Jaws and jugs

'gleeful, hilarious trash'

my review of PIRANHA 3D over at podcastdoors

Sion Sono: out there

Two of the most interesting films I saw this year were by Suicide Club and EXTE director Sion Sono.

I can't say either of those films blew me away, although they did have points of interest.

But nothing in either could prepare me for this...



Mind-boggling stuff, utterly demented. And it's four hours long?

It's actually a couple of years old now, but I caught up with its giddy charms just a few months ago.

Here is the trailer for a brief flavour...



and this, which I saw at the London Film Festival, is pretty damn good as well.



Very strong stuff though, with the customary horrendous sexual violence that the Japanese do so, er, efficiently.

Depressingly, the LFF crowd, who I would expect more of, contained a few soap-avoiding, basement-dwellers who chuckled throughout some utterly wincing sequences.

Anyway, it ends on a very adolescent, downbeat note, but up til then it's like a Miike film with discipline.

most utterly horrible thing of 2010

in film terms anyway.

Not just Depp, the whole thing.

I normally can't be bothered to write at any length about films or music I hate but I have to make an exception for this.

This film utterly depressed me.

Burton, a brilliant talent whose early career contains at least two near masterpieces, is seemingly intent on wiping out trace memory of those early, unique films. This is cinematic fraud, a cash-courting atrocity.

He's managed to take one of the weirdest and wildest of all children's tales and make the least interesting version of it ever. The maligned 1972 Alice, while stilted and often cinematically static, at least has some imagination and a lovely John Barry score. It also strives for a sense of wonder, something completely lacking here.

It’s a relentlessly ugly, shrill, atrocious piece of whimsy that annoyed me from start to finish and contains an end scene (with Depp, mugging gracelessly throughout) that made me want to set my own face alight with rage and despair. Even the kids in the cinema were clearly bored and restless by the end.

The fact that Burton bases his snow queen (Anne Hathaway with white hair - continuing Burton's odd obsession of taken beautiful raven-haired actresses and putting them in horrendous blonde wigs) on Nigella Lawson(?) tells you everything you need to know about where this ‘dark visionary’ currently is. He’s now a bogus outsider, a perpetual grumpy Goth kid who thinks he’s ‘weird’ but is in fact utterly, utterly conservative.

There are so many interesting, freaky and unique versions of this tale.

That said, if you judge good cinema by the dollar, this is up there with the best of them. It's already made about 800 million dollars worldwide - so what the fuck do I know?

Perhaps Burton might use some of the cash to go back and make a good - or at the very least interesting - film again?

other horrible films from 2010

The Lovely Bones
Whatever Works
Nowhere Boy
Tamara Drewe
The Tourist
The Kid
Micmacs
Green Zone
Kaboom!


disappointments
Scott Pilgrim
Never Let Me Go
Somewhere

two zero one zero: films

turned out to be a pretty good year in the end.

absolute fave



next absolute fave



revelation (for me, as a non-Leigh fanatic)



these two would make a great future double-bill...






three I saw in 2009 but they came out in the UK this year, and I didn't have a blog a year ago, so...







whereas this came out in 2009 but I didn't see it til THIS year. It's my blog, my rules. Also, yes I really liked this...



Sublime stuff



dreadful year for horror. This was great - and timely - though



this will most likely go straight to More4 or storyville. Please watch...



not just another 'safe' choice oscar foreign film winner...



2010's hidden gem

two zero one zero: musics

No 'best of' lists here, just links to what worked for me in the last twelve months - in no particular order or sequence.

this band are precious and intricate, unhurried. Hope they get the time and space to grow...



rekindling the love after the stodgy, indigestion-inducing Neon Bible. I still think this is another slightly bloated album, and the front man must be one of the most annoying since Bono, but this is a fantastic song...



smoothing out some of the rough edges of Ariel Pink's sound hasn't resulted in a loss of uniqueness. If anything it's clarified it, brought it to the fore...



tangerine dream(s). The score to a lost 80s fantasy film...



the masters of the weyrd English sound had a very strong year...




hauntological heaven: vintage vhs musical mashups...



