The Darkness - what a band. Remember? Just me?

I love music, but i'd never clearly say that my tastes were ever consistent, refined or educated. I like what I like, and tend not to listen to anything which might reasonably be caught in a grey genre area. I'm not a genre person either - I like bits of lots of different things.

Basically - like religion - my taste in music is one of life's great mysteries. Faith is required.

And it is with great faith that in around year 2002, I devoted myself to the most cringeworthy band ever to have topped the charts - The Darkness.

They were a sort of mock 70s guitar-worshipping band that produced an album of pure mock-rock. A sheep could have written better lyrics, and the riffs (???) were so unnervingly tacky that the whole mixture, when combined and strapped with leather jeans and tatoos of snakes, produced a result that was not far short of a miracle.

I loved it like i've never loved any band before - one jam after another. I bought two t-shirts at two gigs I went to. The first time I saw them live was with my friend Chris Parrott. It was a dank, cold December night in Manchester, and Chris and I met up at the pub around the corner from the Carling Apollo, for our little music man-date. If we hadn't been so clearly obsessed by The Darkness, we'd have been ashamed that we were the only two people amongst our friends that saw a bizarre attraction in these jokers.

They enjoyed their fifteen minutes of the fame, and i'm glad that I was at the front to watch it unfold and then fold back up again.

Strangely, I'm sat in a coffee shop and one of their heroic ballads came on, so I just had to sit down and write myself a little trip down memory lane.

This blog post is to all those people who like a band for some very bizarre and unexplainable reason. Nobody else gets it, even though you wish they really did. Many years later, when you've matured and lost the t-shirt, you might look back on that obsession with a smile, knowing that you loved a band nobody else did - they were yours and they were brilliant.

A treat for all of you. Ladies and Gentlemen - The Darkness. RIP.

Doubt (Film Review)

You probably wouldn't be convinced to see this film by the trailer. Words like 'depressing', 'blue', 'want', 'to', 'kill' and 'myself' would be conjured in your mind. And you can't be blamed. Here's the logline: An embittered battle between a Priest and a the Principal Nun of a Catholic school in 1960s America rages amidst allegations of the Priest's sordid relationship with one of the boys.

Woopee. Who's in that one? Jim Carrey?

No. In fact it's Big Phil 'Serious Face' Hoffman and Meryl 'Give Me Any Role' Streep. Two big names, and the expectations of their performances are high. It's with little surprise and much annoyance that the release of this film coincides with Oscar season. But then again - given the subject matter - I would hardly expect a June release - summertime movie this ain't.

So what's the scoop? Does it deliver? It doesn't i'm afraid.

It has a very strong feel of small-time about it. The scale of the drama and the setting (the camera hardly steps outside three or four locations in the school) restrict this film from producing any truly engaging and worthwhile emotional reaction. There are a few scenes of considerable length which clearly are devoted to the actor's talents as performers. But this is an adaptation from an original stage production - and it feels very much as if that is where it should have remained.

This is very much an actor's film, with Hoffman and Streep (and to a lesser extent Amy Adams) commanding all our attention. And when they make their appearances, the film begins to feel bulky and the story is apprehended at the precise moments it should be moving forward. This is a feature of the stage play, where the time and space is given to the actor to stop the action for a few minutes to marvel us with his airs and graces. It is not, unfortunately, a luxury of the cinema.

And this is my main problem with 'Doubt'. And it was my main problem with 'Capote' also. I can admire and applaud the skill and profession of the screen actor, but I hold some reservations about whether or not the film works.

Plus, "Priest accused of molesting a small child, Nun takes offense, big shouting match occurs" - is this not an episode of Eastenders?

To Do:

Vicky, Cristina, Barcelona (Film Review)

What a wonderful film this is. And isn't.

The short and tall of it for you - Vicky and Cristina, two young Americans (early 20s) escape for a summer in Barcelona, staying (as we all do) with wealthy ex-patriots who now own wonderful villas on the city's outskirts. Sexual and emotional exploration abounds, most prominently for Vicky and Cristina (although not at the same time) with sultry Catalan artist Juan. Juan's ex-wife, Marie-Elena (Pen Cruz) joins the fray, resulting in more sexual exploration for Cristina (this time, at the same time).

Not even in Almodovar have I seen a director who can handle the Spanish scenery so beautifully. The easy, siesta lifestyle of the people in Barcelona and Oviedo is brought to life to such a great extent, that I left the cinema feeling very jealous of the various lunches and dinners and balmy summer evenings the characters enjoyed. At times, perhaps I felt as if the director was so enamoured by the locations that he filmed a travel documentary rather than a movie - but even so, it's nice to see Woody Allen getting out of New York for once.

His neuroses didn't travel with him - which i'm grateful for. Normally, in Woody Allen films, one character is set up as the neurotic, self-analysing protagonist who fails at almost everything until the last five minutes of the film - normally, Allen is rather good at this caricature himself. With 'Vicky, Cristina, Barcelona', there is a set of characters altogether more composed. Scarlett Johannson's character, Cristina, is so aloof that if the aeroplane had landed in Russia, I doubt she'd have noticed or minded.

Javier Bardem's character is artistic to the extent of being a bit fucking annoying, and despite his rip-roaring and sultry attitude (he looks as if he's acting whilst sleeping) - I can't help but think his character to be one-dimensional.

Penelope Cruz - the little firecracker extraordinaire - puts in a blinding performace (the only one) as ex-wife turned lunatic Marie-Elena. Darting between Spanish and English like bullets from a gun, she is charged and energetic, a true emblem of a fiery Spanish culture where the heat and the passion mix like gunpowder and the naked flame.

This is a film about love. But not in the typical rom-com sense, nor love in the sense of that poor Indian girl Kevin Costner grows to love in 'Dances with Wolves', not love like email love between Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks in 'You've Got Mail'. This is pure Dionysian love, ripping the heart in pieces, the type of thing that Greek poets talk about and Greek Gods fought about. We can't really put our fingers on it, it's nothing tangible. But somehow - Woody Allen has tried to, and only those that know about it will really know what he's talking about.

For the rest, it's a great video about Spanish culture - with some pretty attractive people in it.

See it.

To Do: Vicky, Cristina, Barcelona.