Pynchon

Hangover.

The Cult were great, by the way. Here's something to keep you going, while I recover.

Labels: Illness

"Juno".



There will be a spoiler or two, so please feel free the skip the rest of this. It's only me babbling on.

This may sound like an awful fudge, but I am not exactly sure how to take "Juno".

On the one hand "Juno" is really funny, has some great performances (especially from Ellen Page, Jason Bateman and Jennifer Garner) and perfectly picks up on the idiom of smart teenage slang. On the other hand, the story that unfolds is all very nice and neat and tidy, and not nearly conflicted or dramatic enough.

For instance...

Yes, I know it was only a plot device to prevent Juno from going ahead with the termination (no pregnancy, no movie!), but was it really necessary to paint the abortion clinic in such an unpleasant light? Very cliched, very dull and certainly not the experience I had, a few years ago, when I accompanied Sister 3 to a similar establishment. It made it too easy for Juno to make the decision that she did.

At the end, would a girl like Juno really have just given up her baby without a second thought, or a glance backwards? Would she have immediately have taken back up with the boy who made her pregnant? What about his feelings? Or his Mother's?

What about her parents? They more or less just agreed straight away with what she wanted to do? Way, way too understanding and I didn't believe it. Juno is a smart mouthed, but nice, 16 years old girl. What does a 16 year old girl know, or boy for that matter?

I am writing as though I didn't enjoy "Juno", but that is incorrect. I did enjoy "Juno", but it could have been much more than a kooky, feelgood, idiosyncratic movie.

********

Films all done. Phew. Was it worth it?

Don't really care. Worth it for me.

I am out tonight to watch the Cult. I have some chores to do.

Ciao Baby.

Labels: Movies

"The Diving Bell And The Butterfly" or "Le Scaphandre Et Le Papillon".



On Monday night I was watching the Oscars. (Well, I was, until Virgin or Sky pulled the plug on the coverage at 4am. Cheers guys!) One of the talking heads was discussing the fact that neither "Le Scaphandre Et Le Papillon" or "La Vie En Rose" were on the shortlist for Best Foreign Language movie. It was explained that the Academy rules dictated that every foreign country choose a single movie to represent them, and that neither "Le Scaphandre Et Le Papillon" or "La Vie En Rose" were considered suitable or good enough to represent the great French nation.

Le grandees français de film est tels idiots.

I cannot comment on "La Vie En Rose". I have never seen it, and so should not express an opinion one way or another on the quality of that movie, but I have no doubt that if it had been eligible, "Le Scaphandre Et Le Papillon" would have won the Best Foreign film Oscar. It is a wonderful film.

The film details the struggles of the French writer Jean-Dominique Bauby who, at the age of 42, became victim to Locked-in Syndrome. That is, nearly complete paralysis, except for the ability to control his left eyelid. After a method is devised to allow Bauby to communicate by moving his eyelid, he decides to fulfil the commitment made, prior to his illness, to write a book.

Strange as it may sound, and shot through with frequent despair it may be, but this is a feelgood movie. Through his memories and his imagination Bauby roams freely through time and space. Memories of good times with his wife and children, his beautiful mistress (the gorgeous Marina Hands) and fantasies of the Empress Eugénie de Montijo, wife of Napoleon III. Bauby is not a saintly figure. He is sometimes rude, sometimes impatient and he enjoys checking out the cleavages of the nurses who tend to him. (Good lad.) He is a man and he is alive.

"Le Scaphandre Et Le Papillon" is a testament to the power of the human spirit and the drive to survive and, after a fashion, to live.

Must see.

Labels: Movies

"Waz".



The most influential American horror movie of the last 20 years is "Seven". This much is undeniable. I really liked "Seven". Great movie. It might be one of my favourites. The only problem is that every inner city set horror thriller made since comes across, to me, as "Seven"-lite.

Which brings me to "Waz".

A city of permanent night. A cop on the edge. A diabolical killer. Inventive, ingenious torture and murder. Victims with a reason for being victimised.

