Wonderland (or, Where The Depressing Things Are)

Blah, blah, blah... Y'all should know by now that I love Michael Winterbottom. Well, Wonderland is the film that started that love affair. I was killing time over at Andrew's place the other morning while I waited for Zöe to tear herself away from her gaydar profile, so I decided to put it on. (It was there because I'd lent it to one of Andrew's friends.)

When I first saw Wonderland, I was a lovesick, lonely, introverted people watcher. It is no wonder that I fell in love with the film. Wonderland is about a family of lovesick, lonely, Londoners, who spend their time wandering around on Guy Faulks weekend going about their typical Londonesque existence. That is pretty much it. It is pretty boring really. It is just that it is so perfectly observed.

Back then I identified with the characters, now I identify with the city. Wonderland is London. It exudes London through every frame. It is depressing as all fuck. It is monotonous. It is hard.

But then there are the little snippets of life. The affirming moments (helped in no small part by Michael Nyman's musical eloquence) that create the soul of the city.

By the end of the film, Andrew, who was planning on going back to London (not that Andrew, the other Andrew, the Andrew Andrew lives with) had all but decided to stick here in Melbourne. (Of course he didn't in the end.) That is how London it is.

While it didn't strike as deep a chord this time around, let's face it, the orchestra has had a reshuffle. I'd still thoroughly recommend it. A beautifully crafted piece of cinema but not one for those who are easily distracted.