Today has been a lovely day – after a horrifically drunken night out on the town with LL, I went round to his for breakfast then met the flatmate for a long walk to a little cafe.
The cafe is called Il Molino – and is situated between Battersea and Clapham – 284 Battersea Park Road I believe. This place does the best most authentic paninis I have encountered outside of Italy.
However, this post is about a far more exciting culinary outing we have planned. This evening we inadvertently discovered that we live almost next door to EUROPES ONLY KASAKH RESTAURANT. This is VERY EXCITING NEWS. Suffice to say they have a koi pond, belly dancers and rugs – also the predominant language spoken is Russian. I am VERY EXCITED and intend to buy a small digital camera so I can do my first restaurant blog.
(The lady above by the way is dancing in the aforementioned hotels turkish bath – and we just thought it was a scummy hotel on the walworth road – SO WRONG. SO EXCITED.)
One of the first aid drops in Haiti on 18th January
The disaster in Haiti plays out – a nightmare from the other side of the world, and doesn’t touch us here – so many atrocities don’t – our own small island lies still and safe. A serious earthquake to most britons is something we will never experience, it is inconceivable – a fantastical catastrophe – imagine the entire world you know being shaken into nothingness.
What has amazed me is how much the definition of help has changed. The internet has enabled donation, debate and commentary to flood the visible and invisible networks of the world in an unignorable torrent. We have artists like Sia appealing for medical equipment on twitter (a friend is flying out to help the relief effort) and empassioned pieces of writing such as this beautiful piece in the guardian by The Arcade Fires Régine Chassagne.
And now, 12 days after the quake we have the global release of a charity album from itunes – ’Hope for Haiti Now’ featuring artists like Shakira, Beyoncé, Justin Timberlake and Wyclef Jean (and too many others to mention). The album has some lovely highlights (especially Timberlakes quite beautiful duet with Matt Morris on ‘Hallelujah’ – which admittedly may be the most covered song of all time, but this is a worthy version). Albums like this are nothing new – this one accompanied a mammoth celebrity telethon in the US – but the speed at which this has become available – 12 days after the quake, with most proceeds going to help Haiti – is astonishing.
In the aftermath of the disaster iTunes opened up a donations page – suddenly here was a way to donate money at the click of a button, with clear information and no need to resort to pleading – this is charity for the new decade – fast, simple and accessible.
Technologies enabled by the internet – like twitter and blogging – mean that the world is no longer able to ignore suffering, cries for help travel faster. I hope that overwhelming global responses like this become the new standard – that this becomes how my generation learn to give charity, with fewer impediments and more intelligence.
Heres hoping that Haiti gets every possible help it can – that it rebuilds and becomes stronger. I’m reminded that yesterday in quiet, safe London I climbed the monument to the Great Fire of London, erected in 1671 by the then King Charles II in tribute to the resilience of those Londoners from the distant past who lost everything. There have always been, and will always be disasters – and thankfully there will always be those people who are willing to help.
To donate through iTunes click here
To buy the ‘Hope for Haiti Now’ album click here
Below – Beyoncé performs Halo in support of Haiti.
Yes, it makes my eyes hurt too.
(Apologies – this is LONG. but there are glamrock stylings towards the end… honest. To think – 1000 word essays used to seem insurmountable.)
Today was a bad day – the sticky end to a week that began sliding into the primordial gloop of this weekend around wednesday time…
If anyone was unfortunate enough to be exposed to my Twitter this week, they would have noticed I was up till 2am many nights before wednesday, frantically trying to come up with a campaign to sell rape alarms. Not for kicks you understand (even MY kicks are more interesting than that) it was for a short course I have started at my alma mater Central Saint Martins.
