Tag Archives: film

Last night saw a trip to Cambridge’s very own Wagamama before nine of us squeezed into a half-empty cinema for Once (caution: unmarked spoilers), the best and probably only Irish musical since The Commitments.

One of the characters in The Commitments was played by Glen Hansard, who stars in Once alongside Markéta Irglová. They’re both musicians rather than ac-tors, Hansard being lead singer/guitarist of popular Irish beat combo The Frames.

Glen Hansard is also a friend of Isobel, one of the nine of us at the film; they’re both from Dublin, where the film was shot. Isobel works with Andy and Louise at Qualcomm; her other half Simon works at Taptu with Neil, with whom I worked at ANT.

To complete the circle, Andy, Chris, Melanie, Chef, Lynda and I are going to Dublin for a weekend in December to see Ross, who turns 30 at the end of the year.

I’ll do a diagram later if you want. I think that means we qualify for Baftas.

It’s a very naturalistic film, shot on a budget that wouldn’t cover Tom Cruise’s toenail polish. No studio sets, no special lighting, no crowd control. Some street scenes were filmed with long lenses (and without permits), passers-by oblivious to the acting.

There’s a slight documentary feel about it – until the songs kick in. But unlike yer Sound of Musics or yer Bollywoods, the songs are built into the story. The cast don’t drop everything and start supercalifragilisticexpialidociousing with comedy chimney sweeps: the plot revolves around our (unnamed) male protagonist’s ambitions for a singing career, and our (unnamed) female protagonist’s assistance. And it’s a love story, of course.

Hansard and Irglová together wrote almost all the songs, and they’re pretty good. YouTube’s full of examples; give Taptu a whirl.

Definitely one of my films of the year. I look forward to any sequel, undoubtedly called Twice. Hahaha.

Avaragado’s rating: nine potatoes

Last night the usual gang of five went to the Vue to see Run, Fat Boy, Run, the new David Schwimmer-directed, Simon Pegg-starring film. I thought the ginger one was just acting in this one, but he has a screenplay credit too.

It’s a by-numbers Brit romcom, heavy on the product placement from a manufacturer of overpriced swoosh-bearing footwear. (I mean, one present of trainers I could live with, but two?) Two men battling for the affections of one woman – check. Precocious child – check. Comedy hangers-on – check. A galaxy of Britslebs in cameos – check.

Supposedly Bill Bailey appears dressed as Gandalf in one scene set during a marathon; I must have missed that one. I did spot Noel Fielding walking past in another scene. The funniest guest appearance is by David Walliams, playing a near-clone of his Mr Mann character from Little Britain.

The film won’t win any awards, but it made me laugh, so that’ll do.

Avaragado’s rating: two gingerbread men

I have still never read any of the Harry Potter books. I fear I never shall, with the final book imminent and whatever resolution it contains sure to be plastered onto all web pages by law within fifteen seconds of its release. Hardly seems worth it. Oh, I know what I’ll do. I’ll open a copy of the new book at the last page just to see how it ends. Yeah. In the middle of Borders, on release day, surrounded by excited kids. Then I’ll say “Oh, it was all a dream!” and walk away.

Last night, venturing to the opening night of HP5 at the Vue with Chris, Melanie, Lynda and Louise, we were second in the queue behind a group of Americans and vowed not to sit near them. They did whoop, but only once or twice. Sadly there were no people dressed as wizards to mock; nor did anyone storm out furiously at a trivial difference from the book. Disappointing really.

For a non-fan like myself, I did find it slightly confusing at the beginning trying to remember who the hell some of the characters were. Did we see him/her in HP[1234] or am I imagining it? While I’d hate to see a “previously on Harry Potter” segment, some kind of script-based reminder (subtle, not “Hi Harry, remember me from the fight to the death at the end of last term?”) might have assisted the more casual viewer.

(Ranty aside: blockbuster films can blithely assume you remember events of the last film 18 months ago, but all lifestyle/makeover TV shows are compelled to repeat themselves endlessly, telling you after a break what happened before the break, telling you before a break what’s going to happen after the break, reminding you who everyone is and what they’re doing because you haven’t seen them for all of three minutes, as if we’re all drooling mouth-breathers unable to retain the most trivial factoid for more than a microsecond. I blame Thatcher. End of rant.)

Scenery, effects, comedy moments: all present and correct.

Ginger gurning update: only once. He can’t act scared, poor lad. Otherwise the performances aren’t bad, though I’m never convinced by the Hermione girl. Imelda Staunton steals the show as (checks Wikipedia) Dolores Umbridge.

The biggest laugh in the film was, I am sure, not intended as such. It’s up there alongside Anakin’s dream about his mother. That’ll teach us to go to an evening showing.

POINTLESS FACT: This is the shortest film so far, and adapted from the longest book. It’s true, I read it on the intertubes. And the film is relatively fat-free; no superfluous scenes that I remember. One character who might qualify as padding was, apparently, cut in an earlier draft and resurrected at the request of a certain billionaire author, hinting strongly of a pivotal role in book seven.

POINTLESS FACT: The word “muggle” is now in the OED.

POINTLESS FACT: JK Rowling is now secretly Empress of Earth and walks only on powdered diamonds.

Avaragado’s rating: one packet of assorted nuts

Most of the usual mob, minus Andy who’s apparently testing a lift in Rome, went to see 28 Weeks Later on Thursday night. I remember seeing the original in a packed cinema, with our group stuck at the front in row 2 – not the best seats for a fast-paced horror film shot in relatively low-res DV. This time we nabbed the prime locations as we were first in a very short queue (and consequently there was a slight lack of atmosphere, sadly).

