Julie opened up the coffee shop. Her head was still ringing from the night before. Who thought drinking the night/morning before opening was a great idea? Greg. That's who. Dickhead manager.
She got the key into the door on the third attempt. As the lock clicked, all she could think about was how her friends would be in bed for another five or six hours. Some of them together. Stupid friends.
She put the keys on the hangers behind the counter, flipped the light switch for the back room and collapsed into the hammock chair in there. When she worked up the strength to open her eyes, she strained to point them towards the clock. It was 5:47. Jez was meant to be here too. Jez was late. Stupid Jez.
5:52. She stood up and got to it. Pulled the switches to give the coffee machines their juice. That was really annoying. Jez was fun. Well, at least more fun than opening alone. Things had been awkward between them since...that random Easter party. Why they celebrated Easter with a piss up in Camden was beyond Julie.
6.15. She tied her hair back with her gangsta bandana, rolled up the sleeves on her arms and flipped the 'closed' sign. The door didn't burst open instantly, thank Christ. This gave her chance to sort out her playlist for the shift. That was one benefit of Jez not being there, his music sucked. Like major suckage. There was a reason no one remembered Third Eye Blind.
Half an hour had passed. Only a couple of suits had ventured in on their early morning rush. All lattes, no breakfast. There could be no future with a man like that. The place was empty. Julie turned her back to the door to clean the foam off the steamer. The door opened and shut.
"Morning, how can I help you?" Julie's barista instincts kicked in.
"Yeah...Jez sent me?"
Julie turned. There were shoes, nothing but shoes, in a man sized pile. Converse, Nike Air, Birkenstocks; all kinds of shoes in a disorganised mess. Julie stood and blinked. No one moved.
"He said I could cover his shift for him?"
Julie walked round from behind the counter. She poked the shoes. They leaned back, none fell. All the while, Spoon leaked out from the store's speakers. It was a serene scene.
"Are you ok?" The shoes asked, after regathering their balance.
"I thought I was...so, how do you know Jez?"
"We went to Uni together. I've just moved here, he said I could pick up a couple of his shifts while I looked for work."
This didn't compute with Julie. Jez didn't seem like he cared about footwear, why would he take so much of it to Uni? And then offer it his shifts? Why was a big pile of shoes looking for work anyway? So many questions and it wasn't even 7am yet.
"Are you sure you're ok?"
"Sorry, yeah, dazed out, early start today. Have you and Jez checked this with Greg?"
"Who's Greg?"
"The manager."
"Ahh, we were thinking that we'd keep this on the down low? It's all above board, but why waste time on paperwork?"
Julie like the cut of these shoes' jibs.
"Ok, I could do with the help. So what do I call you?"
"Saul."
------------------------------------------------
Other musings
Being ill sucks.
There's a new My Bloody Valentine record out.
Moving house soon. Party.
Sunday, February 3, 2013
Friday, February 1, 2013
always a little patience and other musings
Jenny sat outside of the Anchor waiting for Jeff. The sun was shining but the wind has picked up since she sat down. She took her sunglasses off so she could see her iPod screen. As she tucked her auburn hair behind her ear, she sighed. Jenny lamented ever letting her ex-boyfriend put so much junk on her mp3 player. Gone were the days were she could just hit shuffle. Now every journey into her music library was a dangerous adventure in which she would battle suicidal pseudo-country songs or ten minute atonal farts, both of which were more dangerous than ROUSes. Music snobs. Never get involved with music snobs.
She hit play on a Billie Holiday collection and put her sunglasses firmly back on her face. Everything was too bright to look at without them, especially after spending an hour underground. The sun bounced off everything. It even made the Thames look a shade that could be mistakable for blue. It was revoltingly pleasant.
'Would they be angry if I thought of joining you?' Billie crooned. Jenny wished she brought a book with her. She needed something occupy her while she waited. She would have gone to get a drink at the bar, but it was lunchtime on a Sunday and she had no idea what sort of meeting this would be. Jeff probably had some news on a client proposal they'd been working on. Jeff had presented to the client on Saturday, so the Sunday meeting wasn't completely out of place. She hoped that it wouldn't turn into an embarrassing occasion to be flirted at. Jeff was nice, so it upset her to shoot him down. Plus he was married, and that played with her conscience more than she was pleased to admit.
Jenny shifted in her seat. She had been in a rush this morning and hadn't planned her outfit probably. Her trousers were new, but the material was itchy - the hazards of online shopping. She had to do most of her online activities at work as the internet reception in her flat was atrocious and her flatmate/landlord was shitty at getting anything done. Her parents sent her an old VCR player, so when other young twenty-somethings got home drunk and put on iPlayer, Jenny at least had her VCR recorder. She hoped she had set it right this morning. The Beeb were putting on 'Niagara'. Jenny didn't allow herself many clichés, but her unabashed love for Norma Jean and Audrey Hepburn were too deep rooted to remove now. She smiled. Last time she saw 'Niagara', she wasn't paying much attention. Fumbling on a couch had sidelined her attention. That was with Derek. Derek was a friend of a boy she was involved with. Last time she saw Derek was at a five-a-side tournament. He was throwing up after a stray kick caught him in the yarbles. He moved to the States shortly after. Jenny wondered how he was.
"Jenny!"
Jenny turned. Emerging from the tunnel under the bridge was Sarah. Sarah dressed and looked like a super model. Jenny hated her, maybe because of how Sarah made her feel about herself. It didn't help that she always looked naturally posed for a photo opportunity at every moment. Sarah approach the table like she was on a catwalk. Jenny mustered up a smile.
They chattered for a while. Sarah definitely had no information filter. Her and Jenny barely knew each other, but she had no problem relaying all of the previous night's adventures. James and Kate went home together, Will got into a fight, Eve lost her bag and had to stay at Hanna's. Exactly the same thing that happened last week, but at least it was some kind of story.
---------------------------------------------------------
Other musings
I promise that next time I'll write a story where something actually happens. Efficiently too.
Zero Dark Thirty and Django Unchained. Both are aimless and long, but one is a lot better than the other. Neither have anything to say.
Rashes are pretty cool huh?
She hit play on a Billie Holiday collection and put her sunglasses firmly back on her face. Everything was too bright to look at without them, especially after spending an hour underground. The sun bounced off everything. It even made the Thames look a shade that could be mistakable for blue. It was revoltingly pleasant.
'Would they be angry if I thought of joining you?' Billie crooned. Jenny wished she brought a book with her. She needed something occupy her while she waited. She would have gone to get a drink at the bar, but it was lunchtime on a Sunday and she had no idea what sort of meeting this would be. Jeff probably had some news on a client proposal they'd been working on. Jeff had presented to the client on Saturday, so the Sunday meeting wasn't completely out of place. She hoped that it wouldn't turn into an embarrassing occasion to be flirted at. Jeff was nice, so it upset her to shoot him down. Plus he was married, and that played with her conscience more than she was pleased to admit.
Jenny shifted in her seat. She had been in a rush this morning and hadn't planned her outfit probably. Her trousers were new, but the material was itchy - the hazards of online shopping. She had to do most of her online activities at work as the internet reception in her flat was atrocious and her flatmate/landlord was shitty at getting anything done. Her parents sent her an old VCR player, so when other young twenty-somethings got home drunk and put on iPlayer, Jenny at least had her VCR recorder. She hoped she had set it right this morning. The Beeb were putting on 'Niagara'. Jenny didn't allow herself many clichés, but her unabashed love for Norma Jean and Audrey Hepburn were too deep rooted to remove now. She smiled. Last time she saw 'Niagara', she wasn't paying much attention. Fumbling on a couch had sidelined her attention. That was with Derek. Derek was a friend of a boy she was involved with. Last time she saw Derek was at a five-a-side tournament. He was throwing up after a stray kick caught him in the yarbles. He moved to the States shortly after. Jenny wondered how he was.
"Jenny!"
Jenny turned. Emerging from the tunnel under the bridge was Sarah. Sarah dressed and looked like a super model. Jenny hated her, maybe because of how Sarah made her feel about herself. It didn't help that she always looked naturally posed for a photo opportunity at every moment. Sarah approach the table like she was on a catwalk. Jenny mustered up a smile.