I'm a bit late to the party with this band. Apparently they've already ditched the dead-end 80s reference points and the new stuff is more proggy, Gong influenced, which sounds exciting...



wonderfully lush, textured sonics and imagery from a perrenial favourite...



manages to be both playful and sinister, with beats so fat they could be classified as obese...



this is all over the place but there is a synth(etic) magnificence that kicks in about a minute in...



This girl seems to annoy the shit out of everyone but I REALLY like this track and 'Obsessions'. Nice video too...



absolutely sublime Moroder/Cerrone-esque tune that builds into an epic disco lament...



castles remixed and disco-fied...



this manages to filter the 80s influence into a modern, fresh groove...



Salem smothers some sinister synth over bone dry beats...



and the man himself...



there's something sinister, almost medieval-sounding in this slice of dark dubstep...



Ronson takes the 80s obsession to olympian heights. Q-tip and MNDR legitimize the tune and save it from pure pastiche. And the video...oh yes!



saw this band play a beatiful set at the ICA. This is an incredibly affecting breakup ballad that sounds like Gram Parsons covering The Band's 'The Weight' for a low key sundance indie film...



sleazy beats, sinister vocoder, surreal 'company flow' style delivery, boards of canada-ish sonics. HUGE...



precise, almost mathmatic dubstep from a precocious talent...



I don't know anything about this collective but everything I have heard is compelling. This creeps up, with waves of percussive dubby goodness...



A kitschy delight. LOVE the instant segue from happy hardcore to depth charge dubstep about 40 seconds in...




handclaps and garage rock riffs. They're a bit one note over the course of a whole album mind..



I dont care what anyone thinks, my love affair with this band will not die. Standout track from 'contra'...



After pocahaunted this was a surprise. Nails the post-Spector pop bubblegum aesthetic perfectly and has a swooning quality...



Hmm. Not quite sure how, but this band just manage to sidestep the 'widescreen vagueness' of the sub-U2 serious, unsmiling white men with guitars crowd. Possibly by virtue of sounding more like Tindersticks than (shudder) Editors. Incredibly boring live sadly...



I simply will not stop posting links to this Bristolian genius. If only he had actually scored TRON...



you can't deny the delivery. DEADLY...



this appears to be three different songs in one. Luckily they are all awesome...



making no claims that this is a great song, but it makes me smile, as do the band. Give me these dudes over black eyed peas anyday. AND just listen to that bassline. It's like LFO or some other warp style bleep techno, no?



I make no bones about it, I LOVE this record, and the album too. Such a warm sound, so resonant of English folk and even hints of acoustic Zeppelin? Or is it just me..?




The Fall have essentially recorded the same song for well over three (or is it four?) decades. Luckily it’s a great song...



This is absolute dreck of course - vacuous, moronic and shrill.

The diabetes-inducing video is basically a visual tribute to American stupidity, sweets, tits and wanking. It’s enough to make you sympathise with the Taliban.

In spite of – or perhaps even because of – these reasons, I basically love it...



I'm old enough to remember actual goths so this manages to be amusing, mortifying and nostalgic all at once. I like the relentless seriousness of it, especially the video, an essential part of the aesthetic...



the former NiN front man does Fincher's wonderful facebook drama proud with a bleeptastic electronic score that stands alone perfectly well. Parts of it remind me, mood-wise, of Stewart Copeland's magnificent, percussive Rumblefish score for some reason...



one of my absolute favourite covers of the year..



honestly, I have found nothing on Kanye's new album that resonates emotionally with me in the way that most of his flawed, simplistic, heavily-sythesised 808s and heartbreak did, but he's almost always interesting...



easy to write off as a manc La Roux but there's a fierce, arty intelligence here..



This is SO 80s it could just as well be on the soundtrack to Beverly Hills Cop 2 or something. This is a good thing. La Roux sounds like she's having more fun than usual too...



this simple and unaffected northern soul-tinged stomper shouldn’t even exist. The fact that it does is due to Collins (one of our loveliest and most affecting white soul voices) learning to speak and play guitar all over again following a near fatal haemorrhage. The healing power of music in tangible form...