In Latin (I just found out) Alma Mater means ‘Bounteous Mother’ – which doesn’t really do CSM justice. Though I loved my degree (sculpture) the University of Arts London – sinister umbrella organisation which runs most London art colleges – are a bunch of ruthless spendthrift fuckwits, hellbent on expansion/consolidation & fleecing naive international students (and indeed english ones). I learnt this through 3 years of budget cuts and stupidity. Less bounteous mother and more miserly shriveled crone.
That though is another story. For some unknown reason I decided to take a short course for 10 weeks in ‘advertising’. I ended up working all day on spreadsheets, then sweating blood nightly over a project which I needn’t have done – and after ‘lesson 1′ I am very close to demanding my £350 back from them. Beh. One always wonders whether one should vent all of ones bile online – it is certainly not how my mother brought me up – so right now I will hold my tongue, but that is one new years resolution that will probably not last (am *this close* to writing one of my infamous letters – close friends and associates will be familiar with these – rare but terrifying – works of linguistic assassination).
ANYWAY. Lets go to a happy place – or a less than happy place. Today I was falling asleep at my keyboard, trying to fix problems caused by people whose stupidity would test the patience of even the Dalai Lama. At lunch I bought a massive can of Relentless (energy drink) knowing full well that the last time I drank a whole can I ended up behaving like I was on some hitherto untested Class A drug. It did the trick though, and in my mania I went on spotify and decided to try ‘For Your Entertainment’ – the debut album from Adam Lambert – notorious homosexualist runner-up from American Idol.
So, high as a kite and tit deep in spreadsheets I began to listen – AND GOT SUCKED INTO A CRAZY ALTERNATE POP DIMENSION. I believe I described it on Twitter as ‘Andrew Lloyd Webber high on crystal meth in bed with Mika, Bon Jovi…’ and someone else whose name I forget.
This thing is a monster – with tracks written for him by Lady GaGa, Justin Hawkins (as in the darkness – oh yes) Muse, the guy from Weezer and P!nk – this is not some leona-like pop factory dross. This is full on klaxons ahoy/kittens in boaters/operatic/rock/country/electro/supergay craziness.
The man is blessed with one hell of a voice, capable of both Mika-thrashing falsetto and steve tyler shaking rock. I spent the whole thing utterly gobsmacked – because though I was familiar with the glamrock stylings of Mr Lambert, there hasn’t been any promotion over here in blighty – no airplay, no posters – nada.
Whilst this album is most definitely not for everyone, it is worth a listen – a veritable purple glitter volcano of crazy velvet magma.
My highlights are as follows:
Music Again – (Justin ‘Darkness’ Hawkins) It is SO GOOD to hear some Justin again – he is a farcical and much missed staple of my formative years – includes the genius rhyming couplet of ‘It had been many moons before I met-cha, and I don’t know when, now you’re givin me back my raison-d-et-ra’
For Your Entertainment – This is the debut single whose performance caused so much fuss in the US – he did a Britney worthy performance of grinding, grabbing and kissing (boys) which erm – pissed some yanks off. genius. This is a George Michael level explosion of homosexuality, and really quite banging (and silly)
Whataya want from me – p!nk et al supplied this offcut from her last album, with a terrifically p!nkish guitar riff guiding you into a very predictable but intensely satisfying soft rock wailathon. There is much JUST DON’T GIVE UP/GIVE IN emoting.
Soaked – Gosh – this sounds like Muse, he sings just like Mr. Bellamy… hold on – penned by Mr. Muse himself, this is a totally OTT epic (so far, so muse) which Lambert does beautifully – so few people would be able to. Snaps to Muse for the donation, double snaps to Lambert for effortless execution.
A loaded smile – Linda Perry contributed this – a perfect almost constant falsetto. very poppy, very overproduced, very beautiful.
Pick U Up – This starts with clapping and poundy piano silliness, and just builds and builds into this utterly stupendous, super camp CRESCENDO mayhem. Pop rock masterpiece. Written by the lead guy from Weezer, this is just brilliant – its like grabbing Mika by his sexually ambiguous cajones and forcing him to watch while you throw all his childish lyrical devices INTO A WOOD CHIPPER. Silly, but amazing.
