The bold John Wallace has had his fair share of menchies on this here blog but with Mother's Day looming (round my neck like a bloody albatross) I thought it was about time Renée"boomboom" Wallace got a shout out.
Similar in manner and temperament (although not always humour, thanks for the WACKY genes pop) I thought a fitting Mawday treat would be a spot of Sunday brunch and a trip to the GFT - what do you mean self-gratifying? *smirks*
That Lynx range of "EXTREME" deodorant really has a lot to answer for
Sharing a keen interest in film, particularly of the French & Italiano variety (by "sharing" I of course mean insisting she watches too) perhaps the only instance in which she'll accompany me to the cinema is if it's for something unusual that won't eventually appear on cooncil telly.
So I assumed the God's of fate were shining down when I realised the GFT were showing further screenings of Danny Boyle's stage production of Frankenstein , a theatrical and cinematic experience I'd been bangin' on about for so long I managed to convince everyone in my house it was a "must see" - including Coco, my labradoodle (yeah, we're one of THOSE families...)
That was until I realised they've scrapped the extra screenings.
This place clearly carries the same pungent odours of Glasgow Uni Library - mmmmmusty
Director Jim Loach, son of the mighty Ken, makes his feature-length debut with Oranges and Sunshine, tells the heart-breaking true story of Margaret Humphreys, a social working from Nottingham, as she endeavours to repair some of the attrocities committed by the British government in migrating thousands of British children to Commonwealth countries between the Victorian era to the 1970s.
With Loach at the helm, Scots screenwriter Rona Munro expertly adapting Margaret Humphreys’s 1994 book Empty Cradles and acclaimed British actress Emily Watson in the lead role of Humphreys, this looks set to be one grizzly and emotional ride.
Nothing says "I LOVE YOU" like a harrowing cinema trip.
And I haven't even got to that fro yet... *sighs longingly*
Bad ass mother flipper
Alas, that's about enough gushing for now - let's just say the stakes (and expectations) were high for Ayoade's directorial feature film debut, Submarine.
And met they were too. PHEW!
This comic - and at times tragic - tale of a teens inner turmoil ticks all the right boxes. An adaptation of Joe Dunthorne's 2008 novel, the narrative follows the plight of 15-year old Oliver Tate to lose his virginity and salvage his parents marriage, all whilst confronting a plethora of other issues ranging from school bullies to his father's depression.
A dry, dead-pan and witty tone is established from the outset and our protagonist's humorously over-blown imagining of his own funeral. Impressively the pace and razor-sharp rhetoric is maintained throughout; thanks in no small part to the delivery of talented newcomer, Craig Roberts (below) echoing the same awkward, emotionless state as Ayoade's uber-dork alter-ego, Moss.
Not exactly R-Patz, but keeping the geek-chic flame burning
Ambitiously intellectual and struggling loner, Oliver Tate has definite glimmers of J.D Salinger's Holden Caulfield about him, and combined with Ayoade's nods to Jean Luc Godard's French New Wave cinema style (inter-titles and dramatic orchestral accompaniments to moments of significance in the plot) and "artistic malaise" of director, Wes Anderson, this is meticulously thought-out comedy.
It's Considine's suave subtlety that really lures in the ladies...
A strong supporting cast adds to the humour and pathos, with Tate's depressed father (Noah Taylor) and discontented mother (Sally Hawkins) evoking laughter and sympathy in equal measure.
A notably amusing turn from Paddy Consindine as Oliver's mother's ex-lover, who shows up to throw a spanner in the works, also evokes sniggers every time he appears on screen, due in part to his mullet and also to his "way-out" life prophesying - think Patrick Swayze as Jim Cunningham in Donnie Darko and you're on the right lines (minus the implications of paedophilia). Far out.
With a score courtesy of Arctic Monkeys frontman, Alex Turner, the film flows seamlessly from "happy-go-lucky-in-love" to "depths-of-the-ocean-depression", minus the cheese or the misery. No mean feat, I think you'll agree.
Unique, refreshing and genuinely engaging - one not to be missed!
When my friend Paul suggested a trip to see the hotly anticipated film adaptation of Haruki Murakami's 1987 best-seller Norwegian Wood, I agreed gladly but only on the understanding I'd read the book first.
So given a miserable snowy Tuesday afternoon, course work begging to be ignored and a quick stop into Fopp: roughly 5 hours later I was done. NAE BOTHER.
