you can get to the stage. We took our seats and waited patiently. On the stage there were a number of chairs, four grand pianos and a double bass leaning on its side. There was a funny little incident when a youngish guy in a crumpled orange shirt tried to take a seat a few places away from where I was. An usherette promptly told him he wasn’t allowed to sit there. The man protested that he was part of the orchestra, but she wasn’t having any of it and he was ejected.

The musicians came on shortly after that, to great applause. I was half hoping Reich would conduct, but to my slight disappointment the conductor was female. (Sian Edwards, apparently.) The first piece they played was called “Variations (You Are)”. This piece uses 2 flutes, an oboe, an English horn, 3 b-flat clarinets, 4 pianos, 2 marimbas, 2 vibraphones, 3 violins, a double bass, a cello and 6 voices (3 soprano, 2 tenors, 1 alto). It lasts about 26 minutes. It was very interesting to watch as well as listen to, looking at all the different musicians. You could see the different personalities of them, like one of the pianists who was doing most of the playing was very intense. He would finish every chord sequence with an extravegent flourish of his hands and a nod to nobody in particular. The first violinist on the other hand was extremely relaxed and kept grinning at the cellist. One of the pianists looked like Truman Capote and a soprano was the image of Cheryl from Curb Your Enthusiasm!

When they finished and I was clapping away, my dad nudged me to alert my attention to something at the back of the hall. There, in the soundbooth was an elderly man in a baseball cap, standing up and cheering loudly. He was giving thumbs up and blowing kisses to the musicians on the stage. Steve Reich was in the building.

This was the interval and I went to stretch my legs and get a drink. As I was sipping my coke I was thinking about the next piece I was going to hear, the one I really came for, “Music for 18 Musicians”. I couldn’t wait, but I was also nervous. What if it wasn’t enjoyable, what if it didn’t transfer live, what if, what it? We returned to our seats shortly and noticed that the instruments had changed. I’m not taking about shifting a few cellos, the four grand pianos had completely changed position and there was the addition of a metallophone (a vibraphone without a motor) and a xylophone. I also noticed the lack of a conductor’s platform.

From where I was sitting I could clearly view one of the side doors through which the musicians would enter. A small group of them were huddled in the doorway, giggling and nudging each other. They seemed unsure of when to go onstage and kept jostling one other and joking around. At one point they seemed to be communicating with the musicians presumably huddled in the doorway opposite, underneath my seat. It was funny seeing these classically trained musicians acting like school kids. At one point the violinist gave the “wanker” sign to another musician, then burst out laughing. Finally, they decided to enter.The crowd cheered like mad.

“Music for 18 Musicians” is Reich’s seminal work, written between 1974 and 1976. Based on an 11 chord cycle, each individual chord is expanded into a longer piece, which finally returns to the original cycle to finish. Contrary to what the title implies, more than 18 musicians are often needed, as there is a lot of doubling-up required. At this performance there were 19 musicians on the stage. Not all of them were playing all the way through and at certain points people would swap their instruments, a tricky manoeuvre seeing as a continous sound flow was required. One of the musicians was, I was pleased to note, Mr Orange Shirt from before.

Without a conductor to set them off, the musicians had to just give each other a quick nod to start them. At once you’re plunged into this rhythmic, pulsating hum of a sound. In a word, magnificent. Hypnotic, soothing but at times uneasy. The actual musicians were fabulous, moving around the stage, playing various instruments, smiling and laughing at each other and never once loosing their place. At some points you’d hear a noise and it’d take a few minutes for you to figure out what instrument was possibly producing that sound. It lasts about 55 minutes, but that flew by incredibly quickly. It doesn’t end on any great crescendo or anything, so when they suddenly stopped playing there was a sort of bewildered silence. Nobody knew whether to clap or not. Suddenly, a deep, loud, clear voice said “Bravo.” At this, Reich’s helpful instruction that it was indeed over, the place went mental. A fervour unlike anything I’ve seen at a classical concert swept the audience off their feet and into a standing ovation as the man himself made his way up onto the stage. He didn’t say anything, only hugged every musician on the stage and smiled sheepishly at the audience. At this point he was about 3 feet below me. I wanted to yell, “Hey Steve!” or something, but thought better of it. I should have though, damn! After taking a few bows and with a final wave, he left.