They chattered for a while. Sarah definitely had no information filter. Her and Jenny barely knew each other, but she had no problem relaying all of the previous night's adventures. James and Kate went home together, Will got into a fight, Eve lost her bag and had to stay at Hanna's. Exactly the same thing that happened last week, but at least it was some kind of story.
---------------------------------------------------------
Other musings
I promise that next time I'll write a story where something actually happens. Efficiently too.
Zero Dark Thirty and Django Unchained. Both are aimless and long, but one is a lot better than the other. Neither have anything to say.
Rashes are pretty cool huh?
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
Ode to an old friend and other musing
We've been on many adventures, you and I.
We've seen many cities, many countries.
Sometimes we were welcomed, sometimes on the run.
We've heard many great speeches.
We're seen many great acts.
You've been there when I laughed.
You've been there when I cried.
You didn't judge when I fell for the wrong girl every time.
With you, I've struggled with the great questions.
With you, I've struggled with the great answers.
I didn't get jealous when someone else sat on your lap.
You didn't get jealous when someone else sat in mine.
Bye-bye reading chair.
----------------------------------------------
Oh hey there sixth-form poetry, what's up?
This is the best I can do after the intense workathon I've been living lately. Is there an end in sight? Only if I'm lucky.
So how's 2013 going? 15 days in and I've only watched 3 films. Shocking huh? So I'm going to rectify that by going upstairs and watching Annie Hall.
Currently reading Pushkin's the Captain's Daughter. Next up? Maybe some Tennyson. Maybe some Huck Finn.
Climbing tomorrow. Let's get some arms and abs.
We've seen many cities, many countries.
Sometimes we were welcomed, sometimes on the run.
We've heard many great speeches.
We're seen many great acts.
You've been there when I laughed.
You've been there when I cried.
You didn't judge when I fell for the wrong girl every time.
With you, I've struggled with the great questions.
With you, I've struggled with the great answers.
I didn't get jealous when someone else sat on your lap.
You didn't get jealous when someone else sat in mine.
Bye-bye reading chair.
----------------------------------------------
Oh hey there sixth-form poetry, what's up?
This is the best I can do after the intense workathon I've been living lately. Is there an end in sight? Only if I'm lucky.
So how's 2013 going? 15 days in and I've only watched 3 films. Shocking huh? So I'm going to rectify that by going upstairs and watching Annie Hall.
Currently reading Pushkin's the Captain's Daughter. Next up? Maybe some Tennyson. Maybe some Huck Finn.
Climbing tomorrow. Let's get some arms and abs.
Sunday, January 6, 2013
2012 in Film
**Side note** Iron Sky currently takes my "worst of 2012" award, but seeing as I only lasted 16 minutes, I felt bad putting it on this list.
55) Piranha 3DD (directed by John Gulager) - Not even boobs and David Hasselhoff singing can save this mess.
54) Prometheus (directed by Ridley Scott) - Not even space boobs and Michael Fassbender quoting Lawrence of Arabia can save this mess.
53) Chernobyl Diaries (directed by Bradley Parker) - Bizarrely thrilling when pretending to be a survival horror game, bizarrely inert when pretending to be a survival horror film.
52) Rampart (directed by Oren Moverman) - There's one scene in this film that pointlessly has the camera spin around a room during an equally superfluous conversation. This sums up my feelings.
51) Booked Out (directed by Bryan O'Neil) - I feel harsh kicking this film because it's obviously a low budget, labour of love from a first time filmmaker. The visuals escape its financial standing, but unfortunately the script and acting don't. Precocious to the extreme. Twee to the nines.
50) Red Lights (directed by Rodrigo Cortés) - Worst cinema experience of the year, but that was the fault of the audience. Serviceable little bit of fun. Rubbish ending.
49) Woody Allen: A Documentary (directed by Robert B. Weide) - Effectively a moving Wikipedia article. Any initial interest will wear off after first viewing.
48) Casa De Mi Padre (directed by Matt Piedmont) - If watching Gael García Bernal aggressively smoke two cigars at once sounds like jaw dropping hilarity, go see it. Otherwise, leave it to the telenovela enthusiasts.
47) Berberian Sound Studio (directed by Peter Strickland) - Uptight Brit goes to Italy to work in films. Breaks lots of vegetables. May or may not be driven mad by how touchy Europeans are. Has Oedipal issues.
46) 2 Days in New York (directed by Julie Delpy) - Frivolous fun. Relies a tad too heavily on "the French, aren't they crazy?" jokes, but still, at least there are plenty of almost pornographic views of New York for me to gawp at.
45) Cabin in the Woods (directed by Drew Goddard) - GAME CHANGER. Or just a standard horror comedy with a neat framing device. All the gags are heavily signposted from the get go, but any time with Bradley Whitford and Richard Jenkins is time well spent.
44) The Dark Knight Rises (directed by Christopher Nolan) - For a man that used to excel in manipulating time in plot, this film is a huge surprise. Frequently stupid, often ridiculous, poorly edited but the sheer scale of the set pieces gets it by. Bonus points for trying to re-imagine the "some days, you can't get rid of a bomb" sequence from Adam West's Batman campfest into a serious finale for a serious trilogy. Throw the bomb off the pier, Batman!
43) To Rome With Love (directed by Woody Allen) - A solid double from the old man of American comedy. Completely light and superficial, but consistently chuckle worthy. Turns out that the ability to write great one-liners doesn't leave a person. The Eisenberg/Baldwin episode is by far the best and would have made a great film in its own right.
42) Lawless (directed by John Hillcoat) - So much knitwear, so little time to flaunt it. Solid but, Guy Pearce's performance notwithstanding, somewhat insipid. Seriously though, if you've time to kill, just fast forward to all the Guy Pearce scenes and think about how weird it really is not to have eyebrows.
41) Jeff, Who Lives at Home (directed by the Duplass Brothers) - Pleasantly pleasant. Not life changing, not hilarious, but surprisingly tense and affecting in the last act. Nice to see a stoner comedy where the character's thought processes are sufficiently messed up instead of insultingly designed to facilitate plot.
40) The Five-Year Engagement (directed by Nicholas Stoller) - Go for the overlong but pleasantly entertaining romantic comedy, stay for Chris Pratt singing "Cu Cu Rru Cu Cu Paloma".
39) Room 237 (directed by Rodney Ascher) - Inventive use of YouTube footages makes for a very entertaining 45 minutes. Unfortunately, as the running time goes on, viewers may find their patience for increasingly nonsensical interpretations of the Shining dissipate.
38) Rust and Bone (directed by Jacques Audiard) - I've read a great deal of reviews associating this piece with melodrama, but there is sadly little dramatic or melodramatic about it. Instead, it is a slow, soft mediation orbiting broken people (in more way than one) without much fanfare or consequence until the last ten minutes. Unfortunately, the characters slowly collide with each other without much thought or reason.
37) The Turin Horse (directed by Béla Tarr and Ágnes Hranitzky) - Béla Tarr shows us how the world ends. The apocalypse involves many potatoes. It is as visually well composed as his other films, but lacking the grand statements that define his greatest works.
36) Friends With Kids (directed by Jennifer Westfeldt) - More pornographic shots of New York. Plays like a Nora Ephron joint, but enjoyably and somewhat surprisingly spiteful in places. The central relationship is probably the least interesting/most irksome, but the peripherals more than make up for it.
35) Once Upon a Time in Anatolia (directed by Nuri Bilge Ceylan) - Not the great hope of art-house cinema that some are claiming. At some points, the script is being so heavy handed with its message whilst futilely attempting to be coy that I wish I could throttle some of the characters. Still, the first 45 minutes are amongst the best this year and you'll be hard pressed to find a more stunningly shot film this century.
34) The Avengers (directed by Joss Whedon) - So close to being the best comic book film of the year, but not close enough. Rarely is such an overblown and over-long film so brisk and fun. Joss still has plenty of zing in his zither and his dialogue machine.
33) 21 Jump Street (directed by Phil Lord and Chris Miller) - "Fuck you, science."
