Tropic Thunder (Film Review)

Various people have told me this film is "funny as shit", a phrase loaded with ambiguity, which i've regularly used without thinking anything of it. Back in the day (another phrase I use casually as if I fought in a war or something) - I used to watch any film - good, crap, funny as shit, shit as funny - absolutely anything. Now, time is precious, and so when I sit down to watch a film, I want some slim hope that this comes well recommended and i'm almost certain to like some of it.

Tropic Thunder certainly fits that bracket. Big coveted names star in this film (Black, Stiller and Downey-Junior). A stock of comedy talent that, despite a few hiccups along the way, have at some point in their career delivered with some great laughs. Why can't they do it again?

Well they do. Sort of. A few gems. A few hiccups. It's all the same and it all cancels itself out.

Jack Black is perhaps the funniest of the three, giving a frantic performance as a heroin-addict star with the sort of tourettes comedy that can offer be startling and genius. Stiller is standardly good, even though he carries a few jokes a bit further than they can be stretched. I think its baffling that Robert Downey Jnr should get an Oscar nomination for his role, it's funny for a bit, but he goes overboard on the accent and becomes at times a bit of a blur.

I could go on about how the concept of this film is really interesting and could have been taken a lot further. And how the film treads a little to close to the line of out-and-out parody (i.e. Scary Movie et al). But I won't because there's only one more thing I need mention.

Tom Cruise. What the hell was he thinking? He gives a fantastic cameo as a hotshot Producer, and dons a bald head and the most ridiculous fake chest rug i've ever seen. They must have shaved the coat of a grizzly bear to match this up.

If anything, this movie shows Tom Cruise in a light which he's never seen in all his dark days as scientologist and Spielberg's action lovechild - I'd recommend seeing the move purely for this reason. To be honest with you, it's funny as shit. Make of that what you will.

Haircut Saturday

There's a lot of stuff I need to blog about right now, so expect a fair few posts over the next couple of days.

Firstly though, it's Saturday morning and first on my To-Do list was a hair-cut. The foppish, Hugh Grant look just doesn't suit me, and if I don't have it short enough to scruff it up with some product, then I look at least 30 years older than I am.

Secretly (or not so - this is a blog after all), i've been looking forward to this haircut all week. Why? Ben - the new hairdresser that I chanced upon when I first moved into my new flat in Pimlico.

Let's just clear something up from the start - i'm using the term Hairdresser - when in fact this is the most ridiculous term ever. Ben doesn't dress my hair, he doesn't arrange clothes for it, or select a hat to cover it up - he cuts it.

Nor is Ben a Barber. This term crosses the line between some Chavtastic shop with a revolving Red and White beacon on the shopfront and an old-style boutique where they do wet foam shaves. I'm no chav and i'm no Gentleman. I am a man, and Ben - good at what he does - he cuts my hair. He is my Haircutter.

So - Ben, such a great guy. I knew i'd found my best haircutter ever, because he's a massive football fan. I'm really paying him for a half-hour chat about football, and that's probably what he is charging me for. He's such a nice guy that he'd probably cut my hair for free.

Ben has some really insightful stuff to say about football. He reckons that the time has past when there was a real stock of Galactico players - the Kluiverts, Davids, Romario, Bergkamp - the great Nike school of players. They've all disappeared, and Ben is right. He also has some interesting stuff to say about Arsene Wenger's managerial style (Ben is an Arsenal fan), and we laughed together about hapless Spanish fool Rafa Benitez.

The time passes effortlessly, and before I know it, my hair is shorter and I feel great for having chatted about football for half an hour.

You see - this is what Cristina would call a Bromance, a slightly unorthodox case because it also transcends a professional boundary. Two guys, get together to chat about things which women might not understand. It's a wonderful thing. I can't talk to Cristina about football, but I can pick from various other topics (moisturiser, celebrity gossip, dolly parton and booty heels). So I need this mano-a-mano bond. And I don't mind paying for it if I have to. Even if it is with my hairdresser, or haircutter, or...well, whatever.

To Do: Grow hair quicker.

The Times on a Saturday - read this if you read that!

Every Saturday, absolute top of my "To-Do" list is to buy The Times newspaper, maybe cook up a bit of breakfast, sit back with a glass of pulped orange juice, or tropicana, and read the paper and associated magazines.
Pure English.
Pure Saturday.
Pure bliss.

And for all of those of us that are not lefty or righty enough, but like our news given to us roughly somewhere in the middle - are we not all aggrieved at the new layout of The Times on a Saturday?

