Freedom.

Spotify? ‘Look For Me’ by Chipmunk. Don’t judge me.
LoveFilm? In a Post Office somewhere in the UK, is a wallet containing National Lampoon’s Animal House, just for me.
Amazon? Almost done with Lord Of The Flies. David Copperfield waits patiently.

*****

FREEDOM

Right, I should probably tell you that I’m full of cider and day-old Margherita pizza right now, so perhaps that’ll influence how this review turns out. Hopefully, it stops me swearing because, well, I really want to swear.

Let’s get the formalities out of the way: the play is called Freedom, and it’s playing at the Arcola Theatre right now. I’ll try to explain the story: in Tajikistan, a farmer is in some trouble with some people. For reasons I couldn’t really work out, the farmer has to send his son Fariad to England, to find a Western woman to bring back to Tajikistan. By doing that, their problems will be sorted. So Fariad goes to London, finds a job in a chicken shop and falls for a Spaniard called Jennifer. Will Fariad obey his father’s wishes, or will the temptation of the Western world take over?

So that’s the story. It’s all about clashes of culture, and love, and whether following your own heart is more important than following your family’s wishes. All very nice topics and themes to base a play on. The problem is that the play in question was a trainwreck. Utter trainwreck.

The play moves between Tajikistan and London (with the stage split in two, and looking very impressive, actually), as we follow the paths of Fariad, Jennifer, and Fariad’s father Benham. That’s all well and good. What isn’t well or good is that the production is FULL of inconsistencies. So Fariad (Indranyl Singharay) is an innocent, naïve farmer’s boy being forced, more or less, to go to England. But once there, in no time, he learns to play the guitar, gets a job, has amazing English, and is absolutely amazing at seducing girls and dating. On the other side of the world is Benham (Rian Perle), the old man who has lived on the farm all his life and knows nothing else. But the old man can speak PERFECT English. How? And the reason for why Fariad has to find a Western woman to bring home is so loosely explained, I still don’t get it. We learn that the family is Christian, but pretending to be Muslim. Interesting, but that is never followed up on. There’s a mother too, who plays an extremely integral part at the end, but we never see her. So why should we care?

The only person who carries any sort of sympathy is the Spaniard, Jennifer (Rebeca Cobos). She is the one caught in the middle of this devious plot between father and son; the innocent victim who was simply too naïve. So, technically, she’s the one we root for; but, we only know two things about her: she’s Spanish, and she loves maths. That’s all. There is so little character development, that it’s impossible to care about her. The synopsis to the play suggests she is emotionally damaged; we do not see this at all. She is dumped at the beginning, yes, but that is not emotional damage. If anything, it’s played up for laughs. By the end of the play, in a ridiculously anti-climactic ending, I wasn’t really bothered what happened to any of them. It had become too complicated and convoluted to bother.

Sigh.

I don’t want to spend all my time slamming this play. There is good. The set design was fantastic, I think, really well done. The performances ranged from good to decent, but nobody really stood out. Frankly, I get the feeling that the cast were not putting all their effort in. As if they knew they were in a failing play, which is sad. What else? Umm….music, music was good.

Look, I didn’t enjoy this play. The friend I took with me did not enjoy this play. And judging from the hardly-concealed laughter of audience members around me, they didn’t enjoy it either. It’s sad, because nobody wants to see a bad play. Nobody wants to be part of a bad play.

And we were.

*****
Sigh. So, that makes it two theatre shows I’ve reviewed, both of which I’ve given horrible reviews to. Third times a charm, maybe?

As I leave, ‘Linger’ by The Cranberries. Absolutely wonderful song, please give it a listen. Reminds me of lost times. Romantic, eh? Probably the cider. Follow me on Twitter, please (@writeofcentre), and follow this blog too, that would be great of you. Other than that, uh, well, I guess you can leave. Bye!

Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol.

Spotify? Podcasting, actually. But it’s about wrestling, so you’d probably hate it. Haters.
LoveFilm? Still Mulholland Drive and 24 on my desk. I think they’ll both be getting watched tonight, as I gear up for an all-nighter.
Amazon? Still Lord Of The Flies. But the mailman delivered David Copperfield to me yesterday morning. The Dickens novel, not the magician. Just to clear up any doubt.

*****

While sitting on the Underground, going home, I’m suddenly struck with the urge to go watch a movie. There isn’t any real planning behind this urge, as most urges go; I have no idea if there’s a movie starting soon, I don’t know if it would be a movie I’d want to watch. Like most things in life, I don’t really know anything. But lo and behold, there I am at the cinema, buying a ticket (and the most godawful hotdog known to man), scratching my itch. Luckily, the film I arrived to was Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol. Now, to clarify, I didn’t want to watch it; but I didn’t NOT want to watch it either. It just wasn’t a priority.