32) Shame (directed by Steve McQueen) - Frustrating. There's an abundance of talent involve and worse yet, some of the performers involved are really bringing their A-game, but sadly, this film is less than the sum of its parts. Still, bitching soundtrack.
31) Excision (directed by Richard Bates Jr) - One of the more unique films of the year. Want to watch an ex-90210 reboot actress play a deranged and unclean teenage girl with an unhealthy love of surgery? The camera work betrays the fact that this is a directorial debut, but the central performances, plus a series of delightfully dark cameos keep the whole thing fresh and entertaining. John Waters as a priest? Who could turn that down?
30) A Dangerous Method (directed by David Cronenberg)- The first appearance from the Cronenberg family. Oddly, this fits in with Cronenberg Sr.'s cold manner of directing but, considering the subject matter and how he's handled this in the past, this feels extraordinarily tame. I'm sadly reaching the conclusion that, although Michael Fassbender is a fantastic actor, the films he appears in frequently fall short. A surprisingly enjoyable drama, apt at manipulating emotion when it needs to, but not a completely fulfilling experience.
29) Killer Joe (directed by William Friedkin) - Gritty is the wrong word. Just really, really grimy. Matthew McConaughey's well documented return to acting really holds this together, but that isn't to underplay the success of the supporting players. McConaughey is just balls-to-the-wall fun in these grease noir/crime thingy.
28) Your Sister's Sister (directed by Lynn Shelton) - For the first three quarters, this is a nice little dramedy about people dealing with the loss of a loved one. Funnier than it sounds. Last quarter takes a complete left turn into something way more zany, which ruins the atmosphere.
27) Seven Psychopaths (directed by Martin McDonagh) - An odd fish. Frequently hilarious, often violent, never dull, but equally never intelligent. For a film so focused on showing off its knowledge of film, it's strange to see a screenplay so transparent with its manipulations. The cast are all on top form (Harrelson, Walken, Rockwell and Harry Dean Stanton especially), but unfortunately the end result is all surface, no feeling.
26) Antiviral (directed by Brandon Cronenberg) - Well, at least Cronenberg Sr. can feel very safe in the knowledge that Brandon is definitely his son. Antiviral, much like Excision, definitely feels like a debut (one too many first person camera shots) and after some initial film-school tomfoolery, Antiviral settles into a interesting and uneasy thriller. Effortlessly creepy. Body horror for the win.
25) The Descendants (directed by Alexander Payne) - He may not be the world's greatest actor, but there's something so pleasant about seeing an in-form George Clooney on screen. All the superlatives thrown at Cary Grant are equally appropriate for the eternal bachelor, Mr Clooney. Alexander Payne is carving out quite a niche for mid-life crisis films.
24) Argo (directed by Ben Affleck) - There's nothing too clever, funny or original to be found here, but it succeeds in capturing the essence of the sort of tense thrillers that seemed to be released daily in the 70s. In fact, the finale is so good at tightening the screws that my companion for the cinema trip completely bugged out. Effective but workman-like.
23) The Artist (directed by Michel Hazanavicius) - It's not going to hold up against the greats of the silent genre, but it's a pleasant reminder that a modern audience has the patience to sit and watch old jokes. Wonderfully innovative visually, but a somewhat fruitless exercise. Also, tap dancing rocks.
22) Tiny Furniture (directed by Lena Dunham) - I remember when this sort of film came out ten years ago and critics labelled 'mumblecore' and decried it. I'm glad they've come around. The humour is broad, but if you like the sounds of something between what Ricky Gervais and Judd Apatow are currently aiming fo, you'll love it. An awkward, but sincere look at privileged, post-collegiate quarter life crises.
21) The Master (directed by Paul Thomas Anderson) - You can pretty much re-read the paragraph for Shame here, but The Master is slightly more successful. The film plays like a lucid imagination fixated on one thing (like so many imaginations) and as such, contains so many stark and incredible images. Many may be unsatisfied with it as a narrative experience, but one will see little like it elsewhere. Again, bitching soundtrack.
20) Killing Them Softly (directed by Andrew Dominik) - You could never accuse this film of being subtle. But then again, the best way of bring down a wall is a jackhammer. In this case, the wall is US Fiscal Policy. The hammer is James Gandolfini and an incredibly blunt use of music.
19) House With A Turret (directed by Eva Neymann) - War is grim. Grim child wanders across grim landscapes during grim times. Grimness ensues. No moral.
18) Hodejegerne (directed by Morten Tyldum) - Best straight up thriller of the year. Occasionally, the sheer stupidity of the situations (and by that I mean how the actors act as opposed to over the top violence) betray the source material's pulpy roots. A gleeful potboiler with the bonus of having a wickedly hilarious black comic streak.
17) The Muppets (directed by James Bobin) - Life's a happy song. I know for a fact this film was heavily edited down. I'd love to see it all restored, but as it stands, it's a frequently hilarious musical. Stands on its own in the Muppet canon by having equally interesting human characters. There is not enough singing Amy Adams in the world.
16) Young Adult (directed by Jason Reitman) - I think there's something uniquely American about the stock character whose life was never better than in High School, but the annoyance directed at these types is completely universal. A wonderful study of a less than wonderful person, this is completely Charlize Theron's show and all the better for it.
15) Compliance (directed by Craig Zobel) - The audience reaction to this was pretty surprising at the London Film Festival. For a film about how utterly despicable people can be and how even good people can facilitate terrible things, there were an equal number of walk outs and hysterical laughs. If you want to have a dollop of existential dread on your screen, you can't pick much better than this.
14) Safety Not Guaranteed (directed by Colin Trevorrow) - The more pretentious part of me wants to tell you how I think this is a very post-9/11 look at American grief; the more normal part of me wants to tell you that this is an incredibly fun comedy about growing up. And it may or may not involve time travel. Sounds interesting eh?
13) Dredd (directed by Pete Travis) - Best comic book movie of the year. Also the best 3D film of the year. Only the second best "action film set in a tower block" film though. Can't win them all, Dredd.
12) Martha Marcy May Marlene (directed by Sean Durkin) - Creepy cult is creepy. Well-meaning family means well, but misunderstands. One of the Olsen siblings can act. One of those statements is a surprise.
11) Elena (directed by Andrey Zvyagintsev) - A surprising low-key family noir/dark comedy. I was fully expecting to doze off a bit during the viewing (may have had a bit of wine beforehand), but it was every bit as thrilling and funny as any other film this year. The ending ties things up a bit too neatly, but for the rest of the running time, it's captivating.
10) The Raid (directed by Gareth Evans) - Thwack! Pow! Crunch! As stunningly choreographed as any ballet you'll see this year, action cinema needed a bolt like this. Inventive and refreshingly Spartan, the Raid plays David to the behemoth that is the Expendables and delivers sympathy pain like few others.
9) Cinema Komunisto (directed by Mila Turajlic) - A documentary about a country that no longer exists, as told through their nation's film program. This may avoid some of the deeper issues involved with dictatorship, communism and later, genocide, but instead hones in on a more interesting story - what does it mean to be Yugoslavian? Warm hearted, well meaning and utterly fascinating, this was my favourite documentary of 2012.
8) Seeking a Friend for the End of the World (directed by Lorene Scafaria) - Yes, I'm a big twee, sentimental idiot. Fortunately, that's not the only reason I love this film so much. This is a rare high-concept comedy that doesn't desperately look for a way out of its inevitable conclusion.
7) Moonrise Kingdom (directed by Wes Anderson) - Young love on celluloid. Wes Anderson has always had a more child like demeanour and thankfully, he's found a way to tie his arch and precise artifice to an emotionally engaging and fawning plot.
6) Cosmopolis (directed by David Cronenberg) - Much like the majority of the people commenting about it, this film has little-to-no understanding of the financial crisis. Fortunately though, it perfectly encapsulates the dread, confusion and all around isolation of big city living. Delving frequently in dark and surreal places, Cronenberg has captured a zeitgeist. Definitely not for everyone, but for the few people on board, the wry and satirical humour will grab hold and refuse to let go.