It was fabulous, all in all. One of the best concerts I’ve been to in my life.

Part of my 17th birthday present was the Steve Reich boxset, Phases which includes all his major works, from Music For 18 Musicians, Different Trains and Come Out. I'll be listening to some of it before I drop off to sleep tonight, that's for sure. Last year when he turned 70, online music journal Pitchfork hosted a lengthy interview with him, which you can read here. I love reading interviews with Reich, he always seems to be completely down-to-earth and refreshingly unpretentious. Take, for example, his take on whether people need to understand the theory behind his work in order to enjoy it:

"I don't care how much people understand what it is that I'm doing, except if they're players in my ensemble or other ensembles [Laughs]. I just want people to be moved by the music. If you're not moved by the music, then everything else falls away. You're not interested in the text, you're not interested in how it was done, and you're not interested in interviewing the composer and all the rest of it. We're speaking together because you found something interesting that moved you emotionally, is my guess. Or we wouldn't be having this conversation. It's the part of music that's the hardest to talk about, and I don't spend much time talking about it. But it is the bottom line."

Finally, here's a quick video of Reich talking about his music and ethos, from earlier this year. Apparently he won the Polaris Music Prize? Who knew?

Happy birthday, Reich-man!

Michael Clayton (2007) Tony Gilroy

2007-09-30T19:05:00.000+01:00

The summer film season is, by it’s very nature, a distracting force. Just remember our summer just gone; a veritable explosion of superheroes, car chases and giant robots. As we slipped into Autumn there came a handful of comedies headed by Seth Rogen, superficially different than the summer blockbusters but ultimately serving the same purpose, distracting people (in our case, a welcome diversion from the non-stop rain). There’s absolutely nothing wrong with setting out to make a film with the primary goal of entertaining people, but sometimes it’s more satisfying to make a film with something to chew on, a little moral ambiguity to get the brain cells churning. So, as the days get shorter and I get back into the routine of study, the cinema offerings get more serious, more literary, more intelligent. Basically, I’m in cinema heaven with the series of political thrillers and serious dramas like Breach, Rendition, A Mighty Heart and Michael Clayton either currently showing or on their way to the cinema.

Michael Clayton is the latest George Clooney vehicle showcasing his intelligence rather than his looks. It’s something I like about Clooney, that even in his most serious political roles he never seems preachy or even as if he’s grabbing for awards. He has a point to make and does so affably, it almost seems as if he isn’t really acting. In this respect, he’s the closest thing we have to a Cary Grant, somebody who just enters a film with enough self-confidence and charm to just be himself. As the eponymous character, a shady man who works as a “fixer” for a law firm, we never really get into the heart of his character, to discover what makes him tick. Personally, I was never quite sure what to make of him. In another setting this could be a problem, but in this case it suits the film perfectly, dealing as it does with lies and obsfucation.

Although Clooney is the film’s biggest sell, Tom Wilkinson delivers a standout performance as a corporate lawyer. His current client, a sinister multinational called UNorth, have murdered hundreds of farmers with a carcinogenic weed killer. Wilkinson eventually goes crazy and turns his back on his professiona duties after neglecting to take his manic-depression medication, a discomforting downward spiral of insanity. Part of Clooney’s job is convincing Wilkinson that his change of heart is a result of the resulting chemical imbalance, but to the viewer there is no doubt that it is the unbelievable guilt of compromising his morals day-in, day-out that has triggered the madness. The film’s best scene occurs with Wilkison, alone and raving in his apartment, playing UNorth’s advertising spot on repeat, the comforting words and images of small, multicultural children familiar to anyone who has ever winced at the friendly posturing of big businesses. The high-tech audio-visual equipment he uses have all been paid for with the blood of innocents, yet even this chilling scene never reaches the tense heights it could achieve. I have a feeling this is a deliberate move on the part of the director, the whole film is coated in a very slick, corporate feel which furthers the subject matter.

