It is rare that I go ga-ga over an actor. And I am not going ga-ga now. Well maybe a little. It is just kind of nice that Shameless' James McAvoy is hitting it big.
He's everywhere at the moment. First Mr Tumnus, then the last king of Scotland. He has three movies coming out in the next few months, one in post production and another kicking off.
I am starting to think you can't get a film greenlit unless James is in it.
Wouldn't that be nice.
Anyway, here is a snippet of why he is so great. Some bravura acting from Channel 4's Shameless. This has to be one of the most heart-wrenching scenes on television in the last few years. (And how far downhill did Shameless go when he left?)
Okay, so you want to see more. Check out these new flicks with Jimmy. There's one about a pig girl, one about an Essex lad and one about some English broad who wrote shit.
Click on the pretty pics to be whisked away so you can stare at James.
Please update your links list. I deleted 'Steven from Melbourne' and some opportunistic git has turned it into a porn site! The internet is a crazy place!
Last night we returned to the rooftop cinema (this time dressed in thermals) to see Marc Singer's absorbing documentary about homeless New Yorkers living in the city's subway system, Dark Days.
Dark Days is one of those Sundance success stories: untrained filmaker, good idea, many favours and an solid end product. Like the Blair Witch Project before it, Dark Days succeeds because of the tenacity and care of its maker.
Shot in black and white on 16mm, the film traces the lives of a handful of homeless people who have decided to set up lives under New York City to escape from the dangers above ground. And when I say set up lives, I mean set up lives. These guys have televisions, stovetops, beds, couches and pets. They even have surprisingly durable abodes. And they take care of their homes, painting them, cleaning them. It is quite a bizarre spectacle. Early in the film one of the young guys says, "I don't consider myself homeless, this is my home." And it is entirely conceivable that he could feel that way.
Like any doco of this sort, the subjects need to be engaging, and this underground crew does engaging by the binload. There are as many laugh out load moments as there are cringe-worthy ones. These guys are born performers and street philosophers, add crack into the mix and things just get crazy.
It could be said that Singer has chosen to skim over some of the more unsanitary problems inherent in homelessness, or that he has not filmed the less palatable inhabitants of the subway system but in doing so he has been able to bring an important issue to the public in a purposeful and engaging manner.
I am going to make this brief because I am very tired (for reasons that will become apparent). Perfume isn't bad. Tom "Run, Lola, Run" Tykwer's film has divided critics pretty effectively but I though it was reasonably inoffensive. A surprisingly comfortable film given the subject matter. It's the time honoured story of young boy born with a miraculously acute sense of smell works, who his way into the perfume business only to get a little too obsessed with capturing the scents of young girly girls. How many times have we heard that before. Actually, it was pretty much the same story as Peter Süskind' s novel, which was also called Perfume.
I actually liked the film a good deal more than the book. I never really went much on Süskind's flowery prose ("oh, it's oh, so evocative!) and Twykner captures the smells, especially early on in the film, with a deftness that made the phenomenon just that little bit more visceral. What I liked about the book was well captured, the high concept and the fable like retelling, the interesting characters and the meticulous insight into the world of perfumery. Ultimately though, I thought the film, like the book, took it all a little too far, go just a little to far into the mythology and overstepped even my ability to suspend belief.
On that topic, the orgy scene (oh, wait a moment - spoilers!!!) was a little to hetero-normative for my liking. Sure there was some hot lesbian action but guys like to watch a bit of that, so I am not surprised it was included. I was surprised that in this day and age there wasn't any man-on-man action. Not that it really mattered in the end. The whole scene was about as sexy as a Spenser Tunnick photo shoot and, in my opinion, undermined the films credibility. I thought - piffle!
Don't worry though, you don't have to sit all the way to the end for the less than perfect moments. Dustin Hoffman is pretty atrocious. He makes a good fist of the role but doesn't seem to know quite what he is doing with his accent. Alan Rickman comes off like a bit of a caricature but that is probably due to the fact that most of his role is subsumed in an all-encompassing (and quite unnecessary) montage.
On the upside, the visuals are spectacular, the main actor is fantastic, as are many of the ill-fated girls. There are some sumptuous visuals and some truly creepy moments.
Even if it doesn't all gel, there is a lot to recommend Perfume so check it out.
We were refused entry to the Celtic Club, which was already brimming with drunk Irishmen.
We rode to Pugg Mahones.