5) Damsels in Distress (directed by Whit Stillman) - Funniest film of the year by far. Whit Stillman finally returns and with possibly the most dead pan comedy ever. This is going to be a chalk/cheese choice. Either you'll find every line contains a new reason to hate how conceited and affected each character is or every line is a new reason to laugh hysterically. But in the end, how many films endeavour to create a new dance craze?
4) Perks of Being A Wallflower (directed by Stephen Chbosky) - High School sucks. Being a teenager sucks. How many times can we hear this story? So long as it's as exciting and visceral as this, infinitely. Ezra Miller is going to be huge in a few years. Emma Watson proves she'll have a career post-Potter. Teenagers everywhere have a new reason to listen to 'Heroes'. Everything is fine.
3) Looper (directed by Rian Johnson) - Features not one, but two great Bruce Willis performances. Asides from a couple of sequences, this is a surprisingly original take on time travel. Definitely the highlight of the blockbuster season. More than anything, it was just full on cool from start to finish.
2) The Innkeepers (directed by Ti West) - I hate ghost stories. You know where you stand with serial killers and monsters. The worst they can do is dismember you. Ghosts, on the other hand, are like really envious and bitter neighbours, if your neighbours existed on a different ethereal plain.
1) Goon (directed by Michael Dowse) - Wait, wait, before you all lambaste me about this, I don't just love this film because I love ice hockey (though this does have some of the greatest sequences of the sport on film). This is actually a surprisingly existential tale! It has hidden depths! Great acting! The joy of seeing a misfit find their place in society! And yeah, fights and skating.
55) Piranha 3DD (directed by John Gulager) - Not even boobs and David Hasselhoff singing can save this mess.
54) Prometheus (directed by Ridley Scott) - Not even space boobs and Michael Fassbender quoting Lawrence of Arabia can save this mess.
53) Chernobyl Diaries (directed by Bradley Parker) - Bizarrely thrilling when pretending to be a survival horror game, bizarrely inert when pretending to be a survival horror film.
52) Rampart (directed by Oren Moverman) - There's one scene in this film that pointlessly has the camera spin around a room during an equally superfluous conversation. This sums up my feelings.
51) Booked Out (directed by Bryan O'Neil) - I feel harsh kicking this film because it's obviously a low budget, labour of love from a first time filmmaker. The visuals escape its financial standing, but unfortunately the script and acting don't. Precocious to the extreme. Twee to the nines.
50) Red Lights (directed by Rodrigo Cortés) - Worst cinema experience of the year, but that was the fault of the audience. Serviceable little bit of fun. Rubbish ending.
49) Woody Allen: A Documentary (directed by Robert B. Weide) - Effectively a moving Wikipedia article. Any initial interest will wear off after first viewing.
48) Casa De Mi Padre (directed by Matt Piedmont) - If watching Gael García Bernal aggressively smoke two cigars at once sounds like jaw dropping hilarity, go see it. Otherwise, leave it to the telenovela enthusiasts.
47) Berberian Sound Studio (directed by Peter Strickland) - Uptight Brit goes to Italy to work in films. Breaks lots of vegetables. May or may not be driven mad by how touchy Europeans are. Has Oedipal issues.
46) 2 Days in New York (directed by Julie Delpy) - Frivolous fun. Relies a tad too heavily on "the French, aren't they crazy?" jokes, but still, at least there are plenty of almost pornographic views of New York for me to gawp at.
45) Cabin in the Woods (directed by Drew Goddard) - GAME CHANGER. Or just a standard horror comedy with a neat framing device. All the gags are heavily signposted from the get go, but any time with Bradley Whitford and Richard Jenkins is time well spent.
44) The Dark Knight Rises (directed by Christopher Nolan) - For a man that used to excel in manipulating time in plot, this film is a huge surprise. Frequently stupid, often ridiculous, poorly edited but the sheer scale of the set pieces gets it by. Bonus points for trying to re-imagine the "some days, you can't get rid of a bomb" sequence from Adam West's Batman campfest into a serious finale for a serious trilogy. Throw the bomb off the pier, Batman!
43) To Rome With Love (directed by Woody Allen) - A solid double from the old man of American comedy. Completely light and superficial, but consistently chuckle worthy. Turns out that the ability to write great one-liners doesn't leave a person. The Eisenberg/Baldwin episode is by far the best and would have made a great film in its own right.
42) Lawless (directed by John Hillcoat) - So much knitwear, so little time to flaunt it. Solid but, Guy Pearce's performance notwithstanding, somewhat insipid. Seriously though, if you've time to kill, just fast forward to all the Guy Pearce scenes and think about how weird it really is not to have eyebrows.
41) Jeff, Who Lives at Home (directed by the Duplass Brothers) - Pleasantly pleasant. Not life changing, not hilarious, but surprisingly tense and affecting in the last act. Nice to see a stoner comedy where the character's thought processes are sufficiently messed up instead of insultingly designed to facilitate plot.
40) The Five-Year Engagement (directed by Nicholas Stoller) - Go for the overlong but pleasantly entertaining romantic comedy, stay for Chris Pratt singing "Cu Cu Rru Cu Cu Paloma".
39) Room 237 (directed by Rodney Ascher) - Inventive use of YouTube footages makes for a very entertaining 45 minutes. Unfortunately, as the running time goes on, viewers may find their patience for increasingly nonsensical interpretations of the Shining dissipate.
38) Rust and Bone (directed by Jacques Audiard) - I've read a great deal of reviews associating this piece with melodrama, but there is sadly little dramatic or melodramatic about it. Instead, it is a slow, soft mediation orbiting broken people (in more way than one) without much fanfare or consequence until the last ten minutes. Unfortunately, the characters slowly collide with each other without much thought or reason.
37) The Turin Horse (directed by Béla Tarr and Ágnes Hranitzky) - Béla Tarr shows us how the world ends. The apocalypse involves many potatoes. It is as visually well composed as his other films, but lacking the grand statements that define his greatest works.
36) Friends With Kids (directed by Jennifer Westfeldt) - More pornographic shots of New York. Plays like a Nora Ephron joint, but enjoyably and somewhat surprisingly spiteful in places. The central relationship is probably the least interesting/most irksome, but the peripherals more than make up for it.
35) Once Upon a Time in Anatolia (directed by Nuri Bilge Ceylan) - Not the great hope of art-house cinema that some are claiming. At some points, the script is being so heavy handed with its message whilst futilely attempting to be coy that I wish I could throttle some of the characters. Still, the first 45 minutes are amongst the best this year and you'll be hard pressed to find a more stunningly shot film this century.
34) The Avengers (directed by Joss Whedon) - So close to being the best comic book film of the year, but not close enough. Rarely is such an overblown and over-long film so brisk and fun. Joss still has plenty of zing in his zither and his dialogue machine.
33) 21 Jump Street (directed by Phil Lord and Chris Miller) - "Fuck you, science."
32) Shame (directed by Steve McQueen) - Frustrating. There's an abundance of talent involve and worse yet, some of the performers involved are really bringing their A-game, but sadly, this film is less than the sum of its parts. Still, bitching soundtrack.
31) Excision (directed by Richard Bates Jr) - One of the more unique films of the year. Want to watch an ex-90210 reboot actress play a deranged and unclean teenage girl with an unhealthy love of surgery? The camera work betrays the fact that this is a directorial debut, but the central performances, plus a series of delightfully dark cameos keep the whole thing fresh and entertaining. John Waters as a priest? Who could turn that down?
30) A Dangerous Method (directed by David Cronenberg)- The first appearance from the Cronenberg family. Oddly, this fits in with Cronenberg Sr.'s cold manner of directing but, considering the subject matter and how he's handled this in the past, this feels extraordinarily tame. I'm sadly reaching the conclusion that, although Michael Fassbender is a fantastic actor, the films he appears in frequently fall short. A surprisingly enjoyable drama, apt at manipulating emotion when it needs to, but not a completely fulfilling experience.
29) Killer Joe (directed by William Friedkin) - Gritty is the wrong word. Just really, really grimy. Matthew McConaughey's well documented return to acting really holds this together, but that isn't to underplay the success of the supporting players. McConaughey is just balls-to-the-wall fun in these grease noir/crime thingy.
