Submarine - film review

I’m not sure how I feel about coming-of-age dramas. I suppose, like rom-coms, even if they turn out to be below-par they’re generally watcheable and pleasant enough. I guess every movie genre, be it action or thriller or fantasy, has to adhere to a certain narrative or thematic arc whilst striving to be original and capture the viewers’ imagination… basically, it has to justify it’s existence.

Submarine is adapted for the screen and directed by Richard Ayoade, known to many as Moss from The IT Crowd but, with his ever growing list of impressively subversive directing credits, is by no means content with spending the rest of his career as a comedic sidekick. What he’s proven so far with his tv and music video work is that he has a knack for making comedy visual (or is that making comedic visuals?) and isn’t afraid to have a knowing glance at the camera… cinematically speaking, of course.

So, what’s Submarine got that all the others haven’t? Well, on paper not a lot: it tells the well trod tale of secondary school hardship, first love, family breakdown and the onset of adolescence, but the key weapon at Ayoade’s disposal here is his leading man’s relationship with Ayoade’s camera. Craig Roberts as Oliver is charmingly off-beat and was able to make me laugh out loud with a simple turning of his head or with the fumbled murmur of badly timed sweet nothings. He’s a genuine find and the camera adores him and his comic timing.

Elsewhere is the oddball but delightful casting of Australian actor Noah Taylor as Oliver’s dad (who’s barely recognisable as an Open University presenter has-been who’s physical resemblance to his son is almost non-existent) and Paddy Considine who turns in yet another delightful weirdo played to subtle/unsubtle (I’m still not sure) perfection.

The story is told from Oliver’s point-of-view who seems to be directing his own self-indulgent biopic, even going so far as to drop-in editing cues into his narration. He’s constantly thinking and analysing everything that happens to him every minute that it happens (as one does as a self-involved teenager) not realising that there will come a day when he’ll stop thinking about everything so much and just get on with it.

Or will he?

Now here’s where I started to think about the cyclical nature of the story. You see, Oliver’s dad suffers from depression and has done so since, as he explains himself, he was about his son’s age. Both father and son are cerebral, maudlin sorts who end up capturing the heart of a girl who’s currently in the clutches of an unworthy oik, an endeavour which eventually comes back to haunt them. There are many circles in the visual make-up of the film: ceiling light shades, firework blooms, merry-go-rounds, bicycle wheels, tea mugs… Oliver even runs in a circle in joyous celebration of his new found love at one point. Is Submarine then a film about the inevitability of genetics and how we often inherit undesirable traits from our parents and are in no way masters of our own fates; or is Oliver really the fictional embodiment of his own father who is simply recounting his childhood back to us; or is time really cyclical and has, this time around at least, overlapped with a person embodying both father and son at the same time?

Yeah, ok, I’m reading far too much into it… but that’s what Oliver would do.

Fade to black…

4/5

“Mylo Xyloto” – Coldplay (album review part 2/2)

PART TWO: the album...

What’s been allowed to endure from Viva La Vida and now permeates Mylo Xyloto is an insipid wateriness to much of the production, especially on the loathsome made-to-order single “Paradise” that features one of the many examples on the album of Chris Martin’s vocals being double-tracked, duplicated as a nightmarishly sickly choir or turned into a limp atmospheric sound effect. The overall result is a band lacking in identity so much so that you can no longer imagine Jonny Buckland, Guy Berryman and Will Champion playing their instruments alongside their frontman amidst the deluge of extravagant sonic embellishments and otherworldly leitmotifs.

But, as the tenth song on their fragile 2000 debut album Parachutes put it, everything’s not lost.

Tracks such as “Us Against The World”, “U.F.O.” and “Don’t Let It Break Your Heart” have the stripped down four-piece directness that once made the band achieve greater things and although it’s still in keeping with their newfound primary-coloured palette “Hurts Like Heaven” thrills as an exhilaratingly kinetic opener. “Every Teardrop Is A Waterfall” works considerably better in context with the rest of the album than it did as a stand-alone single (or was it just a free download?) and, along with the absurdly conceived but surprisingly enjoyable “Princess Of China”, represents the strength of the album’s arguably more compromised side.

It seems that the richer moments on Mylo Xyloto are those that favour simplicity and striking musicality over the Brian Eno-inspired/authored electronic flourishes and distracting overdubs that all too often serve little purpose other than to make the eyes of even the most open-minded and diplomatic of alternative rock fans roll.

But by this stage in their career I think it’s safe to say that Coldplay have chosen to stop fighting a losing battle in seducing reluctant listeners who’ve steadfastly brushed off their advances over the years. And yet by turning the other cheek the band have allowed their more showy pop affiliations to infiltrate their songwriting and perhaps even compromise their core musical values.

