Earthquakes in London - Oxford Playhouse, 1-5 November

Earthquakes in London is unlike any play I have seen before. It’s An Inconvenient Truth, by way of Top of the Pops and Chekov’s Three Sisters, with some apparently naked ukulele playing thrown in for good measure (though don’t just go for the ukulele, the scene’s quite brief). 

We are in the company of three sisters in contemporary London. Eldest sister Sarah, the Environmental Minister for the current coalition government, is trying to block plans for a new runway at Heathrow Airport, while at home her marriage is crumbling. Middle sister Freya is about to have a baby. She has a loving husband, but can’t seem to see past her terror of the future. And youngest sister Jasmine is aimless and angry, struggling to deal with life. 

Their lives develop and intertwine against the timely backdrop of the unsustainable stretching of the world’s resources, with reference being made to the earth’s population reaching seven billion this week. Their estranged father was paid off in the 1960s to talk down the catastrophic impact that increased air travel would cause to the environment (airlines do not come out of the play well at all) and he is now a prophet of doom, emphasising the spectre of apocalypse that haunts the play. 

The politics manages to avoid preachiness, and the relationships are written and performed brilliantly, but after a bleak and powerful first half, the second half crumbles slightly. There are some very moving scenes involving the family, but it seems that in order to stop the play from being incredibly depressing an unconvincing uplifting bit is tacked onto the end. Perhaps this was necessary, but I wish it had felt a little less like an afterthought. 

What saved the play from this fairly major flaw was partly the snappy, frequently funny dialogue, partly the innovative staging (including a well-used though slightly creaky revolving stage and a projected backdrop), and what I can only describe as the sheer bonkersness of the rest of it. Drunken dancing, surreal visions, terrifying yummy mummies on Hampstead Heath tormenting Freya to the backing beats of Goldfrapp, and a truly spectacular rendition of I Am Not a Robot by Marina and the Diamonds bring this play out of the rubble. 

Spectacle is the right word for Earthquakes in London. There is a lot going on, both plot-wise and ideas-wise, and exuberance carries it through. It might not change the world, but it may well leave you feeling differently about it, for a while at least. Until you get in your petrol car to go home to your central heated house, anyway.


Original review here

Sister Act - New Theatre, 18-29 October

(NB trailer does not feature the cast from this production)


90s San Francisco is swapped for 70s Philadelphia as the musical version of the Whoopi Goldberg film Sister Act comes to Oxford. 

I say musical version of the film, but this is perhaps misleading. The story is the same: A lounge singer, Deloris Van Cartier, witnesses her gangster boyfriend kill someone, so the police hide her in a convent to keep her protected until she can testify against him. Whilst there she teaches the nuns how to sing, they teach her about herself, the Pope gets involved, it’s all very uplifting. Add a bit of extra romance, an entirely new set of songs, and enough glitter to fill St. Paul’s Cathedral, and you’ve got the musical.

I was a little dubious when I heard that none of the songs from the film were going to be used in the musical. They were such a huge part of the film, I couldn’t see how any version of the story could work without them. But the shifting of the setting back to the 1970s is a brilliant move on the adaptors' part. As the film played with well-known motown songs, the musical remarkably achieves the same effect with completely original songs. By basing the new songs on the familiar sounds of 70s funk, soul, and disco, it still sounds like old favourites are being transformed into unexpected songs of religious worship.

The melodious jokes were great, but I did feel that quite a lot of the ‘normal’ jokes fell a bit flat. I didn’t really see the point of the comedy henchmen, but then there were many people in the audience who would have loudly disagreed with me, so I guess it’s just a matter of taste. Also character development was not exactly subtle, but with this kind of high energy romp I imagine that believable character arcs aren’t really a priority.

The cast were all excellent but the highest praise must go to Cynthia Erivo as Deloris, whose voice is amazing and who easily fills the habit left by Whoopi Goldberg.

As long as you don’t go expecting the film directly transposed to the stage, you will not be disappointed. With stained glass disco windows and a song involving the line ‘shake it like Mary Magdalene’, it would be a sin not to enjoy yourself.


Original review here

The Lion King 3D *****/*

The Lion King was one of the first films I saw at the cinema.  I loved it then, and I still love it now.  The Lion King 3D was to be the first 3D film I saw at the cinema.  I thought this lent the experience a pleasing unity (only if it had been Hook, my actual first film at the cinema, could it have been more perfect).  I hadn't really heard anything positive about 3D, which is why I hadn't been before, but you can't write something off without trying it first, can you?

So, along I skipped to the cinema.  I got my 3D glasses.  The oracle of the internet, yahoo!answers, had told me that it was fine to wear them over normal glasses.  This was not true - I had to hold them on so they didn't fall off my nose - but I could cope with that for the sake of an exciting enhanced Lion King experience.