I’ll tell you what it’s about, quickly. Tom Cruise is Ethan Hunt, secret spy agent extraordinaire. After getting rescued from prison (for reasons I can’t really spoil), he and his team (made up of Simon Pegg, Paula Patton and Jeremy Renner) are given the mission of stopping evil Michael Nyqvist from igniting nuclear war. The movie travels from Russia (where the friggin’ Kremlin is destroyed!) to Dubai to India, with lots of twists and turns along the way.


I really enjoyed this film, I won’t lie. Obviously, not for the same reasons I enjoyed The Artist or The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo, but still enjoyed it. This is one of those proper popcorn Hollywood movies. Lots of guns and fighting. Sexy girls. Non-stop action. Great locations. And that’s the appeal of the movie. The action is frenetic and constant – yeah, they’ll give you a few minutes here and there to catch your breath, see a bit of boobage, hear Simon Pegg try to say something funny, but then we’re right back into the line of fire. And the action is incredible. Car chases, fight scenes in Indian car parks and Russian prisons, and the occasional bomb; you have it all. Cruise is the one usually at the thick of it, including a fucking amazing sprint across the tallest building in the world, which the maniac did himself. No stuntman. But the others aren’t left out of the thrills, they all have their moments. This was definitely not a one-man movie, which I liked.

But where the action was amazing and very successful, the non-actiony bits weren’t always that strong. I bloody love Simon Pegg, and most of the funny lines are his in the movie, but he just doesn’t click. It wasn’t awful, but I wanted funnier and never got it. That said, there’s actually a really nice chemistry between him and Cruise which, when done properly, could be brilliant. Jeremy Renner is a good actor, and I can see why he’s the new Bourne movie lead, but I think he was wasted here. Paula Patton was the surprise for me – I don’t think I’ve seen her act before, and she’s not bad. And hot, of course. Always nice when they’re hot.


The story is really far-fetched, and the gadgets they use are even worse. Maybe these gadgets exist and are used, I dunno, but it was mental. It was quite funny, though, that these top secret agents were using iPads to do their work. A sign of the times, and great advertising. The film requires a suspension of disbelief. If you can accept that, you’ll like the movie.

But frankly, you will enjoy this movie. It’s a good movie. You won’t have to think too much, you’ll see some great action and some pretty girls (and boys too), and you leave feeling like you’ve got your money’s worth. This isn’t must-watch cinema, but you could do much worse. Believe me, watch MI:3, the last one. Much worse.

*****
Another one bites the dust!

I’m still podcasting, and I’m still in bed at 12pm. Probably time to get up and be a part of life. I have a Twitter (@writeofcentre). Follow me, and support me. I thank ya. Out!

The Meisner Showcase.

Spotify? ‘Canvey Island’ by British Sea Power. This band is hit and miss, I think, but when they hit, they’re great. This song hits.
LoveFilm? Mulholland Drive. Really can’t wait to watch that. I’m also working my way through the first season of 24, which has been fun so far.
Amazon? Lord Of The Flies by William Golding. I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to read it. So far, so good!!

*****

THE MEISNER SHOWCASE

I know a little bit about the Meisner technique, mostly through occasional conversations on exhausted train rides home, but I don’t know a great deal. Same goes for those other drama kids Brecht, Stanislavski, et al., to be honest. I know the basics, sure, but I’m usually the one who sits there nodding along, pretending I’m clever. But it is all fascinating, that’s not in dispute. I do enjoy talking about these things but, frankly, talking can only get you so far. Like some wise people say sometimes, if you want to know how things are done, experience them yourselves. So, well, I did!

Okay, I didn’t actually try the Meisner technique myself, but I did spend an hour at the Barons Court Theatre (in Barons Court, just so you know), watching a group of actors let me watch them try it. To be more specific, this was a showcase of the students involved with The Impulse Company’s specialist Meisner course. In a cosy, dimly lit space with perhaps no more than thirty audience members, these eight actors displayed their use of the technique in short yet extremely entertaining scenes.

The scenes were excerpts from different plays; I recognised some but not all of them. But really, for me, it wasn’t about the scenes themselves. It was the repetition exercises (I guess would be the right word) each pair of actors engaged in before a scene. It was bloody fascinating. Just in those short moments – which probably never lasted more than a minute – you could feel the actors getting into the skin of their character. To be able to see that transformation from actor to character was great. Inevitably, the use of repetition would cause laughter, but you could also see a genuine attempt by one actor to challenge the other. Daring the other to go further. Make it funnier. Make it faster. Make it more intense. And before you knew it, we were engrossed in them and the scene.

As expected, there was nothing wrong with the acting in the scenes, either. They’re all performers, after all, and very good ones too. Whether it was Shakespeare or a contemporary classic, each piece was handled well and with confidence. No arguments whatsoever.