Yup. "Seven"-lite. Not necessarily a bad thing in itself, because you have to take every movie on it's own merits, but disappointing when witnessed over and over again.

"Waz" isn't bad. It is just unoriginal and a triumph of style over substance. The city is effectively portrayed as grim, dirty, cold and wet. You wouldn't want to go there on holiday. You wouldn't want to hang out with any of these people. The tone of the film is unpleasant, seedy and black. To coin a dated phrase, a video nasty. It will get you down. It also has one of the most disturbing filmed sequences of sexual abuse I have ever seen. All insinuated, you don't see a thing, but it is horrible.

Melissa George has been better and is frankly wasted as the pouting sidekick, but "Waz" does have a superior cast (Stellan Skarsgård, Selma Blair, Tom Hardy, etc.) for what is effectively a straightforward genre movie. Some of the questions I had as to why they signed up for this movie were answered during the denouement, when the motivations behind Stellan Skarsgård's actions are revealed and his character develops levels way beyond that of a tormented cop.

So, "Waz" was OK. Not bad for a walk on the dark side.

Labels: Movies

On the lead up to Valentine's Day, I went to see "Definitely, Maybe".



Romantic comedies are easy.

1. Boy meets Girl.
2. Girl hates Boy.
3. Boy pursues Girl.
4. Girl hates Boy even more.
5. Boy gives up chasing Girl and meets New Girl.
6. Girl realises that she loves Boy.
7. Boy and Girl are unhappy.
8. New Girl leaves Boy for Boy's Best Friend/Brother/Father.
9. Boy and Girl kiss.
10. Roll credits and retire to Beverly Hills with up and coming starlet.

I could do that!

"Definitely, Maybe" does not really follow the bog standard romantic comedy template (which is good!), mainly because it is constructed as a mystery.

Soon to be divorced, mid 30's, single father Ryan Reynolds tells his 11 year old daughter the story of the three main romantic relationships of his life. One of these women will turn out to be his daughter's absent mother. Who will it be?

1. Nice, hometown girl Elizabeth Banks.
2. Kooky, wild child Isla Fisher.
3. Ambitious journalist Rachel Weisz.

Place your bets now! (I got it wrong, by the way. We'll skip past that, if I may.)

Despite myself I rather liked "Definitely, Maybe". Nice unsentimental performances by the whole cast and a good script that delved into off-centre subjects for a romantic comedy, such as hero worship and what can happen when your heroes let you down. "Definitely, Maybe" is also quite funny, but with a dark centre. I thought Ryan Reynolds, who is onscreen throughout, was really good. With this film and "The Nines" I am increasingly impressed with him. Really I am.

If I had to make one criticism it would be that "Definitely, Maybe" is a little bit too long. If only 10 minutes had been shaved off the running time, the ending would have been completely different, poetic, melancholy and more true.

Oh, well... Maybe the producers didn't want that? Maybe the producers wanted the traditional romantic comedy happy ending, after all?

Doesn't everybody.

Labels: Movies

Whooooeeeee! Anarchy Earthquake In The UK!

23:56. I was watching "Morvern Callar". It was very quiet. Then, suddenly, there was an enormous groan and a creaking sound as window frames tried to bend and then the settee shook for a couple of seconds. Then nothing.

Straight after that there was another rumbling sound as Lorraine got out of bed.

"What the fuck was that?"

"Just an earthquake. Nothing to worry about."

Call me Mr. Cool.

Labels: Earthquake

I have seen the films "Juno" and "Waz". I will write up both films tomorrow, along with the others I have missed along the way.

The hotel for our Easter trip to the smoke is finally booked. The Friday and Saturday night. We come home on the Sunday. For the Saturday we have tickets to see "Speed The Plow" at the Old Vic, starring Kevin Spacey, Jeff Goldblum and Laura Michelle Kelly. Lorraine's birthday present. Not a surprise. She knows all about it. We will probably also fit in shows on the Friday night and Saturday night. Make the most of the weekend.