When Chris Martin briefly became a songwriter-for-hire in the mid-naughties to artists likes Jamelia and Embrace it was endearing to see him dabbling in charitable musical philanthropy, but the collaboration with Jay-Z on the single version of “Lost!” from Viva La Vida and the Rihanna duet here on “Princess Of China” give off the sickly scent of “feat.” credits being half-heartedly phoned-in and with the band now agreeing to appear on The X-Factor we see the inevitable turning of a once vaguely principled foursome into the worst kind of court composers/jesters.

But if Coldplay’s loyalties have now shifted from audience to advertisers then they have my sincerest empathy as the incessant and often narrow-minded hatred directed at them by an amnesiac music scene that surely owes them a sizeable debt would sour anyone’s compassion.

But fear not, for the end is in sight: the band stated that Viva La Vida was the start of a “trilogy” that would be characterised by a singular musical/artistic vision, so with two albums down we now only have one more like this to sit through before the next, hopefully less vaudevillian, incarnation of the band makes it’s welcome appearance.

2/5

“Mylo Xyloto” – Coldplay (album review part 1/2)

PART ONE: the story so far...

I’ll nail my colours to the mast about Coldplay now: I like them, but I’m not a fan. I don’t analyse their songs and collect their b-sides, but I have all their albums and will defend them against naysayers who see them as a bland coffee-table band with nothing to say. I thought their first two albums were good but I felt frustrated that they petered out after the first half (which isn’t to say the second side featured bad songs, it’s just the energy and vigour seemed to vanish) and their third album was wholesomely consistent and stronger but suffered a rather unfair backlash by the music press after it’s initially successful release. What I liked about Coldplay during this first-three-album period was that, although they were indeed “soft” and saccharine in places, there was still an edge and ingenuity to their musicality which I found very engrossing. Like an auteur film director they didn't always produce wholly satisfying features but their skill with framing and composition always beckoned my interest. But by their fourth album something had changed, they started introducing concepts and themes and characters into their music and turning their live shows into fancy dress parties with extravagant colour schemes and faux military garb… all the warning signs of a loss of inspiration and the introduction of gimmicks. Viva La Vida Or Death And All His Friends took what I liked about Coldplay and inverted it: their writing had finally become experimental and edgy and their musicality had turned soft.

What could have been accused of being a gimmick on Viva La Vida has been returned to on Mylo Xyloto with admirable abandon and the band have now fully blossomed from shy, angst ridden boys into gregarious men of the world who’s ideological and musical leanings have begun to grow more world-weary…

NEXT: the album...

“Killer Sounds” – Hard-Fi (album review)

You can always count on rock ‘n’ roll for a bit of bad timing: Radiohead changed it’s lyrics to The Bends’ penultimate track “Sulk” following Kurt Cobain’s shotgun-related suicide; The Smashing Pumpkins’ third single “Disarm” from their second album Siamese Dream was banned by the BBC after it’s lyrical content clashed with morbid news stories of the time; and The Strokes saw sense to omit the mocking “New York City Cops” from the US release of their Is This It? debut album in the wake of the 9/11 terrorist attacks. However, it goes without saying that the release of Hard-Fi’s third album Killer Sounds is flagged by none of the above records’ hype or anticipation, therefore the closing title track with it’s tale of young people taking to the streets and rioting hasn’t whipped up a media frenzy and been rushed to be replaced following the recent urban unrest that’s plagued some of England’s major cities.

It’s almost a shame for the band that such an example of prophetic poetry and life imitating art didn’t hit the six o’clock news, as a bit of bad press would have done the album a bit of good. It’s been a very muted arrival all in all and, apart from it’s slightly unsettling painted skull artwork, Killer Sounds isn’t adorned with the same inspired, but strangely controversial, No Cover Art concept that fronted their previous effort Once Upon A Time In The West. But whether it’d made the headlines like it’s predecessor or not, Killer Sounds has remained what it is: a compulsively enjoyable slice of decadent and overly ambitious pomp.

I must admit I’m a fan of some of rock’s recent much hyped flops: Second Coming, Be Here Now, X&Y, Euphoric Heartbreak. I just love a band that pushes it’s music too far in the hope of being bigger and better only to end up veering off into absurdity. In context the above albums received harsh backlashes after an initially successful release and were only considered critical disasters after the dust had settled, but they remain enduring bloated treasure troves of musical guilty pleasures.

Even though Hard-Fi have attempted to classify themselves as a politically charged band with their own personal involvement in racial equality campaigns and musical themes cantering on the mediocrity of lower middle class idleness, they’re politicizing remains far too dumb to be taken seriously by the masses and so the band are at best enjoyed for their musical merits rather than their part-time protesting. A good thing too, as Killer Sounds is by far their dumbest record to date.