Cave, for some reason, has started to get on my nerves a bit of late. Don't quite know why. But this throwaway Beefheartian stomp works just fine...


Grinderman - Heathen Child on MUZU.

Quantum leap over their first record...

YEASAYER "O.N.E." from Paranoid US on Vimeo.

I first saw this projected on an absolutely massive screen at the amazing tate pop art exhibition. The crashing sound that accompanied my entrance was that of my jaw hitting the floor. I can’t decide whether this is absolutely awful or total genius, but either way it’s certainly the best thing McG has ever done...



Nothing on Halcyon Digest has quite hit me in the way that their last few records have but this is still, as Alan Partridge would say, ‘lovely stuff’...



Basically Jane Wiedlin's ‘rush hour’ updated as a powerpop anthem about the global economic crisis...




in a world light on real pop icons (Lady GG aside) it’s good that there are still big figures capable of surprise and bringing what Americans love to call ‘the drama’. So many ironies in both song and video, a whole soap operas worth of dramatic subtext and probably the most effective use of Rhianna’s er ‘acquired-taste’ vocal to date...

London film festival review: Somewhere

If you've seen the trailer, you have pretty much seen Somewhere, Sofia Coppola’s new film. What remains in Coppola’s fifth feature, no matter how beautifully shot and performed, feels like lightweight riffs on her earlier Lost in Translation.

I’m aware that Coppola’s breakout hit now seems to have as many people firmly against it as for, but I remain a big fan. I’ve been impressed by Coppola’s work generally – I even like her much-maligned nu-wave inflected period romp Marie Antoinette. But this is definitely the least interesting film this promising young director has made – not a step backward so much as an example of an artist merely exercising her talent, rather than stretching or refining it in any way.

The opening scenes encapsulate what I think Somewhere gets slightly wrong in the way Lost in Translation got so right. We are introduced to the ‘Bob Harris’ figure – fading movie star Johnny Marco (Stephen Dorff) – as he listlessly races a sports car around a track over and again. We are in classic Coppola territory already – the blank affectless world of celebrity and isolation, an existence of pool parties, endless gatherings at the château marmot (where Johnny lives) press junkets and photocalls.

The problem is that where Bill Murray’s character felt like a man truly exhausted and jaded with the circus all around him, Dorff, who I must say is actually very good here, just seems like a bit of a bore . Not hateful in any way, just empty and uninteresting.

Plus his life really doesn’t seem that bad to me. Johnny has the freedom to do whatever he wants; drive in a nice sports car, attend a few important meetings and junkets (all of which are handled by his PA), hang out with likeable, dufus brother (Jackass’ Chris Pontius in a very relaxed likeable performance) and enjoy the constant attention of hot women.

It’s like a hipster feature length version of a Robbie Williams song – the ones about how trapped he felt having to perform the music he loves and deal with endless supplies of blow on tap and willing teenage girls wanting to shag him.

Coppola does shoot a couple of very funny scenes that explore the theme of excess and boredom – pole dancing twins grind for Johnny in his hotel room in the most bored style imaginable while he looks on, either exhausted or asleep. But again, I couldn’t help thinking ‘wow this jaded, empty lifestyle sure looks like fun!’. And that will be a stumbling block for many audiences. It’s hard to really care in any way.

Compounding this is the subplot involving Johnny’s daughter from his estranged relationship. While it’s commendable that Coppola shies away form the corny’ kid teaching life lessons’ shtick that you might expect, the downside is that Chloe (Elle Fanning; amazing and totally natural) ends up bringing almost no drama or conflict into his life at all. In fact they enjoy a nice easy relationship. Despite the distance, she’s fantastically well adjusted and self reliant in ways that Johnny isn’t; cooking up perfect eggs Benedict for him for breakfast while he hops in and out of various women’s beds. In contrast, Johnny struggles with a mountain of spaghetti when fending for himself.

And because this is a Sofia Coppola movie, all this ennui is set to her standard shoegazey soundtrack and shot through with that agreeably hazey Sundance ‘glaze’ look. Indeed, watching Somewhere at times is like nodding off in an opulent gallery while an entire issue of DAZED&CONFUSED is projected onto a massive, blank wall.