Bolstered by a fine supporting cast and a dense script, Michael Clayton is a head scratching treat. It won’t be for everyone, there’s little flashy or fun, and a quick glance on the IMDB boards show that many people consider it boring, but I thoroughly enjoyed it.

Guess what day it is?

2007-09-19T17:19:00.000+01:00

International Talk Like A Pirate Day!

Seeing how Pirates are the second most overrated novelty profession (only just overtaken by Ninjas) and how Johnny Depp bastardized the once shebang with those dreadful films, I refuse to participate. Just look at that gurning idiot up above! Would you really want to base your entire vernacular on him? Of course not! Instead, I propose to create International Talk Like a Tax Auditor Day!

Or how about, International Talk Like a Disgraced Former Taoiseach Day!

Or if you really want to push the boat out, International Talk Like Penn Day!

Happy Wednesday, y'all.

It's Deborah, not Debbie

2007-09-15T17:26:00.000+01:00

So, today I met Debbie Harry, or as she now calls herself, Deborah Harry. Or as millions of people around the globe know her, Blondie. Y'know. Her:

Well, nowadays she looks more like this:

She was in HMV Grafton Street for her first ever European signing. Now, I'm really happy she decided to bestow this honour upon Ireland, but she seriously needs to fire her PR company. Why any popstar of her magnitude would chose Dublin for her first European signing is beyond me; but I'm not exactly complaining. Quentin Tarantino was in HMV last night too. It would have been awesome to queue up to see him, shake his hand and say with a big grin, "Hey, Quentin? You're a cunt."

I ended up buying a copy of her new album, Necessary Evil. Which isn't great, but not as over-produced as I had expected. It's no Mantaray, though.

This is basically our conversation (we were in the first ten people to get stuff signed)

Me: Hi. How's it going? Eh, make it out to Catherine please.
DH: That with a C or a K?
Me: That's a C.
DH: Ah. That's my mother's name, Catherine.
Me: Yeah? It's a good name.
DH: It is, yeah. There you go.
Me: Thanks. Okay, cheers, bye!
DH: See ya.

Riveting stuff. She was cool, but very aloof. I didn't have a camera with me - curses.

Watching Taxi Driver; Magnified.

2007-09-09T16:32:00.000+01:00

I've finally seen Martin Scorcese's Taxi Driver on the big screen. It was a markedly different experience from any other previous time I've watch it; the very first time I viewed Taxi Driver was at 3am during a Christmas break, hunched over the tiny television in my bedroom. The sound was turned down low so my parents wouldn't hear and I had to strain to catch all the dialogue. Despite these setbacks, the film still affected me and I couldn't sleep afterwards. This afternoon I went to see a screening of it in the Irish Film Institute. Watching it on a full-sized cinema screen, with Bernard Herrman's exquisite score surrounding me, every grainy night-scene blown up to gigantic proportions, is undoubtedly one of my best film experiences yet.
I can't help being envious of people who were going to the cinema in 1976, when Taxi Driver was originally released. It isn't until you see it in the cinema that you fully appreciate the force of it, the seediness, the beauty. It's a powerful piece of work; what must it have been like to go to the cinema on a Friday night in the 70s, coming to this film with no preconceptions? No idea if it would be any good, no anticipating of the "You talkin' to me?", no prior knowledge of what you were about to see? The violence and racism that sidle around the screen are even mre disquieting, the dreamlike quality magnified, the score is like a drug, drawing you in with the mixture of beauty and seediness that is the main dichotomy expressed in the film.