Fever – C’est Chic, C’est Gaga. This is her collaboration with him – and its GaGa to its core, but it bloody works. Any song with the starting line ‘There he goes, my baby walks-so-slow, sex-u-al tic-tac-toe’ is OK by me. A duet with Lady G would surely work, they are two sides of the same nouveau-glam chocolate coin. Its about his erection so-they-say – and its immense… also, what WOULD the world be like without innuendo?
Sleepwalker - Ryan. Tedder. Two words, one song (over and over again – Halo, Battlefield etc etc) A man singing though – now thats clever – well done Ryan, pat on the back. Not actually that offensive.
Hmmm… 8 tracks are my favourites – this is not hugely decisive of me I concede, but thats only 6 less brilliant ones (which will probably grow on me like some sort of fungus.)
I won’t bother you much more (this post is suddenly 1000 words long – oop). But I wanted to post this – because it made me smile – and thats what pop is about. This man is a raving gay, and he (unlike SOME people – Mr. Mika I mean you) is comfortable and open with that. No self-respecting-heterosexual-solo-male-american-idol-winner could ever make this album – a room full of all the international TV talentshow winners banging on typewriters for 1000 years couldn’t end up with this.
Its silly, all over the place, over produced and SUPERB – a confection of pure unadulterated pop. A shame its not been promoted here in the UK - us brits love a sexually ambiguous popstar – we practically invented the damned things.
Here is a video of Mr. L live on Ellen… its pretty good non?
Awoke this morning in SE5 to snow- actual. Snow. Which is boring for everyone else in London/western Europe (snow is so passé now non?) but a blessed relief for us south Londoners – who finally have something to whinge about – hurrah and huzzah!
Not Maman, but Roisin (I get to her after the tranny bit) Reminiscent of BW on Belgian Tram non?
Late November last year in quaint ol’ 2009 I had the pleasure of a petit sojourn a Belgique with the glorious Belgian Waffle. It was truly bizarre – so odd infact that I never blogged about the details of it (either incidentally did she – not comprehensively anyhow). This is not a problem, but one thing we did in particular will most definately stay with me forever – was our visit to Brussels Premiere Tranny Cabaret Venue – Chez Maman.
To give away the secrets of Maman would probably result in our swift execution at the hands of Mamans elite squad of Ninja Death Trannies. When starved of gin they become RUTHLESS KILLING MACHINES. I will though gift you this youtube gem – actual footage from chez maman, of what looks suspiciously like the real madonna… this is how they roll chez maman, and it rocks.
Oh yes, Waffle and I – we have been there, and we will be back.
On the subject of Mamans (big shoutout to mine by the way – Susie H – shes a reader xx) This is the fortuitously named new pop classic from a rebooted Roisin Murphy – Mommas Place… (click below – do not be afraid)
CLICK ME TO GO TO SOMEONE ELSES BLOG WHERE THEY HAVE THE SONG!
Roisin, previously of Moloko, has already given us two classic solo albums. Her first, Ruby Blue is indescribable – If I had a pop-review hungry psychopath poking me with a sharp stick I would have to say it was a clickytickyfunkygrungysynthylowtempolovefest but then I am no music reviewer. Her second Overpowered is even better but completely different – this is cerebral future pop, with incredible album tracks like ‘Overpowered’ and ‘Dear Miami’ (which makes me swoon) and extraterrestrial B sides from the singles she released, songs like ’Sweet Nothings’ and ‘Modern Timing’. Sweet Nothings is one of my all time favourite songs, simultaneously happy and sad, which is impossible. I sat crying in someones living room in Sri Lanka to this song – the joyful harmony of acute homesickness and geniusfuturepop.
I want you to check. her. out. right now! So, for those enlightened beings with Spotify please click ici for Overpowered (alas they don’t have the first album on there.) And ici for ‘Sweet Nothings’. The new single from her forthcoming album is something else again, extraordinary in the truest sense of the word.