But I did not get an exciting enhanced Lion King experience.  As the film opened on the scenes of the Serenghetti, accompanied by the glorious strains of Circle of Life, as the small children around me gasped with delight, I could only look around in confusion, peer over my multiple glasses to see the blurry screen, and realise with crushing disappointment that I am one of the 2-12% of the population who can't see 3D.

Algernon Charles Swinburne wrote:

If the golden-crested wren
Were a nightingale---why, then,
Something seen and heard of men
Might be half as sweet as when
Laughs a child of seven. 


Well Algernon that is all well and good, but when the child of seven is laughing and you can't see what they're pleased about it's not sweet.  It's just depressing, to be honest.  Stupid children.

I had to keep the ridiculous glasses on because otherwise I was just watching a blurry screen half the time.  So basically I watching a film in the dark whilst wearing sunglasses.  Only for a film as wonderful as The Lion King could I have stayed for the whole thing.

So I don't think I'll be going to see any more 3D films.  And I'll just have to hope that 3D isn't the future, and that it instead goes the way of those magic eye pictures that were so popular in the 90s that I couldn't see either.  What do you mean, look through the image?  Stupid magic eye seers.

I still love The Lion King though, and it was rather special to see it on the big screen again.  And yes I did still cry when Mufasa's big liony face appeared in the sky, even though his nose wasn't sticking out at me and I had too many pairs of glasses on.  Hakuna matata.

Melancholia ***

With Melancholia as a title, and Lars Von Trier as a director, it’s pretty clear that this isn’t going to be a light-hearted romp of a film. It’s an examination of depression and anxiety; it questions the existence of God, and whether there is any good in the world. And it also happens to be a disaster movie in which a massive planet called Melancholia is on its way to destroy the Earth. It is a relief that Bruce Willis isn’t in it really, otherwise would anyone even be able to tell the difference between this and Armageddon? 

The film is split into two parts, one for Justine (Kirsten Dunst) and the other for Claire (Charlotte Gainsbourg). In part one, Justine sabotages her own wedding reception at the beautiful home of Claire and her husband (an excellent, and rather different from Jack Bauer, Kiefer Sutherland) in a self-destructive spiral into depression. The feeling of foreboding as the family bickers and we watch everything gradually unravel is superbly managed. In the second part, we see the sisters’ reactions to the looming disaster, as the planet Melancholia comes ever closer. Justine, whose own melancholia has already overcome her, accepts her fate calmly. Claire is terrified.

The strange thing was that I felt the tension of impending doom much more strongly in the ruined wedding day part than in the destruction of the earth part. By the end I just wanted the planet to hurry up and send everyone on their miserable way. The performances were all remarkable, but the difficulty with watching a film populated by emotionally detached people is that I became emotionally detached myself.

Artistically it is a beautiful film. The slow motion opening sequence is stunning, as Justine and Claire feature in a set of images illustrating their melancholia to come – Claire tries to walk but sinks into the ground; Justine floats down a river in her wedding dress; the planet Melancholia slowly travels towards Earth, all to Wagnerian accompaniment. These scenes were moving. However, two and a bit hours later I, like Justine, was looking forward to the release of eternal blackness. Though in my case it was the credits, rather than death, that I was yearning for.


Original review here

Mark Haddon: Swimming and Flying - Oxford Playhouse, 23 September

Mark Haddon was at the Oxford Playhouse on Friday performing a talk/essay especially written for the occasion, in support of the Playhouse‘s fundraising appeal. Haddon was alone on a stage set up for another play to be shown later that evening, there to deliver what was ostensibly an autobiographical talk, but what turned out to be a very intricately written, extremely engaging, and ultimately quite moving, work of poetry.

He ranged from school days, playing darts badly in the common room, to the moon landing, to strange fan mail after the success of The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, via recitations of Henry David Thoreau and Louis MacNeice, with a bit of his own poetry seamlessly woven in.

As well as being an author, Mark Haddon also teaches students how to write, and he explained how he tells them that specific details are what brings writing to life, but that the gaps that the writer creates for the reader to fill are just as important. He subtly illustrated his own point by flowing undetectably from his own poem, Great White, about a terror of sharks, to a story about how he loves to swim in the Thames. This story wove in and out of another story about how he tried to combat his fear of flying by learning to fly himself. He would keep returning to these stories, and to a particular image of a single drop of rain on a floating feather, teasing poignancy out of the seemingly mundane.

Haddon managed to create a sense of wonder in tiny details, and clearly never wanted to lose his own sense of wonder at the universe. In writing, and in his approach to life, he said that it is not so much the answers that matter, but understanding the enormity of the questions. If said questions are being asked by Mark Haddon then I certainly want to listen.


