White Christmas

It being Christmas, and all, and me not having a telly at the moment, the chance to see a "classic" seasonal film at the cinema is a bit of a treat. Usually that film would have to be "It's a Wonderful Life", which is and always shall be the definitive filmic example of hope, joy and good will to all men - and a bloody good film to boot! It was showing in Edinburgh, at two different venues, no less, but there was also a bit more choice out there this year, and, having no memory of actually ever seeing it in its entirety, thought I'd chance my arm with White Christmas.

Starring Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye as army buddies who strike up a successful variety act post WWII, it is a loosely scripted showcase for a few big song and dance numbers, with a cue for a croon never far away. Early on it is Kaye who shines and pleases with his ever perfect comic timing and ineffable likability. There are some nice, familiar songs in there, outside of the big one, which bookends the film, such as Blue Skies and Sisters, but, on the whole, there is too much down time and duff tunes to make it a real winner - you have to wait forever for the big payoff of the title song at the end, and by that time you kinda just want to head outside and check if it's snowing for real, instead of going through any more closed lip kissing and tits and teeth dance routines.

What struck me most is what different times we live in now... The sexual politics and male dominance of 50's American society is cringingly evident, and the bit where Bing lights his trademark pipe inside a Vermont ski-lodge and blows a massive cloud of smoke right in his "loved one's" face, without her so much as blinking, comes across as pure comedy. Add to that one song: "Snow" that has to be the worst song ever written for a film musical and the overall experience is more likely to invoke childish giggles than warm fuzziness.

Saying that, when Bing finally gets to sing the showstopper it is hard not to admire his skill and the sentiment that has made it such a perennial favourite for half a century. It put me in the mood for something - just not too sure it was Christmas...?

Fleet Foxes

Seattle has produced its fair share of decent bands over the last few decades, and a lot of terrible ones too! Fortunately, Fleet Foxes are well and truly adding to the former category. They describe themselves as "Baroque harmonic pop jammers", which makes some kind of sense, I suppose - they are very harmonic, not un-pop and curiously not shy of a bit of baroque-ness...

Annoyingly, I stumbled upon them two days after they happened to play a small-ish gig down the road in Glasgow, which several of my friends went to without telling me! Their debut album, the eponymous Fleet Foxes (well done boys, always good to get to use "eponymous" in a sentence) came shortly after a well received EP called Sun Giant - the two pieces together instantly making them the must listen to band of the moment.

The immediate impression is of something very listenable, that rocks in a very mellow and melodic way - a bit like Kings of Leon if they all calmed down, stopped growling and had some nice herbal tea! Lead singer Robin Pecknold's voice is just hauntingly beautiful (and I hear this is true live also), and there are enough acoustic instruments scattered throughout each track to give it all a very other-worldly feel, which... yes, I'm going to say it: reminds me a lot of the best stuff prog-rock had to offer - early Genesis or Yes, perhaps.

Several goes around later and you are more than hooked on a few tunes and their general vibe in, errrr, general! The first single (track 2 on the album) White Winter Hymnal is just genius! I love it! It reached a dozen on my play counter without any trouble at all and is still notching them up. But it's far from a one trick pony - as is always a good sign, the tracks you weren't so bothered about at first emerge as favourites later on. It is rich and rewarding in many ways - and I predict that by their sophomore album effort they will be unfeasibly popular. Quite simply, one of my favourite albums of the year.

Dexter: Season 3

I was introduced to Dexter about eighteen months ago, being drawn into series one episode by bloody episode, admiring the unique twists and sheer audacity of the premise with relish. That first series was so complete that, at the time, I was hoping the producers would call it a day there and then and leave it alone to go down in cult TV history. But the show was too successful, its fanbase steadily building, the word of mouth spreading, and a second series soon appeared.

It took me a while, then, to accept the presence of series two - and took me some time to accept the story lines they had chosen, always thinking it weaker than its predecessor in the early episodes. Eventually, however, the charm of the superb Michael C. Hall, as our blood-thirsty anti-hero with a killer code, rose to the fore and the climax was irresistible! By then season three had already begun stateside (Showtime), so it wasn't long before I began a weekly quest to find the new episodes as they appeared.

Which means that, currently, it is the only TV show I follow with any real enthusiasm - I've tried a few others but they just don't work as well for me: scripts, acting, humour, tension - all other shows fall behind Dexter in every category. The secret of course is that only we can hear this "monster's" inner thoughts, share his secrets... We are his only friend, we go through every emotion and painful decision with him, and we love him! We want him to kill - need it as much as he does sometimes... And that the writing and central performances are good enough to allow us to feel that is exceptional.

If you haven't seen it yet my advice would be not to simply dip in now in season 3 (available on ITV soon) but to start at the beginning of series one. Dexter's journey is crucial to understanding his plight - the more you know about him and the people in his life the more you will appreciate each weekly dilemma as it comes anew. Right now I am up to speed at episode 9 of 12. If it goes as it has in seasons 1 and 2, the pace is about to be jacked up considerably... and I can't wait! Go Dex!