I’d seen the trailer and was worried that the plot would revolve around the USA saving Britain from the insurgentsinfected – a thinly veiled allegory combined with yo’ da man star-spangled chest-thumping. I was pleased to discover that my concerns were unwarranted. The plot is a little thin, of course – run away! – but hey, it’s zombies in London.

The shots of the deserted city are surreal and amazing. The POV-shots of the infected, the quick cutting, the gore, all very effective.

The gore, yes. I think it’s fair to say that Heinz had a run on tomato ketchup during filming. There is one sequence – if you’ve seen it you’ll know the one I mean – that is just outstandingly, gloriously gory. You have to laugh, really.

I do have a criticism. Yes, I do. Coincidences. That’s all I’ll say. (I have another criticism but it veers towards spoilishness, so I’ll keep quiet. Oh, I could say “but it doesn’t look like that!” I guess.)

I was reading a thread on t’Internet about the film earlier. Londoners on the thread huffed and puffed that in one sequence some characters took an implausible route through the city. It was as if the thread had suddenly been invaded by taxi drivers: “Oof, via Shaftesbury Avenue? You’re ‘avin a larf, aincha? Talk about rage, I’ll give ’em rage. Nah, I don’t go sarf of the river, mate, full of infected. I ‘ad that Danny Boyle in the back of the cab once.”

There was also much shaking of heads regarding the timeline: some buildings, such as the Gherkin, appear in the new film but weren’t built at the time of the first film. These picky-picky comments were hushed with “it’s a film about zombies“.

I must have enjoyed the film. When I got home I boarded up all my doors and windows, turned off the electric and cooked a tin of hoops over a candle.

Avaragado’s rating: 28 leeks

This afternoon in the company of my friend Mark I escaped the dull, drizzly wi-fi-enabled noughties and timewarped to July 1983 through the magic of the cinema. A time when Thatcher (Mrs) ruled with her iron handbag and wonky finger, when Tony Blair had just entered parliament, and when, if memory serves, we must have been packing up to move house. We were leaving leafy, suburban, right-wing Broxbourne for Oundle, a genteel town in the Northamptonshire countryside infested with posh young toffs. (No, I didn’t go to the public school.)

The film This is England opens on the last day of the school term. (Because we were moving away from the area, I remember that day vividly. How odd.) It’s non-uniform day, and the main character of the story – 12-year-old Shaun – is picked on as he’s wearing less-than-trendy flares. His dad was killed in the Falklands. The film shows his life over the next few weeks, and to say any more would spoil it.

It’s funny, disturbing, scary and violent. Thomas Turgoose, the actor playing Shaun, is pretty amazing. The hair stylists, make-up artists and fashion designers in the production team deserve awards for their dedication above and beyond to reproducing the hideous fashions of the day. I pity the actors who suffered for their art and actually had their hair done like that. I will overlook the two shots in which (adopts nerd voice) modern satellite dishes were clearly visible (reverts to normal geek voice).

If you like your films gritty, realistic and tattooed, you’ll like this one. It’s superb. (Expats: apparently it has a limited release in the US in July.)

Avaragado’s rating: twiglets

From December 1999, for a year, I wrote a journal. Not on paper, don’t be silly, but not online. I have it on disk somewhere and I haven’t read it since I wrote it. It covers what has been, so far, the most bonkers year of my life for a number of reasons; sadly the margin is too small to contain them.

Writing the journal was hugely cathartic. I sat where I’m sitting now, often into the early hours, unburdening myself, if that’s not too pretentious for you. It is far too, uh, honest to ever be published in full. I probably talk about you, by the way.

It seems such a long time ago now. It seems like yesterday. I’ll read it again one day; but not yet.

So, Notes on a Scandal. Insanely good. Funny, touching, and for me marginally uncomfortable (but I should like to point out that my journal contains no stars of any hue). Screenplay by Patrick Marber, aka Peter O’Hanrahahanrahan from The Day Today, now a proper grown-up writer with awards and stuff.

Judi Dench will be fighting Helen Mirren for the Oscar, I think.

Avaragado’s rating: two new potatoes

Let’s get the bad stuff out of the way first: I don’t like the theme tune. It is much better than the awful Madonna theme from Dire Another Day (do you see what I did there?), but fails to pass the Bondness threshold.

That’s a shame, because everything else about Casino Royale is pretty much spot on. There’s no campery, over-reliance on gadgets, mwa-ha-ha-take-over-the-world-with-my-big-laser plots or scenery chewing, unlike in yer Brosnans or yer Moores. It’s very much as advertised: back-to-basics, raw, gritty, violent. A bit like yer Daltons or yer Connerys, but with fewer wigs and not, you know, in the 1980s. And just generally better.

I was never one of those nay-sayers who scoffed at the casting of Daniel Craig as Bond, none of whom could come up with reasons better than “he’s a bit ginger”. They forgot that Bond is supposed to be English, and yet has been played by a Scot (Connery), an Australian (Lazenby), a “Welsh-born Englishman” (Dalton) and an Irishman (Brosnan). And that Felix Leiter, that old fraud, has been played by about a million different actors, both white and black. And ditto Blofeld, etc.

I’ve decided that most Bond films take place in their own universe, independent of all other Bond films. This works, apart from some disparities (such as the multiple appearances of Jaws and J.W. Pepper and others, a few references to Bond’s dead wife, and more), and it’s the only way to avoid cranial implosion regarding continuity. This film blows away any attempts to do so anyway, since it shows the start of Bond’s 00 career and yet has Judi M rather than harrumphing old Bernard M, and is of course set in the present.

Oh, enough Bond geekery. Wikipedia has it all, you know.

Avaragado’s rating: salty water