Who says it’s unproductive?
Posted on | July 29, 2009 | 2 Comments
If you’re thinking in a button-down, linear manner, you’d be forgiven for thinking I have not accomplished much over the last few days*. Ostensibly, it may have looked like I’ve been lolling around, drinking beer and talking shite with my brother. However, while it seemed thus to lazy-minded, superficial people, I was in fact carefully researching two new films. I say ‘researching’…
Firstly, I watched Moon, Duncan Jones’ film about an astronaut working on a lunar mining base. Sam Rockwell plays the lone-caretaker, Sam Bell. He’s been alone for three years but is nearing the end of his contract, and looking forward to going home to his wife and child, when he’s involved in an accident and wakes up in sick-bay with no idea how he got there. Things get weirder for him when he encounters another person on the, supposedly empty, base. Weirder still, the other person is himself.
Moon’s a very enjoyable film. Rockwell is excellent as both the newer, cockier, Sam and, even more so, as the ‘original’, possibly-losing-his-mind, falling apart Sam. His deterioration, physically and mentally, is brilliantly portrayed and it’s impossible not to feel for him as his world crumbles. A couple of, very minor, unresolved threads don’t detract and Moon is a clever, ultimately moving, film. Well worth a trip to see. Oh and Kevin Spacey voices the base’s computer, only able to visually express itself in emoticon form.
Secondly, Antichrist. Ooohh, feel the controversy. You’ve probably heard the rumours – disgusting, it’s just porn, I hate penises, etc. – and, to be fair, it does have some penis in it. And some girly bits too. At one point there’s a slow-motion, swinging scrotum (there’s one for the search engines) but that bit’s in black and white so it’s art and therefore ok.
Ok, I’m being a bit fatuous and, to be honest, Antichrist doesn’t deserve it. It is an immensely powerful film. Dafoe and Gainsbourg, as the parents of a recently-deceased child are excellent. They retreat to their cabin in the woods so Dafoe, a therapist, can help his wife through her grief. Once there things spiral into a dark, tangled mess of tension, dread, animal-symbolism and sexual-obsession.
It’s not perfect – the monochrome prologue, for me, felt a little cheesy but it was so beautifully filmed that I was more than happy to go with it – but there is no denying that this is a powerful film. Antichrist is brilliantly scripted, filmed and acted and, if you’re interested (and unperturbed by what is, in parts – and in many senses – quite graphic) it’s a film you should see in the cinema.
Antichrist is arresting and intelligent and, supremely, dark. I think it’ll stay with me for a long time.
So you see, I haven’t completely wasted the last couple of days. Now, what time is Loose Women on?
*I did bottle a load of beer that I’ve been brewing. Oh yes, now I’m brewing my own beer. It can’t end well.
Tags: antichrist > dafoe > film > moon > rockwell > slow-motion scrotums
I Sat Through That? – Meet The Parents
Posted on | July 27, 2009 | Comments Off on I Sat Through That? – Meet The Parents
Possibly a controversial one this week as, for reasons utterly unfathomable to me, many people seem to think Meet The Parents is frickin’, head-falling-off, hilarious.
It’s not.
This week’s I Sat Through That is now available.
Tags: I sa > I Sat Through That?
I’ve got the painters in
Posted on | July 21, 2009 | 5 Comments
I mean literally. It’s not a euphemism for brooding gloomily and snapping grumpily at all around just because I’m feeling a bit poorly. Just get on with it ladies. Christ, you’d think you’d be used to it at this stage. Stop growling and scowling at me and get on with it. If you feel you need to fake a monthly chocolate deficiency, by all means do so, but do so cheerfully – with a jolly song, maybe. It’s that or be banished to the shed for a week. And no ‘if men had periods, we’d all be working a three-week month’ comments. We’d just get on with it, light-heartedly whistling as we did so, probably saying ‘I don’t know what all the fuss was about’ or something similar.
No, my painter is a real painter. He’s currently locked in the spare room, whistling (see – cheerful) and making painty noises. Some of you may question my manhood or my DIYhood. I’ll have none of it. While I’m perfectly capable of painting, I hate it with a passion normally reserved for Youths who listen to music from the tiny speakers in their mobile phones on the bus. It’s the tediousness of it. The utter, dreary monotony of rolling and brushing and being careful around the edges and whatnot. Drives me mental.
So, I’ve got a man in.