As I sat there in the screening room, an elderly couple to my left and a young guy in his 20s who kept taking his glasses on and off to my right, I felt a shiver of excitement ripple through the whole audience as the lights dimmed and the Columbia logo flickered onto the screen. There were no ads, no trailers and none of those rating's cards. The film simply started to play; one click and we had started, a giant puff of yellowing smoke from which emerges the taxi cab, set to Herrman's score. I got to thinking about Bernard Herrmann, how I had never really connected the man who scored this with the composer of Citizen Kane, Psycho and, perhaps my favourite music of his, the sweeping romanticism of Now, Voyager. I didn't have long to ruminate on him for long though, as the film started in earnest and I was pulled along in the tide. The cinematography, impressive enough when you're dog tired and straining to see a miniscule screen, was breathtaking when blown up. The film was grainy and flickery at times, but who cared? It only served to further the intense atmosphere.
As well as the technical and visceral aspects of seeing Taxi Driver in this way, much has to be said on the humour in this film. It's not exactly a comedy, but Travis' fumbling attempts to date Betsy are sweetly amusing and the audience responded wonderfully. The biggest laugh in the film came when Travis is buying the guns and the guy who sells them to him keeps offering more guns, more drugs "Crystal meth. I can get ya crystal meth," and finally, ludicrously, offering him a Cadillac. It felt great, to laugh along with 60 other people, at this masterpiece.

If anyone's interested in seeing Taxi Driver, whether on a repeat viewing or as a first-timer, I would strongly urge them to see it on a big screen if at all possible. As cinema goes, it's hard to beat.

My 3 problems with Atonement.

2007-09-09T01:08:00.000+01:00

It’s facetious to judge a film without having seen it, but the near-constant barrage of reviews and media coverage that this film is generating means that I feel I basically know it already, and that I don’t care about the honesty of weighing in and giving my opinions without yet having seen it. Because I know I will see it, eventually. It’s inevitable - this is already turning into one of the year’s most talked about films. This is not one of the things that makes my list of quibbles, but it’s a point that bothers me. The first review of Atonement I came across was Emma’s, which I read with great avidity. I was curious to see what she thought of it, having just read the book myself. Later that week, the reviews began appearing in most of the Broadsheets and some more blogs. Then came the Venice Film Festival and the weight of press coverage this garnered was almost sickening. It bothered me that with so many other highly anticipated films showing, Atonement was the one that got the most buzz. It goes without saying I was thrilled when the Golden Lion for Best Film went to Ang Lee’s Lust, Caution. If the judges had awarded Atonement the top prize, I think my head might have exploded

1. Kiera Knightly.

I’m with Mark Kermode on this one. How the hell is “Ikea Knightly” an Oscar-nominee? It completely baffles. I’ll confess (albeit with glee) that I’ve only endured the first Pirates film, which I thought was “alright, not really my thing and way too long”. The second, and subsequently the third, seemed to get progressively worse and from all accounts, so did Keira’s acting. Having been marginally interesting in Bend It Like Beckham, she has simply done nothing in recent that has dazzled. Or even, you know, not made me sigh in despair. The final straw was catching her on Jonathan Ross last night. She didn’t seem entirely sane, but nor was she interesting in a kooky way. Instead she came across as needy, trying to wheedle Ross into admiting she wasn’t a bad actress. I don’t really pick fault with the casting of her as Cecilia, probably the book’s least interesting character, so much as I fault her acting at all, full stop.

2. The adaptation of the novel.

I had some major problems with the book itself, more on which later. But while reading it, I realised that this is an exceedingly odd choice to adapt for film. Ian McEwan’s excellent Enduring Love was, in my opinion, a better novel and also had a filmable plot. Atonement’s primary concern is with writing and the destructive power of the imagination, whether a writer is ever completely honest, if it is possible to atone for a terrible crime by writing about it. These themes are engaging and thoughtful, but not ones that scream “cinematic!”. The middle section, which centres on World War II, is the most filmable section of the novel, and also the part I found least engaging. Coincidence?