Flowers have been ordered for my Mom for Mother's Day. I asked her if she wanted a present. She didn't. Flowers it is then.

My friend is staying over on Thursday night, after we have seen the Cult. An unusual occurrence for anybody to stay over at Residence Chez Pynchon. Lorraine has told me to change the sheets on my bed tomorrow and to air the room. This means that tomorrow evening we will be sharing her bed. I have not shared a bed with Lorraine in over a year. I don't know how I feel about it.

I am knackered. One of my favourite films is on at midnight. "Morvern Callar" starring Samantha Morton. I think I will watch it. No work tomorrow.

Labels: Busy

Missing line from the last post.

Best Supporting Actress: Cate Blanchett (for "I'm Not There").

I would have got it wrong. Ce la vie.

The good.

Of the six bets I put on, four of them came in correct, which means I was up by about 7 quid. In the annual Pynchon Vs. Lorraine Oscar contest I also won, but for the first time it was a close run thing. I won by 1. It was neck and neck until the end when Lorraine, swayed no doubt by the beauty of gorgeous George, voted for "Michael Clayton" for Best Film. Insanity at it's finest. Not that I didn't like "Michael Clayton", I did, but only one of two films was going to win Best Film on Sunday night.

The bad.

Some fucker (Virgin Media? Sky? Don't know yet) pulled the plug on the Oscar coverage on Sky Premiere, Sky Premiere + 1 and Sky Screen 1 at 4am, this morning. After ringing the customer care line to complain and ascertaining that there was nobody there and the customers could go hang, I then checked the service status on the website. No mention of anything untoward on there, either. I went to bed with a rage that nearly turned me green.

This morning I rang the customer care line and talked to a very nice lady who said that Sky Premiere always ceased broadcasting at approximately 2am. Clearly bollocks and I said so. I know that this time last year the Sky movie channels were still branded as Sky Movies 1, 2, 3, etc., and this year they are branded as Drama, Indie, Classic, etc., but I watched the Oscar coverage last year with no problems and I should have been able to watch it this year with no problems.

I have written two letters of complaint. Frankly I just want to know what happened and who was playing silly buggers. If the letters are ignored, I will be writing to the Managing Director of Virgin Media, with the envelope marked 'Private and Confidential). I am sure that he will be delighted to explain what happened to me himself.

I would not have bothered to stay up all night if I knew that the coverage was going to end before the Best Film was announced.

Yours, disgruntled.

Labels: Movies, Television

Nearly 10:30 pm in the UK. The Oscars coverage starts in 3 hours or so. Just time for my main predictions before I have a quick nap.

Best Film: "No Country For Old Men".
Best Director: Joel and Ethan Cohen (for "No Country For Old Men").
Best Actor: Daniel Day-Lewis (for "There Will Be Blood").
Best Actress: Marion Cotillard (for "La Vie En Rose").
Best Supporting Actor: Casey Affleck (for "The Assassination Of Jessie James By The Coward Robert Ford").
Best Original Screenplay: Cody Diablo (for "Juno").
Best Adapted Screenplay: Christopher Hampton (for "Atonement").

I have yet to see "There Will Be Blood", "La Vie En Rose" or "Juno", and lots of the other nominated films, so let's just say that these predictions are based on a mix of previous form, wishful thinking, guesswork and the once and future Pynchon sending the list of winners via tachyon particles, to this point in time, which manifested themselves in my dreams. (Reminder to myself: At some point I really must buy "Prince Of Darkness" on DVD.)

I am really tired. This is what two bottles of wine with Lorraine at a nice Italian restaurant will do to you. We never even made it to the cinema. Probably not the best preparation for staying up all night.

I will now rest.

Labels: Movies

I forgot to do this yesterday.

Belated birthday greetings to Bruce Forsyth. 80 years young and still working. British television mainstay. Light entertainment legend.



Years and years ago my Mom went to see Brucie in cabaret. She was in the front row. A little plump woman in a black dress. She had had her hair done for the occasion. Of course Brucie spotted her and took the piss out of her all night.