Original review here

Warrior ***'

Warrior.  Grr.  It's manly.  It's tough.  It features a Tom Hardy so beefy his shoulders have shoulders.  But how will it fare in the ring against what is widely regarded (by me) as the best sports film ever made: Cool Runnings?  GO TO WAR!

Round 1: The Sport.  Bobsleigh vs Mixed Martial Arts (MMA)
Cool Runnings and Warrior are both about sport.  As sports films go, this is a good start.  But, even better, they are both about slightly obscure sport.  I don't care about football, or boxing, or baseball (apart from that one with Madonna.  And Field of Dreams, of course).  But bobsleigh - that's exciting.  It's a bit exotic and glamorous, in a lycra-clad sort of way.  And mixed martial arts?  That's even more exciting and mysterious.  Who's heard of mixed martial arts?  Oh, except for the fact that it is also known as cage fighting.  (I searched for cage fighting on wikipedia and got redirected to the MMA page, so it must be true).  And cage fighting makes me think of Alex Reid, ex-husband of Jordan, and it therefore rapidly loses its mysterious charm.

Round 1 to Cool Runnings.

Round 2: The Coach.  John Candy vs Nick Nolte
Every sports film worth its stripes needs a down and out coach who is offered a second chance at glory.  Cool Runnings has Irv Blitzer (John Candy), a disgraced former bobsledding gold medallist (this thought alone has to be worth extra points) who gets approached by the Jamaican bobsleigh team to coach them to victory at the Olympics.

Warrior has Paddy Conlon (Nick Nolte), a disgraced former fighting coach who is approached by his estranged son, beefy Tom Hardy, to train him up for Sparta, the big MMA competition.  He's also an alcoholic.  He's also also the father of the other fighter we care about as well.  Ooh, juicy.

I just can't call it between them.  Round 2 has to be a draw.

Round 3: We're Gonna Need a Montage

All present and correct in both films.

Round 3 is a draw.

Round 4: Unlikely success of the underdog
Cool Runnings has the Jamaican bobsleigh team.  I think that's all we need to know.

Warrior has beefy Tom Hardy's brother, Brendan.  He's a school teacher.  He doesn't belong here.  He's just in it for the money so his family don't lose their home.  How can he possibly make it through round 1?  Trouble is, we know from the trailer that he gets to the final, so that he and his brother can sort out all their family problems by punching each other to near-unconsciousness.  So when Brendan meets Russian man mountain Koba, who we are told he can't possibly beat, it's not that much of a surprise when he does.

And Cool Runnings has the Jamaican bobsleigh team.  Round 4 to Cool Runnings

Round 5: The Pep Talk


Cool Runnings: "I see pride.  I see power.  I see a bad ass mother who won't take no crap off nobody."

YES.  Inspirational.  I try to use it as my own personal mantra when I'm not so overwhelmed by doubt that I forget how to form words.

Warrior: "You can do this"

Oh.  Um.  Quiet determination has its place as well I suppose...

ROUND 5, AND VICTORY, TO COOL RUNNINGS (because an MMA title fight has five rounds, and we want to do this authentically don't we?  Otherwise what is the point of this slightly laboured fight metaphor?)

But a quick pep talk in the corner for Warrior, while it catches its breath and has some water and an orange segment.  In most sports films, we follow one competitor, root for them all the way, and hope that they will win in the final.  But in Warrior our sympathies are pretty evenly split between the two finalists, and it is much more interesting than the average sports film for it.  Yes, it's been bashed about a bit by Cool Runnings, but come on, it's held its own.  There's no shame in coming second to perfection.

Beautiful Lies (De vrais mensonges ) ***

If you’re looking for a bit of mindless escape for a couple of hours, you can do much worse than Beautiful Lies. You can probably do quite a lot better too, but in terms of undemanding, frothy rom-coms, this one doesn’t fare too badly.

Audrey Tautou plays Emilie, a salon owner, who receives an anonymous love letter. In order to cheer up her mother, who is still struggling to get over the breakdown of her marriage a couple of years ago, Emilie secretly forwards the letter on to her. The audience know, but Emilie does not, that the letter is from Jean, the salon handyman. Wacky circumstances result in Emilie eventually paying Jean to take out the mother, and love triangle ‘hilarity’ ensues.

Regarding said love triangle hilarity, I did have some issues with a mother and daughter being romantically involved with the same man, and at times the light hearted tone sat strangely with the manipulative actions of Emilie, but maybe this is just my uptight Englishness ruining the French fun.

There are plenty of laughs to be had, despite the reservations, and Audrey Tautou manages to bring charm to a pretty unsympathetic character. Saying that, I could probably watch her watch paint dry and find her delightful.