3. The novel itself.

I’ll admit that I read Atonement purely for the reason that there was to be a film based on it and I always prefer to read the book first rather than after. It wasn’t through lack of trying, I’d started it on two previous occasions but always gave up. There was something that didn’t quite catch me in it’s opening chapters, but this time I ploughed on and ended up rather enjoyed sections. The opening third, set in a stately English home during a sweltering pre-war summer, was well written and I found parts thrilling. The middle section, set during the war, I found formulaic. It had the façade of being well written, nicely composed sentences and McEwan’s masterful vocabulary in all it’s glory, but the sentiment seemed false to me. It was borderline boring, but not too offensive. But then came the shocker; it’s third act actually appalled me. I’m loath to reveal what exactly angered me, but it’ll suffice to say it was a cruel twists deployed by McEwan that only served to further his cleverness. I doubt he did it purely as a show-off gesture, but that’s how it read to me. The twist completely undermines everything that has come before it and plain upset me. But rethinking about it now has me conflicted; I understand that this twist was integral in driving home the central theme of the book, but at the same time I felt cheated and misled. The characters were sacrificed in favour of lamenting the fate of the author, we’ll say.

2007-09-08T23:02:00.000+01:00

As you can probably tell, I've been messing around with the format and layout of this blog. I was unhappy with it before, but now I can't make up my mind whether this new style is better or worse. I like the Feist picture up the top but the wider format kind of freaks me out. On one level, it allows for better viewing of pictures (see my photos down a couple of places, you can see the full front of Shakespeare & Co. rather than just the snippet that the previous format allowed) but it also has the same impact a completely blank A4 page has when you have to write a poetry essay in half an hour and your mind's gone blank; how the fuck will I fill this space? And the grey background? I like it better than white, but... Would the Fug girls shake their heads in aghast derision? Would I make E! News? Answers on a postcard please.

Back to school, yadda yadda

2007-09-03T21:47:00.000+01:00

In honour of my (very) immenint return to school, I present my favourite cinematic schooling moments.

Donnie Darko: Richard Kelly’s directorial debut was an ambitious sci-fi that shot Jake Gyllenhaal into superstardom and left thousands of teenagers scratching their heads wondering what it all meant, but it’s crowning achievment has to be the single slo-mo tracking shot through Donnie’s high school. We meet his friends, the teachers, the school bully (who appears to be snorting coke...) and Jake’s future love interest, all set to the oddly apt strains of Tears for Fears. It’s one of the most perfect scenes in recent film history, settling nicely into the niche between the bizarre time-travelling plot and the pure weirdness inherent in high school.

Ferris Bueller's Day Off: An odd choice, as Ferris doesn't spend a second in school during the course of the film, but it's one of the highschool films. Who hasn't spent a mind-numbing maths class dreaming of going on the mitch with Ferris, Cameron and Sloane? It's such a pity that Ferris chose to skip on that particular day, as here's a glimpse of what was going on during the economics class:

"In 1930, the Republican-controlled House of Representatives, in an effort to alleviate the effects of the... Anyone? Anyone?... the Great Depression, passed the... Anyone? Anyone? The tariff bill? The Hawley-Smoot Tariff Act? Which, anyone? Raised or lowered?... raised tariffs, in an effort to collect more revenue for the federal government. Did it work? Anyone? Anyone know the effects? It did not work, and the United States sank deeper into the Great Depression. Today we have a similar debate over this. Anyone know what this is? Class? Anyone? Anyone? Anyone seen this before? The Laffer Curve. Anyone know what this says? It says that at this point on the revenue curve, you will get exactly the same amount of revenue as at this point. This is very controversial. Does anyone know what Vice President Bush called this in 1980? Anyone? Something-d-o-o economics. "Voodoo" economics."