Teetering somewhere between mid-80s Michael Jackson records like "Billy Jean" and "Thriller", the Manchester Hacienda club scene and 90s dance acts such as Prodigy and The Chemical Brothers, the organic rock drum beats that were the heart of Hard-Fi’s previous albums has taken a back seat to some of Killer Sounds’ more explicit electronic rhythms. That’s not to say they’ve followed the recent indie band trend of simply sticking a few synth parts onto their records here and there to keep the kids happy, quite the contrary, in fact they’ve developed their already well established rock-you-can-dance-to format into a more intense and euphoric experience without opening themselves up to accusations of compromising their rock integrity… after all, they never really had that to begin with.

It’s no secret that frontman Richard Archer can’t sing, that’s what we love him for, but for once even his atonal wailings seem fractured and under pressure, especially on opener “Good For Nothing”. It’s the one part of the album that is glaringly inconsistent and perhaps could have done with re-recording. Archer has never sounded so underconfident and tired. Fortunately for us though his vocals never veer off into the mumbling nadir of Julian Casablancas’ vocals on The Strokes’ third album First Impressions Of Earth which single-handedly destroyed the hard work put in by the rest of the band, but they do hit a few cringe-worthy speed bumps.

With this new electro confidence the DIY ethos that permeated their previous albums has gone. This doesn’t sound like the same band that built their own studio by hand or recorded tracks in the back seat of a car. Before they were making dance records as if before the dawn of synthesisers, sampling and looping. Now their music is washed with an antiseptic electronic bleach that has eroded their characteristically modest musicianship and drowned much of the instrumentation’s personality.

But even though there’s an intoxicating busyness to the album it doesn’t spoil the very skilled songwriting that’s been made to endure, and so the new production dynamics have not been allowed to become too much of a barrier between the listener and the great tunes.

Whilst Killer Sounds is by no means a musical failure it does represent a band experimenting with a sound that they’ve been flirting with ever since their debut, Stars Of CCTV, with mixed results. The new glossy production values, which will be well suited to providing the soundtrack to clips of football highlights or montages of sun drenched music festivals with young people waving their arms in the air, is a welcome change but I really hope that Hard-Fi return next time with a more bare bones release that shows them at their best. Warts and all.

3/5

True Grit (2010) - film review

The Coen Brothers’ True Grit is as stubborn as a mule. It’ll say what it wants to say in the manner in which it chooses and it’ll take it’s time about it. The film is an exercise in faithful adaptation, not in that I know because I’ve read the original novel but in that it’s in no way adapted for a modern cinema audience and makes no attempt to update vocal intonations or iron out plot longueurs and needless detours that other adaptations would surely trim, alter or cut altogether.

It’s admirably re-watchable and has been the first film that I’ve seen in some years that I can imagine myself enjoying even on the tenth viewing.

As always with the Coen Brother’s the filmmaking is flawless but the standout craft on display in True Grit is the convincingly 19th century performances. The ongoing problem I have with period pieces is that the actors all compose themselves as if they’re in the 21st century and will, after a long day’s shooting on set, drive home in their cars and spend the night on the internet or watching television. But not for a second here do you believe that Jeff Bridges’ gnarled Rooster Cogburn, Matt Damon’s proud but flawed LeBoeuf or Hailee Steinfeld’s stern and plucky Mattie Ross have such modern conveniences to while away the time… the Coen Brothers present you with the world as it was some 150 years ago and never do you doubt it.

Many other filmmakers might have been concerned about the outdated attitudes towards race and sex in the story and modernised many of the encounters, but they would not have been faithful. The Coen’s keep in LeBoeuf’s obvious attraction to an underage girl and makes it poignant rather than sinister and the various knocks, falls and scrapes the girl herself is subject to are not papered over or pulled back from. These are hard times and it’s people are even harder.

The dialogue in True Grit is sometimes indecipherably old fashioned and delivered too quick to take in on the first viewing, but there lies one of the film’s great pleasures. Like reading Shakespeare or Joyce half the battle is concentrating on what’s being said and the temptation to stray away from the narrative is often all too great. But resisting these temptations and holding your attention is rewarded by a great adventure with some very exciting and funny moments.

It’s a curious piece also for it’s truthful, but not necessarily entertaining, conclusion. Mattie, unlike Damon’s titular Ryan in Saving Private Ryan, does not “earn this” and her eventual path in life raises questions about the trail of destruction she and her counterparts leave behind in the film. But her resolve from start to end is neither sentimental nor poetic: she has a job to do and once it’s done that’ll be the end of it.