Vive Les Mamans!
Wandering along the road go the work this morning, attempting not to go base over apex, I quite enjoyed the absurdity of eating a banana in the snow.
I seem to have totally missed this new offering from one of my favourite directors Jean Pierre Jeunet (as in Amelie, Delicatessen, Cité des enfants perdu etc etc). I was treated to the glorious trailer before Nowhere Boy… happily the trailer doesnt seem to indicate any kind of cohesive plot, and I can only find a high quality version of it en francais dans le youtoobe – so it makes even less sense, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Just back in from the icy wasteland that currently masquerades as London, have reburied myself in the many layered wondrousness of my bed – cor blimey guvnor its brass monkeys out there. This would be fine (I could pretend I was in St Petersburg and play out russian spy fantasies) but there is no snow presently in my grimy corner of SE5 and therefore this bitter cold is completely unnecessary. I have half a mind to write a strongly worded letter to whoever is responsible – at the moment this is you Mr Michael Fish.
Narrowly avoiding frostbite, I have had a lovely evening out with my doppelganger Timothy. We started at covent garden Pizza Express (there is a nifty half price voucher doing the rounds at the moment – yum). In a vague effort to *eat sensibly* I had one of those curious pizzas-with-a-hole which are meant to be virtuous by dint of hole and the salad they dump to fill aforementioned pizza-less space (what do they do with the holes?) With the money we saved buying half price pizza we indulged in a stunningly effective bottle of vino rouge and then tottered off to the pictures.
The film we went to see was Nowhere Boy - the feature length debut of the artist Sam Taylor-Wood. When I was a wee student I used to idolise Ms. TW and indeed once got stuck on a staircase in the White Cube gallery with her (alas I was overcome in her presence and in trying to bolt I ended up even more stuck and made a pathetic squeaking sound – we didn’t speak and I made a tit out of myself).
There are some interesting points about this film, I shall list them:
1) It is about John Lennons teenage years – as he started the band which would later become the Beatles, but before they went ‘a la Hamburg’ for their formative musical journey. This is not a period I previously realised would make a very interesting film.
2) The leading man is a very pretty 19 year old (Aaron Johnson) who Ms. TW is now ‘In flagrante delicto’ with… indeed she is expecting his offspring (to be honest, I defy anyone – man or woman – who watches this film not to want to carry his unborn child, he is very easy on the eye).
3) It has a stellar cast – Anne Marie Duff, Kristin Scott Thomas and a short but very sweet appearance by the enigmatic David Threlfall (who pays Frank Gallagher in Shameless so superbly). Also it features that strange looking boy from Love Actually – who is now adult sized, but appears not to have grown but to have stretched.
What immediately strikes you as you start watching this film is that it has been made by a video artist, which isn’t a negative – I would say it was a definite plus. The director may be shooting a feature length film, but has no fear of focusing on minutiae – cables, wallpaper, fish & chips, and a great many beautiful shots of the sun glinting off sea swells in Blackpool. This approach makes for a slow paced first half, but gives the subject a richness which is surprisingly engaging, you forget you are watching A BIOPIC ABOUT THE EARLY LIFE OF JOHN LENNON and it becomes a tight, engaging drama which is refreshingly devoid of unnecessary embroidery and far closer to a piece of theatre.
The real life love that Ms TW discovered for her leading man is obvious in almost every shot he is in – as a result we see a character who less Mr Lennon and far more her beautiful muse. We linger constantly on the way he moves, he smokes, he talks and he blinks – we sit on the ceiling above his bed looking down at him and we come back and back and back to his (quite lovely) eyes.
Kristen Scott Thomas and Anne Marie Duff are outstanding throughout. Mixed together the elements of the cast, the unusual filming style, Ms TWs burning love for Mr Johnson and a hyper-tangible attention to detail make a very compelling and highly watchable film.