("You just come from a funeral, love?" "Was the hairdresser's shut?" "Have you got any kids, love? You've got five?!? Do you need to lie down, love? Actually that's probably the last thing you need to do!")

According to my Aunt my Mom laughed and laughed and laughed.

At the end Brucie presented my Mom with a huge bouquet of flowers and kissed her on both cheeks.

Excellent. A legend.

(Interesting to note that when my Mom saw Barry Humphries/Dame Edna Everage, a couple of years later, very much the same thing happened. My Mom must have one of those faces.)

Labels: Birthday, Family, Gigs

I am not adverse to a bit of self publicity once in a while. So, if you are interested, check out my earworms on Swiss Toni's blog just here. It's a good blog anyway, regardless of my involement this week, and all discerning people should be reading it.

I have to go to work tomorrow morning, then I have the week off. Nothing whatsover planned except the following.

1. A cinema trip out with Lorraine on Sunday afternoon . She wants to see the Jack Nicholson/Morgan Freeman comedy "The Bucket List". This hardly fills me with excitement, but I try never to comment on films I have not seen.
2. A Valentine's Day meal out. Something Italian, methinks. For many years now Lorraine has refused to go out on Valentine's Day itself, because she considers the 'special menus' and the 'special prices' to be a rip off. She might be right.
3. Stay up to watch the Oscars. The coverage starts at 2am in the UK and goes on until 5am. I do it every year. I must also put a couple of bets on over the weekend. I win some, I lose some. I normally break even on the night.
4. Go out on Thursday evening to see the Cult. Really looking forward to that one. I never saw them at their peak, but I always thought they were a great band with a great image.
5. Lots and lots and lots of films. Well, maybe three or four over the week.
6. A bit of writing. Things to catch up on.

I am off. I need to be up at six.

Have a great weekend, y'all.

Labels: Busy, Earworms

If it's not one thing it's another.

Last night, sometime between 9pm and 10pm, the radiator in the kitchen sprung a leak. I think it was probably closer to 9pm, because by the time I went into the kitchen at 10pm, there was enough water on the kitchen floor to do a breaststroke across the room.

Panic? 'Course I did. Then Lorraine used her waspish Thatcher-Bitch tone on me, I calmed down and we got on with it.

We mopped up the water. We stuck a bucket underneath the leak. Could we isolate the radiator ourselves? No chance. Some fool had painted over the... Sorry, don't know what they are called. The bits you can turn to cut off the water. Anyway, there was nothing in Lorraine's toolbox that fitted the knob-turny thing We looked at the terms and conditions of the plumbing insurance we have with Severn Trent. We were covered. Aces. Rang the emergency line. No chance of anybody coming out tonight. How about first thing tomorrow morning? OK. No choice really, unless we wanted to pay somebody else? No.

We calculated that the bucket would fill up in two and a bit hours. Lorraine decided that she would be the one who would stay up through the night and would go to bed at 4am. I would get up normally at 6am, waking her up before I left for work at 8am. She would then stay at home waiting for the plumber and would dial into work and work from home.

All sorted now. Radiator isolated and no more leaks. Didn't cost us a penny, either. Thank Jesus Christ and all his worshippers for that!

I had a fitful night's sleep, last night. Do you blame me?

********

Daisy: I know I haven't replied to any of your comments about "No Country For Old Men". I will, but not tonight.

I also have reviews to write of "The Diving Bell And The Butterfly" and "Definitely, Maybe". It might not matter squat to anybody else, but it does matter to me to get those reviews on the blog. Call it a matter of being consistent.

Labels: House, Stress

"4 Months, 3 Weeks & 2 Days" or "4 Luni, 3 Saptamani Si 2 Zile".


Romania, 1987. Two years before the fall of the Ceauşescu regime, a student helps her friend to obtain an illegal abortion. "4 luni, 3 Saptamani Si 2 Zile" details the events of a single day in which both girls will face circumstances of growing despair and horror. A question is asked and answered: What would you do for a friend?

