Starters At 10

What a curious 24 hours for us on the London cinema scene (and doesn't 'scene' seem applicable to film?). Both took place at my favourite capital cinemas, the Everyman in Hampstead and Electric on Portabello Road. Sunday night was a surprise screening, as part of the London Film Festival. '50 Screens' was an attempt to celebrate the festival's Jubilee by extending the previously singular surprise into, well, an additional 49. All tickets across town cost a fiver and one genuinely didn't know what would be shown until the lights went down and the projector kicked into life. Anthony Minghella introduced the flick - like, in person! - and gave a heartfelt speech along the lines of "you're the reason we keep going" (yes, Anthony, that and a ridiculously good income) and we all felt tremendously good about each other. I was tempted to whoop and high five my neighbour. Thankfully, had I done, chances are it would have been reciprocated as, well, you can guess who was sitting next to me.

Minghella then explained how he had just arrived from the Baker Street cinema and that they were getting the new Altman (I internally groaned at this point as I would have been getting a real ride from my five quid had this been shown) and he hoped we were in for something similar. At least my decision to book tickets at the Hampstead theatre had kind of already paid off as the website mentioned "celebs" at some of the screenings but, with all the best will in the world, no celebrity, let alone member of the public, was ever likely to set foot inside the Harrow Vue. The lights then dimmed - at which point, I heard Minghella whisper that he wanted to stay to see what we were getting, which did prove the surprise element to proceedings. And as the title nearly alludes to above, what we got was the as yet unreleased (Nov 10th) 'Starter For 10'. In many ways, for this family of blogs, it was actually the perfect movie as it's a romantic comedy based on appearing on a famous BBC quiz show called University Challenge. It's no Jeopardy but, then again, what is? Instead, what we did get was a perfectly decent example of how British cinema can be a rewarding venture. Bear in mind at this point that 72 hours previously, we had the misfortune of going to a screening of 'Scenes Of A Sexual Nature', quite possibly the worst (British) film I've seen in years. This time around, no such trouble as James McAvoy's main character of Brian Jackson leaves behind his dreary upbringing in Southend for (relatively) glamorous Bristol university. There, he attempts to get on the quiz team, into his team mate's pants and not make too many mistakes along the way. And when the opening line references Goodfellas (will the 'proper' reviews note that next week?), how bad could it be? Support comes from the stunning Alice Eve, who we had most recently seen charm an entire theatre in Tom Stoppard's 'Rock 'N' Roll. Here, I was tickled by yet another 'platonic' gag as I had last heard one in the adaptation of Jonathan Coe's wonderful 'The Rotters Club'...starring Alice Eve. What goes around clearly comes around. And if you want to support British cinema - and hear the best music that 1985 had to offer - then you could do far worse than this appetizing entree...

The following evening saw a return to Hollywood, via Sofia Coppola's 'Marie Antoinette'. Her last movie 'Lost In Translation' is up there among my all time favourites so I resolved to not get too excited by the prospect of her matching its achievement. And sure enough, it didn't. In short, there is no earthly reason why this movie was made. Well, ironically, it was made precisely because of the success of her last film and if she wants to film the goings on of her privileged protagonist then so be it. But we don't need to see it. Frankly, you won't need to read a lengthy diatribe which ultimately concludes that the Kirsten Dunst character is - shock horror! - actually Sofia Coppola. Everyone gets carried away with themselves (and why wouldn't you if given free rein to run amok, sniff as much snuff as you desire and eat like the Queen you're portraying?) except a nicely subdued Steve Coogan, who offers a lone voice of calm. His star is clearly is on the rise, which should at least get him an invite to the Oscars. As for the rest of them, well, it was simply Sloth In Translation.

Thankfully, we washed the entire debacle out of our system with a predictably delicious meal at the nearby E & O restaurant. Starters at 10 (geddit), the mains some time after and home just in time to see in Halloween. But nothing could match the horror show we'd all witnessed on screen.