Rest assured that from titles to credits this is a film that you will love and watch over and over again for years to come.

5/5

Sucker Punch – film review

I can’t bring myself to watch Sucker Punch a second time, even though I feel I should give it a second chance. It’s probably the thought of what I’ll have to endure: that arthritic opening sequence which is as confusing as it is slow; the two dimensional portrayal of all men being slimy potential-raping monsters; the final payoff which is neither surprising, interesting, satisfying nor logical in a narrative sense.

One thing I did like about Sucker Punch which nobody else seemed to like was the dream sequences. Wonderful. If writer/director Zach Snyder could have just made an alternate reality themed sci-fi adventure about of team of sexy babes fighting monsters in different periods of history and on different planets then great, fantastic, I would have watched it over and over again until my eyes got bored of the scenery. It would have been the perfect cross between an episode of Doctor Who and a Pussycat Dolls music video. The dream sequences, or dance sequences, or flights of fancy or whatever the hell they’re meant to be are the sort of moments in cinema that inspire me to write and create more than anything else. They break the mould of what you think you can or can’t do within a fictional framework and gives you something astoundingly beautiful to watch in the mean time. Yes, the sequences are like computer games, but in the best possible way.

But then we come crashing back down to Earth with the tedious “real” story which leaves you wanting to bang each and every characters’ head against the wall for being so utterly stupid.

I didn’t feel bad about the girls being in captivity because they all seemed so daft and willing that they deserved their prison. And the evil club owner and guards? I don’t know, I’m not sure what happened to any of them and, because they’re evil men, I’m not really supposed to care. Apparently there was loads cut out of the film that made it a little more coherent… well I’m sorry but I just don’t believe it, there’s plenty more crap left in that could easily have hit the cutting room floor without anybody noticing. I get the feeling that the trouble started with the script and nobody thought to correct it until so much time and effort had been wasted.

Maybe one day somebody will make an elaborate fantasy science fiction movie that will match the great parts of Sucker Punch and not feel the need to tie it all together with a needlessly convoluted plot about girls in an insane asylum or burlesque. Which plane of reality where they really on? I don’t know and I don’t care. They were mostly all dead or lobotomised by the end anyway so their little fight for freedom was made all the more pointless and so was my time in watching it.

In fact don’t bother watching the whole film, just skip to those dream sequences… honestly, you don’t kneed the rest.

Bah!!

3/5

“Suck It And See” – Arctic Monkeys (album review)

The Arctic Monkeys have, not wanting to turn their backs on perceived failings, put at least three songs on Suck It And See (Brick By Brick, Library Pictures, All My Own Stunts) that play out like salty leftovers from their previous album - Humbug. Library Pictures, for instance, could be taken as a companion piece to Pretty Visitors with it’s cascading rhetoric and lucid midway waltz. Generally though on Suck It And See there’s an overall feeling that the Sheffield foursome are striving for more than just the breathe-too-hard-and-they’ll-fall-over melodies featured on Humbug. The denser production and brighter tone on songs like Reckless Serenade, Suck It And See and the epic That’s Where You’re Wrong hint at a new direction altogether.

As the rest of the British indie/alternative music scene scrambles desperately to sound like early to mid 1980s synth pop groups (a revivalist genre ensnaring the likes of Kaiser Chiefs, Glasvegas and Editors) the Arctic Monkeys have boldly moved on a step and now warmly tip their flat caps to late 80s Madchester bands and Union Jack waving 90s Britpop stalwarts such as The Stone Roses, The Charlatans, The Bluetones, The Lightning Seeds and, erm, Babybird (you’ll know it when you hear it). It’s a brave step, considering that said decade of untucked long-sleeved shirts and shaggy bowl haircuts still feels relatively close and, as with all just-departed periods of fashion and music culture, regrettable. But the Monkeys’ fourth album effortlessly strives to celebrate a jangly, drunken singalong vibe that has all but vanished in contemporary indie rock.

Suck It And See’s opening track contains a couple of mistakes… intentional mistakes, of course… clever mistakes. She’s Thunderstorms acts as a continuation of Humbug’s precedent of getting the ball rolling with a tale of sexual frustration and symbolic titillation. Alex Turner sings about having girls “lying on [their] front” or “up against the wall”. Wherever. But girls send his mind and mouth into a frenzy and his rising blood pressure shoots his vocals into a topsy turvy summersault. So much so are these four Northern boys distracted by black leggings and teasing feminine fringes that even the guitar solo gets “sabotaged” by too much distortion that creates an ugly and cloudy fuzz tone (tightened slightly with effects and equalisation) that most guitarists would demand a re-take of.