Go expecting Amelie and you will be sorely disappointed. This doesn’t have a fraction of the warmth and heart of that film. But if you seek amusing, beautiful-looking distraction, and perhaps inspiration for a holiday on the Cote d'Azur, then this will do the job. Don’t expect to remember it ten minutes after the end of the credits though.


Original review here

Unmythable - Ashmolean, 27 July 2011

As part of the Ashmolean’s current exhibition, 'Heracles to Alexander the Great', Temple Theatre Company let us walk in the company of legends as they performedUnmythable among the statues in the Ashmolean's Atrium.

It was a spectacular, though not entirely practical, setting (it was quite difficult to see sometimes) as the three actors, after welcoming us with olives (though sadly no plate smashing), invited us to enlist in the crew of the Argonauts. So we joined Jason and his crew as we – though mainly just Jason, as heroes don’t really share their glory with their friends – went on a quest for the golden fleece.

On the way, after successfully getting through the Symplegades by chanting the famous Greek phrase “Go, dove, go” as the bird (man) flew through the rocks (ran up the Ashmolean stairs), we learned a bit about the quests of Heracles, and Orpheus, about the creation of the world, and my particular favourite, the story of Persephone being taken to the underworld and the creation of the seasons. Demeter and Persephone were played by one actor, and Hades and Zeus by another, with very funny results.

It was no mean feat to represent such a number of characters with no props or costumes, and I thought all three actors were thoroughly entertaining in their light-hearted treatment of the myths.  My friend found it a bit laboured and over the top, but that’s grumpy people for you.

The exhibition itself displays recent discoveries from royal burial tombs and the palace at Aegae, the ancient capital of Macedon, and some of the items are stunning.  There is a crown made of gold oak leaves and acorns that looks like it would crumble in the breeze, it is so intricate and delicate.  That this is so beautiful and is still in one piece is just remarkable.

Maybe Unmythable wasn’t as remarkable as a 2,500 year old crown. But it was good fun, I promyth.  And the exhibition is certainly worth a visit, make no mythtake.  Exzeus me, but no I will not Apollo-gise for the puns.

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2 ****'

After ten years, and a staggering one thousand one hundred and seventy eight minutes worth of film, it all ends. Harry Potter climaxes with the exciting, scary, emotional, and ultimately very satisfying final instalment, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2. The long winded title is the only thing that drags. 

We pick up immediately where we left off in the last film, with Harry, Ron, and Hermione searching for horcruxes (the vessels in which Lord Voldemort has placed bits of his soul in order to evade death). If you haven’t seen the other films, this is absolutely not the place to start. I have read the books, and seen all the previous films, and I still felt slightly lost at the beginning. 

After the first ten or so minutes of calm there is barely time to catch breath, let alone to try and remember what happened in the last film. Details are perhaps unimportant, (is it possible to say that after over 19 hours of film?!) as everything so far has been leading up to the final battle between Harry and Voldemort; between good and evil. 

The battle scenes at the end are on a par with any you would find in a war film, as our three heroes run across the rubble of Hogwarts, passing both enemies and comrades falling, great balls of flame, and the odd club-wielding giant and enormous spider just to remind us that it’s the smell of magic, not napalm, that we love in the morning. 

Director David Yates has made a beautiful film, cinematographically. He may have made a children’s action film, but that does not mean that he didn’t bother artistically. At the very beginning there is a shot of Professor Snape (played by the mesmerisingly wonderful Alan Rickman) in silhouette in a doorway; it only lasts a few seconds, but I found it remarkably moving. It is simple things like this, as well as the jaw-dropping action sequences, that have made the Harry Potter films since Yates took over such a pleasure to watch. 

All things pass. Questionable child actors become pretty decent (though still completely overshadowed by the likes of Maggie Smith and Ralph Fiennes) grown up actors. Chubby Neville the loser from the early films becomes a Henry V style speech-delivering, sword-wielding champion. Ron becomes a romantic hero (though he is still the only one allowed to swear, it’s OK, he hasn’t changed that much). Everything ends. Even highly successful film franchises. I’m quite sad to see this one go though.


Original post here

Communicating Doors - Oxford Playhouse, 20-25 June

One hotel suite. One old fashioned, camp villain. Three women, in three different points in time. But sometimes two are in the same time. And at one point all three are, but one doesn’t belong. Or is it two? Hang on, let’s travel back to the beginning. 

The revival of Alan Ayckbourn’s Communicating Doors, on now at the Oxford Playhouse, is a time travelling romp of a comedy thriller. Dominatrix Poopay Desir is called to a hotel suite, and ends up witnessing an elderly man’s confession that he had his two wives murdered by his assistant Julian (an excellently creepy Ben Jones). Julian returns to the room and tries to kill her too, so she escapes through the (simply and effectively staged) communicating door. As she pops out the other side she finds herself in the same room, twenty years earlier. 

