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.