Video Killers And Radio Stars

Now that the dust has been allowed to settle somewhat, what should we make of The Killers' latest attempt to rule the musical world? I always had them pegged as the Shed 7 it was cool to like. I think they themselves wouldn't have had loftier ambitions - perhaps they would claim Oasis but, frankly, who would be worse in your book post 1997? You wouldn't be allowed to make the comparison in a respected music publication but as this is the blogosphere, I guess anything goes. So here goes: The Killers are no more than the exact reincarnation of the modern day Boston Red Sox.

Example A) Out of nowhere, both land without warning in 2004 and sweep all before them. The Killers release Hot Fuss (of course, to no fuss whatsoever), sell millions and make everyone talk about having soul while not being a soldier and have no idea what it means or why they're shouting it from those rooftops. This was generally a good thing. The Red Sox meanwhile, after decades of near misses and agonizing defeats more akin to how Hollywood would have scripted it (actually, scrap that - even in La La land, no one could be that cruel) storm to the World Series in the feel good sporting story of that and indeed any year.

Example B) The following year, we hear very little from either. The Killers release singles from the same album as well as touring it. The Bo Sox are still living in the glory of October 2004 and pretty much no one gives a damn that they perish in the play off's.

Example C) The general consensus is that both need to deliver. Sam's Town is chock full of American references and everybody drones on about how it's the second coming of Springsteen, despite Bruce releasing material of his own. It is true to a certain extent: opening track Sam's Town overdoses ever so slightly...

"I took a bullet and I looked inside it
Running through my veins an American masquerade

I still remember grandma Dixie's wake
I've never really known anybody to die before
Red white and blue upon a birthday cake
My brother, he was born on the fourth of the July...and that's all"

But really, let's not forget that they are from Vegas and the amount of wishing you were from Manchester or York won't change that. But how does it compare to the Red Sox? Easy. Neither the 2006 version of The Killers or the Sox quite match the 2004 version...except in one area. Tracks 3, 4 and 5 on Sam's Town are easily the equal of Hot Fuss and the Red Sox's line up in exactly the same position (Ortiz, Ramirez and Varitek) were all around in '04 and were just as good, if not better this time around in an otherwise disappointing campaign.

So there you have it. Incisive analysis it might not be, Pulitzer Prize winning it won't be but it's precisely the kind of spurious nonsense the internet was invented for.

The Paha Maa Men

Not so much the title to a Sigur Ros album (though it really should be) but yet another stunningly good foreign film that I've had the fortune to find out about. It's been a strong few weeks for us at the movies, what with Children Of Men and The Departed but they're in English and so not at all challenging or worthy as an anecdote. Just try and get to grips with this though...

For starters, director Aku Louhimies is responsible for me finally seeing a film set in Finland! Set against the backdrop of an iced-over contemporary Helsinki, and based on Leo Tolstoy's 'False Note', Frozen Land takes you on a journey through a strikingly bleak and occasionally blackly funny world, where money's the goal and drink abounds, and where loneliness and desperation push people to the edge of their lives and sanity. A brilliantly devised web of interconnecting fates, Frozen Land (hence Paha Maa) bounces between stories and characters' lives, set into motion by the printing of a forged 500 Euro note. Semi-improvised dialogue and gripping visuals form the compelling backdrop for an exceptionally powerful ensemble of performances, from a pair of young computer hackers and a depressed policewoman, to a mullet-haired car thief and a vacuum salesman and recovering-alcoholic, who falls off the wagon with a vengeance. Put it like this: you won't ever view the hoovering in quite the same way ever again.

Frozen Land is the very definition of a 'feel bad' film. Its Hollywood comparisons must be 21 Grams and Crash but it pre dates the latter and is infinitely superior to both. Whereas the above felt (to me, at least) contrived and over wrought, this film is so depressing, you leave the cinema not certain whether you ever want to go back. I can't remember one moment where any character experiences happiness (even the inevitable redemption at the end is tinged in tragedy) and yet anything else would have felt false. I certainly don't need to view it again but I hope you can find it as, presently, it's only playing at one cinema in the entire country! I suppose it is the very antithesis of a multiplex movie - there's as much taking of drugs, drunk driving and watching of porn as there is dialogue - but can be heartily recommended for its stellar performances and intriguing plot. The denouement, as hinted at earlier, is as harrowing as anything you'll ever see and will stay in the mind far longer than any Summer blockbuster you could care to mention. You might say that it's some Finnish...