I don't think I can praise "4 luni, 3 Saptamani Si 2 Zile" highly enough. I thought that "4 luni, 3 Saptamani Si 2 Zile" was a great film, perfectly executed.

There are some particular words I would use to describe this film. Compelling, downbeat, tense, shocking, harrowing and graphic. The country of Romania itself is a character in this movie. A cold and unfriendly place. Practically everything appearing to be worn down, old and shabby. The people are tired, irritated and impatient. I think it is a snapshot of a kind of hell on Earth.

There are stunning performances by Anamaria Marinca (some people might remember how good she was a couple of years ago in "Sex Traffic" on Channel 4) and Laura Vasiliu as the two girls. (Check out the scene of Anamaria Marinca at a family birthday party. A masterclass of internalised acting and suppressed emotion. She is doing practically nothing, but her mind is elsewhere. You can see it in her eyes.) Also, a couple of words of praise for Vlad Ivanov as Mr. Bebe, the abortionist. His peformance as Mr. Bebe is a calculated study of bland and indifferent evil. Quietly spoken, balding, middle aged in his comfortable jumper and comfortable shoes. Manipulative, advantage taking, awful and chilling. Really chilling.

However you line up on the subject of abortion, pro-choice or pro-life (I am pro-choice, by the way), you should see this film. One of the best of the year.

What would you do for a friend?

Labels: Movies

Yesterday, for about 20 seconds, I met up with the blogger previously known as Graham. I was on the number 1 bus, getting up to get off and Graham had just got on. He looked and sounded good. Not blogging anymore, and that is a crying shame, but I suppose you have to do what you have to do.

Just thought I would mention that.

********

I have seen another two movies over the weekend. This makes it four movies I have not written about at all. The situation is unacceptable and will lead to a schism in the fabric of space/time, and a dangerous alternative future, unless I do something about it.

How about one review tonight and the rest over the week?

I will take your silence as meaning that this is acceptable.

"All The Boys Love Mandy Lane".



I approached seeing "All The Boys Love Mandy Lane" with caution. I had heard a rumour that the Protection Of Punters From Horror Movie Cliche's fast response squad (a subdivision of the Committee For Protection Against All Hollywood Movie Cliches) were sweeping UK cinemas and arresting anybody caught watching bad movies about good looking teens being slaughtered by evil forces unknown in remote and eerie locations. The punishment, I heard, was 30 years hard labour watching Martin Lawrence comedies.

I was OK. The squad didn't catch me. Anyway, despite being based on well worn movie cliches, "All The Boys Love Mandy Lane" was really rather good, not a bad movie at all, so the squad would have been forced to let me go.

My interest in a film like this lives and dies on outside of what is going regarding the horror content. Horror is boring in and of itself. Luckily there is plenty of other stuff going on in "All The Boys Love Mandy Lane".

"All The Boys Love Mandy Lane" boasts really great, stunning cinematography. Just beautiful work, dreamy and atmospheric, utilising all sorts of time lapse effects and film stock. I think the work is as as good as anything you might see in a serious art house film. "All The Boys Love Mandy Lane" also has a really good soundtrack of melancholy pop music, culminating in a song that everybody knows: One of the creepiest pop songs of all time. (You will know what it is. It is in the trailer.) There are good performances and an inventive script, touching on interesting issues such as sexual attraction, jealousy, the school hierarchy, peer pressure and rivalry and the problems of the modern body image.

Hey! Don't worry! The filmmakers do not forget that "All The Boys Love Mandy Lane" is supposed to be a horror movie. Add to all of the above some particularly bloody, hands-over-your-eyes, murders.

The eventual identity of the killer was no surprise to me, but that is just the way it goes. I have seen a lot of movies. Suffice to say that "All The Boys Love Mandy Lane" is a superior horror film. One of the best I have seen in years.

Labels: Bloggers, Movies

I always read books in the mornings, in the half hour or hour before I have to leave to go to work. I do not read books at any other time, although I do read magazines compulsively: Any magazine that I can get my hands on.