I can’t really talk about this as I would a play, because it was never treated as being some kind of ‘performance’. With it being a showcase and not a full-blown production, there was something very raw about the whole experience. Actors sat in amongst the audience, as casual as actors are able to be on show night, enjoying the action just like we were. There was no line drawn between the world of the actor and the world of the audience. We were all in on this together; a shared experience. For one hour, I was part of the classroom, and it was very stimulating.

This Meisner guy obviously knew what he was talking about, and it all it took was one hour and a lot of repetition to realise that. For someone who’s never really studied acting and drama on a detailed academic level, it was an enriching experience. Oh, and if you want more info on The Impulse Company, check out their website:

http://impulsecompany.co.uk

Wonder if there’s a Brechtian Showcase any time soon…?

*****
Another escape from the four walls of my bedroom ends in another lovely little blog post for you to enjoy (well, endure, at the very least.)

What am I listening to now, I hear you all ask loudly? Only the god-like creatures known as Led Zeppelin, and ‘Kashmir’. I’m going now. Oh, shit, yeah, follow me (@writeofcentre)! Now I’m definitely going.

J. Edgar.

Spotify? ‘Dani California’ by Red Hot Chili Peppers.
LoveFilm? Mad Max 2 is sitting in front of the TV.
On my desk? The newest issue of Empire Magazine.

Now for the main course!

*****

J. Edgar Hoover is a name I know and recognise very well, but I didn’t actually know why he was so recognised. Something to do with America, yeah, but that was about it. Turns out he did a helluva lot!

And that’s what the film is about. It’s basically Hoover (Leonardo DiCaprio) looking back on his life and career; mainly, two important things. One, the fact that he created the FBI as we know it today and made it (and himself) a powerful American entity. And two, the fact that he never got married and had a very close relationship with his right hand man, Clyde Tolson. It’s whether Hoover should be revered or ridiculed for what he did in life that director Clint Eastwood focuses the movie on.


I name-dropped two pretty important people there. DiCaprio and Eastwood. Powerhouses. Don’t know about you, but that’s bloody mouth-watering for me. Easily a recipe for success, but only one of them really succeeds; that one being DiCaprio. I like watching Leo act. Actually, I love it. He is without doubt one of the best actors of this generation, and I can’t remember a performance of his I didn’t like. And you can safely add J. Edgar to that list. Whether playing Edgar right at the end of his life, or in his very early days, DiCaprio is incredible. It’s the briefest of expressions he makes that are so fascinating to watch, emphasising Hoover’s insecurities perfectly. We see Edgar making bold and sometimes unfavourable decisions as head of the FBI, but DiCaprio manages to keep Hoover the hero, not villain, in our eyes.

I really do think he’s let down though. The film, as a whole, is lacklustre. It’s not terrible; I’d say it’s a good film. But, other than DiCaprio anchoring the film, there really isn’t much else. I’d go as far as to say that it was quite dull at certain points, and probably should have ended twenty minutes before it did. Eastwood is usually really good at making all his lead characters stand out, but he only gets it right with Armie Hammer this time. Hammer is brilliant as Tolson, and he has a genuine romantic chemistry with DiCaprio. Naomi Watts and Judi Dench are wasted, though, especially considering how important they are to the story. It almost feels like, had it not been for DiCaprio, the movie wouldn’t be as enjoyable as it is.


But then you have to ask: is one great performance enough to justify an entire film? A few films have come out recently like that. Everyone loved Meryl Streep as Thatcher in The Iron Lady, but not really the film itself. Madonna’s new film W.E. has been getting some very very awful reviews, but lead actress Andrea Riseborough is getting very very good ones. And I think J. Edgar falls into that category. I don’t really think the film as a whole is worth spending money on, but DiCaprio’s performance does need to be seen. Do you see him do his thing in the cinema, or do you wait for the DVD? I really don’t know. If you’ve got spare cash, go. You probably won’t be disappointed.

*****
On Spotify now? ‘Read My Mind’ by The Killers.
What happened next? I think I’m gonna stick Mad Max on.

You can follow me on Twitter (@writeofcentre), and you can follow me here too! I say interesting things. Occasionally.

Right, I’m gone. Laters.

A Columbine Classroom.

Yep, I’m back. You would think I’ve grown tired of this by now. Most of my whimsical interests last for about 15 days, and it’s now officially 21 with this. We might actually have a keeper!

Okay, music. Right now, I’m listening to ‘Breathin’ by the legendary 2Pac. I’m not really that big on gangsta rap, but this is Tu-bloody-pac! Everyone should make exceptions for Mr Shakur. Okay, enough of that. This is actually a monumental blog post - a theatre review!

You’ll start seeing more of these in the coming days, weeks, and months (yes, months!). Alright, enough of my prologue!

*****


A COLUMBINE CLASSROOM
The Library
Upper Street
London N1 1RU
Tickets: £10 per person / £30 for 5

N.B. Having not been given any sort of programme or cast list, I was unable to mention any actors' or characters' names. Sorry!