Waltz With Bashir

What better way to inject new life into The Wasteland than with something of unquestionable quality? Something guaranteed to make it into many people's lists, including mine, of their favourite pieces of art in 2008. And, yes, it most certainly is art, not simply a film... Trust me!

Israeli director Ari Folman's interpretation of events in 1982, of which he was part and struggles in the narrative to recreate his memories of, is a truly original piece of work - it is animation, it is a documentary and it is a feature film, but combined these elements become something so much more... For want of something less pretentious (which does it's anything but pretentious achievement a dis-service) it is... An Experience. To try to explain what it is about or what it is like is totally pointless. Go and see it, let it carry you along and see where you end up. That's all.

I can say this: the animation is superb! At times it appears 3D, taking the breath away, and at others it seems as if new colours have been invented and you are seeing them for the first time! I hear that following its narrow failure to pick up the Palme D'Or at Cannes this year, it has been entered in the best animation category at the Oscars next year. It would not be inappropriate to see it in the best film category, full stop. So as it is in this lesser category, up against much lighter fare, it is another case for me of it either wins or I stop watching the Oscars!

The nature of memory, and of trauma are interesting indeed. I can remember only one other film that has moved me so much this year, and that too was a documentary - the inimitable Man On Wire. Although this film absolutely reinvents the documentary form, building a bridge between dry fact, entertainment and meaning. My end of year top ten is going to look quite different this time, it seems.

Back Again... Maybe.

So, yes, it's been a while. This happens, I find. It all seems like a good idea, and then I get disillusioned and think "Ah, what's the point? Who reads this doggerel anyway...? It's just a waste of my time - get a life!" Then months later I think "Hang on, you are still doing the same things: watching a lot of films, listening to music, reading books, basically wasting time - and the point of this blog was to document that and get a bit of writing practice in at the same time - so why not fire it up again...?"

The problem has always been that it's difficult to keep it up, and once you (I mean I when I say you) fall behind it becomes impossible to catch up. So it was in May, I remember, having a list of about twenty things I wanted to talk about - films mostly - and just getting bogged down to the point of giving up. So this time I'm not going to worry about that... if something goes astray I will just let it go! And yeah, there have been some amazing cultural high points twixt May and December (almost) but so be it: that time has gone and a new year, full of intrigue and promise is just around the corner!

I make no promises how often I will get to jot things down, then, but I hope to keep some kind of even pace. Thanks for dropping by.

Blur

Following Tom Waits, my next choice came a little out of the ether, considering I had some of their CDs gathering dust somewhere, but had not had a single tune on my hard-drive. I was thinking of artists, like Tom, who's body of work deserves attention, and Blur, with seven studio albums and a greatest hits collection with hardly a bad tune in existence, fitted the bill.

Albarn, Coxon, James and... the other one... are a band whose music I miss when I haven't heard it in a while - they just did pop-songs so well! And the later, darker stuff on 13 and Think Tank is just superb. Now no longer officially in existence, but reportedly amicable at least, Blur were The best band of the 90s (sorry Oasis, but it's true), and carried it over into the new millennium where other bands faltered and faded. Coxon is good, I like his solo stuff, but, surely, the key to this success had to be Albarn, whose work with both The Gorillaz and The Good The Bad and The Queen proves his songwriting and status as a serious musician are almost second to none. I have nothing but respect and admiration for the guy.

It is so difficult to pinpoint a favourite song or a favourite album. I think you have to go a long way to find a better opening duo back to back than Beetlebum and Song 2, from the eponymous album Blur, and I found myself singing Tracy Jacks (a glaring omission both as a single and from the Greatest Hits album) all day last Wednesday... There are so many. A lot of songs that suit the sun and a lot that invite the rain - perfect! I would love to think another album would be forthcoming one day, but it is getting harder to see that happening. Regardless, they will always have a place in my heart.

Tom Waits

Have you ever accidentally deleted every file on your hard-drive? Well I have and let me tell you, once the nausea subsides, it is a complete pain in the ass! Especially if you haven't taken any measures to back up irreplaceable stuff. Fortunately, I had taken such measure for my writing and personal files, but I did lose every piece of media - movies, music and pictures that I "owned"!

As far as the music collection goes it means you have to go through an arduous process of re-ripping all the CDs you own, recovering licenses for all the legitimate downloads and hunting again for all the "not-so-legal" downloads (come on, we may as well all confess...). It does, however, have an interesting side-effect, in that you are forced to re-asses your musical priorities and tastes - as in you first go to replace the stuff that you just cannot live without. And, for me, I was interested to find that I went straight for the Tom Waits discography I had "acquired" a few months back and listened to a fair amount, but not exhaustively. Is my sub-conscious telling me Tom Waits is my new favourite artist?

It's a big possibility. It requires a certain mood, usually, but for variation and consistent genius the guy is almost in a league of his own. OK, not too many happy songs - we are in the land of bums and booze and divorce and tragedy - but he does it all so well, he just is the everyman down on his luck, and I love it! It is real music, with real instruments and a feel for the old; a sentimentality and soulfulness that is a real treat. It affirms the loneliness and desperation in us all and makes it somehow OK.