The Breakfast Club: It's a tough choice between this and Pretty In Pink for the mandatory John Hughes flick, but for pure iconic status, it's gotta be this one. For honing in on the accuracy, and the stupidity, of school stereotypes (the jock, the princess, the weirdo, the nerd and the drop-out) and for the line "Does Barry Manilow know that you raid his wardrobe?", you can't beat it.

Clueless: It's been over a decade since Cher and Dionne shopped, gossiped and match-maked their way through high school, and the Valley-Girl vernacular is ridiculously outdated, but Amy Heckerling's sharp update of Jane Austen's Emma is still as funny as ever. Some of the fashion choices are priceless and it's high time "Betty" and "Baldwin" were brought back as synonyms for good looking people! Or maybe not. But hey, if we're ever faced with a tough opponont in a debate, we have Cher to look to for inspiration.

Mean Girls: Probably the best high-school film ever made. Certainly the best movie Lindsay Lohan ever made. And, wait for it, my favourite comedy of all time.

"You got your freshmen, ROTC guys, preps, J.V. jocks, Asian nerds, Cool Asians, Varsity jocks Unfriendly black hotties, Girls who eat their feelings, Girls who don't eat anything, Desperate wannabes, Burnouts, Sexually active band geeks..."

Sadly, "Fetch" ain't never going to happen.

Cansei de Ser Sexy

2007-09-02T18:16:00.000+01:00

C.S.S. flip the trend of “all guys and one girl” that so many indie and rock bands have adhered to throughout the years, by being made up of lots of girls and one guy. This fact, along with the facts that (a) they are Brazilian and (b) they make really fun electro-pop-punk should make you want to listen to them.

There are a number of other reasons why you should like CSS. They are:

C.S.S. like music and pop-culture (“Music is my boyfriend!” they exclaim exuberantly). They want you to enjoy them as much as they enjoy, say, Death From Above 1979. They sometimes drink too much (“Alcohol”) and enjoy being rude to people (“This Month, Day 10”). Drunken buffoons, admitting their own mistakes and prancing around in sparkling leotards? What is this, the 70s? Nope; C.S.S. present their very own brand of joyous, humane disco-pop which has absolutely nothing to do with the en-vogue stylings of Snow Patrol et all. If their album seems to run out of steam towards it’s end, you can’t blame the band themselves. They’d probably be the first to admit it.

“Lets Make Love (And Listen to Death From Above)” is probably their most sophisticated song, but is nicely representative of their general sound. Funky guitar backed with electro beats, garbled English delivered in Lovefoxx’s curiously detached vocals, handclaps, a catchy chorus that grabs you in a headlock and demands you pay attention; this is the C.S.S. sound and woe unto those who attempt to ignore it. Those jaded enough to reel off the bands from whom C.S.S. are derivative of - Le Tigre’s type of female-fronted electro-pop, the way Lovefoxx’s voice sometimes strays in Poly Styrene territory (especially on the second track, “Patins”) - are missing the point; C.S.S. may wear their influences on their multi-coloured sleeves, but they are purely of their time. Indeed, we must look to LCD Soundsystem for a taste of their ironic pop references; witness their hilarious slagging of Paris Hilton, and the emergence of a new internet culture, without which it’s fair to say C.S.S. would have floundered into Brazilian obscurity. Within the blogosphere, a whole global community of disco-depraved indie kids can revel in the joys of Cansei de Ser Sexy.

Breach (2007) Billy Ray

2007-09-01T23:14:00.000+01:00

In a year dominated by great female performances (think; Laura Linney in Jindabyne, Marion Cottillard in La Vie En Rose, Imelda Staunton in Harry Potter, Maggie Gyllenhaal in Sherrybaby) it is somewhat of a relief to finally see a male performance that could be worthy of an Oscar nod come February. Chris Cooper’s turn as real-life FBI agent Robert Hanssen in Breach could well be one of the year’s defining male performances, although this muted, intelligent thriller could slip under many people’s raders.