What seems to have changed most of all since 2006’s Whatever They Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not is the prioritisation of Turner’s crooning vocals over frenetic twin guitar attacks. Each song is constructed to allow the vocals to wander in and out at any time, like a band playing live that’s waiting patiently for their singer to swagger back on stage after a lengthy cigarette break. The compositions are looser and take into account a more patient audience/fanbase that are less in need of instant pop gratification. You get the feeling that Richard Hawley and The Divine Comedy have been playing on Turner’s turntable of late and have taught him the importance of languid purposeful pace and charming music hall pomp.

If their milestone 2006 debut represented a snapshot of being at the age when you’re either too old or too young to get away with reckless behaviour and could never (and probably should never) be repeated then ideally what has come along since should be considered their true starting point. Suck It And See is the sound of the Arctic Monkeys finally settling into themselves; juggling playful images of love, loss and life in perpetual motion with shimmering guitar jetstreams and show-stopping rhythm section interludes.

But there are still pleasant consistencies: we’re treated to perhaps the most tender and soulful tune they’ve yet committed to tape in the form of Love Is A Laserquest which continues their endearing predilection for introspective ballads (see Riot Van, The Only Ones Who Know and Secret Door for more information). We also get a (now standard?) mid-tempo love song with Piledriver Waltz that’s definitely equal to the likes of Mardy Bum, Florescent Adolescent and Cornerstone.

Overall Suck It And See has a lasting quality that makes up for the service station comfort break that was 2009’s Humbug, however the whiskey soaked ventures into haunted forest atmospherics are still present and have yet to be shaken off by a band still too youthful for such bitter grown up antics. Stick to the guitar pop, boys, there’s still plenty of time to emulate Nick Cave and Tom Waits... and don’t worry about trying to impress Queens Of The Stone Age’s Josh Homme (who co-produced Humbug) with limp interpretations of stoner rock and cactus blues, he’s only a ginger and can’t hurt you.

4/5

Arctic Monkeys at the Don Valley Bowl

The doors opened for the Arctic Monkeys gig at five o’clock in the afternoon/evening, which seemed very early so I decided it would be best if we left the house at five thereby missing a support act or two. I was somehow expecting a large tent in the middle of the Don Valley Bowl, which would look weird, but in actual fact it was a massive arena sized tent just on site and not within the stadium perimeter itself. We rode in on the tram and as we came to the right stop there were a few exclamations from other passengers and, assumedly, visitors to the gig along the lines of “oh, that’s where they’ve put it!!”… so at least it wasn’t just me wondering how it was going to be set out.

We got through the gates fine and they didn’t ask to check for proof of my disability which was good as it would have felt a bit demeaning (although I did have proof on me). I was using my cane anyway so it was pretty clear that I had a problem.

There were lots of food and drinks stalls outside the music tent and we indulged in a few. It felt more like a beer festival than a standard rock concert. We had a pork roll, some southern fried chicken and, later on, a bacon and cheeseburger. There were plenty of toilets including a male urinal section, which was strange to do outside.

After a couple of Gaymers ciders (which was lush and tasted nicer than horrible Strongbow) we went and found the disabled platform and made ourselves comfortable. We were miles away from the actual stage but no more so than some of the regular audience members who were struggling to get anywhere near the main event.

We’d stayed away for the first two support acts but sat down for Miles Kane, who was only ok but seemed to get the crowd very excited. I wondered for a second whether his road crew were pumping pre-recorded crowd cheers through the speakers as I’m just not convinced Miles Kane is that popular. He seemed quite cocky onstage and seems to be riding on his association with Alex Turner and the Arctic Monkeys quite comfortably. His set reminded me a lot of Cast, but not quite as good.

When the Arctic Monkeys did finally come on they kept to the same setlist as the previous night (Friday), which was a shame as it felt like we weren’t getting anything particular to our night. Still, it was very enjoyable and I got very excited when they started. I’m still convinced they went out of time a couple of times on the first song. The transition from A View From The Afternoon to Brianstorm was very successful and it felt like the two songs were written for each other. I was amazed how giddy I was when they played Crying Lightning from their previous album as the whole record was hardly a career highlight… it just seemed to work very well in a live setting.

I had to go to the disabled chemical toilet a few times the more I drank, which is typical, but I’m glad it was nice and spacious and not too smelly. We were sat amongst a nice group of people although once the Monkeys started going a guy turned up on crutches and proceeded to drunkenly swing them around his head (almost hitting my girlfriend).

I hadn’t planned to stay to the end as I knew it’d be a bugger trying to get on public transport with 2,000 other punters so we left after I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor which seemed aptly timed about two thirds of the way through their set. It didn’t seem to matter that we’d left early however as we could still hear the concert from the tram stop half an hour later and caught the next three or four songs.