I have just started reading "Hyperion" by Dan Simmons. I have read it, and the sequel "The Fall Of Hyperion" before, a very long time ago, but figured that if I wanted to start the next two books in the sequence ("Endymion" and "The Rise Of Endymion"), a refresher would probably be in order.

I will write about those books when I have finished them.

I have finished reading two books this year so far. "The Insider" and "What We Talk About When We Talk About Love".

"The Insider" was written by Piers Morgan, ex editor of the British tabloid newspapers "The News Of The World" and "The Daily Mirror". Wikipedia's entry on him is pretty expansive, so if you want to know more about his career, click away. I'll give you my take, anyway.

I think that Piers Morgan is a dark creature of the night. He is a vile, smug, arrogant, self satisfied scum sucker and bottom dweller. He is an inhabitant of the gutter and prone to historical revisionism. (Piers introduces Paul McCartney to Heather Mills! Piers convinces Tony Blair to run for a third term! Piers has private lunches with Diana Spencer and she tells him everything.) Piers was a tabloid editor with his fingers in many pies and many, many contacts. A tabloid editor who would sell his own Grandmother for good story. A man who considers muck racking and celebrity baiting a game and a game that he can play well. He is also, for an experienced newspaper man, quite a wooden and bad writer. The book is structured like a diary, but Piers fully admits that the source material was not a personal diary, but rather his, and his various P.A.'s, appointment diaries, with the relevant details filled in from memory.

Got that? OK.

It is a good job that the book is hilarious, tasteless, scurrilous and essential reading, isn't it? I really enjoyed "The Insider" as a guilty pleasure and would heartily recommend it to anybody who fancies a glimpse into the world of the tabloid hack and the gossip driven world that they circumnavigate. If one thing is demonstrated clearly by this book, it is the extent that celebrities will collaborate and collude with the media when it suits them to do so. Not that we didn't already know that, eh?

The second book I have finished reading this year is "What We Talk About When We Talk About Love" by Raymond Carver.

Raymond Carver's short stories were the source material behind such magical films as Robert Altman's "Short Cuts" and Ray Lawrence's "Jindabyne" and I love them. Carver's stories are cold, hard and difficult to pin down. Imagine looking through a window and witnessing a scene mid flow, no beginning, no end. Then, imagine trying to make sense of that scene and where it fits into a bigger story. That is what a Carver story is like.

I think that Raymond Carver was a cold, hard genius. Also, he never used 20 words when he could get away with 10. A good lesson for everybody who tries to write.

I will write about films tomorrow.

********

I have a girl on my mind and it is not Lorraine. I think I am being stupid. I have no what she thinks of me.

Labels: Reading

I have added links to my last post. It is better than nothing and nothing seems to be what I am posting at the moment.

I will be back later. I have to go to work to spread misery and distress.

Labels: Ennui

Things to do.

1. Review of "The Diving Bell And The Butterfly".
2. Review of "Definitely, Maybe".
3. Review of "The Insider" by Piers Morgan.
4. Review of "What We Talk About When We Talk About Love" by Raymond Carver.
5. Write up my Earworms list for the mighty Swiss.

But not tonight, Josephine. Too tired.

Katy: For Valentine's Day I have bought Lorraine John Barrowman's autobiography. (Do you know who he is?) Lorraine has commented many times that he is "way too handsome to be gay".

We will be going out for a meal on the Sunday afternoon before the Oscars.

I thought "Torchwood" this evening was incredibly moving.

How cool. This song just popped up on my MP3 player.

Labels: Chores

A man is stranded on a desert island for 10 years. One day a beautiful girl swims to shore in a wetsuit.

Man: "Hi! I am so happy to see you."

Girl: "Hi! It seems like you've been here a long time. How long has it been since you've had a cigarette?"

Man: "It's been 10 years!"

With this information the girl unzips a slot on the arm of her wet suit and gives the man a cigarette.

Man: "Thank you so much!"

Girl: "So tell me how long has it been since you had a drink?"