Neatly stepping over typical biopic sycophancy and fetishistic period drudgery, here is a film that quite unexpectedly becomes something quietly elegant. Tres bon Ms. TW and congratulations on the lennon-based bundle of joy.
Happy New Year! Gliding elegantly out of the festive miasma that marked the end of the noughts and the start of the tens, Mrs Trefusis looks to have meme’d me, so it appears I must go around memeing other people (in my mind much of ma memeing eez like being een an omicidal episode of ello ello).
According to her my blog is ‘one to watch in 2010′ – which is delightful, if perhaps undeserved… having been through the other hot blogs she selected, I realise I have much to aspire to
(bravo to the Errant Aesthete – your blog is both beautiful and beguiling).
The things Mrs T said on her blog about me are blush inducingly nice – and because I am english and brought up proper, I am going to wince and deny any of what she says is true and melt away into a tepid puddle of modesty. The immense amount of mirth and guidance la Trefusis has provided in only the last year has been astounding – she is marvellous and I love her dearly.
According to the rules of the memeing – I must now reveal 10 things about myself (try not to pass out from the excitement) Then pick 7 of my favourite blogs…
1. Whenever I am in the shower I almost always sing the same song – if I were a statistician (an unlikely career given that I can’t actually spell statistician without the joys of spellcheck) I would say this song pops into my head 99% of the time – the song is the very very beautiful Górecki by Lamb – which is 6 minutes 30 of unmitigated bliss.
If I should die this very moment
I wouldn’t fear
for I’ve never known completeness
like being here
wrapped in the warmth of you
loving every breath of you
still my heart this moment
oh it might burst
for those of you with the benefit of spotify this song can be found here. The lyrics look awfully corny written down, but I love them – it has been reverberating around my head for years now, and I hope it stays for a good many to come.
2. I have slight fetish for red headed boys. Luckily my preference for men doesn’t entirely depend on him having red hair – I like to think though that I have an eye for a pretty ginger. Many many people have mocked me for this, but a certain tone on a certain man is terribly attractive (not that I have found any nice flame haired boys who weren’t useless yet). I think the rampant gingerism which riddles this country is staggeringly unfair.
3. I fear that I may be deeply homophobic. This is a problem for two reasons -1) I am a homosexual myself, so it might come across as a bit hypocritical of me. 2) Homophobia is intolerable and a sure sign of stupidity.
4. My unhealthy crush on John Barrowman has yet to subside (the homophobia thing isn’t something I am hugely successful at dear readers). This is despite the fact that the man is orange and cheesier than 4 tonnes of mini cheddars. why why WHY?
5. Shoes are terribly important to me – even if I find someone staggeringly attractive, if my eyes flick down to their feet and find bad shoes, then they go right down in my estimations. This is less of an issue with girls (I appreciate a good shoe – but ultimately neither women nor their footwear do much for me) with boys though shoes are a dead giveaway – most men dont give a rats arse about what they put on their feet. I have yet to decide on whether its english men that are useless shoe buyers, or just heterosexual men in general (possibly an unfortunate combination of both – the europeans seem less clueless)
6. I have inherited a nasty genetic condition from my father (and my fathers father and his fathers father) It is shameful. It is rampant nostril hair. Luckily I recognised the warning signs as a young man and I keep the tendrils at bay with terrifying ruthlessness. If I didn’t though I could be living in ignorance – shunned by the world and never knowing why. Imagine.
7. I hate celery – as far as I am concerned it is the bastard cousin of the noble leek, and that is all I wish to say on the matter.
8. I perceive myself as being terribly awkward. This may or may not be true – but I have a lingering suspicion that within me lurks my younger self (I was a pretty rubbish child – then I discovered girls… and then boys – then it all went to hell).