We rode back into Sheffield centre and got the bus home. I needed the toilet again all the way home and almost had a sneaky wee in the doorway of an abandoned building next to the bus stop, but resisted thank goodness.

All in all it was a successful evening and we really enjoyed ourselves. I’m glad they had food stalls on because it stopped me getting too drunk (a total of eight pints were downed by the end of the night… eek!!). It’s a shame the gig wasn’t quite as intimate as I thought it’d be but I guess I’ll never see the Arctic Monkeys in a small venue until maybe they’re in the twilight of their careers (and I in mine… whatever that turns out to be, lol). Two thumbs up, lads!!!

"Angles" - The Strokes (album review)

It’s always nice when a song comes along that hits so many giddy nerves in your body that it makes you whistle and skip from the breakfast table right through to your midnight cereal raid… and it just so happens that “Under Cover Of Darkness” on The Strokes’ fourth album Angles is one of those tunes. In fact it’s so riff-tastic and catchy that you almost curse yourself for not coming up with the idea first.

Thankfully though this isn’t the only gem on the band’s long awaited (and much feared by this reviewer) follow-up to the deeply flawed First Impressions Of Earth which frontman Julian Casablancas managed to spoil almost single-handedly with a collection of vocal melodies which plunged to the very nadir of songwriting craft. Angles, predictably much like it’s title, has a few new angles to it, but the resulting record is neither confused nor rambling… it’s also mercifully shorter than it’s overlong predecessor.

From the colourful opener Machu Picchu onwards it’s clear that The Strokes have finally remembered how to infuse a bit of sunlight and fun into their garage rock groove and have brushed away the cobwebs of the past to march ahead to a more promising, productive and artistically valid future.

There are some lovely 80s flavours to the album, so much so in fact that on tracks like “Two Kinds Of Happiness” and “Games” you half expect Cyndi Lauper to make a guest appearance and wink cheekily through your speakers with a mouth full of bubblegum.

Elsewhere there are more earnest experiments into Radiohead-style alt-rock that thankfully aren’t left field enough to spoil the flow of the record and end up being entertaining in their own right. For those yearning for a reminder of their first two albums then “Taken For A Fool” comes with a lush chorus that must’ve been picked straight up off the cutting room (on fire) floor.

Angles is certainly one of the better albums to appear during this guitar-rock lull and the shoulder pad inducing synths are mixed well with the band’s familiar retro sound.

Give it a go… it’s a very rewarding “grower”.

4/5

Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps – film review

I’m not sure what the moral implications are of watching a sequel before the original, but I’ve not really been that keen on catching Wall Street 1 but sort of guessed what the general gist of it was and heard roughly how it ended.

So, how does watching a sequel “blind” work out?

I guess I’ll find out when I finally watch the original, but for some reason I was attracted to seeing Money Never Sleeps to satisfy certain curiosities… namely, why does a director who tends to tackle quite serious political issues in one-off releases feel the need to dig out a film he made twenty years ago and make his first ever sequel?

I’ve not seen many Oliver Stone films, not because he’s a bad director or a boring visualist, but because, like Martin Scorsese, his usual subject matters don’t tend interest me very much. On the odd occasion that he does stray away from war films or political musings then you’ll find me forking out the cash for a reduced-to-clear dvd copy.

There’s an important and valid point made in Money Never Sleeps which the news media really needs to make clear to the general public when the country falls into another recession: a capitalist economy is cyclical, you’ll get dips and crashes in the market but this needs to happen in order for it to regenerate itself… so don’t panic!! Numbers can’t hurt you, things will work out in the end and people, lives and relationships are far more important than year end bonuses. Freedom and wealth can’t be counted and felt in bank balances and possessions.

I did brace myself for an angry film about sharp suited yuppies clambering for money and power, but I’m guessing that’s what the original film was about. Even though this one sort of starts off like that, it actually turns out to be a very sweet and warm hearted little film that wants to inspire people to push themselves to improve the world for the greater moral good rather than for personal gain.

There’re ace performances from the lovely (oh so lovely) Shia LaBeouf (who’s managing to prove that he’s not just another young stud from the Hollywood cookie cutter to end up in the forgotten footnotes of movie casting history), Michael Douglas (one of my favourite movie stars… he’s just so cool and nobody gets angry quite like him) and Carey Mulligan (who’s stunning emotional breakdowns and twinkly, tear filled eyes are given extra screen time and pauses by Stone’s adoring camera).

Money Never Sleeps is a film about hope and believing in doing the right thing even though it doesn’t earn you millions and billions of sweet, sweet dosh.