28) Your Sister's Sister (directed by Lynn Shelton) - For the first three quarters, this is a nice little dramedy about people dealing with the loss of a loved one. Funnier than it sounds. Last quarter takes a complete left turn into something way more zany, which ruins the atmosphere.
27) Seven Psychopaths (directed by Martin McDonagh) - An odd fish. Frequently hilarious, often violent, never dull, but equally never intelligent. For a film so focused on showing off its knowledge of film, it's strange to see a screenplay so transparent with its manipulations. The cast are all on top form (Harrelson, Walken, Rockwell and Harry Dean Stanton especially), but unfortunately the end result is all surface, no feeling.
26) Antiviral (directed by Brandon Cronenberg) - Well, at least Cronenberg Sr. can feel very safe in the knowledge that Brandon is definitely his son. Antiviral, much like Excision, definitely feels like a debut (one too many first person camera shots) and after some initial film-school tomfoolery, Antiviral settles into a interesting and uneasy thriller. Effortlessly creepy. Body horror for the win.
25) The Descendants (directed by Alexander Payne) - He may not be the world's greatest actor, but there's something so pleasant about seeing an in-form George Clooney on screen. All the superlatives thrown at Cary Grant are equally appropriate for the eternal bachelor, Mr Clooney. Alexander Payne is carving out quite a niche for mid-life crisis films.
24) Argo (directed by Ben Affleck) - There's nothing too clever, funny or original to be found here, but it succeeds in capturing the essence of the sort of tense thrillers that seemed to be released daily in the 70s. In fact, the finale is so good at tightening the screws that my companion for the cinema trip completely bugged out. Effective but workman-like.
23) The Artist (directed by Michel Hazanavicius) - It's not going to hold up against the greats of the silent genre, but it's a pleasant reminder that a modern audience has the patience to sit and watch old jokes. Wonderfully innovative visually, but a somewhat fruitless exercise. Also, tap dancing rocks.
22) Tiny Furniture (directed by Lena Dunham) - I remember when this sort of film came out ten years ago and critics labelled 'mumblecore' and decried it. I'm glad they've come around. The humour is broad, but if you like the sounds of something between what Ricky Gervais and Judd Apatow are currently aiming fo, you'll love it. An awkward, but sincere look at privileged, post-collegiate quarter life crises.
21) The Master (directed by Paul Thomas Anderson) - You can pretty much re-read the paragraph for Shame here, but The Master is slightly more successful. The film plays like a lucid imagination fixated on one thing (like so many imaginations) and as such, contains so many stark and incredible images. Many may be unsatisfied with it as a narrative experience, but one will see little like it elsewhere. Again, bitching soundtrack.
20) Killing Them Softly (directed by Andrew Dominik) - You could never accuse this film of being subtle. But then again, the best way of bring down a wall is a jackhammer. In this case, the wall is US Fiscal Policy. The hammer is James Gandolfini and an incredibly blunt use of music.
19) House With A Turret (directed by Eva Neymann) - War is grim. Grim child wanders across grim landscapes during grim times. Grimness ensues. No moral.
18) Hodejegerne (directed by Morten Tyldum) - Best straight up thriller of the year. Occasionally, the sheer stupidity of the situations (and by that I mean how the actors act as opposed to over the top violence) betray the source material's pulpy roots. A gleeful potboiler with the bonus of having a wickedly hilarious black comic streak.
17) The Muppets (directed by James Bobin) - Life's a happy song. I know for a fact this film was heavily edited down. I'd love to see it all restored, but as it stands, it's a frequently hilarious musical. Stands on its own in the Muppet canon by having equally interesting human characters. There is not enough singing Amy Adams in the world.
16) Young Adult (directed by Jason Reitman) - I think there's something uniquely American about the stock character whose life was never better than in High School, but the annoyance directed at these types is completely universal. A wonderful study of a less than wonderful person, this is completely Charlize Theron's show and all the better for it.
15) Compliance (directed by Craig Zobel) - The audience reaction to this was pretty surprising at the London Film Festival. For a film about how utterly despicable people can be and how even good people can facilitate terrible things, there were an equal number of walk outs and hysterical laughs. If you want to have a dollop of existential dread on your screen, you can't pick much better than this.
14) Safety Not Guaranteed (directed by Colin Trevorrow) - The more pretentious part of me wants to tell you how I think this is a very post-9/11 look at American grief; the more normal part of me wants to tell you that this is an incredibly fun comedy about growing up. And it may or may not involve time travel. Sounds interesting eh?
13) Dredd (directed by Pete Travis) - Best comic book movie of the year. Also the best 3D film of the year. Only the second best "action film set in a tower block" film though. Can't win them all, Dredd.
12) Martha Marcy May Marlene (directed by Sean Durkin) - Creepy cult is creepy. Well-meaning family means well, but misunderstands. One of the Olsen siblings can act. One of those statements is a surprise.
11) Elena (directed by Andrey Zvyagintsev) - A surprising low-key family noir/dark comedy. I was fully expecting to doze off a bit during the viewing (may have had a bit of wine beforehand), but it was every bit as thrilling and funny as any other film this year. The ending ties things up a bit too neatly, but for the rest of the running time, it's captivating.
10) The Raid (directed by Gareth Evans) - Thwack! Pow! Crunch! As stunningly choreographed as any ballet you'll see this year, action cinema needed a bolt like this. Inventive and refreshingly Spartan, the Raid plays David to the behemoth that is the Expendables and delivers sympathy pain like few others.
9) Cinema Komunisto (directed by Mila Turajlic) - A documentary about a country that no longer exists, as told through their nation's film program. This may avoid some of the deeper issues involved with dictatorship, communism and later, genocide, but instead hones in on a more interesting story - what does it mean to be Yugoslavian? Warm hearted, well meaning and utterly fascinating, this was my favourite documentary of 2012.
8) Seeking a Friend for the End of the World (directed by Lorene Scafaria) - Yes, I'm a big twee, sentimental idiot. Fortunately, that's not the only reason I love this film so much. This is a rare high-concept comedy that doesn't desperately look for a way out of its inevitable conclusion.
7) Moonrise Kingdom (directed by Wes Anderson) - Young love on celluloid. Wes Anderson has always had a more child like demeanour and thankfully, he's found a way to tie his arch and precise artifice to an emotionally engaging and fawning plot.
6) Cosmopolis (directed by David Cronenberg) - Much like the majority of the people commenting about it, this film has little-to-no understanding of the financial crisis. Fortunately though, it perfectly encapsulates the dread, confusion and all around isolation of big city living. Delving frequently in dark and surreal places, Cronenberg has captured a zeitgeist. Definitely not for everyone, but for the few people on board, the wry and satirical humour will grab hold and refuse to let go.
5) Damsels in Distress (directed by Whit Stillman) - Funniest film of the year by far. Whit Stillman finally returns and with possibly the most dead pan comedy ever. This is going to be a chalk/cheese choice. Either you'll find every line contains a new reason to hate how conceited and affected each character is or every line is a new reason to laugh hysterically. But in the end, how many films endeavour to create a new dance craze?
4) Perks of Being A Wallflower (directed by Stephen Chbosky) - High School sucks. Being a teenager sucks. How many times can we hear this story? So long as it's as exciting and visceral as this, infinitely. Ezra Miller is going to be huge in a few years. Emma Watson proves she'll have a career post-Potter. Teenagers everywhere have a new reason to listen to 'Heroes'. Everything is fine.
3) Looper (directed by Rian Johnson) - Features not one, but two great Bruce Willis performances. Asides from a couple of sequences, this is a surprisingly original take on time travel. Definitely the highlight of the blockbuster season. More than anything, it was just full on cool from start to finish.
2) The Innkeepers (directed by Ti West) - I hate ghost stories. You know where you stand with serial killers and monsters. The worst they can do is dismember you. Ghosts, on the other hand, are like really envious and bitter neighbours, if your neighbours existed on a different ethereal plain.