Here she meets the elderly man’s second wife Ruella, on the night she is to be murdered no less, played as a wonderfully no-nonsense, practical heroine by Liza Goddard (yes indeed 1990s children, Liza Goddard from Woof!  Didn’t everyone want to be able to turn into a dog when they were eight?). In a wry nod to the ridiculous set up, Ruella explains that everything does make sense, it just has an “unfamiliar logic”. 

The tone of the whole play is balanced to perfection, the comedy and thrills enhancing each other. But what drives the play is its heart. Ayckbourn said that he believes that your own good fortune in life often resides in the people you meet along the way. The relationship that grows between Poopay and Ruella is very moving, as they both learn how to be better people from each other. 

My only complaint, if I’m being very picky, is that there’s an anachronistic reference to videos in 2010. Who watches videos in 2010? But saying that, if the only complaint in a play involving murderous plots and time travel is about a throwaway reference to videos, I think it can safely be said that the unfamiliar logic is in very good working order. And it’s got Liza Goddard in it! From Woof!! That’s surely worth the price of a ticket alone.


Original review here

A Row of Parked Cars - Burton Taylor Studio, 1-4 June

As I was waiting in the queue for my ticket to A Row of Parked Cars in the Burton Taylor Studio, I overheard someone describe it as ‘an examination of the human condition.’ Oh joy, thought I. An examination of the human condition, written by a second year Oxford student. This isn’t going to be pretentious and heavy going at all. But, despite being about the seemingly ubiquitous ‘angry young man’ and his suicide attempts, writer Matthew Parvin manages to avoid ponderous cliché with a witty script and lightness of touch to make this a very enjoyable night out. 

The short play is in five acts, each one a counselling session of sorts between the Reverend Regis, played by Sam Smith, and troubled youth Jeremy, played by Jeremy Neumark Jones. It is perhaps unfair to single out one actor in a two-hander play, and much, I’m sure, is due to the writing, but Jeremy Neumark Jones is an incredibly engaging presence on stage. He skilfully captures the arrogance and disdain of Jeremy, while never losing the audience’s sympathy. The two actors do bounce off each other well though, and obviously relish the blackly comic lines such as: 
Regis: What do you want to be in the future?
Jeremy: Dead, I thought that was obvious. 

The big themes of suicide, and the futility of life, are not particularly original, but Matthew Parvin is brave enough to make numerous nods to writers who have covered these subjects before, including Shakespeare and T.S. Eliot. In the wrong hands this could have been horribly grating, but coming out of the mouth of the self-proclaimed ‘five-dimensional mind’ of Jeremy, potential accusations of pretentiousness are neatly sidestepped. 

A production worth crossing the road for. Just remember to look both ways first.


Original review here

Love Like Poison ****

We learn many lessons as we move from childhood to adulthood, about love, and sex, and guilt, and death. But we’ll come to that later. Another, perhaps less soaring, but nonetheless important, lesson we learn is: don’t judge a book by its cover - or a film by its title. Love Like Poison, about a 14 year old girl coming to terms with her parents’ break up and her own emerging sexuality in the lead up to her Confirmation, sounds a bit like it’s going to be a post-Twilight melodramatic angst-fest. It is not.

For one thing, it’s French. Forgive my wild generalisation and stereotyping, but the French are better at talking about sex than us. Here, 14 year old Anna’s nascent sexuality isn’t presented as something controversial or shocking, nor is it sentimentalised. There is no clear divide between childhood innocence and adult experience. The adults are just as confused as Anna is. Her mother is falling apart after the breakdown of her marriage; the priest who tries to offer support is struggling with his faith as a result of his feelings for Anna’s mother. The one thing I struggled with was Anna’s relationship with her dying grandfather. In one scene she is giving him a bed bath and he gets an erection. He tells her he feels handsome and she promptly runs off. There are a couple of scenes like this, and maybe it is done to purposely unsettle the audience. If this is the case then it hit the mark with me.

The film brilliantly captures the awkwardness and insecurity that are not solely confined to adolescence, and subtly weaves together the complexities of love, guilt, and religion, without ever being judgemental. A beautiful quiet mix of melancholy and hope. Much like life itself.


Original review here

The Lodger (1927) ****

My local cinema (the most excellent Phoenix Picturehouse) has an Alfred Hitchcock season this week.  This pleases me.  I like Alfred Hitchcock films.  I can tell someone that Alfred Hitchcock is one of my favourite directors, sound reasonably intelligent, and not be lying.  So having the opportunity to see The Lodger, Hitchcock's first film, was pretty exciting.  Plus it would give me a new talking point in the 'What do you know about Hitchcock?' conversation.  I have never had this conversation but, you know, it's always good to be ready, should the opportunity arise.