To be perfectly honest, it feels weird. I’ve never got someone in to do something that I’m able to do myself. I feel like a wastrel. I tell myself that he will paint half the house in two days whereas it would take me a week (which it would). I tell myself he’ll do a better job (which he will). I tell myself that he’s actually very reasonably-priced (which he is – I’d want four times the amount to do the same work). Still don’t feel quite right about it though. Maybe it’s the working-class bloke that lives somewhere in my middle-class body. Maybe he balks at the idea and calls me a lazy tosser. He’s not completly wrong.
Oddly enough, my painter doesn’t drink tea. What kind of tradesman doesn’t drink tea? I’ve had to have three cups this morning to make up for it and to balance the cosmos.
Might have another one now.
I Sat Through That? – I, Robot
Posted on | July 20, 2009 | 2 Comments
I, Robot? No beer? That’s not a recipe for a good evening. Unless you like complaining, that is. Guilty.
In this week’s I Sat Through That? I consider I, Robot. You know the one. Yeah, the one with all the ads in it. It’s got that Will Smith in it. Yeah, him. The ‘welcome to earth’ guy. Sticky-out ears. That’s him. Hancock. Hmmm, maybe that’s one for another day.
Tags: I Robot > I sat through that > I Sat Through That? > Writing
Delicious? Darn tootin’, it’s delicious
Posted on | July 19, 2009 | 2 Comments
Last week, I made some chutney. Just a simple type of affair with some red peppers and a bundle of chillies and stuff. It was the first time I made it but I was pretty sure I’d like it. Stewed it up in a big pot and dipped in with a spoon every now and then and was pretty impressed with how it tasted. When it cooled however, it was twenty times better. It was double-bastard delicious.
So, now, I’ve got a couple of jars of mouth-watering chutney in the fridge. Too, too tasty.
Really, too tasty. It’s so damn tasty with some nice cheese and a bit of crusty bread and a beer or two that now, even more than usual, I’m sitting up late and eating cheese and crusty bread and drinking beer just so I can have some delectable chutney. I figure, at this rate, I have about a fortnight’s supply before it’s all gone or my liver gives out.
Better make a bigger batch next time.
I Sat Through That?
Posted on | July 13, 2009 | Comments Off on I Sat Through That?
I Sat Through That? #2, in which I consider X Files: I Want To Believe, is now available over at Flickering Myth.
It has spoilers, though. Don’t read it if you intend to watch the film to its, wholly ridiculous, denouement.
I can use words like ‘denouement’ now that I’m a big-shot critic. In fact, it’s practically a requirement.
Tags: critic > flickering myth > I sat through that > I Sat Through That? > x files
Unclean
Posted on | July 6, 2009 | 3 Comments
I fear I may be getting a cold.
I blame my wife. Or daughter. I stay here at home, safe, sheltered while they’re both out in the world, ‘interacting’ with people – people with germs. What am I to do? I’ve tried putting one of those anti-bacterial gel dispenser things inside the front door, like in the hospitals. They won’t use it. “Auwwww, it dries my hands out“, she bleats. Dry hands? This is my health we’re talking about. I’ve tried total enclosure in a rubber outfit and, while oddly pleasurable, it’s not really practical for day-to-day wear – gets a bit sweaty. I’ve tried wiping my family down with alcohol wipes before I have any physical contact but apparently that’s wrong too. I can’t win.
At this stage, I’m strongly considering closing myself off here in my attic. I’ll only talk to them through the door and will eat only what I can forage through the skylights. I will remain naked. Clothes are where germs hide. As long as I bring a supply of bottles and chocolate wrappers I should be ok for the storage and cataloguing of my urine and faeces. I will not sleep. Sleep is when the germs get you. When your guard’s down. Bleary-eyed, I will ceaselessly read the works of Perez Hilton and chuckle heartedly at LOLCats and when exhaustion threatens, I will curl up, foetal, in the corner and repeatedly jab my thighs with a mechanical pencil while singing The Streets Of London in a tuneless monotone.
And I will be safe.
It’s easy to criticise…
Posted on | July 6, 2009 | 4 Comments
…And fun too.
I’ve begun writing a column over at Flickering Myth.
“What?” you ask, “a column? What’s this, Hayes? You think you’re some sort of hot-shot, Giles Coren-type character now? Think you’re too good for the rest of us?”
The answer to these questions is, an emphatic, yes… yes I do. And, being honest, this isn’t a recent thing. I’ve felt that way for some time. As long as I can remember, really.
You come back with “So what’s it all about, then?”