And I loved it - perhaps a little too much.
You see I'm of the firm opinion that books of near perfection should be kept as such and not adapted into film, lest the shoddy adaptation tarnish everything the book achieves. (Drama queen much?)
One word: Gatsby.
Alas, I was still intrigued to see what Vietnamese director, Tran Anh Hung had to offer in way of cinematic translation.
Disappointingly, my low expectations were barely met. That'll teach me to read.
Love overcomes all (even excessive dandruff apparently)
The story follows protagonist Toru Watanabe on a nostalgic journey back to 1960s Tokyo and the painful memories of a troubled youth, depression and unrequited love. A riveting and emotionally charged read from start to finish, the film conveys the scenery of the Japan immensely, through breath-taking cinematography, yet barely touches on many of the intrinsic relationships and in-depth characterisation featured in the book.
The result being somewhat of a hollow and distanced view of a tragic relationship; a far cry from the utterly engulfing novel.
It was the height difference that got in the way in the end...
The whole thing has an air of "contemporary art" around it: expansive shots of beautiful Japanese scenery dominate, with edgy, moving conversational shots, detracting much attention away from the dialogue (which is sparce throughout - to the extent that you're more aware of the awkward silence in the cinema than what's going on on-screen *tummy rumble alert*) instead focusing on meaningful glances and nods. Which has definite artistic value in terms of beauty, but when witty rhetoric, passionate exchanges and enlightened characterisation is sacrificed, it begs the question is beauty enough?
I appreciate that the film simply can't accomodate EVERYcharacter and background story, however, I felt somewhat robbed of the characterisation necessary for understanding key characters. Naoko's presence and troubles are felt throughout although never fully explained, Reiko is barely touched upon and other supporting roles Nagasawa, Midori and even Watanabe's comical roomate,"Stormtrooper", are barely touched upon in any depth.
The effect of this is a film revolving around two central characters with a whole band of peripheral extras - which, if you read the book, you'll know is a tragic loss.
"For our next trick we will all fit compactly inside this case to the tune of Eleanor Rigby."
Although the soundtrack is relatively engaging (although at times quite jarring and harsh against the peaceful landscapes) other crucial cultural references are missing: such as any real mention of the nostalgic Beatles song that evokes the memories of unrequited love and painful loss in Watanabe, the catalyst of the entire story, Norwegian Wood, and the many references he makes to American literature such as The Great Gatsby, a clear influence of Murakami and his protagonist are simply omitted.
I want to say the saving grace of the piece, other than stunning cinematography, is the performance of the young actors, and Rinko Kikuchi doesn't disappoint, conveying Naoko with as much emotion and agony as I'd envisioned.
However, Kenichi Matsuyama's portrayal of the lonesome yet strangely charismatic Watanabe left me underwhelmed for the most part. His only scene that demands more than intense brooding or confusion sees him screaming the tormented wail of madman against a dramatic backdrop of crashing waves and ragged rocks....unfortunately this scene is utterly overshadowed by the lengthy and somewhat Beethoven-esque (as in the dog, not the composer) length of drool he produces in doing so.
Sadly this evoked more disgust than sympathy in the audience, forcing the desire to scream "I KNOW YOU'RE SAD - BUT JUST WIPE IT MAN!" at the screen.
The frequent and supposedly explicit sex scenes also pale in comparison to the written word, and when even the raunchy parts leave you cold, you know you're onto Japanese plums...
Stand-alone, with no prior knowledge of the book, I would recommend watching this for the beauty of the cinematography and Japanese landscape...but for unfortunately for little else.
Another example of best left alone.
DIAGNOSIS: READ IT.
To be enjoyed in its purest form - translated English.
NB: Yup I know what you're thinking, "this ain't no film blog?" and you're right but ends up at the moment I've been up to a lot of other arty hi-jinx and being made to write about it for class so figured I'd share with the blogosphere (and until i work out how to hybrid this badboy - it's getting papped on here.)
Poise, elegance and impossible technical skill: they have it all in abundance but with the addition of sass - and they’ve got plenty of it!
This all-male drag ensemble, co-founded by Peter Anastos, Natch Taylor and Antony Bassae in the meat-packing district of New York in 1974, started as a group producing small, late-night shows, in off- Broadway lofts. However, it wasn’t long before their reputation and talents led them to the international dance stage.