The film is loosely based on the Jack the Ripper killings, with Ivor Novello (who I'm sure will be rooting for MY KZ, UR BF to win Best Song Musically and Lyrically at this year's Ivors) playing the titular lodger who may or may not have a penchant for killing golden-haired girls.

It's really interesting to see hints of Hitchcock to come: interesting camera angles, bits with staircases... hmm I think maybe it's a good job I have never had the Hitchcock conversation.  I seem to have run out of things to say already.

The main thing that I will take from the experience is how very weird it is to sit in a cinema when there is no sound.  This wasn't just a silent film in the normal sense, with some tinkly piano accompaniment.  This was literally silent.  For 80 minutes.  I could hear the guy next to me breathing.  I could hear my stomach rumbling (in my defence it was a lunchtime showing).  I could hear my chair squeaking, and what was, I think, the cinema manager having a telephone conversation in the next room with a chap called Michael.

It's remarkable how much will power it required to sit in a silent darkened room for over an hour and keep my eyes open, even though I had huge respect for the moving pictures in front of me.  I don't know whether I should be ashamed to admit that, or whether in actual fact very few people would now watch a silent film for pure entertainment's sake, without thinking 'I'm a bit bored, but this is really good fodder for the "Have you seen any silent films?" conversation so I'll try and concentrate'.  (Obviously I haven't had this conversation either.  But I'm ready now.  Oh yes).  I'm really glad I saw The Lodger, of course.  But I'm even more glad that Hitchcock met Bernard Herrmann.

Source Code ****

Source Code is an extremely engaging, entertaining, and ultimately surprisingly moving sci-fi thriller. To try and write a summary of it, however, takes all the fun out of it. Breaking it into its constituent parts makes it sound preposterous: Jake Gyllenhaal wakes up on a train in another man’s body; his reflection is not his own. Eight minutes later the train explodes and he wakes up in a mysterious pod, where he learns that by the power of the American army and quantum physics he is going to live those same eight minutes over and over again until he finds the man that bombed his train, thereby rescuing Chicago from another bomb that will happen later that day. This all happens in about the first ten minutes of the film.

The remarkable thing is that - despite sounding like Speed meets Groundhog Day - none of the above seems ridiculous at the time. (Though Speedhog Day  is an amazing idea for a film, no?  And there's merchandise available already).  Duncan Jones directs Source Code with the lightest of touches, with a massive debt owed to master of suspense Alfred Hitchcock. The title sequence really reminded me of North by Northwest somehow, and the tension is wound as tightly as possible as we, along with Jake Gyllenhaal’s character, slowly unravel just what is going on.

This is much more than a genre movie, however. Yes, it's a sci-fi thriller - but, as with the very best sci-fi, it is so much more too. It is a philosophical exploration of the idea of fate, and about making choices; it’s a contemplation of what it truly means to be alive; and it’s a love story.

Source Code is sci-fi as Alfred Hitchcock would have made it - with a little bit of Keanu Reeves thrown in, just for fun.


PS. Tenuously linked pop quiz, hot shot: How great is the Speed trailer?*  

Initial review here.


*The answer is that the Speed trailer is very great.  Though it does basically show the entire film.

Bronte, Oxford Playhouse, 24 March - 2 April

Considering the Brontë sisters’ lives were devoid of much ‘living’ as such, it is astonishing how much vitality Polly Teale extracts from the story of the family in the new run of her play Brontë, which has started at the Oxford Playhouse this week.

The play examines the rise of the three sisters, and the fall of their idolised brother Bramwell, played against a backdrop of industrial revolution and social upheaval, but set within the domestic space of their home at the Parsonage at Haworth.

The play may be set almost entirely in one room, but all life is here. Sibling rivalry, repressed passions, a desperate desire for life, but without the means. Anne says she writes to “turn life into words”, but the other two sisters find life from their words. Their soaring, intensely-felt inner lives become real through the characters they create, as fictional and real characters are mixed onstage. The play powerfully merges their novels with their lives: the passionate Bertha Rochester bubbling beneath the surface of staid Charlotte; the wild and elemental Cathy that Emily longs to be, mouthing along with her own words as she watches her creations take life in front of her.

All of the cast embody their parts perfectly. Emily is the most sympathetic sister – a free spirit who writes in order to exist, not in order to be known. Charlotte is the ambitious one, the one who recognises Emily’s talent but cannot bear to acknowledge it; who baulks at the thought that the world might think that she wrote such unhinged, uncouth subject matter. But though she is the colder, more aloof and business-like sister, her loneliness at the end is heartbreaking.

