The Last Two Weeks (Part 1)

I have no idea where the last fortnight or so has gone. Okay, that’s an over-exaggeration – I know exactly where it went, but such quick passing of time still freaks me out, as it draws ever closer to the end of term. Here’s a summary of relatively interesting and vaguely relevant things that have happened recently:

My dad came to stay!

Almost two weeks ago, my dad had to go to a National Trust conference event in Swindon, and as our home in East Yorkshire is pretty far and my student flat in Bristol is rather near, it seemed sensible that he should stay with me for a couple of days (especially as you can’t really travel from the north to the south west and back in a day). It felt bizarrely grown-up having one of my parents to stay, as my home life and uni life rarely cross-over. I definitely enjoyed it though – we watched about three hours of 30 Rock and Dad cooked me a steak, plus we finally fulfilled a long-held joint ambition to visit Thali Cafe.

Something of a Bristol institution, there are four cafes dotted around the city, all serving authentic Indian food. We went to the Clifton branch, and were definitely not disappointed. Rather than having a massive serving of curry and a huge plate of rice, for around £8 you get a small bowl of delicious, subtly spiced curry (I had lamb, my dad had fish) surrounded by other dishes of basmati rice, tarka dahl, vegetable subji, Keralan salad and homemade chutney. It was just as filling as the giant portions you normally tend to get at Indian restaurants, but far more exciting to eat, as there was such an interesting range of textures and flavours. They do a killer mango lassi (almost as good as the Mumtaz in Bradford), plus the staff were all really friendly and the decor was very cool (even if there was a mannequin that scared the bejesus out of me). It’s definitely worth a visit!


I went to a comedy night!


In first year, I joined improv comedy society, mainly because my now-best friend Emily wanted to. Two years later, she's the president of ImprovSoc and has performed with them in Edinburgh, so it was a good call for her (I stopped going after first year. I didn't get on with it so much, and workshops always seemed to clash with me going to comedy gigs, especially last year). Anyway, to support Emily, I do still go to a few improv shows and ImprovSoc are pretty good (look at their YouTube channel!). 


They've also recently taken over the running of a comedy night at The Hill pub in the Cotham area of Bristol, punningly called Hill-arity (the pub does really good pizzas too). I went to review it for Inter:Mission, in my capacity as comedy editor, and really enjoyed it. Thankfully, Emily wasn't performing, so there wasn't a massive conflict of interests, but I did know some of the people who were in the show, and found it quite difficult to balance not hurting their feelings and giving an honest critique of the gig. I didn't lie, but I think I did tend to err on the side of being nicer (partly because I was afraid some kind of comment storm like this would happen). Anyway, the review of Hillarity is here. 

I wrote an essay!

It was 3000 words on Moll Flanders and the dominance of women in the eighteenth century novel (I like writing about women). I did pretty well on it. That is all.

I saw a film!

As a post-essay treat, I went to Bristol city centre with some of my lovely course friends. We hung around the German Christmas market (which made me miss my friend Louise, who’s on her year abroad in Regensburg) and I ate freshly made donuts, whilst three of my friends awkwardly ate huge bratwursts near some vegan protesters. Slightly chilly, but full of delicious food, we then went to see My Week With Marilyn – a really sweet movie about the filming of The Prince and The Showgirl. It was quite a light film (which was just what we needed after the gruelling mental exertion of an essay hand-in) but the central performances were all amazing, especially Michelle William’s Marilyn. I wrote a much more articulate review for Inter:Mission (you can read it here). Then we had mulled Somerset cider and talked about murder mysteries. It was a lovely day.

I ate more Indian food!

We tried out the Indian takeaway near our flat – Bristol Raj. It was nice, and the prices were pretty reasonable, but it just couldn’t compare to Thali Cafe. I had quite a big portion of chicken shashlik, which had a good ratio of chicken to vegetables, but wasn’t quite as spicy or flavourful as I would have liked. The garlic rice was tasty though, and the naans were soft and doughy. Plus, the guys at the restaurant also gave us a couple of free poppadoms. However, unless it was just for convenience, I’m not sure if I’d go again, as I know there are better Indian food outlets near us (and not just Thali Cafe).