Easy. It’s basically just me, complaining and bellyaching about films.
“Oooh, so you’re a film critic now?” you ask.
Sort of. The best thing is that I’m only going to be considering films I don’t like. Given that I’m incredibly well disposed to disliking stuff and, given that I love to share my dislike with pretty much anyone, whether they’re interested or not, I’m quite looking forward to spreading my bile to a wider audience.
So then, it’s called I Sat Through That?
You can read the introduction here.
The first article, in which I bad-mouth Hostel, is here.
Go. Look.
Tags: critic > flickering myth > hostel > I sat through that > I Sat Through That?
You damn kids
Posted on | June 24, 2009 | 6 Comments
Well, my CBBC thing has been pummelled and kicked into something resembling a script shape. It’s in the envelope and will be away in the morning.
Definitely an interesting experience writing for 8 to 12 year olds. So many things to consider. So many pitfalls. Plenty of other bloggy people have very kindly posted their notes from the CBBC Q&A session (and now the Writersroom people have posted the transcript) and I’ve desperately tried to subsume them all.
I’m concerned that I’ve failed pitifully at doing so.
See, the thing is, writing for kids is, in some ways, really easy and, in other, myriad ways, really, really, bastard-hard. My biggest concern is that the tone of my story is a bit too dark for the kiddies. Scaring the crap out of 8-year olds is probably not the best way forward. Still, I fondly remember when I was a kid, sitting, wearing a wide-eyed rictus as I watched some piss-poor rubber monster on Doctor Who. Perhaps scaring children is the way to go. Or perhaps Richard Littlejohn is right and the namby-pamby-politically-correct-health-and-safety-couldn’t-make-it-up-equal-opportunities-brigade have taken over the BBC and sanitised children’s TV in an attempt to molly-coddle our kids and probably help immigrants or something.
Lets hope not. If for no other reason, than the fact that a world where Richard Littlejohn is right about anything would be a very grim world indeed.
Tags: BBC > CBBC > children's tv > richard littlejohn > Writing
The rules to gig-going coolness.
Posted on | June 7, 2009 | 4 Comments
The live music experience is a complex social environment. Forget about your years of torment at the hands of the cool kids in school – veteran gig goers will roll their eyes and nudge their mates if you fail to conform to a thin line of cool. Scratch that, it’s actually if you do conform to a wide swathe of uncool.
No longer will others laugh and point. Follow these simple rules and seem instantly cooler when you go see a live band.
- Don’t wear a T-shirt with the band’s name on it. Wearing T-shirts with a band’s name is acceptable in some circumstances but never at that band’s gig. Just say no.
- While, ostensibly, the same point, it’s worth elaborating and stating that if you bought your band-name T-shirt at Next or Top Shop or a similar high-street chain and/or, if the band’s name is spelled in sparkly sequins, you shouldn’t even be in the same building as the band.
- Don’t dress like a member of the band. This is even more unacceptable than a T-shirt with the band’s name (unless it’s sparkly). There’s a bloke who’s turned up to every Paul Weller gig I’ve ever attended who dresses like Weller and has hair like Weller’s (complete with bangs). He’s probably a very nice person but… you know.
- Never sing along with the band’s most popular song. You know, that one that all the people who were quiet up to that point are now singing their little heart’s out to. This has fair-weather fan written all over it.
- Learn to clap in time. If you’re going to clap along, hands in the air like you just don’t care, it’s important that you understand how rhythm works. Try listening to the song, particularly the drums, and try to clap on the beats rather than at self-determined, arbitrary intervals.
- Don’t hold up your phone so your mate at home can hear the band. He can’t really hear it and you look like a twat.
- Don’t spend the entire time texting your mates. The lights in the audiences laps shouldn’t rival those on stage. There’ll be time enough for texting when the dealing’s done.
- Shut up. Pretty much everybody around you paid to hear the band, not to hear you chat with your mate about Big Brother. Zip it!
That’s it. Easy peasy. Now you’re too cool for school. You’re not just Kool, you’re The Gang too. You’re so cool you’re hot.
I’m still not going to talk to you at gigs, although I may not nudge my mates so much.
Tags: bands > cool > gig > live music > Paul Weller > texting > uncool
Gerry Hayes
I mostly sit around all day and drink tea. Occasionally, I write stuff and send it to strangers so they can humiliate me and deride my efforts. Other than the self-harm to dull the shame of failure, it's not a bad life. Like I say, there's tea.
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