The Year of Magical Thinking

I am sometimes very fortunate.

I have an amazing child, I have met Sharon Stone and now I have seen Vanessa Redgrave perform in a one woman play at the National Theatre.

The play is a monologue adapted from the book by Joan Didion and spans an 18 month period in the author's life in which she lost both her husband and her daughter.

I will say right now that I did not connect with the material, just as the woman at the end of my row who was coughing all the way through the performance had not connected with her doctor, or even a pharmacy brought cough suppressant.

However Redgrave grabbed me and didn't let me go for the entire 90 minutes. You may be asking how can you be pulled in by the actor and not the material. Redgrave could have been reciting the phone book and I would have been equally as entranced.

Even with a thick American accent, as we have seen her use before in Nip Tuck, her voice has that unmistakable quality that sits at the back of your throat and doesn't allow you to swallow. It is one of the most listenable voices god ever created. Calm. She has a calmness about her, and even while bestowing on us the most hysterical moments of Didion's material she still retained such incredible composure.

I liked the simplicity of the production, directed by David Hare, but it would be almost impossible to make chaos of a one woman dialogue - although I'm sure Joel Schmacher could pull it off given half the chance. The drop away cloths which symbolised the story moving forward were quite superb.

If I ever have a year of magical thinking I insist that Vanessa Redgrave delivers my monologue.
I was upset for the 'indian' woman in front of me who turned and looked at me every time I moved my foot. I do not believe that she brought into Redgrave's performance. I penalised her by moving my pink Adidas micropacer quite vigourously, and eventually it started kicking the back of her chair. I think Vanessa would have wanted it this way.

I Kinda Believe

This film should win alot of awards - Vigourous deployment of airbags (2), best impailment of Amanda Peet (and lets face it, who hasn't wanted to see her impailed before), ugliest ugliest ugliest duvet cover (the one that Mulder and Scully share in their subtlely revealed 'live in' relationship) and most importantly 'best line' so far in any movie of 2008 as Dana Scully scowls across the room at Billy Connolly's disgraced peodophile priest: "Well, let's not forget, he buggered 37 altar boys". Bugger, she had my attention. And hold it she did as well, for this is an extended episode of 'The X Files' that very much belongs to Gillian Anderson's Scully and not to the once great Fox Mulder (David Duchovny).

Anderson is a revelation as the perma-frowning Scully. Years of slumming it in indie films and BBC dramas have obviously made her relish coming back to the role that made her everyone's favourite sometimes-chunky (depending on what season you're watching) FBI sceptic. She approaches the part with a new attitude and it is all a believable progression from when we last saw Scully. The story thread revolving around her desperately trying to save the life of a young terminally ill child is a definite highlight - am I saying that because I am so dulled down by 'Grey's Anatomy' that I want everything to be a hospital drama? For whatever reason I thoroughly enjoyed Scully sticking it up that big earred British actor and the 'higher power' he relies on for guidence. She's Scully for fucks sake, if she wants to perform experimental stem cell procedures on the little retard don't let your religious beliefs get in the way (now i'm side tracked).

And I'm back..

Duchovny on the other hand, who hasn't been slumming it in the stunning Showtime comedy 'Californication' appears to be going through the Fox Mulder motions, and the beard is just silly, silly, silly silly - OK so you're a recluse, it doesn't mean you stop shaving - such a fucking cliche - the only character in movie history who has pulled off wearing a beard this bad is Matt Hooper (Jaws reference 2). And how does Mulder survive the dog attack? He has always been such a ' sister searching' pussy - he doesn't beat up and decapitate rottweilers.

Let's face it, with a plot about Russian organ harvesting the film is not really an 'x file' at all, but the Billy Connolly 'I may be a peodophile priest who has buggered 37 alter boys but I'm also a psychic who can help you find dead bodies' link kind of gives it the supernatural element it needs to be put into the 'x' box. Connolly is surprisingly very good, mainly because I completely believe that he has buggered 37 alter boys - why is he always so filthy and ungroomed looking? Unfortunately he is used as a tenuous link to help move the plot along when it needs a tenuous link to move it along - but even with a tenuous linker like Connolly it still held my interest.

The most tenuous link is when the bad guy, who Mulder lost in a foot pursuit leading to Amanda Peet's untimely impalement only minutes before, drives up and parks ouside the pet food store where Mulder is now circulating photos of the bad guy - please.

I think the removal of the persistent sexual tension between Mulder and Scully that dogged the series helps alot. We know they are fucking (under that hideous duvet), and indeed co-habitating from minute 14, and we don't spend a second of the film worrying that they may or may not kiss - it allows us to focus our energy on trying to believe that Xzibit can actually act - even though he is only being asked to play a grunting FBI stooge (if that was too subtle for you - Xzibit really sucks playing a grunting FBI stooge).