1) Goon (directed by Michael Dowse) - Wait, wait, before you all lambaste me about this, I don't just love this film because I love ice hockey (though this does have some of the greatest sequences of the sport on film). This is actually a surprisingly existential tale! It has hidden depths! Great acting! The joy of seeing a misfit find their place in society! And yeah, fights and skating.
Saturday, October 13, 2012
Where have all the mavericks gone?
I have a near fetishistic love of routine, especially when it involves breakfast. Since I started work, I've enjoyed arriving at the office early, getting myself a nice coffee, maybe a pastry too if I'm feeling indulgent. I sit at my desk in a near empty building, take in the atmosphere of the Thames and read through some articles that take my fancy. For a while, one of my regulars was a column published on the LA Times website. It was titled 'the Big Picture' and written by a rather well informed chap named Patrick Goldstein. He, unfortunately, has since stepped down from the paper/website/thing, but not before producing a final column that inspired me enough to comment, but unfortunately not in a positive regard.
It's a peculiar final post, allowing for only a minimum amount of personal reflection on the lessons learnt during his time at the LA Times. Instead, Goldstein takes the opportunity to aim his vast intellect at "Hollywood" at large. Unfortunately, I have to report that I don't think the article is quite the middle finger to the establishment that Goldstein intended. It is merely one of several misguided, poorly thought out and outdated articles lamenting the death of cinema or the decline of great movie making published in the time that I've been ignoring this blog.
http://www.latimes.com/entertainment/movies/moviesnow/la-et-big-picture-20120822,0,3537850.story
I have so many issues with the article that I could provide a lengthy argument with every point made and end up with a blog post double the size of Goldstein's opinion piece. Aside from making several brief, wide ranging and, in some cases, contradictory points, I think the biggest crime Goldstein commits is allowing his heart to influence his memories. He maligns today's Hollywood system, claiming that it has an "aversion to originality", as if this was a recent change. Thankfully Wikipedia is here to allow us to examine such things in more detail. A handy search for "wiki list of the most expensive films of all time" will direct you to a table showing (without adjusting for inflation) a timeline of the highest budgeted films. One thing that you'll note is that, with the exception of Waterworld and Titanic, all of the films are based on novels or existing franchises (including the Bible).
The fact is, when throwing astronomical sums of money at directors/film productions, I don't think it is out of the question for the financiers to look for some security, regardless as to whether this will result in a bad quality film. That's why Goldstein's counterpoint regarding Pixar & Seth MacFarlene is so misguided. Pixar have proved themselves to be a reliable studio in terms of revenue. Seth MacFarlene has also vast evidence of a built-in audience. His fans even got Fox to recommission Family Guy for Christ's sake! It's not like handing over $60m to the production team behind a TV show that lasted four episodes.
There are several things that bother me about such articles. First and foremost, in not strictly explaining what he wants from a film industry, we get a rather muddled view of what Goldstein likes/dislikes in the current environment (so against sequels but for Pixar films - what about Pixar sequels?). Moving past Spike Lee's idiotic statements, I think they are both guilty of romanticising the past. We were extremely lucky in the nineties to have a group of young film makers all allowed to make mid-budgeted and exciting films at the same time. The same thing happened in Hollywood in the 70s and France in the 60s. Just because we haven't the same 'band of brothers' narrative now, doesn't meant that there aren't original voices any more, they're just not grouped together.
I was discussing Formula One records with a friend at work recently. We noted that, despite his reputation as a great racer, Senna won a substantial portion of his total wins from pole position. On the other hand, Prost, a man painted as doing the bare minimum to win his races won far less from the front row. Now, does this tells us that Senna wasn't the great racer that people remember? Certainly not, but it does make us question how much we can rely on our memories as evidence for grand conceptual arguments.
It's a peculiar final post, allowing for only a minimum amount of personal reflection on the lessons learnt during his time at the LA Times. Instead, Goldstein takes the opportunity to aim his vast intellect at "Hollywood" at large. Unfortunately, I have to report that I don't think the article is quite the middle finger to the establishment that Goldstein intended. It is merely one of several misguided, poorly thought out and outdated articles lamenting the death of cinema or the decline of great movie making published in the time that I've been ignoring this blog.
http://www.latimes.com/entertainment/movies/moviesnow/la-et-big-picture-20120822,0,3537850.story
I have so many issues with the article that I could provide a lengthy argument with every point made and end up with a blog post double the size of Goldstein's opinion piece. Aside from making several brief, wide ranging and, in some cases, contradictory points, I think the biggest crime Goldstein commits is allowing his heart to influence his memories. He maligns today's Hollywood system, claiming that it has an "aversion to originality", as if this was a recent change. Thankfully Wikipedia is here to allow us to examine such things in more detail. A handy search for "wiki list of the most expensive films of all time" will direct you to a table showing (without adjusting for inflation) a timeline of the highest budgeted films. One thing that you'll note is that, with the exception of Waterworld and Titanic, all of the films are based on novels or existing franchises (including the Bible).
The fact is, when throwing astronomical sums of money at directors/film productions, I don't think it is out of the question for the financiers to look for some security, regardless as to whether this will result in a bad quality film. That's why Goldstein's counterpoint regarding Pixar & Seth MacFarlene is so misguided. Pixar have proved themselves to be a reliable studio in terms of revenue. Seth MacFarlene has also vast evidence of a built-in audience. His fans even got Fox to recommission Family Guy for Christ's sake! It's not like handing over $60m to the production team behind a TV show that lasted four episodes.
There are several things that bother me about such articles. First and foremost, in not strictly explaining what he wants from a film industry, we get a rather muddled view of what Goldstein likes/dislikes in the current environment (so against sequels but for Pixar films - what about Pixar sequels?). Moving past Spike Lee's idiotic statements, I think they are both guilty of romanticising the past. We were extremely lucky in the nineties to have a group of young film makers all allowed to make mid-budgeted and exciting films at the same time. The same thing happened in Hollywood in the 70s and France in the 60s. Just because we haven't the same 'band of brothers' narrative now, doesn't meant that there aren't original voices any more, they're just not grouped together.
I was discussing Formula One records with a friend at work recently. We noted that, despite his reputation as a great racer, Senna won a substantial portion of his total wins from pole position. On the other hand, Prost, a man painted as doing the bare minimum to win his races won far less from the front row. Now, does this tells us that Senna wasn't the great racer that people remember? Certainly not, but it does make us question how much we can rely on our memories as evidence for grand conceptual arguments.
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
Top 25 Films
In honour of the Sight & Sound Greatest Film Evah List coming out today, I thought I'd post a list of the current cream of my crop. Please note, this only includes films that I've watched in the last three years (i.e. since I started recording such things). There was no Citizen Kane to dethrone because I haven't seen it in the last three years (though, I would note, it would have placed quite highly). Vertigo however, was completely qualified to be included on this list.
25) Never Let Me Go
Me, Tommy, and Ruth
24) His Girl Friday
Oh, you're losing your arm! You used to be able to pitch better than that.
23) Dark Water
仄暗い水の底から
22) This Is Spinal Tap
He was the patron saint of quality footwear.
21) Mystery Train
At the time of his death, if he were on Jupiter, Elvis would've weighed six-hundred and forty-eight pounds.
20) Metropolitan
Well, everyone ceases to exist. Doesn't mean everyone's a failure.
19) The Prestige
Because of course, you're not really looking.
18) Rushmore
I saved Latin, what did you ever do?
17) This Is England
Some people say we're racists.
16) Ed Wood
You must be double-jointed. And you must be Hungarian.
15) Shutter Island
There's just this; can my violence conquer yours?
14) Fitzcarraldo
This church remains closed until this town has its opera house.
13) Crimes and Misdemeanours
He left a simple note that said "I've gone out the window".
12) Ghostbusters
Yes, have some.
11) Mulholland Drive
When you see the girl in the picture that was shown to you earlier today, you will say "this is the girl".
10) The Third Man
9) A Night At The Opera
8) Wild Strawberries
7) Annie Hall
6) Chinatown
5) Steamboat Bill, Jr.
4) Manhattan
Chapter One. He adored New York City. He idolized it all out of proportion.