Is this protest of one or have I got a following?

The Times has a beautiful paper on a Saturday, which I consider to be far better than the famed Sunday Times. The latter is a bulky, overwrought waste of paper with sections for every walk of life (Travel, Driving!!, Money, Life & Style!!!, Country Walking, Origami). We don't need all of these things and we certainly don't read them. Instead, we need all of the best bits condensed into one easy newspaper, giving us a slice of the news pie which we haven't been able to scoff during the week. That's what a Saturday paper is. Or at least, should be.

The Times had a great thing going on with their Saturday magazine. ALL of my favorite columnists - Giles Coren, Bob Crampton, Kate Muir - they were the super team or journalists - the J-MEN if you will. And it was all so cool - great words with great pictures backed up by sublime art direction.

Now it's all gone, and my Saturday morning newspaper pleasure has gone into the shredder with it. They've changed the font and the layout completely - giving it an overall stench of (cough cough) Guardian. A lot of my friends and their families are Guardian readers - there's something wonderful and hippy about the liberal fonts of a Guardian arts & film supplement. There's nothing wrong with it - it's just an acquired read. Instead, I need something in between the stoic Telegraph and the whimsy Observer, something serious but which doesn't take itself seriously.

That was The Times. But all it takes is a font change, a three-column layout preferred over a two-column, and black and white portrait pictures for each journalist so we know just how they artsy they look. Not even Coren and the J-MEN can save this mess.

Does anyone know what i'm talking about? I feel as if i'm on my own with this one.

Slumdog Millionaire (Film Review)

There were high expectations surrounding this film. Edgy and youthful director Danny Boyle, face like a spade, previous credits include Trainspotting, The Beach, 28 Days Later - looks like a Brit made his way into the Hollywood cool club.

Fair enough. Let's all give credit where credit is due. I know i'd like to be there. But alas i'm not, so i'll keep my critical sword sharpened and my bitterness at an arm's length, and proceed with this review.

As it turns out, Danny Boyle definitely does deserve his place amongst the cool club, and so does Slumdog Millionaire. A fantastic cast of young and old actors perform brilliantly in this love story set across the slums of India. The Slumdog himself (Dev Patel) is put through his paces on a show of Who Wants To Be A Millionaire, and he keeps getting the questions right despite not having received any education whatsoever. How does he do it? Well that's the story folks. Each question prompts a flashback to a moment in his turbulent life in which the answer reveals itself.

Great scripting and brilliant acting. The images are rich with the colours of India; died cloths being hung to dry, the earthy reds of building sites and the misty sunset behind the Taj Mahal. The editing carries us forth at blistering pace, and we get an espresso style shot of Indian culture across various class bandwidths.

However - here comes the knife - I can't help but wonder if this film is getting plaudits at the moment for a style of filmmaking it borrows from an even longer tradition of Bollywood filmmaking in India. Perhaps an industry and method of cinematography which hasn't until now been recognised by the major award bodies. But in Slumdog Millionaire, it receives the right amount of 'Westernisation', to bring it to the attention of the judges who hand out their golden statues.

This - and this only - is my complaint. But perhaps it is not substantial enough to merit me criticising this film too heavily, and maybe Slumdog will sheer in new international audiences for Bollywood filmmaking. Maybe.

Let me put the sword away however, and celebrate a good film when I see one.

Here we have a fast-paced, historical action love comedy story. There's a bit of everything in there, but it's not necessarily a film for everyone. You need to like all of these things to truly enjoy this film. You need to like the moments when you cringe, when you laugh, when you breathe a sigh of relief and when you feel you could cry because of the injustice you're seeing on the screen. If you're not into all of these things at once, Slumdog isn't for you. If you are, there's a real treat waiting for you at the cinema.

To Do: Watch more Bollywood.

TV Review: 'The Diary of Anne Frank'

Write the following down on your "To-Do" list - Watch The Diary of Anne Frank

I must take my hat off to the BBC for a thoroughly enjoyable drama series. Before I heap further praise on the programme itself, i'll take another hat off and bow it toward Geoff Breton, my friend from school who plays Peter Van Daan in the show. A cracking perfomance and it's good to finally see Geoff getting the praise and airtime he deserves because he's a bloody good actor.

If you haven't seen or heard of this dramatisation, the basic jist is a fleshing out of the actual text of the diary itself, using (I think) the diary itself to form a voice-over narration from Anne.