As much as I adore theatre, I hadn’t gone to see a play in quite some time. We’re talking months, which is quite a long time for me. But, as this blog started becoming more of a reality, I realised I had to pick it up again. So I did. And I chose this – A Columbine Classroom – as my popping of the Write Of Centre theatre reviewing cherry.

A quick summary: a young man is reminiscing about a particular day in his school-life. A day when he was stuck in a classroom, having an awful drama rehearsal. A day when, just down the hall, the infamous Columbine school shooting massacre was about to take place. That sounds pretty damn cool, I think. It’s why I decided to make the effort to see it, and it’s why I sit here writing this, extremely disappointed, trying my best not to be too damning of it. Because, well, I don’t think it was very good.

Now, in theory, this play could have been great. A tragic incident that still moves people now. A unique and interesting perspective. The use of dance, spoken word and music. Talented performers. All the pieces were there. And they still got it wrong.

Here’s the biggest problem – it was unbelievably confusing. They tried to use the ‘play-within-a-play’ model, with all the characters acknowledging the audience and talking to us. Problem is, most of the time, I didn’t really know what they were talking about. In Act One, especially, there was very little mention of the massacre itself, instead focusing on a lovesick teacher who shaves his balls, and a Scandinavian girl who’s main character trait was, well, being Scandinavian. I just didn’t get it. Where did any of this connect with Columbine beyond ‘we’re down the hall!’?

Act 2 started off much more strongly. The introduction of a new character, representing one of the victims of the shooting, breathes life into the piece. She is vibrant, charismatic and the story she tells is simple yet powerful. And then it just falls back down again. Another new character – a fictional Filipino janitor with a London accent – appears suddenly and starts to educate us on the original World Trade Centre bombing in 1993. Informative, yes. Relevant, no. Or if it was, I couldn’t work it out. And that was the story of my night – I just couldn’t work it out.

Now, individually, there was some good talent on show. The lead actor – the reminiscing young man – was brilliant, guiding us through the confusing narrative with charm and wit. The actor playing the victim was superb, and I was left wanting her to be on stage the whole time, not just the ten or so minutes she was. The musicians and dancer were also good, as were the songs scattered throughout the piece. And then, on the flipside, we had some very poor acting from the other artists. The inexperience was very obvious, and really hurt the piece even more. Unfortunately, it’s easier to notice bad performances when the whole show is bad, and I noticed.

Honestly, I don’t like giving bad reviews. I hate being negative about theatre, because they’re trying their best, doing what they can to make it in the industry. I know that struggle, believe me. I want to love everything and be wowed by whatever I see. Because, frankly, I love fringe theatre. I love sitting in small theatre spaces above pubs, with twenty or so people, watching new raw talent. At its best, it’s wonderful. At its worst, it’s painful. This wasn’t the worst play I’ve seen, by any means, but it wasn’t close to the best either. Some good artists were let down by a script and a narrative that made no sense. I appreciate the intention to use something as powerful as the Columbine massacre; I only wish the execution matched that intention.

*****
Okay, I’ll end this here now. As I sign off, the sounds of ‘Kettering’ by The Antlers echo around the room. A band I’ve just gotten into after the recommendation of a dear friend, and a band I’ll actually be seeing in April! You’ll hear more about that some other time, though.

I would love any feedback you have, good or bad, it’s all appreciated. You can follow me on that crazy Twitter thing (@writeofcentre) too. For now, it’s goodbye from me, and it’s goodbye from me.

The Artist.

It was another one of those days when I had to choose between making a surprise appearance at work, and spending an evening at the cinema. I’ve never liked surprises.

In case you’re wondering why I don’t give updates of my New York finances anymore (all one of you), I haven’t forgotten. Just waiting for significant updates, instead of a catalogue of a tenner lost here and a twenty gained there.

Oh, and I’m listening to ‘Reptilia’ by The Strokes. If you’re not familiar with The Strokes, well, I feel sorry for you. Intro, check. Music update, check. Insult the reader who takes the time to read my blog, check. I think there’s only one other thing left to do then…

*****


Right. Where to start? Okay. Let’s begin with a bit of ambience, immerse you into my world a little bit. I have this shiny little thing called a Cineworld Unlimited card. For a very reasonable monthly sum, I can watch any movie I like at Cineworld for no extra cost (except 3D and iMax). Cineworld are dicks, however, who would only show the film I intended to see at a branch five fucking miles from my house! Now, ordinarily, I’d contemplate a killing spree (GBH at the very least), but not this time. This time, I was ready to go to another cinema and drop as much money as was needed. Why? Because I needed to see this movie.

Let me quickly tell you what it’s about: its 1927 and George Valentin (Jean Dujardin) is the greatest silent actor in Hollywood. Everyone loves him, he’s an icon, and he’s just met Peppy Miller (Berenice Bejo), wannabe actress and quite possibly the love of his life. But there’s a problem – sound. George’s refusal to embrace this exciting new cinematic technology starts to ruin his life; and on the other side, Peppy’s career skyrockets up. Basically, he’s in the shit.