It sounds like I am being really hard on Somewhere, but it does have some good things going on. Coppola has lovely relaxed way of directing her performers, and the scenes with Fanning, Doff and Pontius hanging out and goofing off are nicely played. This isn’t a major misfire and I’m confident that Coppola will dazzle again.

But it might be time for her to step away from the comfort zone. This film probably means an awful lot to Sofia Coppola – and that’s maybe its biggest problem. I suspect for most viewers the only time this pleasant and forgettable confection will flicker into life is in the moments it reminds them of its earlier, more resonant and original companion piece.

Film review: 127 Hours

This will come as no surprise to those that know me, but, just for the record, I want to make it clear that I have absolutely zero interest in extreme sports. Like Evan Dando, I am no ‘outdoor type’, and I wouldn’t even lie about it. So when I first caught the ‘whoahh dude’/lucozade-ad style trailer for Danny Boyle’s 127 Hours, I feared the worst.

I’ve always found these kind of characters – with their regulation fleeces, hats and Oakley wraparounds – to be, almost without fail, wearisome, ingratiating bell-ends with exceptionally poor music taste. You’ll find them prone to proselytising about ‘the rush’ and eager to impress – and potentially sleep with – your girlfriend.

In addition to this unqualified hatred, I have a palpable fear of almost anything that might put my life in danger. This meant that, even during the initial ten minutes of 127 Hours – where our central character Aaron Ralston is enjoying himself, perfectly at home dangling off cliff edges and encouraging girls he’s just met to jump off ravines – I could feel the rumblings of a panic attack coming on.

In short, I really couldn’t see how I was going to enjoy this film at all.

But not only did I thoroughly enjoy the film, I felt like I ‘experienced’ it, and I think this is key to understanding what makes it such a resounding success.

Like Buried; 2010’s other ‘man- trapped’ flick, this is a film that, in synopsis, you just can’t see working or being sustained over feature-length. Unlike that movie, Boyle’s film uses the limitations of enforced confinement to create a feeling of optimism and hope as opposed to something nightmarish and despairing. And it works brilliantly.

It’s a distinctly Boyle trait to see hope in the most despairing of situations; after all that formed the basis for his phenomenally successful Slumdog Millionaire. So he’s the perfect choice of director to essay Ralston’s real life plight. That plight is something I won’t go into here for various reasons. What’s is surprising is that I think that whether you do or don’t know what Ralston’s ultimate fate was, it works either way, leaving you queasy and uncertain regardless.

Lightening the doom, Boyle gets inside Ralston’s head as the delirium of his circumstance kicks in and it’s in these freewheeling and frequently funny interludes that the inner life of 127 Hours really kicks in

Key to making the film work, and Ralston a much more likable character than I feared, is an adrenalised, physical and surprisingly moving performance from James Franco. In lesser actors hands Ralston could’ve come across as a Point Break style tool, with fleece for brains, but the actors’ winning charm and easy nature means that you are entirely with him during the whole freaky, hideous enterprise.

I’ve always admired Danny Boyle hugely without totally loving his films (although I thought Slumdog was tremendous entrainment). I often had issues with what I see as his frequency to over-embellish with whizzy visuals and endless sound tracking.

It’s almost as if he doesn’t trust his own powerful stories enough, and he’s never met a set piece that he didn’t want to put alongside an incredibly obvious song choice. He does that a fair bit here actually, but it really heightens and benefits the mood, working in tandem with the material rather than taking you out of the picture. Boyle’s aggressive style puts you inside the mind of his protagonist perfectly, as Ralston ruminates over his thus far short – potentially very short – existence.

127 Hours doesn’t make me want to do the kind of things that Ralston did (and still does, the insane bastard) but through Boyle’s film I feel a bit closer to understanding the mindset of people who want to test themselves, in extreme circumstances, and what draws them to it. And if the film is based on truth then Aaron Ralston is both fantastically resourceful and brave as well as being, quite clearly, a nutcase. And I’m still scared to even go camping.