We got a nice seat in front of a moderately sized flat screen television to watch Ireland demolish England in the 6 Nations rugby tournament. Then again, it was time for some payback.
Fun times. Brought back memories of all those World Cup matches in London - the enthusiastic crowds and lacklustre English sporting performances.
It was also interesting to watch the punters walk up the stairs, having not been out all night ourselves. SBL Jesus, people look atrocious when they are smashed. Their faces sink and they have this deadened look in their eyes.
Between watching increasingly drunk drunkards sway up the stairs, pestering Andrew for the rules of the game, and watching the two blondes who were sitting next to us in their very loud efforts to get laid, there was actually some match watching to be done.
I spent most of my time watching Ronan O'Gara (pictured above). To be fair, he was on-screen quite a bit seeing as he had the job of kicking the conversions, and there were quite a few. The game ended on a score of 43-13.
You can check out the full match report here, if you are at all interested.
Ireland is in with a chance to take out the title, should France lose a game. Up next are Scotland and that pre-eminent Rugby nation, Italy.
You may or may not have been following the furore that has blown up around U.S. basketballer Tim Hardaway's homophobic comments last week. The responses from all corners of the community have been immensely encouraging in their exposure of the new shift in what is acceptable behaviour, well, acceptable behaviour in front of the public eye, at the very least.
This response is certainly one of the most comical.
I love the way Dr Sulu manages to flavour his PSA with every homophobic straight boy's worst nightmare (or, more likely than not, biggest fantasy).
Hey y'all. Just a quick one to let you know that I am back in print. I went in to help take some of the pressure off Richard as he settles into his new digs as Editor of MCV.
I knocked up a few news stories, which appear in this week's issue.
One of them has also popped up online. The City of Melbourne's Relationships Declaration Register, which will enable both mixed-sex and same-sex couples to formally declare their relationships, will be officially established by April 2, it was announced last week...
After a string of sweltering days Melbourne had decided to cool down a bit, as is the way with things here. It is a pity nobody told Festival Hall. If the Palais was steaming hot, Festival Hall was a veritable oven. Not that it really mattered. It could have been worse. We could have had the flu, just like every member Snow Patrol.
I don't know if it was the flu or the sound desk but the guys the first three tracks they played were terribly loose and rather uninspiring. Thankfully (and to prove there is some kind of literary providence out there) they really hit their stride about halfway through 'Run'.
After four tracks off their previous album, I was beginning to wonder if Snow Patrol had even released Eyes Open. Gary had nattered with the crowd about Melbourne's heat for a while, he piped up with something like, "Here's a song you might know, I don't remember the name of it or what it is about." which was pretty much his introduction for every song for the rest of the night. Then he kicked off with tracks off their new album. The change in quality was instantaneous. It was almost as if they had forgotten how to play their older stuff.
Not that most members in the crowd really minded. It seemed that most people had come along for the new stuff and when the boys kicked off with The Theme From Grey's Anatomy 'Chasing Cars' it was obvious that there was a stand out number in the collective consciousness of the audience.
From then on it didn't even matter that Gary wasn't able to hit many of the high notes due to the pesky flu, they rocked anyway. Melbournian Laura Jean pressed herself into Martha Wainwright's shoes and joined the band on stage for 'Set Fire To The Third Bar'. She did a brilliant job, so brilliant a job that I am going to link you to her *cough* myspace *cough* page here.
By the time the band left the stage, they hadn't really left much to perform for an encore. They returned with 'The Finish Line' (I think, I can't recall at the moment and I can't find the fucking setlist again - fans just aren't as fanatical as they used to be), which finished with a few nods of the head and the acknowledgement that they were going to plough into 'Hands Open' despite the danger to Gary's voice. I'm glad they did because it was easily the best song of the gig.
As much as I loved the gig, it was an absolute blessing to step outside into the cool air. A fantastic night. I was a bit miffed that they didn't play anything from When It's All Over We Still Have To Clear Up but they seem to have left their pre-Final Straw days behind them.
A gig at the Palais is a rare treat. Okay, so it is not so rare, but it is rare that I end up going to one. It is a grand venue; cavernous, but in a luxurious kind of way. It takes a special artist to fill the space and I was quite concerned that a little Irishman from Dublin with a penchant for quiet folk-rock would be swallowed whole. He was anything but.