I could probably express my opinion with three short letters – wow. The Artist is one of the best films I’ve seen in a very long time. And I’m bloody glad, because I had incredibly high expectations. 99% of the things said about it were positive, and I was worried the hype would kill it. It didn’t. It not only met those expectations, but surpassed them, frankly.

Obviously, the talking point (no pun intended) of the movie is the fact that it’s shot entirely as the old-school silent movies were, in black and white and accompanied by orchestra backing and subtitling.The story is just so engaging, and the acting so strong, that the fact nobody has said a single word isn’t even important.

The star of the show is Jean Dujardin. The man is incredible. From the moment he appears on screen, you believe everything he does. The film rests squarely on his shoulders, and the guy delivers. But don’t take anything away from Berenice Bejo: as leading lady Peppy Miller, the girl is stunning. I mean, she’s fucking gorgeous, yes, but her performance is just as powerful. In exactly the same way, we believe her as a character, and want to see her succeed. Scattered around the two leads are great actors – James Cromwell, John Goodman, Penelope Ann Miller, even a brief cameo from Malcom f’in’ McDowell! Not a single performance can be faulted. This is a group of people who have thrown themselves into a bold and courageous production, and made sure it succeeds.

Oh, and the dog in this film is INCREDIBLE. I can say with complete confidence that the dog steals every scene he’s in. Trust me.

Quick shout-out to Michel Hazanavicius. He’s the writer and the director of the movie. This is his vision, he made this happen. He better get a bloody Oscar for it.

It’s hard writing a review when everything is so positive, because it just ends up sounding like verbal masturbation. Just go out and watch this film. Please. There hasn’t been a film like this in roughly eighty years, and there won’t be one like it again. If that isn’t enticing enough, I really can’t do much else.

*****

Verbal masturbation is fucking exhausting. I like it when people are reading this part of the blog, because it usually means they’ve been interested enough to read all the way through. Thank you, interested people. I’ll bow out by saying that ‘Long As I Can See The Light’ by Creedence Clearwater Revival is playing. An old band, but I just got into them now. Some good stuff, you should check it out.

Quick plug – follow me on Twitter: @writeofcentre.

That’s it then. Tune in next time, same Bat-time, same Bat-place.

5 Things: L.A. Confidential

It’s been a bit of a while since I did one of these. But, much like Dale Winton, you can’t keep me off the airwaves too long. I should probably stop making obscure references only English people will know, me promoting an international forum here. In my head, anyway. Quick check on the Spotify: one of my favourite bands right now, Kasabian. ‘Let’s Roll Just Like We Used To’ is the song’; ‘Velociraptor!’ is the album; listen to it. An educated recommendation right there.

But this isn’t about my love for Kasabian (will be one day, I’m sure!) – on to the meat of the post!

*****

5 THINGS: L.A. CONFIDENTIAL

So whilst watching L.A. Confidential (directed by Curtis Hanson in 1997), I realised a few things:

I WON’T EVER HATE KEVIN SPACEY

It is physically impossible to hate Kevin Spacey! I’ve seen a lot of Kevin Spacey films. I think I’ve liked most of them, and I think I’ve loved Spacey in all of them. He’s one of those actors who, despite the strength of the film itself, always seems to give a fantastic performance. Before L.A Confidential, he’d already done The Usual Suspects, Glengarry Glen Ross and Se7en, stealing the show in all of them. Steals the show in this film too, obviously, as ‘celebrity crimefighter’ Officer Vincenne.

There is a magnetism to him that you can’t help but be drawn to. However shit a film (see: Superman Returns), however small his role (see: Men Who Stare At Goats), however restricted his performance (see: Moon), the guy is fucking great. And long may he continue.

I WON’T EVER LIKE RUSSELL CROWE

Okay, there may be polarising reactions here. Off the bat, let me say that I don’t think he’s a bad actor. Old Russell has been in some huge films, and held his own, and fair play to the man. I shed a tear during A Beautiful Mind, I’m not ashamed to admit.

But god, I don’t like him.

I’m trying to work out where this dislike started from, and I can’t really pinpoint it. All I know is that I get a little frustrated when I see him act. It seems like every role is exactly the same as the last. Same fragile, broken soul, but look! Now he’s in Rome! Wait, no, that’s Nottingham! Oh, look, it’s 1950’s Hollywood. Still the same broken man. He’s like a Barbie Doll. Same basic model, repackaged in shiny new clothes and a new prop. He isn’t bad in L.A. Confidential – it was his first major Hollywood movie and propelled him to superstardom – but the more things have changed for him, the more they’ve stayed the same.

I’VE NEVER SEEN KIM BASINGER ACT...