Affectionately known as the “Trocks”, this unique company is renowned for parodying the conventions and clichés of romantic and classical ballet.
Camp is the new black
The King’s Theatre came abuzz with tittering laughter before the lavishly dolled-up dancers even set oversized point shoe on stage, as an absurd faux-Russian voice-over introduced the amusingly named dancers ‘Ida Nevasayneva’ and ‘Ashley Romanoff-Titwillow’, apologising for the absence of dancer ‘Natalia Notgudinov’.
The show begins with the company’s unique take on Act 2 of Swan Lake, a quite literal adaptation on a classic, which demonstrates as much intensity and skill in their dancing as in the application of their Lily Savage-esque make-up.
The juxtaposition of Princess Odette’s lustrous chest hair and beautifully made up face received roaring laughter upon first glance, yet gender is quickly forgotten as the sheer skill and elegance of the dancer steals focus.
Putting the faces of woman to shame worldwide *harrumph*
Aside from the stunning performance of the hairy princess swan, the scene stealer of this act, and possibly the entire show, is undoubtedly the flamboyant over-actor in the Dance of the Little Swans line-up, thrusting said dancer into the spotlight for the rest of the night.
Utterly entertaining and perfectly executed, never before has Tchaikovsky been accompanied by such skilful bitchiness.
By Act 2, Go for Barocco, the dancers are at their comic peak, attired in little black dresses and switching erratically between movements of fluid intricacy and hilariously macho struts across stage. Tears of laughter flow as the notably tall and built lead dancers of this act, clearly revving off the reaction, give their all pirouetting their flamboyant hearts out.
That's easy for her/him to do
Their last of the three pastiche performances is The Reception scene from L. Pashkova baffling, Raymonda’s Wedding. Providing more than a few laughs is the preposterous paired duo of little and large (imagine Arnold Schwarzenegger and Danny DeVito in ‘Twins’, with Arnie in a dress) technical skill and razor-sharp comic timing was once again expertly executed.
(yeah i googled "Arnie in drag", n whit?) Now imagine this dancing in lycra...
Everything about the performance exudes classical training and power, but with a human edge often lacking in classical ballet. The neat, slick packaging of three concise yet energetic separate acts flew in and with a final burst of Riverdance as the finale, the crowd expressed their appreciation with a standing ovation.
Totally accessible for newcomers to this genre of dance, the marriage of humour and skill proves overwhelmingly that the Trocks are definitely much more than just men in tights. ..
Les Ballets Trockadero de Monte Carlo returns to Scotland on 12/13 April 2011, Edinburgh Festival Theatre.
Admittedly never one for animations (the Toy Story franchise aside); I can count the times I've chosen to go and watch an animated film on one hand. It's nothing personal, I feel I've got a sufficiently broad imagination and prefer escapism to reality any day of the week, but there's something about animation that just doesn't grab me. I guess I just prefer humans - so sue me.
Well thank goodness I overcame my usual prejudices. Last night I willingly chose to see Rango - and pleasantly surprised I was too!
This witty, trippy Western tale of a wayward chameleon lost in the desert ain't your average animated film. Don't let the overwhelming number of kiddies in the audience fool you - this is sharp, intelligent animation aimed at grown ups, but with enough humorous and tantalisingly colourful characters to keep the kids engrossed as well.
Clever.
From the get-go it's clear that Rango, voiced by Johnny Depp, is searching for more than adventure, he's searching for a purpose. So upon finding himself abandoned in a town called Dirt - in dire need of a new sheriff and water - our protagonist throws himself into the role of importance and pomp he's always dreamt of. As pressumed, all does not go according to plan...
Johnny Depp: the definition of "clashing accessory chic"
The narrative follows that of a traditional Western: the goodies, the baddies, the rejections and wallowing time for reflection (poetanddidntknowit alert). And all of this in mind-boggling animation with CGI action sequences that could give the Matrix films a run for their money - it's safe to say director Gore Verbinski landed on his feet in his first animated venture.
Clearly in good artistic company, Rango is a visually stunning film of inconceivably high quality.
In short - it blew my tiny mind.
The soundtrack deserves kudos unto itself. Hans Zimmer and Los Lobos combine to make an excellent muscial accompaniment to the action: exhilarating, energetic and captivating. Whoever would've thought Ride of the Valkyries on banjo would work?