Give it a go, then watch the first one.

4/5

Scott Pilgrim vs The World - film review

“Alfie tells the story of a young man who leads a promiscuous lifestyle until several life reversals make him rethink his purposes and goals in life.”

- Alfie (1966 film), Wikipedia

“Slacker:
someone who, while being intelligent, doesn't really feel like doing anything.”

- The Urban Dictionary

“Me and some guys from school
Had a band and we tried real hard
Jimmy quit and Joey got married
Shoulda known we'd never get far”

- from “Summer of 69” by Bryan Adams

The self-indulgent fantasies we have throughout our lives include themes of revenge, heroism, regret and sex. Scott Pilgrim vs The World joins a steadily mounting list of films such as Kick-Ass, Brazil, American Psycho, Inglorious Bastards and Once Upon A Time In America where the reality of what we’re watching is blurred by the suggestion that we are not watching events from a third person perspective, but from a first person perspective.

Scott Pilgrim, Kick-Ass and Brazil all feature fairly ordinary young men who go about their lives in a daze, fantasizing about being somebody they’re not and achieving things they can only dream about. In Brazil this is clear, most of the time Jonathan Pryce’s character Sam Lowry drifts off into soft-focus fantasies about being a winged hero rescuing a damsel in distress but eventually finds the reality of enacting such a scenario in real life far more complicated and painful. In Kick-Ass the fantasy is vague and based on how the viewer perceives things. Our main character pretends to be gay in an attempt to maintain a deception-based relationship with a girl he is in love with. The justification for this lying alter-ego manifests itself in a world of superheroes, where retaining ones secret identity is just as important and acceptable. Scott Pilgrim seems to be a little of both. A lot of what goes on in the film is clearly a fantasy, but there is no definition between the real world and the comic book/video game/superhero world. They are all integrated and intertwining in Scott Pilgrim’s mind.

The revenge fantasy of Inglorious Bastards presents an alternate reality where high ranking Nazi’s receive different and much more personally motivated ends and shares themes with Sergio Leone’s gangster epic Once Upon A Time In America about characters who cope with unresolved issues and feelings of guilt or desires for revenge through fantasy. It is believed that in Once Upon A Time In America the scenes where Robert DeNiro’s character Noodles returns to New York as an old man and attempts to solve a thirty year old mystery are the mere opium fuelled dreams of a guilt-ridden young man. With this in mind, you could argue that Inglorious Bastards ends at the beginning with the young girl escaping certain death from murderous Nazi’s through an open field… the rest of the film is her revenge fantasy unfolding as she flees. Scott Pilgrim gets his chance to revise the ending to his own movie, but not so subtly… he can just rewind events and play them out differently, something we’ve all wanted to do from time to time. I suppose you can forgive this time-bending attempt to wash away feelings of defeat and regret, after all, Pilgrim is being forced to play out the extremely petty revenge fantasies of seven other characters.

Towards the end of Scott Pilgrim vs The Word the titular lead character apparently earns the “power of self respect”. However he seems to have nothing but misguided ego and self-respect throughout the film as he lies and cheats his way through a series of meaningless relationships. Somewhere down the line Scott Pilgrim has convinced himself that this is acceptable behavior. He is another Patrick Bateman, and as with the American Psycho “serial killer” how can we possibly trust what our antihero tells us. If he is a liar and a cheat, then why should we accept anything that we see? Has the whole violent series of events we’ve just witnessed been just part of his fantasy?

Taken at face value Scott Pilgrim vs The World is a film let down by a central romance involving two attractive but rather dull and heartless people and never really recovers from it’s weakest but most pivotal plot point: if Scott Pilgrim has to fight seven ex-partners of a girl he’s only just met and knows very little about, how long will it take for him (and the audience) to get fed up and question whether she’s actually worth it?

Not long.

But as a first person fantasy about lust and wish fulfillment it’s an exciting visual spectacle with an abundance of strong supporting characters that add dimension to an otherwise cold little movie. In fact the film really seems to crank up a notch when Jason Schwartzman arrives on screen towards the end. He does so well to brighten things up that you sort of wish they’d written him into earlier parts of the film.

Anyway, none of this matters of course, as it was all just a dream…

3/5

Speed Racer - film review

Caught somewhere between Who Framed Roger Rabbit and Star Wars Episode II Attack Of The Clones, the purpose of Speed Racer seems not to evoke the cardboard feel of it’s origins but to exist in a bouncy Warner Brothers universe that dabbles in the uncertain editing and awkward silences of the Star Wars prequels.