At 104 minutes it doesn't outstay it's welcome and I can honestly say I didn't squirm in my comfortable reclining armchair once, even with my current tickled anus (Curb Your Enthusiasm reference 1). I am in love with the Apollo West End - my new local. So luxurious, and peeing on those plastic ice cube things in the urinals was so worth the visit - and air conditioning too (take note Clapham PictureHouse).

And I'm back again..

The X Files - I Want to Believe is not going to please everyone. It is a stand alone story, so everyone who wants to try and believe has been given the opportunity. It pleased me. Didn't make me clap and cheer (maybe it would if I had seen it in Battersea), but it left me feeling kinda moist and was worth seeing just for the rejigged X Files theme by UNKLE which features over the closing credits - It pleased me enough to go and buy the soundtrack - even though that fat fuck at Zavvi told me it hadn't been released - but that is another episode.

PS: I did nearly clap at the appearance of Mitch Pileggi as Assistant Director Walter Skinner - I bet even Billy Connolly's buggering psychic didn't see that bald bastard coming.

A Dark Knight

I feel so passionate about this subject that it will go down in history as my first ever blog - in fact this blog may have been created just so I can rant about this particular topic. The world has Christopher Nolan to thank for unleashing my blog on the unsuspecting public. Christopher Nolan did a bad job.

Dateline: Saturday 26 July 2008 - 8.30pm Clapham PictureHouse

Potential Problems:

• I am out in an untested situation with people I normally only associate with during the hours of 8 and 4 - but this should be foolproof - it is Batman after all.
• No air conditioning in the screen on one of the hottest nights of the year - bad Clapham PictureHouse. Points for the A4 sign at the door telling us we can have a refund if we leave within 30 mins. Points off for the staff member not telling us about the sign. Does anybody read signs? Points added for reclining chairs.

And now to business.....

Even Katie Holmes couldn't destroy Batman Begins. Poor plotting, criminal underuse of excellent actors and Christian Bale's ridiculous 'bat' voice have easily brought down the The Dark Knight.
Let me break it down for you.

Michael Caine is excellent. Morgan Freeman is playing Morgan Freeman, but he is so good at it. Gary Oldman is a scene stealing SOB and so subtle - and therefore very unGary Oldman - I was even upset when he died (spoiler). Heath Ledger is a dead actor, and not really caring about speaking ill of the dead, this performance is all hype - not mediocre by any means, but with half an acting diploma under my belt I have to say that I could have pulled it off with some lint and knives.

There are too many characters and the ones I cared about were barely seen. Maggie Gyllenhall is a step up from Katie Holmes, but she is just to strange to look at to believe that two reasonably attractive men would be sparring for her attentions - quite frankly when she died I was overjoyed - why even bother re-actressing the Rachel Dawes character for the sake of half a film, it could have moved along easily without her - or instead of confusing us with the actress change the 3 or 4 scenes she appears in could have been filmed from behind with a Katie Holmes stand in. Aaron Eckhart - so brilliant in Thank You for Smoking - is adequate here as the good side of Harvey Dent but can't seem to pull off the all important character twist when he suffers some minor burning - courtesy of the Terminator make up department. Don't get me started on Christian Bale - he should stick to beating up the family. The voice he uses should be made illegal and I found myself thinking back fondly of George Clooney - someone please call John Barrowman and sign him up to don the modified bat suit - he could do it with a Scottish lilt.

And it's a mess. Too many ideas and it really is punitive dialogue stringing together some reasonably effective action sequences.

And it doesn't know when to call it quits. At 90 minutes I was rueing the fact that I hadn't taken the Clapham PictureHouse's 'air conditioning' out clause - me thinks there were higher powers at play there. It just doesn't wrap up and in the end must resort to using a ridiculous Morgan Freeman objecting phone tap device to even find the fucking Joker - and by then I didn't care what phone he was using - let alone what building he was using it in.

Flatmate Richard said there was applause at the conclusion of his performance - what a bunch of idiots and thank god I don't go to films in Battersea. The Clapham crowd were a lot more stand offish and perhaps a little delerious by 3 hours with no air.

To sum up the film. Bad bad overlong overwrought over hyped pap that relies on the over hyped death of a leading actor to help it make history - movie producers should be learning from this and taking out hits on stars with features about to release - imagine what Herbie: Fully Loaded would have done if Lindsay Lohan had been taken out after it wrapped - a huge blow to all lesbians I'm sure but Disney may have gotten a sequel out of it and Maggie Gyllenhall could have replaced Lindsay in the second outing. Bad bad Christopher Nolan - you badly needed a good Verna Fields (my first Jaws reference). Not a 'smarty cunt' on salary anywhere at Warner Bros allowing this shit to become as large as it did.

To sum up the evening. The Clapham PictureHouse needs to fix it's air conditioning. Domino's needs to take me off the 'no go zone' - although we did have a rebelious immigrant who brought the pizzas right to the front door. Good good immigrant. The pavlova (another good immigrant) was excellent. The evening was pretty well lit considering it was a Dark Knight.