It’s on at the London Film Festival, but you will be very lucky to get tickets at this late stage in the game…
A new film from Paul ‘Showgirls’ Verhoeven and not a swimming pool sex scene or whorey nail in sight…
By Me Me Me on October 4, 2016
By Me Me Me on December 10, 2013
We can’t remember whether we mentioned this before and can’t be arsed finding out whether we did as we’re too busy with both our hands, but it’s been announced today that lovely old gay old Ben Whishaw will – which is in the affirmative – play Freddie Mercury in the biopic of his life.
Press Gang’s glittering Dexter Fletcher will – also in the affirmative – direct, and he did a freakin’ good job with Sunshine on Leith so, you know, yey.
Peter Morgan, who wrote the script for The Queen, has written the *checks notes* script. So, you know, yey.
We’d say something else right now only, you know, both hands…
By Me Me Me on September 24, 2013
Ladies, gentlemen and undecided, Jude Law from the front…
Ladies, gentlemen and undecided, the trailer for Dom Hemingway starring Jude Law and Richard E. Grant. Looks quite good…!
By Me Me Me on September 26, 2012
When Jack Kerouac’s On The Road became a smash hit among those people who find washing their hair an affront to their liberty as human spirits, snippy little gay writer Truman Capote opined that it wasn’t so much writing as typing. And there is a lot of typing in the film version. Furious late-night typing when the muse is present, with lots of smoking and maybe a baby crying across the hall, because we are talking starving artists here and only poor people have babies who cry.
The basic story of On The Road is that three people – a wannabe writer, a cunt and the cunt’s girlfriend, cunty herself – get in a car and drive. Without the benefit of car sweets. The great myth of the American road movie is, let’s face it, lots of time sitting in a car driving, with or without car sweets.
The hook is that we are supposed to be giddy in love with these three people, with their love of free jazz, their intellect (they cart the first book of Proust’s A La Recherche around with them like other people carry tissues), their free loving (even though Kristen Stewart can be in bed with two men and still not take her top off), their thievery (always from dirt-poor working class shop owners – nice!), their drug taking (as if they weren’t already boring enough) and pretty much every tired stereotype of crazy kids on the run cocking a snook (whatever a snook is) at authority. They are, to a man, knobheads.
We get a hint that the storytellers know this towards the end of a very long film when those crazy kids start running around on their pregnant wives (Wives! Very anti-establishment!), abandoning their friends while those friends are in the grip of a fever in third world countries and ditching people on the side of the road because they need to take a comfort break.
The book invented the stereotype of the “cool” social rebel that would become the Manson family, and which we see to this very day on the streets of Dalston: the self-involved, style-obsessed types we are still supposed to look up to in the modern shape and form of the likes of Pete Doherty; it’s a shame that the film, peopled with beauties with sparkling teeth despite the fact there is not a single scene where they’re not all smoking (crazy!), never sees through what is in fact wall-to-wall posturing.
By Me Me Me on September 5, 2012
When the press attendants told us to go to the toilet because the film was going to be a long one, we must admit our hearts sank. And when it became clear that this was going to be a stylised AK, all set in a theatre (even scenes in fields and horse races!) we seriously considered closing our eyes, popping something early by Shirley on our original model iPods and snoozing the whole thing out. But we’re glad we didn’t. Sort of.
You don’t need us to tell you the story (or if you do… respectable married woman with child falls for hot young Count, starts shagging him and never mind the comeback – think Sunita in Coronation Street but substitute Count for gambling addict and you have it), which is probably why Joe Wright decided to shake it up a bit. He shouldn’t have.
Keira is luminous but not very sympathetic (everyone loves a scene where someone gets snubbed at the opera but when high society won’t speak to Anna because she’s a slag, you can’t help but think she brought it on herself) while Jude Law is surprisingly good, mainly because you don’t recognise him until halfway through.
In other news: the whole side story with Kitty and the ginger bloke gets really tired really quickly; Keira looks great with lace over her face – we think we might try that when the nights draw in; and there is some great dancing, hats and jewellery. But when Anna gets really sick, you find yourself wishing she’d get shuffling off that mortal coil, then you remember something about trains…
The lesson we took away from a film that we haven’t seen the likes of since the worst excesses of Moulin Rouge (thank the baby Jesus no one sang an Elton John song!) was that we hope we never fall in love if this is what happens. Lucky for us, we’re dead on the inside.