3) Barton Fink
2) A Matter of Life & Death
1) The Apartment
25) Never Let Me Go
24) His Girl Friday
23) Dark Water
22) This Is Spinal Tap
21) Mystery Train
20) Metropolitan
19) The Prestige
18) Rushmore
17) This Is England
16) Ed Wood
15) Shutter Island
14) Fitzcarraldo
13) Crimes and Misdemeanours
12) Ghostbusters
11) Mulholland Drive
10) The Third Man
A person doesn't change just because you find out more.
9) A Night At The Opera
That's what they call a sanity clause.
8) Wild Strawberries
They might as well appoint me Honorary Idiot.
7) Annie Hall
I would, but I need the eggs.
6) Chinatown
Forget it Jake...
5) Steamboat Bill, Jr.
Magic.
4) Manhattan
3) Barton Fink
You just don't listen.
2) A Matter of Life & Death
I love you June. You're life, and I'm leaving you.
1) The Apartment
The most heart-wrenching moments in this film are all silent.
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
Peter & Paul and other musings
Peter and Paul were both born, quite independently of one another, on the fifteenth of May, 1959. Peter was born to Frederik and Katarina (née Åkerman) Øresund in Plymouth, his parents having emigrated several years prior for work in travel infrastructure, which Plymouth was in sore need of. Peter was a child who often cried, but found respite from his unhappiness in watching ducks. No other animals had such a calming effect on him.
Paul grew up under the care of Dennis and Della (Paul never remembered her maiden name and wasn't entirely interested) Darrowby. Their home (in which Paul was born) was around the corner from St Mary's Church in Thirsk, Yorkshire. They were not want for attending church, which upset Della who had grown up in a devout Protestant home. Within the first six years of his life, Paul watched his father, who was much older than his mother, retire from his career as a member of the North Yorkshire Police, become an avid impossible-bottle collector and then quickly die from an undiagnosed liver problem.
Both suffered rather ordinary high school lives, though if you were to hear them speak of those days, you'd come away with a far more elevated opinion. Both succeeded in their O-Levels, qualifying them for their A-Levels. Peter was more well rounded intellectually, whilst Paul had a greater affinity for physics and mathematics. Peter was also more skilled at sports, showing a natural aptitude for the fullback position in field hockey, but sadly lacking the physical ability to succeed fully.
Their paths first crossed at the exact age of 21. Both had crossed the Atlantic for study and were attending courses at MIT. Peter's family were more than able to take those substantial bills off his hands. Paul was at the mercy of scholarships and bar work. They met at a social organised for Native Irish persons, which neither of them were, but both were dating someone that would vaguely meet that description. We shall call them Girlfriend Pa and Girlfriend Pe to protect their identities (Peter and Paul do not need such measures of course, on their account of being fictitious).
Peter and Girlfriend Pe had the sort of relationship that many public political figures would do well to aspire to. Missionary sex once a month and frequent fraught conversations, but counterbalanced by many public and conservative dates and events. Both were active in several societies and committees, however, Girlfriend Pe was far more interested in leading such bodies and often quite viciously at that. Peter was quite happy to let her do so, even in their relationship. She had been conceived in Ireland, but born right there in Massachusetts. Though she tore into anyone who claimed so, she was torn up inside by what she perceived to make her an inauthentic Irish lady. Fittingly then, most aspects of her personage seem designed to compensate for this - her name had far too many vowels and accents, her light blonde hair was forever scorched, her favourite book was Ulysses, she was thoroughly unpleasant to those seem deemed as frauds to her heritage and though she had never visited her beloved homeland, she frequently told fantastically detailed and imaginative stories suggesting otherwise.
While Peter and Pe were at the start of what would prove a lengthy but ultimately loveless endeavour, Paul and Pa were no more than blimps on each other's timelines. There were no grand declarations of attachment, no intricate plans for romantic adventures at the zoo. No feelings were ultimately hurt, well, none that lasted the test of time. They had met in a student bar and taken things as they had come. Pa was already becoming disillusioned with the prospect of Paul. His mother had not taken another partner after his father's death and accordingly, his imagination for romance had been stunted. They would remain an item for another few weeks and, although they would not remain within the same close sphere of friends, they would grant each other the satisfaction of brief conversations in passing, discussing what the other had been filling their time with as of late.
The Irish Association of MIT were hosting a charity ball on the fifteenth of May, 1980. Long after the speeches and the dances and the meals and the loosening of the bow ties, Paul went and sat at the bar. He disliked many of Pa's friends and savoured some time alone. They were talking about some dead leftie leader behind the Iron Curtin that he had no interest in. She'd pick him up before she wanted to head home, he mistakenly thought. He ordered a scotch and laughed at what he thought was an incredibly witty drink request. Don't judge him too harshly, it was well past his usual bed time and he had already ingested a great deal of various other liquors. Peter was frequently worried about the manner in which he was perceived and as such, tried not to drink heavily at such events. His tux was still as finely pressed as when it was donned at the start of the evening, give or take a few creases. At his fine lady's request, he was bringing in a bottle of champagne for the guests at his table, which contained at least one future faculty member, one future S&P 500 board member and one current junkie.
Peter approached the far left of the bar. At this point in the evening, there were no queues or crowds and there were only a handful of people dotted along the oak plank; mainly dejected loners. Paul stood, unknowingly to the left of Paul, who at this time was enjoying his laughter-inducing scotch while simultaneously lighting a cigarette from a half full pack he'd found earlier on beside a pay phone. Paul leaned over to alert the barman of his presence and gave his order in a manner betraying his fatigue.
"That's not an Irish accent."
Of course, to Peter, this sounded more like "Dat not ffffffuddle gah." Peter turned to the source of this gabble and saw Paul. After sizing him up, Peter noted that his tux was looking quite lived in and the sweat on his brow beginning to make an escape to his neck.
"Excuse me?"
"I said, that's not an Irish accent," Paul repeated and gave a wink to his compatriot of the British Isles.
"Haha, yes, guilty, I'm not..."
"And you're not American neither." Peter had now attracted Paul's full attention. He pivoted on his bar stool, spilling some of that side-rippingly funny whiskey in the process. "That means you must be like me!"
"No, sorry, I think you're mistaken, I'm Swed..." Peter's protest had begun, but it was too late. With the speed of a sloth and weight of a juggernaut, Paul had risen and grabbed Peter around the shoulders.
"Look at us, English...boys in the States," Paul emphasised the pause by tapping his fist on his chest and then Peter's during its length. "But we don't get societies and songs and jigs to celebrate it. Let's order some English drinks! No, we can't. We don't have any."
The barman reappeared with champagne on ice. He enquired as to the number of glasses required and informed Peter of the price. He was very professional.
"Oh old chum," Paul spitted with venom, "I didn't know you were a toff. Forgive me, I was not to know, I shall stopeth besmirching and bequeathing thousth's personage." He slumped back to his seat, giving the fanciest hand movement his booze-addled mind could muster and turned back to face the bar. The barman reappeared with the glasses, but Peter was far too taken back by Paul's behaviour to notice.
"Say, are you ok here?" Peter slowly placed his hand on Paul's shoulder, but it was shrugged off. It was at this point the barman caught Peter's attention. Peter handed him several bills, collected his glasses and returned to table, as triumphantly as one can while balancing champagne flutes in one hand and a spruced up bucket in the other. Paul's head slowly lowered to the bar and he began to drift off.
The next day, Paul's hangover was the least of his worries. He'd managed to lose $400 betting Miss Arizona in the Miss USA competition during the early part of last evening's festivities, a fact that was only dawning on him now.
Peter didn't think much of the strange man he met that night until he and Pe made a very public date to see the Empire Strikes Back. They queued around the block like so many other lovebirds. It was when Han Solo appeared that he remember the very drunk and quite possibly racist student at the bar. He could no longer focus on the intricacies of the film and instead spent the rest of the running time intensely questioning what this subconscious comparison said about him.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
Other musings
All film talk has been focused on the summer behemoth that is the Dark Knight Rises. As always, covered much better else where.
I've been sidelined recently by two illness which obviously accounts for the above. 1) Viral infection - this was nifty - vomiting, awful headaches, breathing pains. And then as soon as that had cleared up... 2) Tonsillitis. Having never had tonsillitis before, the novelty of legitimately being able to eat ice cream for a meal was endearing, but that soon passed.