Man: "It's been 10 years!"

The girl unzips another pocket on her wet suit and comes out with a flask of whiskey and gives the man a drink.

Man: "Thank you so much. You are like a miracle!"

Girl (starting to unzip the front of her wet suit): "So tell me then, how long has it been since you played around?"

Man: "Oh, my God, don't tell me you've got a set of golf clubs in there, too...?"

******

A Blonde goes into a computer shop and says, "Hi! I need curtains for my PC."

The assistant says, "But you don't need curtains for a computer!"

The Blonde says, "Like hellooo... I've got windows!"

******

Yes. Absolutely nothing of interest happened today.

I have two reviews to write, but I cannot be arsed.

Labels: Humour

What am I doing? What am I doing? What am I doing?

What I am not doing is fretting about arsehole behaviour over the weekend. It was a bad couple of days. I am not proud of any of it. Gone. In the past. Fuck it.

I was glad to go back to work today! Now, that is bad.

I had an email sent to me. It was from a problem that had been logged by the Internal Helpdesk of one of our customers. This is what the email said, including creative spelling.

"systm not working. was working last week. printr used to do al of it, but duzn't anymore. shold be more coming out. plse investigate urgntly."

That was it. Crap, basically.

I replied to the email, thus.

"What has been logged on this ticket is meaningless drivel. We, at The Corporation, cannot understand two words of it. Please advise the exact problem you are experiencing so that we can progress the issue."

Later, when news got around and hilarity ensued, Lorraine, as my manager, was sent to tell me off. I kept an admirably straight face. I am sorry to be a trouble to her.

Happy days.

Labels: The Corporation, Work

It is very easy to slip into shitness. This weekend I have drank red wine, lager, bitter, Guinness and, oh yes, some very nice Spyder (non alcoholic) ginger beer. Bananas and cornflakes and water have kept the hangover at bay and, touch wood, it is still working. I have scared my Mom, because she is not used to her beloved eldest son ringing her up drunk, and I have scared Lorraine, because she is not used to the man who shares the house with her leaving said house without having a shave or a wash, or pulling down his trousers, pointing at his cock and saying, "Remember this? You haven't seen it for a while".

I have seen two movies: "The Diving Bell And The Butterfly" (which was great) and "Definitely, Maybe" (that should have been shit, but wasn't). Thank God for movies. I love them. I would die without them.

I will be watching the Bafta's in an hour. For what it is worth I think that "Atonement" will win Best Film, Daniel Day-Lewis Best Actor and Julie Christie Best Actress. British judging bias, and why not? I tried to put a bet on those earlier, but had difficulties. In preparation I have printed off the list of the Oscar nominations and am finding it very difficult to decide what will win, but probably Daniel Day-Lewis and Julie Christie have the same two major acting awards locked.

I have bought Lorraine flowers. She loves them.

I will get over myself.

Labels: Bad Day, Drinking

Flashback to the early 1990's.

The Company I was working for at the time was holding it's annual Christmas squawk at the Royal Angus Thistle Hotel in Birmingham. I turned up for the do in a taxi, not wanting to risk creasing my suit by travelling on public transport, at exactly the same time as a girl called Debbie.

Debbie worked in the training section and was a striking looking woman. A beautiful, tall, red headed girl. Mid 30's with a bearing about her. Truly fine, classy and elegant, and as sexy as hell.

I said to Debbie, "You look really nice".

And Debbie said to me, "You too, John. You look gorgeous. Good enough to eat."

With that, she took my arm and we walked into the hotel and the party together, and everybody, everybody was watching us.

I am feeling old, tired and unwanted, but I remember when a woman thought I was gorgeous and good enough to eat.

Labels: Thoughts

I suppose that the England game was OK. A really average England performance in the first half, but a better performance in second half. We won the game 2-1, and that is a result, but we should have dominated. It's an old cliche, but there is still a long way to go.

In case you didn't know the official FIFA Rankings: England - 12, Switzerland - 44.

Indeed.