This concludes week one. I’ll post my accounts of last week’s fun shortly– it includes me eating even more food and seeing another film. Oh the excitement!

Failure With A Capital F

I shouldn't make vague statements of intent (see previous post). They usually fail. Though admittedly, this time I have a good reason: life just got in the way. I had to go home unexpectedly for some quite sad reasons in the middle of October, then spent the next couple of weeks trying to catch up. Plus I had my first essay deadline of the year, friends staying, parties to host and a section of a website to run.

Yes, at the end of last academic year I found out I'd got the Comedy Editor position on a new Bristol-centric cultural magazine site called Inter:Mission, which has been set up by some of my coursemates. (Genuinely, it is a really good website, and it's especially useful if you live in Bristol). I've been sorting out mailing lists, finding writers, organising press tickets and editing other people's work, as well as writing some articles of my own. Ironically though, I've only actually been to one comedy gig so far this year (Dave Gorman), so a lot of my reviews are for the film section, which my flatmate Pete edits. I've posted a lot of links in the 'Portfolio' section at the top of the site, but here are all of my articles for Inter:Mission so far (most recent first). I'm pretty pleased with them, but I definitely want to write more on here too:

Fresh Meat, Episode 8 (Review) 

Dave Gorman's PowerPoint Presentation (Review)
Arthur Christmas (Review)
Contagion (Review)
The Ides of March (Review
Interview: Elf Lyons
The Greatest Movie Ever Sold (Review) 
Edinburgh Fringe Interview: Improv Soc & Revunions 
Crazy Stupid Love (Review) 
Fresh Meat, Episode 1 (Review)
Introduction to Bristol's Comedy Societies 

Right, now I have to start an essay on the dominance of women in 18th and 19th century novels. And tidy my room before my dad comes to stay this weekend. We're finally going to go to the Thali Cafe in Clifton - I'm pretty excited.

Review: Red Riding Hood

Twilight has a lot to answer for. Besides the fact that the books are awful and the films aren’t much better, the success of Stephanie Meyer’s vampiric tetralogy almost undoubtedly led to the production of Red Riding Hood. The film is based loosely on the Charles Perrault and Brothers Grimm versions of the classic fairy tale, though it feels unfair to associate such great writers with such a poor film.

Little Red has been transformed into Valerie (Amanda Seyfried), a young woman who lives in the hilariously Olde Worlde named village of Daggerhorn. The village has a terrible problem with werewolves, so they summon legendary wolf-busting priest Solomon (Gary Oldman) to help dispatch the pesky lycanthrope. However, the major problem in tracking down the wolf is that literally anyone in the village could be the beast in human form. Director Catherine Hardwicke is so keen that every villager should be seen as a suspect that you half expect a number of scenes to have subtitles like ‘possible suspect...?’ or  ‘ooh, suspicious!’. Instead Hardwicke has to settle with very pointed camera shots and incredibly laboured dialogue. 

The emotional heart of the film is supposed to be Valerie’s difficult choice between doing what her family wants, by agreeing to her arranged marriage to rich, but dependable blacksmith Jacob Black Henry (Max Irons), or doing what she wants and eloping with moody woodcutter and childhood sweetheart Edward Cullen Peter (Shiloh Fernandez). It does form a heart of sorts, but a heart made of boring wood (probably balsa). Seyfried does her best, and it’s a credit to her abilities that Valerie comes across as wide-eyed and sparky, rather than a bland Bella Swann reboot, but she is a lone glimmer in an otherwise lifeless puddle of disappointing, wooden acting. Even Oscar winner Julie Christie seems to be acting through a layer of heavy sanding and wood polish.