And I won’t cry if I never do again.

GUY PEARCE - DORIAN GRAY?

Trust me, this makes sense. L.A. Confidential came out in 1997. The next standout Pearce move in my mind is Memento. 2000. Then, Factory Girl – 2006. The Hurt Locker – 2008. The King’s Speech – 2010. A thirteen year span of movies and the bastard has only aged five!

Compare him to actors like Nic Cage (wrinkly as fuck), John Travolta (a progressively fattening face) and even Johnny Depp (still looks great, but you can see the age), and Guy Pearce remains as youthful now as he did when he starred in L.A. Confidential. Guy Pearce, I name thee Dorian Gray.

TWO OSCARS?

This movie isn’t awful. But this movie is also not incredible and Oscar-worthy, in my opinion. There were a couple of brilliant performances (Spacey and Pearce), but the film as a whole didn’t appeal to me. When I watch a period film, I like to get immersed into it, to feel like I was there. But here, it seemed almost deliberately disengaging. I wasn’t watching 50s Hollywood, I was watching a 50s Hollywood film. The overly clear skies, the strikingly bright sun, the glitz and the colour, it just seemed too artificial. Perhaps that was the point, I dunno, but I didn’t like it.

There is stuff to like. The performances, as I say, and an honourable mention needs to be given to Danny DeVito. As a police procedural thriller too, it’s fun, but I don’t think it did enough to warrant TWO Academy awards. Especially not a Supporting Actress one for Kim Basinger. Could have given one to Spacey. Or Pearce. Maybe DeVito, even. Not Basinger.

Good film, great performances. No Oscars, sorry.

*****

And so ends another fun blog post to write, and hopefully fun to read. This ‘5 Things…’ gimmick might be something I come back to. For now, I’m going to sign off and get back to my exhilirating Sunday afternoon. ‘Step Into My Office, Baby’ by Belle & Sebastian, a fantastic band. Another recommendation, another rambling outro from me.

K’bye!

When Spain Stole Horror.

Yep, me again. Hi.

I’m actually watching ‘Monty Python At The Hollywood Bowl’ while I write this, so I apologise if this all comes off a bit half-hearted. It shouldn’t; but if it does, well, it’s Monty Python, so fuck you.

Right, first some housekeeping. A quick update on where I am:

-£480.65.

Yeah, I’ve actually lost money, which is lovely. Some of you might know I just finished my MA; well, I took out a loan for it, and now the stupid bank want their money back. Early setback, but the journey is far from over.

Okay, done. Onto business.

*****

WHEN THE SPANISH STOLE HORROR, AND WHY IT’S A GOOD THING

Like all good sheltered Muslim boys, I grew up not watching very many horror movies. But I heard about them. Evil Dead. The Nightmare on Elm Street. The Omen. And the scariest of the lot – The Exorcist. I distinctly remember my older brother telling me about a man who was apparently so scared after watching Linda Blair ask Jesus to, quote, fuck her, that he couldn’t physically leave the room. He was probably chatting shit, but the story always stuck with me. Eventually, though, I broke my horror embargo, my earliest horror memory coming from one of the Freddie Krueger films, with the girl on the tricycle saying ‘Freddie’s home!’ Chilling stuff. Horror in Hollywood was probably at its peak.

Strangely, I don’t have much recollection of 90’s American horror (at least not without doing some research), so when I think more contemporary horror, I look mostly to the new millennium. And, in my humble opinion, it’s all a bit rubbish, really. Certain films have come along and tried to redefine the genre but, in true Hollywood fashion, those concepts got beaten into the ground. We had the shaky camera mockumentary phenomenon. Beaten into the ground. We had the extreme gore phenomenon. Beaten into the ground. We had the CGI-enhanced monster movies. I’ll let you work out what happened to that concept. They’ve even tried to rehashing the old classics, and messed those up too. Hollywood fucked up somewhere, and forgot how to make good horror.

Fortunately, while Hollywood was busy fucking things, a revolution was taking place. It seemed to start in Asia and moved swiftly on to Europe. Suddenly, countries like Spain and Japan were making critically acclaimed, commercially successful horror films. The Japanese gave us truly chilling films like Ring O and Interview, and the Spaniards gave us great genre-bending stuff like The Devil’s Backbone, Pan’s Labyrinth and Julia’s Eyes (the inspiration for this, coincidentally).

And, frankly, I’m glad.

I won’t talk too much about Japan, because I don’t think I’ve seen enough Japanese cinema, but European cinema tackling horror is, for lack of a better term, genius. Why? Well, European cinema has always been known for being a little bit out there. But who woulda thought that being a little bit out there meant giving horror films meaning.

Yeah, simple as that.