9. I have punctuation paranoia – all these marvellous bloggers with their dashing prose and complex sentence structures, then theres little old me with my GCSE in English lit/lang and a complex about hyphenation… luckily aforementioned bloggers are an excellent source from which one can learn about how to write proper. My punctuation isn’t *too* bad I hope – but I wish it were impeccable.
10. I am a perfectionist (when it suits me) This tends to manifest itself especially in the field of ‘making things pretty’. I can procrastinate and fiddle with something for weeks, it is a terrible habit and means that quite often things never get done.
Phew – there you have it, my ten things… and now to complete the cycle of memeing, I have to suggest 7 blogs (no idea why only 7 – thems the rules) which I love, so that in time they may partake of a little memeing of their own etcetera etcetera ad infinatum…
Belgianwaffling – seeing as how she is queen of the blogs and HILARIOUS and in the SUNDAY TIMES and stuff, she has probably been nominated, like, a million times already, but I don’t care. I am nominating her for several reasons, mainly because she will probably whinge about having to reciprocate (but when she does it will be amazing). I stumbled across her blog almost exactly a year ago, and it helped me get through a deeply dull job – the woman is a belgiumbased comic GENIUS. Once I had started hassling her she agreed to meet me for a bacon roll, and late last year I turned up at her house *on the continent* and she let me stay with her – we assembled furniture and laughed at trannys in brussels, we drank gin and I slept in a bunkbed – it was basically immense. Suffice to say that I love Belgian Waffle more than I probably should – she is as fabulous as Penelope Cruz – FACT.
Adland Suit – I don’t know him terribly well, but he seems to watch cricket and swear more than any person I have ever encountered (on twitter that is). His blog is a moderately less sweary platform for some pretty damn good writing about the suit in advertising (as in job role not outfit). Mr. Suit used to be anonymous, then he offered to lift his cloak of mystery in return for cold hard cash, which he donated to charity – he raised a fuck of a load of money (thats probably how he would put it) which is bloody admirable.
Belle De Jour – yes yes I know – this is like saying your favourite cheese is cheddar, blah blah bandwagon. Belle was the first blog I ever read regularly, and I caught her in her prime – she was and is a brilliant writer, first in the blog and later in her books – which are superb. I once got into a conversation of sorts with her on facebook (when she was still anonymous) about how I had just disastrously covered my cat in margarine in an attempt to worm it – she thought it was funny, I just about fainted from the response. Last years unmasking (by the lovely India Knight) was a bit like finding out the truth about Santa Claus, only AMAZING – because whilst santa is imaginary, Belle is a gorgeous woman with a brilliant career (not the fictional construct many people assumed). Without Belle I don’t think modern blogging would be where it is today, I salute you Dr. Brooke Magnanti!
ElikaFM – Elika is someone who I follow on twitter, and where I found her originally completely eludes me. Having only started to read her blog recently I am now hooked – her posts are funny but also quite clever really. within the short and sweet twitter universe you can’t help but miss her tweets (god thats a piss poor trendster of a sentence – I may as well type ’shes so hot right know y’all!’). A recent post talked about her ongoing IKEA addiction and steps she has taken to deal with her affliction – I am now genuinely curious about a garlic press.
XO’s Middle Eight – An American music blogger extraordinaire, this man has impeccable taste in music. Luckily for lazy old me he not only finds exciting new shiny things and fabulous old gems, but he writes about them with a genuinely vigorous verve. He is also the owner of some terribly amazing looking bond villainy cats, which I covet.
I want to also put Mrs Trefusis but thats probably against the rules…
Lord above! It is now way way way past my bedtime and i’ve been doing this for what seems like hours – so you shall have to make do with 5 (6 with a Trefusis) blogs – there was this AMAZING cat one which I found recently and totally lost… so maybe I will add it on at a later date (massive cop-out there I know) ooh also one of Mrs Ts recommendations was especially fabuleux (Knightley or Elton? Glorious vocab!) - and now I can feel myself becoming incoherent… adieu!