Much of the film really does feel like you’re watching a slightly altered version of Twilight, and so many of Hardwicke’s directorial choices seem only to emphasise these similarities. Even some of the cast are the same: Billy Burke, who plays Bella’s dad, also plays Valerie’s father, and Taylor Lautner was initially touted to play Peter. The soundtrack has a distinctly rock-ish feel, and, though it’s free of contemporary artists such as Muse or Paramore, you could easily imagine it underscoring a tense conversation between Bella and Edward or a vampire vs werewolf scuffle. The cinematography has the familiar Twilight-ish mix of sweeping wide angle shots and jerky close-ups, which is one of the film’s few strengths, as it shows of both the stunning natural surroundings of Daggerhorn, and the pleasing design of the village itself.

Red Riding Hood offered Hardwicke a chance to build on the success of Twilight, but she’s fallen far from the mark, producing a visually pleasing film with no spark, no heart and no humour. 

Bieber Fever (aka Cinematic Stockholm Syndrome)

A few weeks ago, I had the bizarre experience of paying to see Never Say Never 3D (aka The Justin Bieber Film). My entire family mocked me as a consequence, but I was doing it for Epigram, which justified it somewhat (I still felt kind of, well, dirty asking for a ticket for it. I was worried I'd see someone I knew in there, but then I remembered no-one I know in Bristol is under the age of 12). It was not as bad as I assumed it would be. There was at least some form of narrative, and the 3D was well-used (apart from some really creepy shots of the Bieb's arm reaching out of the screen, like some well coiffured Mr Tickle). Having a younger sister, I am fairly well-versed in 3D "concert experience" films, with The Jonas Brothers and Hannah Montana/Miley Cyrus being the masters of this particular genre (Miley evens makes a cameo appearance in Never Say Never, talking with a worrying amount of world weariness for someone who's only 18). Never Say Never definitely reaches those upper eschelons of tween moveidom. Clearly I didn't love it, but I feel more culturally aware for having seen it. Also, if you ever need to force yourself to like Justin Bieber, this is definitely the way to do it, the first thing I did when I got back from the film was listen to 'Baby' on Spotify. And that is something I never thought I'd do: 

Justin Bieber’s a nice Christian boy with good hair and some musical talent, who makes his single mum and grandparents proud. Admittedly, Bieber’s film Never Say Never is no cinematic masterpiece, but it’s one of the better examples of the concert experience/pseudo-documentary films that have become the money-spinning vogue amongst American tween superstars. The film makes good use of 3D and zips along quickly enough to hold the attention of even the most sugar-crazed Belieber (though it’s doubtful many of those read The Epigram).

However, Never Say Never is also one of the most unsettling children’s films to ever appear in cinemas. Treated somewhere between a prince and a god, Bieber just doesn’t seem real. He rides around on a segway, reducing tweenage girls (and worryingly, their mums) to hysterical tears of joy with a single glance, whilst constantly shaking his trademark fringe out of his eyes.  His fans are so obsessed with his sainted follicles that there’s a montage in the film dedicated entirely to talking about Bieber’s hair, and locks of it are currently being auctioned for charity for thousands of dollars.

Despite Bieber’s eerie precociousness, it’s his fans who are the most terrifying part of the film. They’re generally split between the aforementioned criers and assertive obsessives, who stare into the camera to tell the world that they will marry Justin Bieber and no-one else will ever have him. And thanks to Bieber’s humble YouTube origins, and his constant use of Twitter, his fans all think they discovered him and therefore own him. In many ways, Never Say Never felt like the follow-up companion piece to The Social Network, as the power and danger of social networking is one of the subtler themes you could read into the film.

Though Never Say Never ostensibly follows Bieber’s “journey” to perform at Madison Square Gardens, bar a minor throat infection, there’s never a sense that he won’t make it. The film’s real sense of danger comes from the future. At various points, Bieber is compared to Macaulay Culkin and Michael Jackson – both of whom were admittedly very successful, very young, but couldn’t be said to have had the happiest or most well-adjusted lives. When, at the end of the film, his team speculate on what the next few years could hold for Bieber, with comparisons to the likes of Culkin and Jackson, let’s just hope he makes it through puberty in one piece

- Holly Close (Originally printed in The Epigram, No. 236, Mar 7th 2011)