The recent release of Orphans: Bawlers, Brawlers and Bastards, is universally considered one of his best ever works - which at the age of 58 is testament to the longevity of one of the most respected figures in the business. I guess your average Joe or Johanna could not name a single tune he rasps, but he is an album artist not a pop-star - his work has meaning and a purpose, is considered and erudite in a working class way. It is grimy and soiled and guilty and forlorn and altogether brilliant from top to bottom!

Recent news that he will play the UK for the first time in 20 years is very exciting! Whether I will manage the £95 price tag is debatable. A once in a lifetime gig, for sure, but I don't know about that - just how good can one set be? Well, knowing the man, it will be unforgettable and worth every dirty dime!

Peep Show

This wasn't a show that I ever turned on specifically, or looked forward to even, but if it was on, and it always seemed to be, I would give it a watch and feel slightly amused, perhaps even entertained... just enough to keep coming back.

Now I think the problem wasn't with the show, but with my waning love affair with the TV medium. The endless choice and endless dross at the start of the digital TV revolution really wore me down - I just watched for watching's sake and hated myself for it! Then came the epiphany that is 4od (channel 4 on demand), available free through my laptop, with a great archive to choose from. This means that, much like popping in a DVD, you can watch one or a series of episodes without ad breaks or having to wait for a certain time to watch what you want. And yes I know this has been available for a while through Virgin media subscriptions, but it just makes it so much better to not need a box or a TV or to have to pay! At all!

So, looking back at Peep Show from series one, episode one, my view of it has gone up. It's a superb idea to be able to see the world through the eyes of the characters and hear their most sordid inner thoughts - and what makes Peep Show good is its consistency in this format and its relentless approach to no taboo honesty about what it means to be a single (or not) man in the new millennium. The juxtaposition of the polar opposites of office geek Mark and overgrown indie-boy Jez is just very funny. They are frightened little boys trying to play adults in the real world and failing at every turn. Pathos is a fine art and the writing here is often spot on, allowing for more knowing chuckles than out loud belly laughs, but all the better for it.

Now in its fifth season and seemingly getting better and better, this will be the definition of Mitchell and Webb's career's whether they like it or not. Having seen their less inspired sketch show I feel very confidant in saying that. They are excellent writers and very good character actors, but they need the characters. I see their future lying in writing for others and perhaps some serious acting. I can certainly see David Mitchell especially having potential for that. I will look forward to it.

Siddhartha

Published in 1922 and popular in the 60's as an important document in the Flower child generation's search for enlightenment, Siddhartha is a powerful book to this day. It was one of Henry Miller's very favourites and so , of course, I had to read it.

I'd read one other Hesse allegory previously, given to me as a gift several years ago, the short and incredibly sweet Journey Into The West. Similarly, Siddhartha is not a long or taxing novel in any way; the language drifts and flows, like a gentle stream - its simplicity a pure joy to behold! This is writing of the very highest caliber, stripped of unnecessary hyperbole and laborious exposition, filtered down into the most direct form of communication, and as such is one of the most accessible books you will ever read. I took my time with it (about a week), letting it seep in slowly, savouring the ideas, but it could easily be read in a day, even over a medium length train journey.

The idea of reaching an ultimate goal in life, especially the goal of enlightenment or Nirvana, is seen here as completely futile. Simply to be is enough. To experience life and learn through our mistakes and sufferings is a goal in itself and often the journey to realising this is long and arduous. The impossibility of achieving this realisation through short-cuts and by following teachings and texts is beautifully expressed. So often I found myself knowing that what I was reading was the truth, so resonant were the words with me. I cannot express why, only that the echoes of my own experiences and that of the traveller and adventurer Siddhartha are in some strange harmony - and recognising yourself in a work of art means it has done its job well!

I admit I am drawn to Eastern thinking and philosophy and so am bound to find this enticing. It is comforting to know this book has been written and translated and still read some 85 years after its time. And comforting that it was a German, repressed by the Nazis (proof that nationality is irrelevant to spirituality) who wrote it. I will be going back to its pages often, that is certain...

As an aside, I was interested to find that a 1971 film called Zachariah ("the first electric western") transposes the story of Siddhartha and Govinda to the wild west... with electric guitars! This I have to see.

Top Ten Movies

I have been watching a lot of films recently - many of which I hope to catch up on and review here - and was reminded that it is a year exactly since I moved to London for the Summer. I can chart my life through cinema, always have and probably always will. It got me thinking of the best the last twelve months has had to offer, where I was when I saw them, how I felt before and how I felt after the experience!

In alphabetical order then, for fairness (although I scored them on ten criteria and have an actual order that I will keep to myself), here are the best ten films of the last 12 months (May 2007 - April 2008). The criteria were: direction, lead actor performance, lead actress performance, supporting performances, cinematography, script, music, art direction (including design, costume and make-up etc), critical acclaim and a score for X-Factor (how enjoyable, re-watchable or just plain spine-tingling it was). See what you think...