After returning from the Wirral, my brother and my mum travelled with me and spent a week in London prior to the Olympic deluge. As I was working, I couldn't do much with them, but I did find time to visit the British Museum with them. I found the Japan exhibition wistfully nostalgic.
Not many new films seen, but plenty of older ones. Blogging has been slow due to the illnesses described above and because I'm writing an article presently about an older movie lady.
Now if you'll forgive me, it's late, I'm hungry and I have the odd compulsion to eat fish fingers and chips before retiring to bed with Hemingway. Night all.
Paul grew up under the care of Dennis and Della (Paul never remembered her maiden name and wasn't entirely interested) Darrowby. Their home (in which Paul was born) was around the corner from St Mary's Church in Thirsk, Yorkshire. They were not want for attending church, which upset Della who had grown up in a devout Protestant home. Within the first six years of his life, Paul watched his father, who was much older than his mother, retire from his career as a member of the North Yorkshire Police, become an avid impossible-bottle collector and then quickly die from an undiagnosed liver problem.
Both suffered rather ordinary high school lives, though if you were to hear them speak of those days, you'd come away with a far more elevated opinion. Both succeeded in their O-Levels, qualifying them for their A-Levels. Peter was more well rounded intellectually, whilst Paul had a greater affinity for physics and mathematics. Peter was also more skilled at sports, showing a natural aptitude for the fullback position in field hockey, but sadly lacking the physical ability to succeed fully.
Their paths first crossed at the exact age of 21. Both had crossed the Atlantic for study and were attending courses at MIT. Peter's family were more than able to take those substantial bills off his hands. Paul was at the mercy of scholarships and bar work. They met at a social organised for Native Irish persons, which neither of them were, but both were dating someone that would vaguely meet that description. We shall call them Girlfriend Pa and Girlfriend Pe to protect their identities (Peter and Paul do not need such measures of course, on their account of being fictitious).
Peter and Girlfriend Pe had the sort of relationship that many public political figures would do well to aspire to. Missionary sex once a month and frequent fraught conversations, but counterbalanced by many public and conservative dates and events. Both were active in several societies and committees, however, Girlfriend Pe was far more interested in leading such bodies and often quite viciously at that. Peter was quite happy to let her do so, even in their relationship. She had been conceived in Ireland, but born right there in Massachusetts. Though she tore into anyone who claimed so, she was torn up inside by what she perceived to make her an inauthentic Irish lady. Fittingly then, most aspects of her personage seem designed to compensate for this - her name had far too many vowels and accents, her light blonde hair was forever scorched, her favourite book was Ulysses, she was thoroughly unpleasant to those seem deemed as frauds to her heritage and though she had never visited her beloved homeland, she frequently told fantastically detailed and imaginative stories suggesting otherwise.
While Peter and Pe were at the start of what would prove a lengthy but ultimately loveless endeavour, Paul and Pa were no more than blimps on each other's timelines. There were no grand declarations of attachment, no intricate plans for romantic adventures at the zoo. No feelings were ultimately hurt, well, none that lasted the test of time. They had met in a student bar and taken things as they had come. Pa was already becoming disillusioned with the prospect of Paul. His mother had not taken another partner after his father's death and accordingly, his imagination for romance had been stunted. They would remain an item for another few weeks and, although they would not remain within the same close sphere of friends, they would grant each other the satisfaction of brief conversations in passing, discussing what the other had been filling their time with as of late.
The Irish Association of MIT were hosting a charity ball on the fifteenth of May, 1980. Long after the speeches and the dances and the meals and the loosening of the bow ties, Paul went and sat at the bar. He disliked many of Pa's friends and savoured some time alone. They were talking about some dead leftie leader behind the Iron Curtin that he had no interest in. She'd pick him up before she wanted to head home, he mistakenly thought. He ordered a scotch and laughed at what he thought was an incredibly witty drink request. Don't judge him too harshly, it was well past his usual bed time and he had already ingested a great deal of various other liquors. Peter was frequently worried about the manner in which he was perceived and as such, tried not to drink heavily at such events. His tux was still as finely pressed as when it was donned at the start of the evening, give or take a few creases. At his fine lady's request, he was bringing in a bottle of champagne for the guests at his table, which contained at least one future faculty member, one future S&P 500 board member and one current junkie.
Peter approached the far left of the bar. At this point in the evening, there were no queues or crowds and there were only a handful of people dotted along the oak plank; mainly dejected loners. Paul stood, unknowingly to the left of Paul, who at this time was enjoying his laughter-inducing scotch while simultaneously lighting a cigarette from a half full pack he'd found earlier on beside a pay phone. Paul leaned over to alert the barman of his presence and gave his order in a manner betraying his fatigue.
"That's not an Irish accent."
Of course, to Peter, this sounded more like "Dat not ffffffuddle gah." Peter turned to the source of this gabble and saw Paul. After sizing him up, Peter noted that his tux was looking quite lived in and the sweat on his brow beginning to make an escape to his neck.
"Excuse me?"
"I said, that's not an Irish accent," Paul repeated and gave a wink to his compatriot of the British Isles.
"Haha, yes, guilty, I'm not..."
"And you're not American neither." Peter had now attracted Paul's full attention. He pivoted on his bar stool, spilling some of that side-rippingly funny whiskey in the process. "That means you must be like me!"
"No, sorry, I think you're mistaken, I'm Swed..." Peter's protest had begun, but it was too late. With the speed of a sloth and weight of a juggernaut, Paul had risen and grabbed Peter around the shoulders.
"Look at us, English...boys in the States," Paul emphasised the pause by tapping his fist on his chest and then Peter's during its length. "But we don't get societies and songs and jigs to celebrate it. Let's order some English drinks! No, we can't. We don't have any."
The barman reappeared with champagne on ice. He enquired as to the number of glasses required and informed Peter of the price. He was very professional.
"Oh old chum," Paul spitted with venom, "I didn't know you were a toff. Forgive me, I was not to know, I shall stopeth besmirching and bequeathing thousth's personage." He slumped back to his seat, giving the fanciest hand movement his booze-addled mind could muster and turned back to face the bar. The barman reappeared with the glasses, but Peter was far too taken back by Paul's behaviour to notice.
"Say, are you ok here?" Peter slowly placed his hand on Paul's shoulder, but it was shrugged off. It was at this point the barman caught Peter's attention. Peter handed him several bills, collected his glasses and returned to table, as triumphantly as one can while balancing champagne flutes in one hand and a spruced up bucket in the other. Paul's head slowly lowered to the bar and he began to drift off.
The next day, Paul's hangover was the least of his worries. He'd managed to lose $400 betting Miss Arizona in the Miss USA competition during the early part of last evening's festivities, a fact that was only dawning on him now.
Peter didn't think much of the strange man he met that night until he and Pe made a very public date to see the Empire Strikes Back. They queued around the block like so many other lovebirds. It was when Han Solo appeared that he remember the very drunk and quite possibly racist student at the bar. He could no longer focus on the intricacies of the film and instead spent the rest of the running time intensely questioning what this subconscious comparison said about him.
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Other musings
All film talk has been focused on the summer behemoth that is the Dark Knight Rises. As always, covered much better else where.
I've been sidelined recently by two illness which obviously accounts for the above. 1) Viral infection - this was nifty - vomiting, awful headaches, breathing pains. And then as soon as that had cleared up... 2) Tonsillitis. Having never had tonsillitis before, the novelty of legitimately being able to eat ice cream for a meal was endearing, but that soon passed.
After returning from the Wirral, my brother and my mum travelled with me and spent a week in London prior to the Olympic deluge. As I was working, I couldn't do much with them, but I did find time to visit the British Museum with them. I found the Japan exhibition wistfully nostalgic.
Not many new films seen, but plenty of older ones. Blogging has been slow due to the illnesses described above and because I'm writing an article presently about an older movie lady.
Now if you'll forgive me, it's late, I'm hungry and I have the odd compulsion to eat fish fingers and chips before retiring to bed with Hemingway. Night all.
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