I’ll explain. The Saw franchise is about people in very grisly situations. There’s a slight backstory as to why but, really, it’s just about people getting their legs cut off and their jaws clamped. It’s all a little…simple. Final Destination is the same. Now the other side: Pan’s Labyrinth is a horror film, but it’s really about the atrocities of war, and how the breakup of a relationship affects a young girl. Meaning. The Devil’s Backbone is a very scary film, but it’s actually about how Spain tried to cope after the Spanish Civil War. Meaning.

Julia’s Eyes is another brilliant example of this. When her blind twin sister commits suicide, Julia sets out to find out why. Through various means, she finds out that the sister claimed to have a boyfriend, but nobody had ever seen him. Was he invisible? Was he a ghost? Was she going insane? Julia tries to find answers, but problem is that Julia suffers from the same condition and is also slowly going blind. What follows is a fantastic use of light and shadow, brilliant performances and a truly scary film. But here’s the thing – as scary as it is, the film isn’t about the horror. The film is about a woman trying to come to terms with her inevitable disability. Meaning!!

It would be unfair to say that Hollywood horror is completely devoid of meaning. I thought Monsters was a very thought-provoking film, but that’s the only example I can come up with. They’ve tried the psychological horrors with films like Dream House recently, but they’ve been awful. They can’t do it. All they can really try is remaking these foreign gems, and hoping they do them properly (Naomi Watt in The Ring was a solid effort, I guess), but I personally think it’s time Hollywood gave up on it.

You can have the superhero movies and the romantic comedies and the biopics and the 3D stuff. Have it all. But leave horror for the rest of the world. Let Spain make Julia’s Eyes. Let Australia make Wolf Creek. Let Japan make The Grudge. Let Norway make Trollhunter. Hell, even let us Brits make The Awakening and Kill List.

Hollywood lost control of horror a long time ago, and Spain stole it. Let them have it.

*****

Wow, so that was a rant. I do bloody love talking about film though, so I might do more of this, I’ll see. For now though, I’m done. Monty Python finished a while ago (typically brilliant!), and I’m listening to ‘Don’t Let Me Get Me’ by P!nk, though It’s about to finish. Wait for it…so, as I sign off, ‘An Honest Mistake’ by Bravery starts to play.

Sorry for ranting. Thank you for reading. Follow me (@writeofcentre), and we’ll talk soon. Call me.

The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo.

OK, here’s what happened. Something went horribly wrong somewhere between the point I watched the Tattoo Girl film yesterday evening, and this afternoon. My original review went from a smartly-argued, well-written film analysis to an utter pile of shit. Not quite sure how and when that happened, but I’m pretty sure Claudia Winkleman was involved. So I really couldn’t sit back and let that monstrosity be my excuse for an analysis of the movie. Therefore, with ‘Alejandro’ by Lady Gaga (don’t ask, please) echoing through the room, I present you with Tattoo Girl: Part Deux, which will hopefully not sound like the Daily Mail vomited in my face.

*****

THE GIRL WITH THE DRAGON TATTOO

‘…Dragon Tattoo’ hit the cinemas on Boxing Day, only two years after the original Swedish version arrived, a massive hit in its own right. Both films are based on the bestselling book, written by Stieg Larsson as part of his ‘Millennium’ trilogy. You’d have to question why Hollywood would remake a movie so soon after the original, but that tells you a lot about the state of Hollywood right now.

Pros and cons aside, though, this is a fun movie. That needs to be established. I was engaged, I didn’t get bored, I was even leaning forward at points because I was so immersed in it. When you have a team of people that includes David Fincher, Daniel Craig and Christopher Plummer, that’s the least you should expect, and it succeeds on that level.

The story quickly - disgraced journalist Mikael Blomqvist (Craig) is asked by the retired and stupidly wealthy Henrik Vanger (Plummer) to find out which member of the Vanger family killed his granddaughter fifty years ago. Blomqvist agrees, and quickly starts his investigation. He ends up finding out about Lisbeth Salander (Mara), a girl with incredible hacking skills and a very distinctive tattoo. She helps him with the investigation, and the rest of the film is them trying to solve the case.

But, obviously, no good film is ever as simple as that. There are lots of smaller sub-plots and character histories, adding more layers to the story, and pushing it beyond the typical whodunnit. While it’s good those layers are there – and I’m sure the books delve much deeper – the restricted running time means that those subplots aren’t fully explored. I won’t go into spoiler territory, but we have to believe characters are able to achieve things without consequence, so the movie doesn’t slow down. The exact same problems are there in the original Swedish version; I really wish Fincher had tried to remove those problems, but he didn’t. Another issue with the Swedish version was the controversy over the graphic sexual violence in the movie. There’s graphic sexual violence in this version too, and it’s not for the squeamish. But, frankly, it’s justified. Those scenes do as much a good job of building character and tone as any in the movie.