Wandering through Narbeth on a cold Monday night (why I don’t know.) We saw a great many strange sights- Wales is home to a glut of exciting Christmas windows (including one with a semi naked reclining albino man on a sofa…)
The welsh have a truly unique decorative style- a definate je ne sais quoi.
We also chanced apon a veritable cornucopia of electrical appliances called Williams Vision. Whose wares were lovingly laid out and bedecked with a smattering of faux snow (snaux?) and fairy lights. Oh and a cat in the window. A LIVE CAT – how cool is that?
I think it’s wonderful that a cat can have a vision, and that that vision is electrical goods at reasonable prices – because who wouldn’t buy a toaster from a cat?
This is WILLIAMS VISION.
Last night, braving the killer slush and freezing fog, I managed to corral Le Famille onto a train and off to magical Eastleigh to see Where The Wild Things Are (note: Eastleigh is about as unmagical a place as you can get. So unmagical that it crosses over into the alternate reality realm of awesome – but it has a big shiny proper cinema, unlike winchester.)
Since the trailer came out accompanied by the supreme Arcade Fire track ‘Wake Up’ from their splendid album ‘Funeral’ I have been dying to see this film (ooh – unintentional punnage – funeral, dying – am dark prince of comedy.)
Eastleighs hideousness provided the perfect context in which to see this film. Cosily ensconced in the black fuzzy womb of the cinema, this film began and the grim icy outside world of TK MAXX and Nandos receded into nothingness. Right from the outset Spike Jonze (jones? joooon-ze? johnze? I am not going to pretend I am entirely au fait with the pronunciation of his surname – but then, isn’t it more fun not to be?) Mr Jonze establishes an erratic ADHD aesthetic where complex linear narrative is abolished in favour of a truly childlike experience. I can see why it has received such mixed reviews – it being a film which manages to be both neurotically complex and dizzyingly simplistic. There are many truly bizarre moments, notably Bob and Terry (I won’t spoil it for you – it involves rocks and owls and is hilarious) and the intrusion of ‘real’ animals into the fantasy world of the wild things (giant dogs, confused looking cats and a racoon called kevin EDIT: racoon infact called Richard thankyou Lulu...)
The story bounds through woods, deserts and rocky expanses with all the anti-logic and fluidity of a dream – occasionally allowing the story to unfold into complex adult moments, sometimes skipping away from snatches of ‘reality’ just as a child would.
What is really interesting is how my fellow cinema-goers interpreted it. We divided into two camps of opinion – either the Wild Things of the film represent different facets of Max’s personality, and as in ‘The Wizard of Oz’ the story is about him learning to understand himself. Or the Wild Things represent snippets of adult reality which children can’t process – instead inventing fantastical reasoning to explain behaviours. Perhaps these are both true – either way its refreshing to watch a film which gives you the liberty to wonder and wander.
Maurice Sendak based the monsters in his 1963 book on his immigrant aunts and uncles – creating caricatures based on both their relative-bahaviour and broken english – on the guardian website he explains;
“They grabbed you and twisted your face, and they thought that was an affectionate thing to do,” he said. “And I knew that my mother’s cooking was pretty terrible, and it also took forever, and there was every possibility that they would eat me, or my sister or my brother. We really had a wicked fantasy that they were capable of that. We couldn’t taste any worse than what she was preparing. So that’s who the Wild Things are. They’re foreigners, lost in America, without a language. And children who are petrified of them, and don’t understand that these gestures, these twistings of flesh, are meant to be affectionate.”
Jonze Americanises his wild things, but retains Sendaks concept – the Wild Things of the film are the first puppets I have ever seen on film who are truly compelling and believable. These puppets transmogrify into actors and actresses in their own right, who are expressive enough to hint at layers of emotional complexity – at love and friendship and a smorgasbord of neuroses that would give Woody Allen a run for his money.