We arrived just about in time to miss the whole of the support act, a little Irishman from Dublin with a penchant for folk-rock, who was being unceremoniously swallowed. The theatre was like a giant sweat box and and the vinyl seats weren't helping the situation. Luckily we had a walkway at our feet so there was stretching room aplenty.
The stage was pretty barren. A piano and a keyboard, some scattered guitars and a chair or two. The whole scene was backed by a giant white screen. When the lights dropped and a scruffy little man walked out it could have been easy to mistake him for a roadie. He did nothing to dispel this when he stood with his back to the audience and started tuning one of the guitars. The tuning gave way to a song, an idling tune, which he seemed to be playing until he felt ready to turn around.
But he didn't.
With his back to the audience he crouched over as the idling tune grew into a fully fledged opening song. Huddled over, caressing his guitar, he began singing into the hollow, his voice echoed in the box and flooded the auditorium. It was truly haunting. Here was this man hunched over his instrument, seemingly retracting from the world and he was able to hold a sell-out crowd enthralled. When he finally turned and stood and took his place centre stage the crowd erupted. It was a brilliant opening and it segued beautifully into one of his most treasured numbers, 'Volcano', as his band joined him on stage.
There were clear cheers of relief when the crowd acknowledged Lisa Hannigan, Rice's recording partner to the stage. She cut an interesting figure as she sang, her neck stretched, her hands gnarled, but it only seemed to heighten the breathless beauty of her voice.
It was clearly evident that this crowd was in for a good night and that Damien and his crew were not only assured musicians but also willing to have fun and experiment with their music. 'Amie' crescendoed into a roaring feedback loop, which threatened to drop plaster from the Palais' walls only to calm down into a quiet coda of Damien's voice which formed the backing for his next track. Mesmerising.
It was one of those gig where the setlist covered pretty much all the recorded material. Damien's explanations of the stories behind the songs often ventured into the macabre, though there was always a wry smile on his face and despite the sombre mood of the music there was much jesting on stage. The impromptu rendition of 'Blue Moon', which cellist Vyvienne Long broke into when Lisa broke her sound feed, was a delightful treat, as was 'Random Man On The Motorway', which she treated the audience to during one of the breaks.
The middle of the show lulled a little. There was a good deal of interaction with the audience and some listless calls for songs to play but there was always an answer at the ready and Damien's response was never less than superb.
For the closing number Damien was left alone onstage. He wrenched the cords and cables from his guitar and kicked them from his feet. He moved to the front of the stage, out of reach of the microphone and stood in the light of a single follow spot. Everything else went black as he once again took on the crowd single-handedly, without any sonic protection, and sang his biggest hit, 'The Blower's Daughter' to the adulating crowd. It was quite transcendental (or it would have been if it weren't for the fucking cameraphones).
Oh, I shouldn't complain because if it weren't for cameraphones I couldn't show you this:
I haven't been able to find a setlist for this one either but I'll post it here if one pops up.
*UPDATE* Setlist:
‘Never Been In This Place Before’ Volcano Amie 9 Crimes Coconut Skins Dogs Rootless Tree Random Man on the Motorway (Vyvienne) Cannonball Cold Water Hallelujah The Professor I Remember
Rainy Night House (Lisa unaccompanied covering Joni Mitchell) Delicate [Blue Moon] The Animals Were Gone Blower’s Daughter
I love your musings on the night’s beauty. I felt I was under the spell of the performance for its entirety, was carried away with the experience and didn’t feel the lull that you mentioned. I found the melancholy offering of Cold Water to be the song that moved me beyond any other within the night’s set.
brilliant show, absolutely did my head in at how good he is. do you know at all where i can find a copy of 'never been in this place before' ? in my opinion was the best song of the night and really set the tone for the rest of the show.
Even though I have a bucketload of dvds of my own that I haven't, as of yet, watched, I decided to dive into one of my favourite films, which I found on Richard's shelf, Sally Potter's breakthrough, Orlando.
The British, they just don't seem to make films like this anymore. These manicured, composed, intricate films used to be the backbone of the British film industry (Peter Greenaway, anyone?) and now they are sorely missed, by me anyway. Oh well, Guy Ritchie happens.
I love the esoteric quality of Potter's adaptation; I love its symmetry; I love its archness.
Observe:
Shelmerdine: You are hurt, ma'am? Orlando: I am dead, sir. Shelmerdine: Dead? That is serious, can I help? Orlando: Will you marry me? Shelmerdine: Ma'am, I would gladly but I fear my ankle is twisted.