The setting of the annexe lends itself well to five shorter 30 minute mini-dramas rather than a huge slog of 2 hours in which we might have started to get a little claustrophobic in our seats. I think this is a great way for the major British networks to start releasing their dramas. All too often we get a huge chunk of a crime drama dumped at 9pm on ITV and can't be bothered to invest two hours of our lives without promise of a good show. And once we're an hour into it, we've missed all of our alternative programme choices, and have to stubbornly stick it out to the end when we already know the muderer is the vicar who dodged the police questions after ten minutes and who claimed the crimson blood on the chalice was the wine of christ and how dare they accuse christ of being a murderer. Case solved.

If we get drama in bite-size, we can have a little taster, see if we want to taste more, and then proceed as we wish. Plus it's so simple on BBC iPlayer to make these choices when you need to.

If you haven't already - go to the iPlayer, and watch 'The Diary of Anne Frank' - it's fantastic and moving and for the first time in a while, i'm proud of the BBC for producing some world-class television.

I'm also pretty proud of Geoff. I guess he's probably got lots of girls coming up to him in the street now, saying stuff like "Hey, aren't you that guy from Anne Frank, can I have your number? Can I put it in my diary?" Which would be a sick joke for a girl to make, but he probably goes along with it. He probably gets free drinks and free Armani suits. He probably has an entourage now with drivers and cooks and everything. He probably has people blogging about him and telling the whole world that they know a famous guy from the telly.

Some people are just plain lucky. Others blog.

Crikey!! 'Austraila': Film Review

Rating :

Returning from an afternoon cinema trip to see 'Gone With The Wind 2', better known at the box office as 'Australia', my head was rushing. Papered across town with mixed reviews, some good, some bad, some awful; clearly this was a film that had split opinion.

It had not split me however. A genuinely good film I thought. Normally I can't stand Nicole Kidman. Her extreme-Englishness makes me want to throw a cricket ball at her head. Her forehead makes for such a large target that I should strike something. Plus, I partly blame her for ruining my saint-like appreciation of Tom Cruise, the once pearly-smiled likeable shortman of Hollywood turned scientological fanatic and destroyer of anything that's holy. BUT - this aggression aside, she was bearable for most of the 2hrs 45 mins.

Expect the dubious nods to Australian culture such as the token kangaroo, and the portrayal of the aboriginals in the film is bound to stir up some controversy somewhere. Although, I can't help but feel a fairer treatment is given to them than can be spoken of the cameo Greek actors in 'Mamma Mia!' - something I may not have noticed if I hadn't been dating a Greek girl for some time now - efharisto very much.

At this length you better make sure you keep some popcorn for the final stretch, at least to keep the Kidman-itis at bay. But I can't say I was ever bored by this film, or ever wished it would end. It was, in nature, an epic. Epics require a longer pitch. There is nothing quite so epic about a 90 minute Woody Allen comedy - humorous, rude, illicit - but not epic.

You may well disagree with me about Woody and his heroic sagas of life and love in downtown upstate, leftside New York. But, regardless, this is where I ask Pandora to open up her box - what makes a film an epic?

It's clear that we love epics. They are some of the most celebrated and awarded films in history. Ben Hur (1959) won 11 Academy Awards, a feat matched only by two other films, one of which was Lord of the Rings (2004), a great epic of the 21st Century. Various films have tried to make claims to join the genre.

King Kong (both 1933 and 2005) made valid claims. They are films with high production values, sweeping musical scores and an ensemble cast of bankable stars. But we can't honestly think for a second that an overgrown monkey on an overgrown building has the mettle to be an epic? It's just not realistic enough - it lacks believability. Now we enter difficult terrain.

What claim can Lord of The Rings or Star Wars have to be an epic? Answer: their fantasy world remains consistent within itself. The world of a hobbit or a jedi is alien to us, but natural to those characters. In films like King Kong (Jurrassic Park, Spiderman - all super hero films), the audience is asked to confront a world which is parrallel to their own, a realism they know and experience on a day-to-day basis, but which in fact contains a totally uncomprehendable fantasy element. Blurring this boundary between what they know and what they cannot possibly know defies believability for a filmgoer. As long as the filmic world remains consistent to itself, and does not offer the viewer a bit of both worlds, fantasy and reality - then credibility can be found in almost any type of epic.

The epic relies on this factor and a good many other things.