Not me - but it does.
And with the extra added bonus of constant and subtle artistic nods to various other films - Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, Chinatown and Apocalypse Now - film buffs everywhere will leave with the satisfaction and sweet smuggery of those "in the know".Cashback.
Mel Gibson: a man known professionally for such Hollywood blockbusters as Mad Max, Braveheart and the Lethal Weapon series, recognised internationally for his piercing blue eyes, rugged demeanour and racially-charged sexist rants...
But Gibson now has a new string to add to his lustrous bow: PUPPETEER.
Crouching beaver hidden Gibson
Look out Jim Henson's Muppets, there's a new fuzz-faced fictional character in town and he's joined by a beaver.
The cockney beaver (yes, I legitimately use that phrase) to which I refer is the Mel's latest side-kick/alter-ego in forthcoming film, The Beaver.
The comedy-drama follows a troubled family on the verge of collapse, that is until the ex-toy executive father and protagonist of the piece, Walter Black (Gibson), dons a hand-puppet and deals with his issues via a beaver alter-ego.
You really can't make this stuff up.
And through this creative outlet, Black rediscovers himself and finds his voice (which belongs to Ray Winstone apparently...)
Foster forces a smile, secretly longing for the good ole days with Buffalo Bill
One of the few things indicating this trailer is not a mere trick or spoof is the presence of Academy Award winning actress, Jodie Foster. Not usually renowned for her comic dalliances, Foster not only stars as central matriarch but dons the director's cap for this one.
Intrigued? You should be.
Who knows, perhaps this will be the break-through film of 2011, a launchpad for Gibson to re-enter the Hollywood stratosphere and regain some industry merit...OR it could just be exactly as BIZARRE as it looks. The Beaver is released in UK cinemas Friday June 10.
Ahhh the montage: a neat and succinct way of combining a plethora of action into one fast-paced package, as seen above here with this delectable smorgasbord of Nicholas "batshitcrazy" Cageisms. Over-acter? PFFFFFTTTTT no way.
A popular ingredient in the recipe for any 80s hit: along with a metric tonne of cheese, lashings of sweet transitional synth and a generous smattering of glitter (someone's been watching Saturday Kitchen...)
Let's face it, nobody wants the filler, JUST the killer - hence the phrase. Think any John Hughes movie and imagine the tedium and drudgery extracted and compressed to make exciting, snappy sequences.
Mouth Wide Open: the children's sequel to Eyes Wide Shut. Harrowing.
No-one really wants to know how Kevin McAllister constructed those elaborate thief-traps (can of paint + rope = done. Big wow, kid)
No, I'd far rather see him dancing around the lounge with cardboard cut outs of the family who've abandoned him, dancing away the grief that will take it's toll in his adult life...
Perhaps the most common association with the montage sequence is in the action movie genre.
Think slothenly waster to ripped Adonis in 2 action-packed minutes! Brilliant and totally believable.
The story follows the real-life plight of boxer Mickey Ward (Mark Wahlberg) as he strives for professional success in the world of light welterweight boxing in the mid 1980s, whilst struggling to control his wayward ex-boxing-champ-turned-coke-fiend brother, Dicky (Christian Bale).
This tale of a fight for success both professionally and personally is fast-paced, humorous and engaging.
Bale undoubtedly deserved his Best Supporting Actor accolade for his role as the troubled Dicky,as verified in the footage of the real Dicky as the credits roll at the end of the film.
Ladies form an orderly queue...
He may have a short fuse but he's channels his crazy exceptionally well - brilliant.
You is acting loco and I likes it!
However, possibly one of the most notable and cliched (yet utterly necessary) techniques adopted in this Oscar-winning flick is the use of the training montage sequence.
O.Russell gives Rocky many a grateful nod in the numerous cheese-infused work-out scenes, as Mickey strives to reach his boxing dreams; sparring up a sweat to a soundtrack of 80s rock and power ballads including Whitesnake, Hall & Oates and Led Zeppelin.
Love 'em or hate 'em - ain't no denying the power of the montage.
"We're gonna need a montage / Ooh, it takes a montage / Show a lot of things happening at once / Remind everyone of what's going on / In every shot, show a little improvement / To show it all would take too long / That's called a montage / Girl, we want a montage"