The cast is almost as beautiful as the mise-en-scéne: Tilda Swinton's black eyes are haunting and used to brilliant effect with the numerous, third wall breaking glances at the audience; Billy Zane has a smile that could melt celluloid; and that is to mention nothing of the casting coups of Quentin Crisp and Jimmy Somerville.
And costumes, costumes, costumes. A visual feast. You could just as easily watch Orlando with the sound turned off if the dialogue weren't so intriguing. Four hundred years of wigs and frocks, male and female.
Here I am waxing lyrical about all the pretty stuff in the film and I haven't said a word about its delightfully heavy-handed themes. Every word, every glance, every pose seems draped in meaning. It is my favourite affectation of cinema of this ilk - it is all SO meaningful that it almost hurts. Then, with a film that follows the story of a man who inexplicably becomes a woman and covers a period of 400 years, has to hold some thematic clout.
Actually, scratch that. Imagine the same pitch with the words "starring Rob Schneider" tacked to the end.
I hear ya. Man, I was obssessed with the book while I was at Art School. Check it out if ya haven't read it. Also, The Belly of an Architect is, like, one my fave movies EVER!
Okay, this one's a little late. I think I caught Rageboy sometime last week as part of Melbourne's Midsumma festival; I have forgotten - much like the play.
Big cast; polished production; meandering, meaningless script.
Toby is apparently enraged at life. Struck with polio at an early age, agitated by his father, annoyed by his best friend (oh, hang on that was me being annoyed by her atrocious American accent), cracked onto by his institutionalised grandfather, Toby has a lot to be enraged about. But he doesn't seem to be that bothered. There is something thrown in about the apocalypse by the two (slightly incestuous) JW siblings but it all ends up being rather meaningless.
It is difficult to say that Rageboy was appalling because it is clear that it was extremely well received by the opening night audience. It is true that the show, which began life as a Melbourne Uni production, is very funny in parts. Yes it has a kind of absurdist charm but it was so incredibly episodic that by in the end it felt like a dose of The Comedy Company or Skithouse and was just as hit and miss.
Props to the few characters who managed to imbue their roles with some real, and much needed, charm. The father's blind albino girlfriend deserves special mention. Overall though, apart from the few funny scenes, an extremely disappointing evening.
Run a mile (or at least you should have, it is all over now. Thank SBLJ!)
We spent V-Day down at the Sidney Myer Music Bowl listening to some Russian composers doing their thing symphonic/piano concertoey thing. The place was packed, the weather was nice and the company was suitably impressed.
I have to say, the most interesting thing I've ever seen on the corner of Chapel and Toorak was a three storey high billboard of a gorgeous Country Road model. Apparently, according to Andrew (not that Andrew, the other one, the one that is going overseas again soon, yeah that one) I never saw The Fun Factory in its heyday.
And I never will. It is being demolished to make way for this rhapsody in medal and glass:
Excited? I am. Apple Stores, which are actually owned by Apple, are few and far between and tend to take in a whole range of functions above and beyond the two-bit resellers that we are accustomed to. They are real crowd pleasers too.
AppleInsider has the whole story and some more pretty pics for you to gawk at.
Now, if only they can find some way of including a three storey high model into the design.
With moving house and getting my stuff organised and trying to sort out a connection to the Interweb, I haven't been posting much, or at all. Now I am getting text messages from friends demanding I get back to it.
I'll see if I can remedy the situation situation situation this evening.
Exactly, Mikey! You should update your blog much more often. I'm the one talking...haven't had much time at all, travelling is great fun but always thinking of Melbourne and my lovely friends there! Miss you heaps and need your new address for sending a postcard.
Love Melbourne but we'll never get a line-up like this. Some of my all time big names on my "I wish I could see them live" list - Björk, Manu Chao, David Guetta, along with some of my all time favourite performers - The Decemberists, Placebo, Interpol.
Gig: The Killers Andrew's Birthday @ Festival Hall 01/02/07
First Shamil turns 33, now Andrew turns 25; I am starting to see a pattern here.
If we thought the gods were smiling on us on Monday night, last night they were positively beaming at us. Somehow, despite it being fully booked until next Tuesday, we managed to score a table at Movida. Best restaurant in Melbourne. Well, my favourite anyway. The costillas con sobrasada are to die for and certainly a good primer for the night's entertainment.
The Killers rocked. The sound was shit, the seats were shit but it didn't matter. The Killers rocked!