If you’re not sure whether the film’s creative team wants us to take the disjointed and gravity-defying reality of Speed Racer seriously, fear not, the moment some penguins provide a screen wipe whilst waddling through a car factory then you’ll cease to care and accept that you’re just here to enjoy the ride.

Yes the racing scenes are confusing, but the Wachowski’s don’t seem particularly interested in terrestrial car racing, they want you to feel like you’re watching the podrace from The Phantom Menace or the speeder chase in Attack Of The Clones. You sort of work all that out pretty early on and get on board, so don’t worry.

As with JJ Abram’s recent Star Trek resuscitation this is a film about people taking pride in their work and finding passion and creativity in the most greasy and sterile of environments. We all have a purpose, something that drives us, but not everybody can relate to our individual needs in life. Some people are race car drivers, some are businessmen, some are sports commentators, some are gangsters. Whatever. Speed Racer has an abundance of passionate souls who, without their chosen vocation, would be lost in life.

Beyond the look and moral centre of Speed Racer we’re treated to some strong and earnest performances. I’m guessing these days most acting schools come with a “Working With Blue Screen” module that puts budding thesps at ease when speaking and performing to perhaps nothing more than a marker for their eye-line. Things are improving. Emile Hirsch, John Goodman, Susan Sarandon, Christina Ricci, Matthew Fox and Roger Allam all punch through the millions of dollars worth of special effects and give their characters real weight and value, as opposed to some CGI filled efforts where actors stand around looking bemused and slightly frightened.

Some odd pauses could have been trimmed or edited out and the time jumping narrative tightened to avoid some moments of confusion, but these elements seem to add to the heightened quality of the experience.

Speed Racer is fun, dazzling, camp, exciting, silly, surprising, full of heart and definitely worth a viewing. Even though references can be made and comparisons drawn, this really is a unique experience and will leave you desperate to find out how things end.

Go for it.

3/5

The Physical Graffiti On Houses Of The Holy

In my relatively fresh history of enjoying Led Zeppelin I’ve found it difficult to acquire a fondness for their fifth and sixth albums, Houses of the Holy and Physical Graffiti.

I guess it doesn’t help that Houses of the Holy is rife with questionable genre experimentations and a self-indulgent overall theme of how big and successful Led Zeppelin were at the time (the title referring to the enormous stadiums they were regularly playing in and the song The Ocean named after the sea of fans that the band would observe from the stage every night), while double album Physical Graffiti is sprinkled liberally with studio outtakes from previous records that only serve to undermine the album’s flow and consistency.

So, a niggling doubt and theory in my mind grew and blossomed into something rather revelatory: if the title track from Houses of the Holy was left off that record for artistic reasons and added, rather clumsily, to Physical Graffiti… what would happen if it was moved back? In fact, what would happen if you removed all the tracks that weren’t recorded specifically for Physical Graffiti and ditch all but the three intended for Houses of the Holy (The Rover, Houses Of The Holy, Black Country Woman) and put them back where they belonged in place of the three songs (The Crunge, Dancing Days, D’yer Mak’er) that really don’t seem to work on that album?

Well, you have two slightly better albums, that’s what…

Houses of The Holy:

As well as just replacing three songs on Houses of the Holy I had a play around with the tracklist to make it more engaging… pushing the dreamy and beautiful The Rain Song closer to the end where it feels better served and bringing the haunting and strangely ahead-of-it’s-time No Quarter forward to give the middle of the album more power and gravitas. I also keep The Rover as the second track on the album (as it appeared on Physical Graffiti) and try to keep alive the Led Zeppelin tradition of finishing things off with a rootsy stomp with Black Country Woman.

Here’s my “Special Edition” of the album:

1. The Song Remains The Same
2. The Rover
3. Over The Hills And Far Away
4. No Quarter
5. The Ocean
6. Houses Of The Holy
7. The Rain Song
8. Black Country Woman

Physical Graffiti:

The sleeker version of Physical Graffiti has a faster pace, a heightened intensity and a significant musical consistency that the standard Physical Graffiti lacks. The things that bothered me about the album before just don’t stand out so much anymore…. basically the songs sound like they belong together and the “filler” has been trimmed. I understand that just because an album is shorter it does not always mean it will feel shorter, however the original extra seven tracks just seemed to weigh the whole thing down to the point that sometimes, when I played it, the album felt like it was wheezing on the floor.

Here’s how my shortened and preferred version runs:

1. Custard Pie
2. In My Time Of Dying
3. Trampled Under Foot
4. Kashmir
5. In The Light
6. Ten Years Gone
7. The Wanton Song
8. Sick Again

I often feel guilty when I tamper with the intended flow of an album (no matter how much I disagree with it), but in this instance it just feels right.

Give it a go, it’s interesting and fun.