The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward R. Ford

Atonement

The Bourne Ultimatum

Control

Juno

The Lives of Others

No Country For Old Men

There Will Be Blood

This Is England

Zodiac

I saw six of those for the first time in Edinburgh (all but Bourne at the Cameo), three in London and one in Nottingham. It is an incredibly strong crop, ranging over several genres and styles - at least half of those would definitely make it into my top 100 of all time - and it is especially pleasing that three of them are British.

The next ten representing notable omissions that are somewhat flawed but still scored highly include:

American Gangster

The Darjeeling Ltd

Half Nelson

Hallam Foe

Into the Wild

La Vie En Rose

Michael Clayton

Once

The Savages

Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street

Of course, there will be several films I haven't even seen yet, so I don't claim this list to be definitive, but at least now it's off my chest I can start collecting again for a new year!

Comments welcome. Click the title of this post to see what The Times has to say on the subject.

Into The Wild

Let's face it, when it comes to directing, Sean Penn's track record is not great. Fine, a lot of people quite liked The Pledge - I wasn't one of them. I liked Jack's performance in The Pledge, but I thought the direction and screenplay were awful. So the thought of yet another politically charged pretension-fest, this time also scripted by Penn from a book by John Krakauer, really did not make that much appeal.

Based on the real life "adventures" of Christopher McCandless and his desire to leave all the modern trappings of American life and culture behind and head to Alaska, where it is possible to exist in true wilderness and peace, Into The Wild is almost, but not quite, a documentary. We have some odd narration courtesy of Jenna Malone and some quirky early scenes with his family (a welcome return for Marcia Gay-Harden and the ever reliable William Hurt), but once we get past the annoyances of the first half hour and the road trip begins in earnest it becomes a pretty good ride.

Emile Hirsch, whose previous claim to fame was an MTV award nomination in the category of "best kiss" for The Girl Next Door, plays the fresh faced lead with the right mix of naivety and joy - he could almost be a younger Leonardo DiCaprio, such is his intensity and innocent gaze - and it is his like-ability that really makes this film. We are absolutely on his side, elated when he is, suffering when he does, jealous of the freedom he claims for himself and the strength of his own convictions. Also notable is a lovely cameo from veteran Hal Holbrook (All The President's Men, Capricorn One, The Fog), for which he received a deserved nomination in the uber competitive Best Supporting Actor category this year. At 83 we could cynically say it was a case of give the old guy a nod before he croaks, but no, he got it on merit, come on!

Ultimately it's not a great film. But it does make you think about our modern values and how much of nature we've lost or simply given up on. There is something in the spirit of this film that I really liked, and the closing minutes, leading up to a picture of the real Christopher McCandless are very moving. Sean has a way to go still, but he is getting better. And watch out for young Mr. Hirsch, he could be very big one day very soon.

The Orphanage

With the kid packed away on the bus back to her mum's and a slight feeling of deflation after Persepolis I was keen for more cinema and knew exactly where I was going. Between my house and Sainsbury's local there is an Odeon - I used to love the Odeon brand, but now they seem a bit like a mini-multiplex that gets everything slightly wrong and I don't normally go there any more - however, for some reason, in with all the rom-com and action movie pap, they seemed to be pushing the Spanish language horror film El Orfanato, which no one I know had yet to say a bad word about and several had said very good words about... It seemed perfect.

Directed by Juan Antonio Bayona, starring the beautiful Belen Rueda and carrying the name of producer Guillermo Del Toro (Pan's Labyrinth) as a marketing strategy, it was Spain's entry to the best foreign language category for many awards. Firstly, the tag of "horror" is not exactly right - it is a psychological thriller and a fairytale with horror aspects. Ignoring the contrived fact that our protagonist returns as an adult to live in the creepy orphanage she grew up in, everything about this film is pitch perfect. It has an old fashioned feel, with old fashioned sensibilities, namely fully rounded characters and and taut script full of "jumps" and unexpected twists and turns!

I literally can't remember the last time a film made my palms sweat and want to hide behind a big cushion, but this did it alright! I nearly fell out of my chair several times, so unexpected and brilliantly executed were the major scare moments. The production is beautiful too: great photography and period detail, and that intangible "Spanishness" of it all, which Almodovar and Del Toro (and now Bayona) capture wonderfully. Then there is Rueda, who demands sympathy in a well judged performance, balancing female strength with the frailty and vulnerability of a child within an adult body and the fears of a parent. All in all, it is simply a great story, well told - tragic and meaningful.

This narrowly missed out on inclusion in my best of the year list (see 28th April entry), which it would definitely have made into the second ten and maybe even the top ten. As it is, this is an early contender for next years list and certainly a film I look forward to seeing again any time.

Persepolis

Marjane Satrapi's graphic novel had escaped my attention until I heard a vague buzz about an animated film from Iran picking up awards nominations left, right and centre. It's nice to have something so original and outside your normal range of cultural intake shake you up a bit, and, seeing as I'm trying harder to engage politically with the world around me, I was quite looking forward to its cinema release.