And Brandon Flowers is SO gay. (And not in that school yard way.)
I was a little worried in the beginning when they opened with a song that only the people in the mosh pit seemed to know (and I think they were just pretending so they looked like they were cooler than the rest of us), then they chimed up with "We Hope You Enjoyed The Show". By the second line I was getting ready to push back into my seat and settle in for a night of disappointment but they didn't finish the song, it was simply a lead into "When You Were Young", which in turn pushed into "Somebody Told Me".
As soon as they kicked off, Festival Hall stood up and didn't sit for the rest of the gig. The crowd were instantly on side. Fuck, Brandon Flowers (SO gay) didn't have to sing for the whole gig - the crowd did it for him. By the time they got around to "Mr Brightside" someone could have recorded a live album from the other side of the Westgate.
I'd like to develop an algorithm to ascertain the success of a live performance. I am convinced it has something to do with the spread of the mosh, the angle and number of rock hands, the persistence of the clap and the volume of crowd singing. However the formula works out, last night's gig was a success despite the fact that we were sitting in the focal point of Festival Hall's plentiful echoes.
I'm trying to hunt down a setlist for y'all but it is proving difficult. It was a good set though. I would have liked to have heard "Midnight Show" but we all need something to grumble about.
*UPDATE* Setlist:
Sam's Town Interlude When You Were Young Somebody Told Me Smile Like You Mean It Bones Bling (Confession Of A King) Read My Mind Jenny Was A Friend Of Mine This River Is Wild Why Do I Keep Counting Mr Brightside
My List For Reasons Unknown All These Things That I've Done Exitude
Last night took a very unexpected turn from the ridiculous to the sublime.
We rocked up to Templebar on Smith Street to enjoy an evening of "Spag and Drag" with Neale, Andrew, Zoë and the Bens and before we'd even ordered Bens mentioned they had to leave early to reach Festival Hall in time to catch Muse.
"You lucky bastards, I really wanted to see them tonight!" "Oh, we've got two free tickets, if you want them..."
So in the time it took to blow off our other friends and sit through an amusing rendition of "The Girl With Emphysema", we were sitting centre-stage watching Supermassive Black Hole.
How's that for a nice turn-around.
Muse absolutely rocked. The rocked so hard they were almost a parody of themselves. But that is why I love them so. At one stage I looked down and thought - all this kick arse sound is coming from those three unassuming Brits and their insignificant little instruments. Thank SBLJ for electricity!
The boys were flanked by two huge LED screens and spotted by scores of scores of cameras that threw their images up, all psychedelically altered. The lighting and stage setup was phenomenal. Every glittery piano note was mirrored by a pretty light flash.
Lots of glittery piano notes = lots of pretty light flashes!
And the crowd ate it all up. Being in seats we were a little removed from the action but it was interesting to see the spread of the mosh pit and the waving sea of rock hands.
To add to the spectacle, at the first break, as Plug-in Baby screamed to a halt, massive, clear rubber, confetti-filled balls were released into the auditorium. Nice touch (until the lighters came out).
Revved up on their fit of destruction, the crowd set about clapping to Starlight. One of those brilliant "we're all in this together moments".
Clap - clap clap - clap - clap clap clap!
Priceless.
Setlist:
Take A Bow Hysteria Supermassive Black Hole Butterflies And Hurricanes Map Of The Problematique City Of Delusion Citizen Erased Sunburn!! Apocalypse Please Invincible Time Is Running Out Plug In Baby (Release crowd balls here)
Soldier's Poem Starlight Stockholm Syndrome
Knights Of Cydonia
The Killers tomorrow night.
Same bat-place. Same bat-time. Shittier bat-seats.
4 Comments:
I know it's silly to be thinking it already, but I'm predicting him for an Academy Award nomination next year for Atonement.
I'm not remotely ga-ga over the man though.
I'm with you on the ga-ga. I can't get enough of the lad.
I'm a little ashamed to admit it, but he was t he main reason I went to see the Last King of Scotland.
Very happy to see he's getting so much more work. Although pig girl? really?
¡vote ga-ga!
Hey Mike,
Just a quick one...
I now have a new Blogger address:
www.soyoungsopretty.blogspot.com
Please update your links list. I deleted 'Steven from Melbourne' and some opportunistic git has turned it into a porn site! The internet is a crazy place!
Thanks (and sorry for the trouble).
Cheers, Steven from Melbourne (in London).
Post a Comment
<< Home