But enough of where Fincher falters, let’s talk about where he excels. A quick IMBd search showed me that I’ve seen almost every Fincher film, and they’re all fucking great. The guy knows how to make a film. What he does best of all is bring out outstanding performances from actors who don’t really seem suited to their role. Brad Pitt in Fight Club; Jesse Eisenberg in The Social Network; and now, Rooney Mara. Mara is stunningly good as Lisbeth, just fantastic. Vulnerable, unhinged, sexy, detached, steely, feminine – she goes through a whole gambit of emotions without really ever saying much. It’s all in the eyes. Her partner in crime is Daniel Craig; granted, this is a role we’ve seen Craig do many times, but that’s not a shot. He does it well. But what really griped me was the fact that everybody spoke in Swedish accents, except Craig. Why? It made no sense. You forget about it eventually, but it’s still puzzling.

I’m not gonna go on and on about every single cast member, because it’d be a waste of your time. But if you know the people on this list: Christopher Plummer, Stellan Skarsgard, Steven Berkoff, Robin Wright…then you know you’re in for some great performances.

The other bits of the film – the music, the cinematography, the editing – are typically brilliant. The music’s all techno-y, the cinematography is all Swedish-y, and the editing is all frenetic-y. And you’ve got a cover of Led Zep right at the beginning, which is always welcome, despite the fact that the opening montage is more Bond-like than anything else. It seems out of place from the rest of the film, but good visually nonetheless.

There are things to fault, it’s not perfect film. But it’s still a brilliant one. For Mara’s performance alone, it’s worth watching. Inevitably, people will compare her to the original Girl, Noomi Rapace, but Mara makes the character her own. Everyone else is just as great, and you’re left with a movie that leaves you wanting more. And, conveniently, we won’t be far away from more.

Watch it.

*****

There we go, a proper review. I’m at peace with life now. I won’t be writing a blog post every single day, I promise, I wouldn’t wish that upon the world. Follow me (@writeofcentre) and listen to me not say very much. I’m listening to ‘156’ by Mew, and that’s a wrap.

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Pilot.

The voices inside my head gave me two choices. Find and destroy Peaches Geldof once and for all, or start a blog. After failing to find the relevant Peaches on the Yellow Pages website, I present this to you:

My blog.

Right now, I’m listening to 'I’m Crying' by The Animals. You don’t need to know that, but it builds ambience, possibly.

Okay, why write a blog, Jaf? I don’t really know. What do you have to say, Jaf? I don’t really know. What will you talk about, Jaf? I don’t r- well, you get the idea. So after some careful deliberation, I’ve decided on this:

Some detail might be required here. Right. I’ve been accepted into the New York Film Academy for a short three-month course in September (Woah! Amazing! That’s great! Yada yada…). All well and good, except, well, it requires money. Money that I, quite frankly, don’t have. Money I’ve never ever had. But that will have to change for this purpose – to be able to go to New York for three months, live there, sort of study there, and just…be there. Living in New York has been a long-time dream of mine; the course is simply an excuse to get there. I’m twenty-four, taking considerable interest in that Michael Parkinson pension shit, and wanting to fulfil this dream as soon as possible. Or, more specifically, now. I have a Job™ (barely, as some of you will be fondly aware of), and I aim to take advantage of this Job™ for financial gain, and do whatever else is necessary to get there. Because I will go to New York in September, and it’s gonna be fucking great.

So the main objective, so to speak, of this little ditty will be to document my journey from the East End of London to the the New York Film Academy. I’ll put regular updates on how it's all going, to give me – and you – an idea of how well I’m doing. Obviously, this isn’t a blog designed to mimic the harsh realities of the British economy (though I do feel clever saying that); along the way, I’ll probably talk about other shit. I’m always looking to start and develop writing projects, so I’ll probably fill you in on that. I watch a lot of movies, theatre occasionally, listen to a lot of music, so expect reviews and whatnot. Perhaps the occasional anecdote, if my life decides to become exciting enough. Gotta pad this thing out somehow.

So, to get things rolling, here is what the Natwest website tells me I have in my account at this precise second:

-£250.65

No, it’s not a typo, for the record. That, there, is a minus sign. Only an estimated four grand left. Easy...

And so, on this slightly anticlimactic note, I bid farewell. If you’ve read this far, I can only question your sanity, and the extent of your social life. But I also thank you, and will now leave you to enjoy the rest of whatever it was you were doing before I arrived.

Just to close out, I’ll let you know that I’m now listening to ‘Heartbeats’ by The Knife. The beauty of the iTunes shuffle.

And well, um, yeah. Bye.

*****

Oh, and fuck, yeah. Follow me! You won’t get any insightful or earth-shattering information in return for your following, but I’ve heard all the cool kids do it.

Facebook: Jafar Iqbal (my name)
Twitter: Jafar_Iqbal (my name with an underscore in it)
Email: jafar.iqbal@hotmail.co.uk (my name with a full stop in it)

Any suggestions for other ways I can put stuff in my name for the purpose of social networking would be duly welcome.