Every time I saw the trailer whilst working at The Cameo I got a little shiver and a sense that this was going to be a subtle and intelligent treat. So I had no hesitation getting straight in there on the opening Friday. And with it being an animation about a little girl I even took the kid along, thinking she might not understand it all, but would enjoy its spirit.

To say I was disappointed is a bit much - it was good... It ended abruptly and in a strange place (which differs from the books, apparently); there were some very poignant moments and the animation was, indeed, very original and never dull. But... I don't know, maybe something got lost in the translation, or it was just not edited as well as it might have been, but parts of it sagged for me, and the overall impression was one of "yeah, that was OK, glad I saw it" rather than, "yeah, that was amazing, wow, what a life she had". It almost seems like Persepolis part 1: something incomplete. And the acid test - the kid said she liked it but has not mentioned it once since, which is very telling.

Under Milk Wood

Speaking of the great man, old Jenx (Mr Burton to you), all this audio file / spoken word malarky brought me back to one of the best recordings ever produced by the BBC. It is the 1963 all Welsh recording of Dylan Thomas' masterpiece Under Milk Wood.

A few nights in a row I popped it on just as I laid down to sleep and let it lull me away to the valleys... The voice of Burton was never more sublime and perfectly used. You can hardly hear him draw a breath, his control and understanding of the words are unsurpassed.

The work itself is both timeless and instantly nostalgic - a time of coal miners and fishermen and fisherwives! Of bakers and chimney sweeps, of cold dark nights and bustling days; community and gossip and spirit and heartache and joy and failure... it's all there - a day in the life of a postcard village that we are invited to see, with a hush, like it's all a secret.

Wonderful. A must for anyone seriously interested in the art of acting, drama, poetry and life!

Lions For Lambs

A lot of the focus on Redford's latest film, the unnecessarily dismissed Lions For Lambs, was on Tom Cruise and the fact he had been so lambasted personally in the media. Now, I understand people's problems with the guy, both on and off screen, but when well cast I have to defend him.

I don't know enough about Scientology to comment. Sure it seems weird, but so is Catholicism, so is Judaism etc. Perhaps a night on the town with old Tom wouldn't be a bundle of laughs, but I like so much of his work - Magnolia, Collateral, Rain Man to name three of the best - that I hate to see him picked on. My political knowledge isn't as savvy as it might be either, so on paper this was a tough watch. However, a bunch of above average reviews led me to give it a chance.

And I'm glad, because there is much more to this than meets the eye. For a start the three leads are impeccable, demonstrating over 100 years of screen experience between them to devastating effect. OK, a lot of it is static; it's conversational, like a high level school debate, but what is said is intelligent and open-minded enough to draw you in and encourages you to ask your own questions. The scenes between Cruise (as I say, perfectly cast as a smug yet beguiling senator) and the ever wonderful Meryl (is there nothing she can't do) Streep are particularly sparkling.

The direction too is efficient and unpatronising - coming in at just over 90 minutes it is certainly palatable, even to the darkest cynic. It won't leave you stunned for days like the best of the year, but it's deserving enough of praise and definitely recommended for when the mood doesn't want action, comedy or fantasy. Give it a try, you may be surprised.

War of the Worlds

Once every couple of years I get the urge to revisit Jeff Wayne's "Rock Opera" The War of the Worlds. It was always close to the top of the pile of vinyl records in our dining room in the late seventies and I was fascinated by it. Drawn in by the artwork, the beautifully packaged double LP with full lyrics on the sleeve, and then of course the music and the incomparable voice of Richard Burton as the narrator!

Part of its attraction now is the nostalgic feel for the 70's it encapsulates - it just IS the 70's! The synthesizers, the re-verb, the OTT drama, even David Essex makes an appearance! But it wouldn't have lasted so long as a cultural artifact were it not for the fact that it is quite brilliant. From the opening monologue, with Burton vibrating your spine, you are hooked. Then the full orchestra kicks in with the 9 note repetition of its main theme and you are spellbound... Close your eyes and you can actually see Martians. And it's scary! By the time the "Oooh-Laa" scream comes in you are like jelly - I tell you, do not listen to it in the dark!

I just love the story as told this way - in England of the early 20th century, not America at the turn of the millennium. I read the book when I was 10 and loved every page. And with Burton, one of my all time idols, guiding you along it is just a pleasure from start to finish. Although, saying that, our modern attention spans are a bit stretched by its running length and you are more likely to own the condensed version or listen to it in snatches, skipping the really weird bits...

I recently burned it to CD for my daughter. It terrified her and made her want more at the same time. I remember that feeling and am thrilled it can still have that effect on a new generation. I wonder whatever happened to Jeff Wayne? Is he alive? Dead? Still composing? Hmmm.

American Gangster

I liked this film enough to want to include a review here, but not enough to rave about it. I thought a lot of it was good, without ever being spectacular, or even that memorable. The two leads are, as ever, competent and comfortable - but there is a sense (as is often true with Denzel especially) that both could have pushed things further. As could Ridley Scott. There is an air of auto-pilot, then, about much of this film.