And that was my 600th post.

Yippey kay yay, Motherfucker!

Labels: Football

Waiting for the England game to start...

(I am using '...' a lot at the moment. I must kick that into touch.)

Labels: Football

On the bus this morning I saw a dude dressed like a lady. (Cue mad frigging to a great old Aerosmith song.) I'll give him his due. He nearly pulled it off.

Tall, blonde, statuesque. Killer legs. Killer heels. 5 o'clock shadow.

Oh, well... Maybe his shaver wasn't working?

It must be hard to be different.

Labels: Transvestism

"No Country For Old Men".



Interesting comment overheard in the cinema on Saturday.

"No Country For Old Men" had ended and the credits were rolling. I was getting up to leave when I heard a guy, who was sitting a few seats away from me, say sadly to his lady, 'Three quarters of that were great, but that last quarter was really shit'.

Hmm... Maybe, but only if you want a movie where everything is wrapped up for you in a nice bow and everything is explained. I don't think that the Coen's at full tilt want to give you that at all.

That gentleman in the cinema was missing the point. Really missing the point. Up until the last quarter of "No Country For Old Men" the Coen's are playing within the conventions of the thriller, albeit a beautiful looking, intelligently paced and well acted thriller. (Basically man finds money and another man tries to take the money off him. People die. Mayhem ensues.) During the last quarter of "No Country For Old Men" the Coens mess with the conventions of the standard thriller. Characters arrive late. Crucial events occur offscreen. Life and death conversations take place in rooms. The fate of some of the characters is uncertain. A man thinks about how the world used to be.

Maybe. What do I know?

With "No Country For Old Men" the Coen's are back to the kind of form that has evaded them in recent years, with terrible, deliberate crowd pleasers like "Intolerable Cruelty" and "The Ladykillers". I think that "No Country For Old Men" is a great movie and that it will win the Oscar for best film in 2008 and the Coen's the Oscar for Best Director(s). Trust me. It's going to happen.

Labels: Movies

"Before The Devil Knows You're Dead".



Old ,venerated film directors shouldn't be allowed to direct movies like "Before The Devil Knows You're Dead". Old, venerated film directors should know their place.

Old, venerated film directors should see their old movies released on budget priced DVD or broadcast on television channels such Turner Classic Movies or Sky Movies Classic. If they are especially venerated, they should be happy to be invited to the Baftas or to the Oscars, be wheeled out to pick up a lifetime achievement award and be applauded by writers, directors and actors without a smidgen of the talent that they had at their peak.

Old, venerated film directors shouldn't be directing one of the best films of this year or any year. They shouldn't be overseeing astonishing powerhouse acting performances by talents such as Philip Seymour Hoffman, Ethan Hawke and Albert Finney, or film Marisa Tomei in such a way that she looks sexy and totally smoking hot. They shouldn't be so still at the top of their game that they can handle a complex script, with a fractured time line, detailing the events leading up to a robbery, the robbery itself and the aftermath of the robbery. They shouldn't be able to turn what could have been a good, if straightforward crime thriller into a seriously good piece of drama about relationships, stress, secrets and family.

Good job that nobody told Sidney Lumet that, isn't it?

"No Country For Old Men" tomorrow. I am feeling kind of unwell. A half a bottle of red wine will do that to you.

Lorraine and I split up on Saturday night. We were going to sell the house and everything. By Sunday morning we were not split up. It has been that kind of a weekend.

Labels: Movies

I have become obsessed with this song. It's the way my brain works, I'm afraid.

Labels: Music

We have just finished watching series one of "Clocking Off" on DVD. Why the hell doesn't the BBC get a move on and release series' two, three and four on DVD? It has been four years since the first series DVD came out, just after series four had finished.

Anyway, brilliant, brilliant stuff. All of those great actors that became much, much more famous later on. John Simm, Christopher Eccleston, Sarah Lancashire, Philip Glenister, Lesley Sharp...

Worth a spot on my sidebar, methinks.

That is all.

Labels: Television