People must die, and always people we like. Characters must seek vengence, and get it, and finally lose it. There's almost always a developing love, enveloping into a kiss, sometimes a marriage, always a lovers' tiff. There are animals, weapons, water, land, blood, tears and laughter - all of these things and all other things. You see - the thing about an epic is that it has to have a little bit of everything. That's what gives it scale and power. That's why we like it so much.


In every way, Australia, Baz Luhrmann's new epic, fulfilled all of these things. It's a fantastic film and I recommend you go see it soon. Doubtless everything appears more epic on the big screen than your TV, so don't wait for it to come out on DVD, splash the cash. And if you can't do that, wait for Orange Wednesdays.


To Do: Watch more epics.

Where does Santa stay abroad? A HO-HO-HOTEL.

Christmas. Well, what can I tell ya?

Shopping was left to the last minute, as usual. Done in a haze, hazily done. Oxford Street. Saturday 20th December. Dad - check. Grandad - check. Nana - check. Cristina - check. Mum - too difficult to buy for, leave it - hope something will turn up.

Worked 22nd and 23rd. Met Cristina at Euston station on the 23rd to take a train which would take us northward to Manchester. We both arrived as if we'd packed for a 2 year stay in an unpredictable climate country. Finally get the bags onto a train, Burger King brown bag in hand to start us off with a classic Christmas food group.

On the way, we discuss other food groups. Cristina quotes Elf: "We elves try to stick to the four main food groups: candy, candy canes, candy corns and syrup."

I groan.

Tuesday 23rd. A fantastic meal of Christmas lasagne with parents, Grandpa, Cristina and best mate Crooky. Wine flows, chaos ensues, Mum asks me why i'm not a lawyer. Christmas has officially started. Excitement.

Wednesday 24th - Christmas Eve. Family trip to restaurant in Manchester, more meatball type behaviour of stuffing faces and boozing. Last minute shopping for Mum, in heavy and detailed consultation with my Dad - goes something like this:

INT. DEPARTMENT STORE - AFTERNOON.

Adam

Dad, do you think Mum would like this
make-up bag?

Dad
I just don't know son.
Adam
What do you think she wants?
Dad
She has everything son.
Adam
But I need to get her something.
Dad
I just don't know son.

Leave parents around 4pm, Cristina reminds me that tomorrow is her name day, which in Greece is more important than a birthday. She reminds me of this fact whilst holding my hand with a tight grip. This threat prompts an 11th hour shopping spree - purchase Legally Blonde and Legally Blonde 2 - ideal presents. Name Day shname day - taken care of.

In the cinema by 6pm to see 'Four Christmases'. 2 for 1 tickets - Oranges Wednesdays!!! I couldn't believe my luck. Deduce the fortune to be an early present from Santa - feel content.
Film is rubbish, dampers Christmas spirit slightly.

Too much alcohol and too much Italian food makes Cristina a bit nautious - she heads to bed early after I make her up a snackplate of cold meats and cheese. She loves this. From what I gather, her mother's snack plate is both famous and delicious. Feel good about recreating some snack plate spirit. This soujourn gives me a break to wrap the presents. Cristina comments that my bow-curling skills are too good and inappropriate for a man.

25th December. Wake up. Duh. Feeling great. Christmas morning!!! Not the buzz of being 6 years old, but still a good one. Cristina and I go through our stockings, fantastic and thoughtful presents on both sides.

Around 10pm, we head down to the lounge, joined by parents. Mum has decided to lavish Cristina with an array of pink themed gifts: slippers, shampoo, socks and bath robe. Parents don't disappoint - a fantastic spread. Mum opens her bluetooth handsfree in-car mobile phone kit - her look is pricelss. Thanks Dad.

Christmas Day breakfast at midday - a Christmas walk, and then Christmas Dinner at 6.30. We settle down on the sofa, boozed and bulging. The boardgames come out, SceneIt Interactive Movie Quiz. Dad becomes hugely competitive, Cristina joins him in this spirit and tries to beat hard on a tired mother and ageing Grandpa. They lose, Dad gets frustrated, but not disheartened. Mum asks me why i'm not a lawyer. Collapse in bed after one last inspection of Christmas presents.

*****

There was probably a lot more along the way. And it was all a bit of a whirlwind. I'm sure your Christmas was the same. A madcap dash to shop, eat, drink, unwrap and sleep. People say it's a great time for taking stock of where you're at in life. I think it all happens too quickly for that. But, it does give you a chance to take stock of those around you. Friends, family, cats, dogs, hamsters - everyone. In which case, I had a great Christmas, and would do it all again in a flash.

To Do: Christmas