It took me three tries to get past the first half hour, which is patient to a fault in the build-up of the scene and characters within this world. It never feels epic, and going for a tighter edit may have been the way to go - but who am I to tell Mr Scott how to do it?

Once you get past the exposition, however, you do become drawn in to it. Crowe is particularly beguiling, and with this and 3:10 to Yuma recently is proving his dependability as a watchable presence for me. The build to climax is well paced and allegiances to Washington's gangster warlord move into interesting territory once we begin to completely side against the cool anti-hero ethos and see it all from Crowe's flawed but decent cop's perspective.

My favourite thing about it was the very last moment before the credits, as they cross the street: a brilliant touch the whole film could have used more of. A decent if uninspiring watch.

Jesse James

When I saw the very first image of this film and began to hear the buzz that it was an Oscar contending masterpiece, I was not in the slightest bit dubious. When I heard that Casey Affleck had been cast as Robert Ford I was positively excited. I had been following his progression closely, and since Gerry had been convinced that the boy was a star waiting to happen.

Although tired when I first watched it at the cinema, with a Bulleit Bourbon in hard, it left a very strong impression on me, and the performance of Affleck Jnr. in particular. I wasn't sure I was in the best state to absorb it all, and came away with the vague feeling that I'd seen something special without realising completely why.

Upon watching it again recently, its greatness began to dawn on me... The Oscars had come and gone - Affleck had lost out to Bardem and the film had lost out to both No Country For Old Men and There Will Be Blood. Three "westerns" with very different approaches, and, initially I considered Jesse James the slight inferior of the other two. I still maintain the P. T. Anderson film is the more complete work, but I have to say that this now outranks No Country in my estimations. And the reason for this is that it is just so poetic! It eats up the screen with endless beauty; an ephemeral sadness and wistful wonder that gives it a dreamlike quality. The performances are across the board brilliant, and Casey Affleck is simply in another league, showing a perfectly competent Brad Pitt how it is done. The detail, subtlety and underplay of his performance gives me shivers! Javier Bardem is certainly deserving of praise, but it is a classic case of a showy turn wooing the voters - be insane or handicapped and the Oscar is almost yours!

I realised that I had dozed through some crucial scenes mid-way through first time around, and was surprised to find just how much more I enjoyed the second viewing. It is coherent and wonderfully realised - patient and haunting, surprising and rewarding in equal measure. And as for its themes... The nature of fame, the nature of myth and the perception of cowardice. It has a lot of intelligent things to say about all these without ever labouring its point. The blur between being a "good" man and a "bad" man - doing what's right and doing what you have to do - superb!

In terms of watchability it is the best of the 3 "westerns". At least that's my feeling right now, it may change. That it came along in a year that was so strong is the only shame, as less people saw it than might have done otherwise. But it will undoubtedly be proved a classic as years go by. I'm already looking forward to seeing it again.

Isobel Campbell

Isobel Campbell is still probably best known for her association with "Twee Pop" band Belle and Sebastian, for who she provided vocals and played the cello. In recent years her solo career has come to the fore, along with several collaborations, most notably with Screaming Trees and Queens of the Stoneage vocalist Mark Lanegan.

It was this pairing on 2006's Ballad of the Broken Seas that brought I.C. to my attention. The mix of her sweet, floating vocal with the full-tar growl of Lanegan is irresistible in my book. I must have listened to that album a couple of dozen times at home and at work and never tired of it.

Recently, having been reminded of their existence through their two tunes on the Juno soundtrack, I downloaded the Belle and Sebastian discography and refreshed my relationship with them a little. I like them a lot, despite the criticisms of them being fey and lightweight and even pretentious (all true but still good). But I kept coming back to the female voice and wanted to find out more about this wee lady.

Some investigative hours and the garnering of no less than four solo albums (including two as The Gentle Waves) later and I am a little bit in love with her!

For a start, I had no idea how pretty she was, which naturally helps, but it is her talent and guile as a musician that really clinched it. Her sense for a tune is rarely less than enticing; a pop sensibility right up there with the likes of Beautiful South's Paul Heaton definitely exists and I'm surprised there haven't been more "hits". Perhaps her folksy, Celtic influences are not exactly the vogue...

Harpsichords, cellos, violins, piccolos and many more less heard instruments all help to weave some wonderful and generally relaxing soundscapes, all finished with the lilting tones of the Scots lassy, who will be 32 next week. There is a ribbon of magic here - something like fairy-dust, another-worldly flavour with a sub-current of something sinister, exemplified by her cover of Willow's Song from the film The Wicker Man. No doubt, were she born a hundred years ago, she would have been burned as a witch!

There is a note of Americana and a more Country and Western feel to her latest offerings, however (see the newly released follow-up to Ballad of the Broken Seas, Sunday at Devil Dirt), almost certainly due to Lanegan's influence. Not that I'm saying that is a bad thing, but not sure I respond to that as easily. For sure, though, I will be keeping an eye on her work for many a year.