Everyone has their favourite niche genres, whether it’s biopics of doomed musicians or high school comedies. One of my own personal favourite genres would be the political thriller; the recent remake of The Manchurian Candidate being a case in point. I had been an admirer of Bill Ray’s Shattered Glass ever since I saw it a few years ago and when I heard he was making another film based in reality, this time concentrating on the downfall of FBI agent Robert Hanssen, my interest was piqued. The cast list, when I saw it, only furthered my enthusiasm for this film; the excellent Chris Cooper, the aforementioned Linney plus a bit part for The West Wing’s nasty vice-president Gary Cole. There’s always a risk of being disappointed when you look forward to something, but Breach handles it’s subject with decorum and an unshowiness that betrays it’s sensational plotline. It’s smart, well-acted and emotionally involving; a welcome change from the candy-coloured assualt of the summer film season.

In 2001, FBI hopeful Eric O’ Neill was assigned to work alongside Hanssen in order to find out his secrets. At first, O’ Neill is only told that Hanssen is a sexual pervert and that his mission is to investigate any deviant activities in order to save the FBI from any potential embarrassment. As the weeks progress, O’ Neill (a surprisingly good portrayal by Ryan Phillipe) becomes fond of Hanssen and demands to know why he is supposed to be investigating him. Reluctantly, his supervisor, Agent Kate Burroughs (Laura Linney) explains the true reason; Hanssen has been working as a spy for Russia for years, divulging vital pieces of U.S. intelligence and authorising the killing of other agents. He is a traitor and a liar.

Cooper, who has made a living playing hardened men (American Beauty, The Bourne Supremacy, Jarhead) is the unbreakable core of the film. Hanssen is obviously an extremely complex man; a devout Christian who has no qualms about betraying his fellow country. At times he seems without morals, but then a small touching gesture he makes towards O’ Neill will flip your perception of him uncomfortably. We are clearly not supposed to empathise with him, he is cruel and perverted, a heartless liar, but Cooper gives such a lifelike potrait it is difficult not to feel some glimmer of sympathy. None of the other characters know what to make of him either. “His grandchildren do love him,” admits Agent Burroughs reluctantly. It isn’t a showy performance by any means, but you can hardly keep your eyes off him. He exudes quiet menance from our very first encounter with him and O’ Neill, understandably, is terrified. He is the scariest onscreen Boss since Miranda Priestly in The Devil Wears Prada, except Anna Wintour never sold secrets to the Russians. At least as far as I’m aware…

The Bourne Ultimataum, which I also enjoyed, deals with roughly the same topics as Breach; CIA, espionage, secrets. But it’s hard to think of two such dissaparate films. While the Bourne films are a frenzy of jump-cuts and wobbly handheld cameras tracking impressive car-chases, Breach is a much quieter affair. The bulk of the action takes place in offices or apartments, there is no final showdown, no jolting cameras or frentic electronic scores. It is character based, dialogue based; and even the more chilling for it. The tension builds up slowly throughout the entire film, beautifully realised in muted greys and blues, until the inevitable end rolls into place with a saddening clunk. Breach is not an uplifting film, but nor is it a downer; it simply understands that people are complicated in what they do, in what they say and what they think.

“It doesn't really matter; the judgement of other men... I know what I've done.” - Robert Hanssen, Breach.

Sleepless long nights, that is what my youth was for

2007-08-27T13:12:00.000+01:00

If one single album could represent an entire holiday, the musical score to my three weeks spent idly in France would be signified by Feist’s The Reminder. I bought the former Broken Social Scene member’s second album on my second or third day there, in a pleasantly crowded FNAC store in Paris. I knew the album fairly well when I bought it, having previously acquired it by less than legal methods (ahem…) but I usually have to own a physical copy of the music to be able to fully connect with it. It isn’t such a matter of being Old Skool as it is being lazy, it’s easier to “get into” an album when you have all the accompanying paraphernalia to guide you along; jewel case, artwork, booklet, that shiny silver disc. There’s a time and a place to wax rhapsodic on liner notes, but this isn’t it.