Thank Q Very Much

20 years young, Q magazine celebrates its birthday this month with - can you guess how many? - plenty of different covers. My subscription lapsed many birthdays back but I'm still a fairly frequent visitor to its pages and had to pay my respects and say many happy returns. Naturally, the issue is full of best of's (album: Definitely Maybe, single: Smells Like Teen Spirit, film: Goodfellas, TV: The Simpsons) and interviews with all the cover stars which makes it worth purchasing.

The first issue I purchased was way back in 1991 and was number 60 (which, I guess, made it 5 years old at that point). The headline screamed WHO'S CRACKED IT IN 1991? and featured Seal, Mariah Carey and Bonnie Raitt (among others) on the front so, frankly, I can't believe I "went there", as we used to say. By the way, this isn't some sort of memory retention thing I have going on but all the issues are featured in this month's copy, which is making this far easier to write. I remember little about that particular issue (no doubt Simply Red got a 4 star review...they always seemed to) but the powers that be must have detested the multi artist cover as much as I did because they reverted back to a singular star for the next 31 issues until the unfortunately titled "hips. lips. tits. power" cover with PJ Harvey, Bjork and Tori Amos reared its literally ugly head.

I don't mean to sound snooty because Q has been a pretty solid and reliable member of the music journalism world. It was pretty much launched to coincide with CD's and was possibly the first mag to cover mount them whilst yer NME's and Melody Maker's persisted with cassettes. Its glory days were, naturally, pre-internet when the industry needed Q about as much as Q needed them. And thus we would be treated to 12 page in depth articles on their A list stars - U2, R.E.M, Paul McCartney, Morrissey - whilst their reviews could be read without having heard half of the record on myspace. Soon enough though, Q started to suffer from an over reliance on only putting people on the cover who could shift a few copies - for every experiment with, say, Suede, Pulp or The White Stripes, there would be far more Kate Bush, Coldplay, John Lennon and Kurt Cobain as being dead didn't prove a problem in Q's world. Nowadays, the chances are that you already know that Brandon Flowers thinks 'Sam's Town' is the best record of the past 20 years (doesn't that time frame tie in neatly to this post?!?) many weeks before Q (and the rest of 'em) went to press. The main features aren't half what they used to be either and that's a two fold problem: the magazine's best writers all jumped ship long ago (whereas Rolling Stone still has the likes of Rob Sheffield and David Fricke) and the musicians can connect with their fan base via the internet these days. When Oasis rapidly rose up in the mid 90s, it would have been unthinkable for them not to "do" Q whenever they had an album out; their modern day equivalents Arctic Monkeys have actually made a strategy in not giving interviews, letting their music - or myspace page - do their bidding for them. And the last time we looked, that decision hasn't hurt them.

So the question - or should we rather say Q? - remains: will they be around to celebrate 40 years? The answer - ahem, A - is probably not in print form as I suspect they'll continue to make a fist out of their online proposition and podcasts etc. etc. Speaking of which, it's laughable and sadly says much for the interviewees that only The Edge, Madonna, Dave Grohl, that bloke out of Razorlight, Dave Townsend and David Bowie have ever downloaded music. But I'll always retain a warm place in my - yes! - H for its honesty, sense of humour and Tom Hibbert's 'Who The Hell...' feature where pop stars' egos were brought down a peg or two. I even managed to work on the 1998 Q Awards for The OZone where I had the honour of Debbie Harry chatting to me in the queue (the irony!) for food, being bollocked by Natalie Imbruglia and her manager for asking if we could interview her (the shame of it...bet you wouldn't knock telly back now) and Michael Stipe looking straight through me as he picked at his salad. Here's to Q.