An Interview With Henry Miller

Next came the true gold. I went straight to searching for specific names who might have committed their voice to record. Richard Burton, the greatest voice of all time, was my first choice, but absent. Yet my disappointment had little time to settle when I stumbled upon a 2 track album of an Interview With Henry Miller, recorded in Minneapolis in 1964.

He is talking with a rather prim sounding literary journalist who remains unnamed, his deep rumbling voice patiently rolling forth with boundless eloquence and enthusiasm, belying his 72 years, as his memories of books, travels and experiences are explored. He is gentlemanly and charming, asking her "... do you see?" repeatedly at the end of his lines of effortless wisdom. He is at once human and well-humoured, honest and brutal as his writings, but mellowed and considerate in opinion.

He mentions many writers and his appreciation of their works: Hermann Hesse (he is especially fond of Siddhartha), Saul Bellow, John Cowper Powys, Dostoevsky, Kerouac (who he considers too young and undisciplined, but of great potential) and his greatest unknown influence, Norwegian Nobel prize winner Knut Hamsun. The latter, especially, I knew nothing of, so was intrigued to find out about his works and see why he had such an effect on one of my absolute heroes.

He then becomes very philosophical, returning to many of his own themes - citing the Tao Te Ching as the greatest achievement in writing of all time. Which leads to a defence of his views on God and morality and the hopelessness of mankind in that age. He is accused by the interviewer as being an anarchist, to which he responds passionately, yet with a certain twinkle, "that's exactly what I am!".

As ever, I find the man a resonant source of inspiration - there is something almost angelic, indeed spiritual about him and his ideas. I found myself led straight to Amazon.co.uk to buy a collection of things suggested by him - his own (new collection at that time) Stand Still Like The Hummingbird; Hesse's Siddhartha; Hamsun's Hunger and finally a copy of the Tao Te Ching, a book I have loved since I was 19 years old, but have not visited in several years. An exciting prospect to get my hands and mind around those! Essential tools in my own journey towards becoming a half-decent writer.

He ends with some hints on writing. About "cultivating a habit", finding a "rhythm" all our own. Guaranteed I have taken this to heart. As the interviewer flirts her way to conclusion with "Henry Miller, we could talk to you all night" I have the biggest smile on my face. Thank you Mr Miller. Thanks again.

Howl

Following on from the comedy section of eMusic, I then delved into the spoken word section and found it to be much the same story - lots of obscure works, but not much that appealed to my populist knowledge. I scanned the collection by name alphabetically until I came to G for Ginsberg.

I remembered seeing I'm Not There, the Bob Dylan film, a few months back, and the curious scene where a bearded middle-aged man named Allen Ginsberg comes alongside Dylan's car and Dylan (played by Cate Blanchett at that point) goes crazy and has a strange conversation with him before he peals off to the right. The name tweaked something in my subconscious - I knew he was somehow part of the beat movement and linked to Kerouac and Burroughs, but knew nothing at all of his works.

The tracks on offer were part of a series called Howls, Raps and Roars, containing what are suggested to be Ginsberg's most important works: Howl and Kaddish. Always willing to be educated in the parts of recent culture I hitherto have been ignorant of I decided to give it a try.

The recordings were all by Ginsberg himself, and whilst not of the highest quality, did, at least, have an authenticity about them that was compelling. As I listened to the profane and ornate imagery of Howl, a piece which lasts almost half an hour, I marvelled as much at his voice and technique in delivering what is basically one endless thought and sentence, invoking the youth, crime, poverty and injustices of New York and San Francisco in the 50's, as at the poetry itself.

I will need to give it a few listens before I even begin to fully understand what he's on about, and, importantly, whether it still has relevance or whether it is simply a curious artifact of that time and place. Anyway, it was interesting to be transported there for a while, and I'm pleased to be able to put a tick in the Allen Ginsberg box in case he's ever mentioned as a reference. it definitely has something of the essence of Miller and Bukowski in there, and for that alone it is worthwhile.

You can listen to samples of his work by clicking the link at the top of this post.

These Are Jokes

So the journey began with me wanting something light to lift the mood and kill a bit of time...

A few weeks ago, when trying to put together my Daniel Johnston DJ set, I had joined a thing called eMusic, for the specific reason of downloading the very hard to come by Dead Dogs Eyeball by Kathy McCarty, which they claimed to have available. I paid a £15 subscription for 125 downloads, thinking I would easily find some more interesting stuff - it seemed like a good deal. Only then, however, was I told that the UK doesn't have a download license for that album so I was out of luck! Indignant and quite disappointed I sent an angry e-mail asking for my money back. Later, by automated reply, I was told that no refunds could be given, but that they wished me well with my 125. Incredible service!

Days after I set about exploring the database, determined to find some rare and interesting things it might be hard to come by elsewhere. Which is good, because, generally, obscure, deleted or otherwise unwanted stuff seems to be the stock in trade for eMusic. Long hours (yes, hours) of blind alleys later I gave in and ended up going for some obvious choices not already in my collection: Thom Yorke's Eraser, some Isobel Campbell, the first and best Nouvelle Vague, Elbow's Cast of Thousands and the new Raconteurs album. Which left me with a feeling that at least I'd got something for my money, and I still had around 50 downloads left.