Listening to The Reminder, feeling stoned on the music and the lightness of air, my sleepy-sick tiredness and the heat and noise of the Paris streets clattering through the open windows of our apartment, I promptly decided that this was one of the best albums of the year so far. Not only is it a ballsy, beautiful collection of songs with maturely rendered instrumentation, but The Reminder has an easy flow which is a rarity in a modern album. Radiohead’s last effort Hail To The Thief was filled with great songs, but it was also stilted and bloated. There was no continuous link binding the songs together; or if there was, it was sequestered away in Thom Yorke’s head. Feist’s themes may not be grandiose, love songs and rocking out with your friends aren’t going to shatter the earth, but she maintains roughly the same tone throughout. Never mind that “SeaLion Woman”, a rollicking Nina Simone cover, packs a wallop greater than, say, “The Water” but they are not so dissimilar to create a noticeable jump. The Reminder is 13 sophisticated pop songs, united by deft instrumation and the weird, keening thing that is Leslie Fiest’s singing voice. If she can’t quite reach every note perfectly, if she sometimes snags over the lyrics, this only adds to the intimate feel of the album. It’s more polished than 2004’s Let It Die which has attracted criticism (see: Stylus Magazine’s review) but it is also more musically centred. Let It Die has fabulous songs (and The Reminder has not got a BeeGees cover, which is always a bonus) but it does not have the vision that The Reminder posesses. Roughness and lo-fi productions have always been praised in music circles, but that does not mean a well-produced album is a negative thing. Feist is a legitimate indie singer; but she’s smart enough to get good people working alongside her, and has the sense of humour to have fun with it. The Reminder is the sound of a singer being totally at ease with herself. All you haters can go screw you'selves!

As for the songs themselves now, it’s hard to imagine where to start. The pure burst of happy nostalgia that is “1234”, the shy sweetness of “Brandy Alexander” and the sultry stomp “My Moon, My Man” all vy for my favourite song on the album, but my preferences are in a constant state of flux. One moment I’ll decided that “Limit To Your Love” is one of the best things she’s ever done, the next moment I’m dying for a blast of “SeaLion Woman”.

The French love Feist, and she loves them right back. The Reminder was recorded mostly in Paris and therefore it’s fitting that it was in Frogland that I grew to love it, along with Let It Die. The feeling of companionship and camaraderie that is scattered through the album (Feist is quite happy to share song writing duties and handclaps with her friends and fellow musicians) was mirrored in my own listening experiences of it; over the course of our holiday my whole family grew to love the album as much, or even more, than my own appreciation of it. I’ve expressed elsewhere that I can only consider albums amazing if they transcend themselves and reach out into my everyday life. If I don’t have a tangible experience with it, no matter how great the songs, I can’t claim to love it. All my favourite albums have some personal memories attached to them. It’s safe to say that The Reminder has shot into my personal favourites.

And now, for your listening pleasure, The Mixed-Up Files presents Feist. Enjoy!

Holler

2007-08-24T20:18:00.001+01:00

Long time no blog. This is what I've been getting up to.

Mmmm. This was like my 3rd or 4th time in this bookshop. My favourite experience of it was the first time I went and got my first glimpse of the legendary owner, George Whitman. He was topless and we thought it was an old woman at first. He was throwing bits of bicycle out the window and screaming at one of the employees. I'm so working here when I live in Paris.

In case you can't tell (and I'd be freaked out if you could), that green dealie is not a hospital tag but my pit-band from The Shins, whom I caught at the Olympia on Tuesday. They were awesome.

This appears to be a lion in front of some bookshelves. Don't ask why, I found it on the camera, never having seen it before. I thought it'd be appropriate for the blog though.