Late Oscars Response II

I've been reliably informed by Empire (my film magazine of choice since I was 15) that there are 27 sequels out this year, so it seemed only fitting that I do a sequel to my Oscars post from a few days ago. I originally wrote this article for Epigram, but because Film & TV only has a tiny section there wasn't enough room to print it. I'm still quite proud of it though, and I did practice what I'm preaching and sat through the whole Oscars ceremony when it was broadcast live. So here are my thoughts on televised award show (written pre-Oscars): 

The red carpets are being rolled up; the couture frocks have been sent back to the designers and the unused acceptance speeches are lying forlornly in the recycling. Awards season is over for another year. Millions of dollars and months of planning go into producing the various award shows that sprawl across January and February, but is there really any point in watching them? Putting aside the inherent arguments about the ridiculous amount of money spent on rewarding people in the film industry who generally earn millions anyway, why spend 3 hours being drip fed information by a live telecast, when you can read an article the next morning telling you all of the winners in less than 60 seconds?

At their worst, live telecasts can be a dreary trudge through the year’s films, especially if the same films (which you didn’t like) win all the awards and every winner gives the same identikit acceptance speech, thanking The Academy, their parents and a variety of people you’ve never heard of, in a never-ending list that makes you wish they hadn’t won in the first place.

Admittedly, award show producers do try to help alleviate possible tedium by adding in diversionary segments of fun and glamour. The Hugh Jackman song-and-dance number at the 2009 Oscars was certainly spectacular, but it set a precedent that other award shows have since tried and failed to copy. The most cringeworthy moment of this year’s BAFTAs came before any awards had even been handed out, as the show opened with a group of streetdancers, apparently acting out the top films of the year: a misguided choice by someone who clearly thought that anything urban was an automatic passport to Coolsville (in this case it certainly wasn’t).

Britain can’t really compete with America for razzle-dazzle, but we don’t need to. The BAFTAs are at their best when they’re witty, refined and slightly bumbling, like a mid-nineties Hugh Grant, which is why BAFTA live telecasts are so good. If they weren’t aired live, we’d probably never have gotten to see Helena Bonham Carter tell the great and good of Western filmmaking that her underskirt had gotten hitched up; or watch Jonathan Ross rush, terrified, onto the stage to stop practically perfect Rosamund Pike from announcing the winner of Best Original Screenplay before the nominees had been announced.

Even when all goes to plan, there’s still something exciting about watching the results being announced live. You get all the build-up and drama of the competition, the tension, the triumph, and the chance to see who’s practised their dignified loser face. They’re also an opportunity to put the spotlight on great film-making, rather than commercial success, so you may hear about an amazing film that passed you by when it was released, because it didn’t have the advertising budget of the big blockbusters. Plus, the Oscars are broadcast live in 200 countries worldwide, making them one of the few non-sporting events that can claim to be a global event. And, if you watch with friends, award ceremonies are a great chance to have a proper debate about films, bizarre outfit choices and how creepy it is that The King’s Speech director Tom Hooper looks almost exactly like a young James Cameron. In the end - whether it’s a box-office busting crowd-pleaser or an arty indie flick - films are made to be watched by audience, so it makes sense for anything celebrating the achievements of cinema to be readily available to that same audience. If such events can be both informative and entertaining, all the better.

Next year I am definitely going to force more friends to stay up for it, as I think I only managed to make it through the whole telecast because of a mixture of Twitter and talking to one of my flatmates and his friend from home about what was going on via Facebook. Who knows I may even throw a party... (I probably won't).

Late Oscars Response

For the first time ever, I sat up and watched the Oscars being broadcast live. It was quite the experience. I know there's been a lot of criticism of Anne Hathaway and James Franco as hosts, but I thought they were quite sweet. Clearly they were no Billy Crystal, but at least they weren't Ricky Gervais.

Overall, I was pretty pleased with who won, although I really thought Hailee Steinfield should have won Best Supporting Actress. I still don't understand why she wasn't nominated for Best Actress in a Leading Role (though she wouldn't have beaten Natalie Portman, who was just genius in Black Swan, and fully deserved to win), but her performance in True Grit was so good, and she really held her own onscreen with Jeff Bridges and Matt Damon, both of whom are incredibly charismatic actors. Plus, I've not seen The Fighter, so I'm not really in a position to comment on whether Melissa Leo deserved it or not.