Perhaps I would have been moved anyway. The story of, and stories by, the Brontës are devastatingly powerful on their own. But the way the two are weaved together here is masterfully and beautifully done. At the end, Charlotte writes that she has finally managed to find contentment in the ordinary. This play is far from ordinary.

Original review here

Killing By The Power of The Thigh: A Study

Once in a while, a film comes along and it stays with you long after the credits have rolled.  Gandhi.  Schindler's List.  That Al Gore film about climate change that I haven't seen but I'm sure is the kind of thing I'm talking about.

And once in a while, a scene in a film comes along that stays with you long after another scene has come, and then a couple more, and then the credits have rolled.  You think about it for days afterwards.  You wonder if other films have similar scenes, and if so you want to see them, and see them now.  For me, this was that scene:

(Sorry this clip of the profound and moving Lethal Weapon is a bit long.  I personally think it's worth it, but if you don't have a whole 3 minutes 40 seconds to waste, I've chopped it straight to the good bit here).

Maybe it's because it was made in the days when Mel Gibson was cool, before his, shall we say, 'difficulties' and 'other difficulties' with the police began.  Maybe it's because the clip gives us a good look at Gary Busey's remarkable teeth (here is a facebook page dedicated to them.  This discovery has brightened my day.  Even more than the reflection of the sun glinting off Gary's teeth undoubtedly would).  But as should be obvious, the real reason this clip is so amazing is because Mel Gibson nearly KILLS SOMEONE WITH HIS THIGHS.

Killing by the thigh.  A tactic I hope to use if I ever get beaten up in the rain.  I am tempted to start jiu jitsu lessons so that I can learn (this is never going to happen).  If you want some not very sexy thrills, search for scissor hold on youtube.  Shudder.

Scissor holds tend to be done by the ladies.  I can't imagine why.  A notable example is in Goldeneye, where Famke Janssen, playing Xenia Onatopp (hmm), attacks with her thighs rather a lot.  There's a bit too much heavy breathing for me to post a link to the obvious scenes without feeling like a pervert, but here is a clip near the end where she attempts some not quite so pornographic thigh killing, and Piers Brosnan gets to say something 'hilarious' at the end.

There are occasional examples of men killing women by the power of the thigh.  This one is from the classic film Anaconda:

There is so much to love in this.  Jon Voigt's excellent unidentifiable accent.  His words of wisdom.  His face. The majestic leap to thigh killing glory.  And the way he says 'baby bird' at the end, which very much makes me hope he was thinking of this during the squeezing.

The best film that I have discovered from my investigations however, is Double Impact starring Jean Claude Van Damme.  There is a scissor hold in it, but this becomes very dull news when you learn that he plays a set of twins separated at birth, and fights himself.  Killing by the power of the thigh is very exciting, but Jean Claude Van Damme fighting Jean Claude Van Damme?  Why can I not buy this on amazon?

Sweeney Todd - Pembroke College, 8-10 March

I went into Pembroke College to see Sweeney Todd with low expectations. I was sure that a student production of Stephen Sondheim’s complex musical, the notoriously gory story of the demon barber of Fleet Street, was bound to be a fake-blood-splattered disaster. Never have I been so pleased to be so completely wrong. 

The musical tells the story of Sweeney Todd, newly returned to London after 15 years in Australia, due to transportation on false charges. After he discovers that his wife poisoned herself after being raped by the judge who wrongly transported him, he vows revenge. 

From the first scene it is clear that this is not going to be a shambling amateur production. It starts with just the piano, joined by the double bass, then solo singers build up until the full company is singing on stage, handling the intricate harmonies and rhythms with apparent ease. This powerful opening scene sets a high standard that the cast manage to maintain throughout. 

In a stellar cast, extra special mention must go to the two leads. Both hold the audience’s sympathies, despite their dark deeds. Amanda Williams plays Mrs Lovett as a savvy business woman, just as immoral, and just as cunning, as the man she foolishly, and hopelessly, loves. Mrs Lovett’s song ‘Beside the Sea’, where she imagines the couple retiring by the seaside, presumably on the money they make from their human pies, is a definite highlight. 

But star of the show, undeniably, is Liam Steward-George as Sweeney Todd. His presence on stage as the vengeance-obsessed barber is remarkable in its confidence and intensity. A very talented individual who I look forward to seeing in productions in the future. 

Clever staging means that there are no awkward set changes, clever lighting means that there is no ridiculous gore (a trap too easy to fall into with this sort of play), and all in all this is the best student production that I have seen in Oxford by far. In fact, to call it a student production is to do it a disservice, as it could hold its own against the professionals easily. Catch this razor sharp show while you can!


Original review here

The Tempest *'

The Tempest. Most of us know at least the basic story: Duke Prospero is usurped, he and his daughter get exiled from his kingdom and end up on an island; twelve years later he conjures a tempest and his enemies end up on the same island; revenge plots and personal growth ensue.