I can see how children could be bored by this – it depends so much on nuance and subtlety, and culminates with an emotional ending performed by a small boy and a band of monsters on a beach that left us all genuinely moved. But this film is not necessarily for children? It is a potent recollection of childhood – a film you can only truly appreciate as an adult (like all the great ‘childrens’ films) It is a vivid dream about the human condition – moving through frustration / anger / fear / isolation / inclusion / empathy / hope / disappointment and forgiveness. All children should see it, but sadly I doubt if most parents would appreciate that.
This is a must see in my opinion – as well as being satisfying for all the reasons above, it is also exceptionally beautiful – a flawless adaptation of Maurice Sendaks brilliant book.
Incidentally Sendaks surreal ‘In The Night Kitchen’ story remains one of my favourite childhood reads – and one of the wierdest. The man is a genius.
Stripy Sexy Songstress.
Sia Furler is a one woman musical movement – hailing from Australia and best known in the UK for her incredible vocal work on Zero 7’s *seminal* album ‘Simple Things’ (must dig that out – completely amazing stuff) Shes been on everyones radars for ages I KNOW but is about to explode all over your faces all over again. If she doesn’t with the April 2010 release of her new album then there is no hope for good music – you need to give this woman your love people please thankyou.
I saw her perform a couple of years ago in glorious Bristol, and she immediately earned herself a place in my greatest gigs ever pantheon. The gig was onboard Thekla, a ship-cum-venue moored in Bristol docks – and this woman has a voice that seemed to make the very fabric of the ship reverberate – amazing power and control. Most of all though she was a fantastic showwoman, with a great repartee with the audience – effortlessly odd and sublimely funny in between tracks, then laser beaming straight between your eyes with raw emotion when singing.
Her first solo album ‘Colour the small one’ is one of my favourite downtempo albums – a stunning, soaring and hugely deep piece of work (a good album to gift to people in emotional crisis, and to self-administer when crises come knocking on ones own door) Her second album ‘Some people have real problems’ was in some ways far more upbeat and included a particularly lovely collaboration with Beck. Whilst her 2nd offering didnt have the innate resonance of the first, it still demonstrated how damn fucking talented this woman is.
So – the point of this post isn’t just to be crazily sycophantic – Sias third album ‘We are born’ is COMING. And this below ladies and gents is the first song and video from it… see what you think eh?
liked that? download it here (not my link – its from the New York Times… http://www.zshare.net/audio/686504271b8b8938/)
Also from her back catalogue try these nuggets of loveliness:
From ‘Colour the small one’
-Breathe me (my favourite – literally gorgeous track)
-Numb (another good one – goddamnit – the woman is great – just buy the whole album?!)
From ‘Some people have real problems’
-Lentil (great to learn and wail along to)
-Day too soon (bah – ALSO AMAZING)
-The Girl (sublime live – utterly SUBLIME)
Honourable mentions to Academia, I go to sleep – oh god, I go to sleep is stunning.
JUST BUY BOTH ALBUMS PEOPLE.
This woman should be bigger – and if that weren’t enough to get you clicking the *buy* button, the woman also tweeted in october that she was at BETTE MIDLERS HALLOWEEN PARTY – if Bette likes the woman, why the hell shouldn’t you. (and Christina Aguilera has also been working on stuff with her – I hate Xtina, but I rest my case – Sia is kind to the animals.)
I am at home recovering from last week. Suffice to say I sanctioned the NHS to mutilate one of my extremities. I have been reduced to a hobbling denizen of the sofa. Not only is this loss of autonomy mentally vexing, it is also fiendishly painful in ways that I never imagined possible.
I have had to face facts and cut short my wallpaper* internship which feels deeply unprofessional. Luckily they have been nothing but understanding. I hate leaving something unfinished though- horribly frustrating.
It’s been one of those mortifying private experiences that actually becomes deeply funny in the retelling, so when I arrive at some sort of semi-healed state I will doubtless write some longer post with much innuendo and sandwich based punning.
Now though my body heeds the siren song of the sofa.