I was pleased Aaron Sorkin won Best Adapted Screenplay for The Social Network, because even though I didn't really like the film, his script was so well-written and he's such a good writer that he deserves Academy recognition (I love Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip so much, it makes me sad that it was cancelled after one season).

It was not particularly surprising that The King's Speech won so many of the big awards, and I'm really glad it did, not just because it was a fantastic film, but because it was funded by the UK Film Council. I wrote this article on the closure of the UKFC for The Epigram a couple of weeks ago:

If one film has dominated the start of 2011, it’s The King’s Speech. The film tells the true story of how an unorthodox speech therapist (Geoffrey Rush) helped King George VI (Colin Firth) to overcome his debilitating stammer. This unassuming historical drama has been loved by audiences and critics alike, and is nominated for almost every major accolade this awards season. Firth has already received a Golden Globe for his stellar performance as the stammering monarch and he is hotly tipped to win the Best Actor Oscar, one of the twelve Academy Award nominations the film received in January – the most Oscar nominations of any film this year.

Amongst those singing the film’s praises is Tanya Seghatchian, Head of the UK Film Council’s Film Fund: "This is fantastic result for The King's Speech and points to a very successful awards season for this brilliant British film.  We are proud to have played a part in helping it to get made and congratulate everyone connected with the film.” However, behind these words of admiration lies a much sadder story.  The UK Film Council (UKFC) was abolished last year as part of the current government’s sweep of Arts cuts. Set up in 2000 to develop and promote the film industry in the UK, the Film Council funded for hundreds of successful British films, including In The Loop, Fish Tank, The Last King of Scotland and This Is England. Even more recently, the UKFC provided almost a quarter of the budget for Mike Leigh’s Another Year, whose script is nominated alongside The King’s Speech for the Best Original Screenplay Oscar. In the belt-tightening years of the mid to late 2000s, it is likely that many of these films would not have been made without UKFC funding. 

Unsurprisingly, the decision to shut down the Film Council was widely criticised, as its closure has the potential to affect all strata of the film industry. The UKFC funded regional film schemes, such as Screen Yorkshire, which itself funded Paddy Considine’s directorial debut Tyrannosaur. Tyrannosaur went on to win two major prizes at this year’s Sundance Film Festival. Nationally, the British Film Institute was funded by the UKFC, as well as programmes to make cinemas across the country more accessible for those with sight and hearing impairments. On a general level, the UKFC had a strong tradition of funding films that showcased the best that Britain has to offer, be that beautifully shot character pieces or groundbreaking works by new writers and directors. It seems foolhardy and short-sighted to make cuts to one of the major industries in which Britain seems to truly operate on a global stage, particularly as the industry employs over 36,000 people.

It is not just the success of The King’s Speech that has drawn attention to the importance of the Film Council: two films funded by the UKFC, Sex & Drugs & Rock & Roll and Son of Babylon, have been chosen to screen at the prestigious Berlin film festival. As UKFC-funded films continue to do so well, both critically and financially, it helps to further underline the ludicrousness of the government’s decision. However, it’s not all doom and gloom for the British film industry. Fox Searchlight, which funded films such as Black Swan and Never Let Me Go, has formed a partnership with UK-based media investor Ingenious to finance new British films. Whilst this arrangement is far from perfect, as the deal only amounts to the distribution of three films a year, it does at least go some way to filling the void left by the UK Film Council.

 - Holly Close (Originally printed in The Epigram, No. 235, Feb 21st 2011)


As a consequence of how well The King's Speech did, more funding is being put back into the UK film industry (at least this article from The Guardian), though I don't understand why they had to abolish the UKFC in the first place


NB: I know The Oscars are kind of old news now, and everyone's moved onto Charlie Sheen going nuts and John Galliano being an anti-Semite, but I've been writing an essay on Edgar Allan Poe for the last week, so time has only just restarted for me.