Shakespeare has been done a million times, so if there is a new film version it must be for a reason, right? They must be bringing something modern and exciting to it, right? If I were a film executive, what could I bring to a film of The Tempest that would fit in with the twenty-first century? Make Prospero a woman, Prospera. That will get us some press.

And what do the kids like? CGI! CGI is a gift to a director wanting to portray a character like Ariel, an androgynous spirit of the air. So, we’ll get the lovely Ben Whishaw, make him a little bit see through, give him some breasts for half of the film, and have him run about in the sky. And then, since that’s just a bit too subtle and we want to remind everybody how clever this computer imagery business is, when Prospera is doing her magic we’ll get some of the naffest looking graphics possible, and put Whishaw’s face on a frog, or create some dogs that are even less convincing than the awful monkeys from Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, and whoosh them out of the end of Prospera’s staff. And then we’ll chuck some songs in, because I don’t think the audience will have cringed enough yet.

There is some good: the Shakespeare bits, obviously. The speeches are delivered beautifully, as one would expect from the likes of Helen Mirren, Tom Conti, and Alfred Molina. Russell Brand does a good impression of Russell Brand. Miranda and Ferdinand are very pretty, though a bit wet. The costumes are pleasingly zippy…

When zippy costumes are one of the best things about a film, I think you know you’re not watching a classic. Our revels now are ended? Thank goodness. I think I’d rather have not gone to the party

Original review here

I Am Number Four trailers

There I was, minding my own business and watching something on channel4.com/4od -

-I must interrupt myself already.  If we are to get on, I fear I must be truthful, however shameful it might be.  If you trust me enough to read my blog, I should trust you enough to admit my secrets.  I was watching, and enjoying, How I Met Your Mother.  I'm sorry.  I quite like the undemanding Friends-but-with-added-mild-swearing-and-sexual-references vibe it's got going on.  But, back to it-

I was watching 4od, when two teaser trailers came on, back to back.  They were for the same film, but very cleverly edited to clearly appeal to two distinct audiences.  Something I imagine I wouldn't have noticed, had I not watched one straight after the other.  Surely that was not part of the marketing strategy?  Anyway, the film is I Am Number Four, but what is it about?

Trailer #1:

Wow, it's a boy's film, it's fire, it's fighting, it's samurai sword leg chopping, it's about walking away from explosions and escaping death.  It's high octane thrills, who even cares if there's a story anyway?  But wait...

Trailer #2:

It's the girl from Glee!  It's Adele in the background!  He's a mysterious hunk who can ride water skis and do back flips off waterfalls!  He reminds me of Edward Cullen from Twilight but oh, he doesn't have the twinkly skin, what a shame.  But he does have magical glowy hands!  Squeal!

So what have we learned?  I Am Number Four looks like flashy big budget nonsense with a hint of romance, so who will be able to resist?  Well, me, I expect.  But this is coming from a How I Met Your Mother fan, so who would respect my opinion anyway?

Doris (Valentine's) Day

Valentine's Day.  A day for eating heart-shaped chocolates.  A day for receiving flowers.  A day for being cooked a romantic feast by your loved one and drinking too much fizzy wine and singing I Got You Babe at each other.  (Oh Tim and Emily, you crazy American shiny-toothed fake laughing kids).  A day for returning to the blog and writing about Doris Day romantic comedies because, erm, not because I've got some spare time on my hands this evening.  No, I'm just more of a Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves fan when it comes to Cher.  Especially when she looks like this.  Crikey.

I've seen Lover Come Back, with Doris Day and Rock Hudson, and That Touch of Mink, with Doris and Cary Grant.  These are films very much of the 60s.  Some would say dated, I would say, well, yes, dated, but in a very heart-warming way.  In That Touch of Mink, Cary Grant wants to sleep with Doris Day, whilst she wants to marry him first.  That is basically the entire plot.  If it were made today, there is no way that Cary Grant's character could seem anything but sleazy, and Doris Day's would just seem prudish and slightly insane (she does want to marry him after about five minutes of knowing him.  Yes it is Cary Grant, inspiration of some rather excellent youtube tributes, but even so, this seems a bit hasty).  But somehow, both are completely charming.

Lover Come Back is also utterly ridiculous, and utterly lovely.  In this one Rock Hudson and Doris Day are both advertising executives, competing over an account.  There's a bit of mistaken identity, Rock Hudson being a loveable playboy, Doris Day being Doris Day, and some truly spectacular hats:

I love Doris Day.  I would always choose her over romantic meals like this.  (Unless my date looked like Cary Grant or Rock Hudson, in which case only a fool would say no to free cheese).

Happy Valentine's Day everyone.