Coming back to the site yesterday, conscious of the fact that I had to spend my credits by the end of the day before my subscription expired, I went in search of content outside of the music categories, namely comedy and spoken word. Both sections were riddled with the same kinds of anomalies the music genre sections were - no Bill Hicks, no Eddie Izzard, but plenty of Saturday Night Live rejects I'd never heard of. Until one name rang a bell: Demetri Martin!

A quick google and I learn he has won the perrier award in Edinburgh recently (where was I that year?), and his face looks familiar somehow... Ah! He is being compared to Steven Wright for his dead pan one-liners. Cool, I'm sold.

An hour later and I am struggling desperately for breath and coughing up half a lung after laughing so much! Lines like: "I like to mix I can't believe it's not butter with butter to make I can believe some of it's butter" have left me a wreak. And if you're reading that now going "yeah, that's just OK" then it's proof that comedy is indeed in the way you tell 'em. Laconic and emo cool, his delivery is spot on - the pauses perfectly placed, the gaps for laughter superbly timed - the guy has just got it! And the great thing is that his material is 95% observational jokes, not long rambling monologues, so you can remember it easily afterwards. Later in the album he makes use of music to accompany his patter, a nice touch - only when he performs actual songs does his comedy waver. Bill Bailey and The Flight of the Conchords are experts at the comic tune, but Demetri should probably stick to the one-liners.

Second time around, even when I know what's coming, it's just as funny! I can't believe I've missed him completely at the fringe so far. I will definitely be looking out for him this August, but maybe as a Perrier winner already he feels he's been there and done that and won't be back for a while...? I might just have to go to New York and catch him there.

You can check him out on YouTube by clicking here. In the meantime remember, "saying I'm sorry and saying I apologise are the same thing, unless you're at a funeral". Heehee!

The Third Revelation

Well, what an inspirational evening it's been - full of wonders and signs and mysteries, all leading me back to The Wasteland...!

I knew the day would come when I'd start typing again, I just wasn't sure when or how, or what would be the catalyst.

There have been so many cultural milestones, old and new, that have taken up my time since I've been away from the page. Often I've thought about scribbling down my thoughts on a certain film I'd seen, or a piece of music I'd heard, but the chaotic nature of my recent life has steered me away from it. Until now. Hard to believe it's really been two years!

I've been ill, on and off, for most of 2008, so far. My latest ailment is a cold in my chest and sinuses. I got off work early today because of it. Sundays are generally a long haul, so it was a relief not to have to stay. I felt bad enough that "work" was out, but also nicely dreamy-floaty - tired, but not sick enough to just lay down and sleep. And so, from the comfort of bed, I set out to entertain myself as best I could, alternating between tea and lemsip for sustenance.

Sometimes with precious hours to kill a man like me finds nothing but lazy, guilt inducing addictions filling his evening (usually involving facebook these days), but tonight something a little more constructive was nagging at me...

I had been speaking to a few people recently about the book I've been sporadically striving to write - A Sense of the Impossible - trying to explain its themes as best I could, and exploring in my own head reference points that I need to look into. It's beginning to become more real to me - the fact that I might actually do this - I might actually get it together and finally weave the pieces of ideas and the notes and the failed attempts into something that resembles a novel! I'm thinking about it more and more from day to day and things keep pointing me back to the right road, as if I'm being somehow guided to get it done. At last!

Tonight, then, has been typical of the way I want to spend my time now - riding a wave of cultural influences that isn't pointless, or merely a "waste", but a way of absorbing useful stimulus with a goal in view - or several creative goals, as it may prove, if I can keep this level of optimism going...? I still want to let it control me sometimes - stay open minded and loose, letting things find me as well as me finding them - trying not to be snobbish along the way - this is still anything but a highbrow pursuit. But I also want to be more conscious about where I'm being led, and, if necessary, have the willpower to stop, to turn off and say "no", and then use my time better somehow. I want to build a routine and a method to the madness that begins with tangential odysseys, like the one I've just had.

In short, I've spent more than 10 hours today absorbing different media - educating, entertaining, thrilling, enlightening and moving stuff, each and every part - and I want to document that journey! Natural then that I would turn back for the third time to this blog. The Wasteland was always a good idea and never a complete waste of time and energy. At best it has helped me keep writing when other ideas have dried up, and it's time to get that discipline back.

I hope whoever might happen across it, either through invitation or by dumb luck, finds something amusing, engaging, absorbing or challenging within the posts. The idea here is that it is a rough journal of the various cultural treats, or disappointments I come across from day to day. It is not an attempt at professional criticism, or high art in any way - just a reflection of my thoughts and impressions at the time I experienced something, and how that relates to my life. Whilst I will make some effort to ensure a certain quality and standard in writing, I neither have the time nor the motivation to promise it will be error free, either in content or style. You are welcome to leave comments and spark debates, but, ultimately, it is just my opinion.

Welcome to The Wasteland. Thanks for dropping by.