Thursday

There was a bomb scare on my bus yesterday. We had stopped an unusually long time on Waterloo bridge when the driver came up to the top floor and asked 'Has anyone left a bag downstairs? Anyone?'. No one replied. He returned downstairs. There was a few seconds silence as everyone exchanged worried looks. Then, without saying anything, people began to leave the bus. I stayed in my seat. I don't know why. Perhaps it was just stubbornness, refusing to be like everybody else. But I also thought to myself 'Islamic terrorists don't leave bags. They carry them and kill themselves. The IRA would phone and tell the police where it was. It is highly unlikely to be a bomb.' And so I sat there as everyone left. Then the bus began to move again. A few minutes later it was my turn to get off, and, returning downstairs, I didn't see a bag. Somehow it had all been cleared off. Had someone forgotten they had a bag?

I left the bus and immediately was confronted by a similar situation. Waiting behind someone at a cash machine I was shocked when the person turned around and said 'Could you not stand so close please?'. I felt myself to be at a reasonable distance and so said 'Why?'. 'Because I don't like it. I don't like it' he said, and leaving the cash machine deliberately pushed into me. 'People usually stand over there' he added, indicating to a place only slightly further away and, in fact, at an angle to the machine so that they could easily see what PIN someone was typing. I couldn't do anything but laugh. It was absurd. It was 10:30 in the morning in Russel Square. Who was going to rob anybody?

What both incidents showed me, so close together, is the extraordinary amount of fear we live under at the moment. Is this new? Is there anything to be done about it? Is it being propagated by the government? I don't know. You decide.

Wednesday

HollywoodLand could be made in to three different, perhaps better, films. There is the story of Ben Affleck's character, Diane Lane's, and Adrien Brody's. Each one is quite compelling. I would prefer to see the Adrien Brody one: as an inept, disfunctional 50s detective he was quite brilliant. The problem with HollywoodLand was that it couldn't decide between these three stories. Affleck was as good as he's been since Good Will Hunting, but still nothing compared to his co-stars. Some of the dialogue was really quite bad, stilted and grandiloquent, and the characters we've seen before many times. One thing that always aggravates me about period films is that everything from the age (cars, clothes etc.) is so clean, whereas in realilty it would all be dirty and used - this picture was particularly pristine. But otherwise this is a good, challenging film. It refuses to satisfy its audience - people along from me asked 'is that it?' when the credits began to roll. I have to emphasise, however, that from halfway through I was thinking of a movie just about Adrien Brody's character and how much fun it would be.

(Tune in tomorrow for Bomb Scare On My Bus)

Tuesday

There is a problem of class in James Bond for modern viewers. For the original audience the upper society that Bond mixed with was exciting, was the ideal to which people aspired. They played in casinos, travelled around the world and stayed in expensive hotels. However, as I was saying to friends before seeing Casino Royale, modern cinema-goers do not aspire to this sort of thing anymore. Celebrities are our idols, not the upper class, and no one goes to casinos. An interesting way of explaining this is by looking at the original novel: James Bond, at one point, eats an avocado. For readers at the time this is quite exotic and expensive - a sign of class. Nowadays, of course, eating an avocado amounts to nothing more than a healthy lifestyle. So, Bond needs to update himself. I think they were halfway there with Casino Royale, but they need to go further. He needs to be working class (they did hint at this in the film), but able to convince everyone he can be anything. He needs to be rough, cheeky, an upstart and a rogue. He needs to be a celebrity himself.

Monday

Pan's Labyrinth was not what I was expecting. Or, rather, my expectations kept changing the closer I got to seeing it. At first the advertisement made it look fascinating. Then a trailer made it seem unfamiliar. Then, approaching the cinema, I once again became fascinated and was determined to see it instead of HollywoodLand. However, leaving the cinema I was disappointed. I was trying to urge myself to like it, but couldn't do it. Yes, the cinematography is amazing, the imagination and the effects, but there was a naivety to the whole thing, a simplicity. In fact, I was almost sickened as the film ended and I realised what it had all been about. Sickened, perhaps, because there was so much potential for a great film there, but it all ended in useless sentiment. It is definitely worth seeing, and seems to be something of a critic's classic already, but I couldn't get along with the overall tone, no matter how hard I tried.

Sunday

The Ashes this year will never be as popular as they were two summers ago, despite the frantic attempts of the media to make them. What made the event so special back then was a culmination of many factors both fathomable and unfathomable. Not least of which was that they took place in this country in almost every major city, like a touring circus. What also worked was the human engagement. In fact, it might be said that this was the defining factor in the success of the series. Most sport on paper is rather uninteresting. What makes us watch is the human drama. We become involved with the characters, like we would a soap opera, and cannot tear ourselves away. Later we try to define the sport on other terms, intellectually, as a reason for watching. These are always, however, after the fact. What first caught our attention was the people, like actors in an elaborate play. I believe someone even once said that F1 was the greatest sport narrative novel: year long you are engaged in the story of a few men struggling for one reward (and then you are compelled into the next year, and so on). I have been trying to convince a friend to watch Motogp, but he refuses. He gives many perfectly valid technical reasons for doing so, but these amount to little when you are empathetically involved with the characters. Everyone has forgotten who took part in the Ashes two years ago, we have lost who they are and what they do, and hence, I believe, the series will hardly be watched.

Saturday

I’ve been thinking about the notion of free will in The Lord of the Rings. Having watched the movies over the last few weeks (and I should add not read the books) I postulated to myself the possibility that the ring represented free will. This line of thought was also additionally spurred on by recent posts on the excellent Gamboling blog debating the notion of its existence. However, this is not what I’m concerned with. We believe free will, or the possibility of it, exists and I think this is what matters concerning the films. Not wanting to over-intellectualise a movie too much, or pretend to, I shall limit this to a few choice words. The ring is dangerous and must be destroyed because it lets people do whatever they want to do; it lets them act for themselves, by themselves. It breaks down the neatly ordered world of racial and class divisions. Notice how Sam is not Frodo’s equal, but almost his slave, and the hobbits are emphatically a class below the humans, they below the elves. The ring would disrupt this order, which is not allowed. Free will is far too dangerous and must be suppressed or else, read in the context of the Second World War when the books were written, it would lead to unimaginable horror. So, The Lord of the Rings are a set of repressive novels intent on imposing and maintaining social, sexual and racial divisions and hierarchies. This is just an idea.

Friday

There was a cinema critic critic in the newspaper the other day. She was accusing some film journalists of not fully committing to the task assigned them, sometimes not even seeing the movies they are reviewing. This is quite astonishing. How, or why, would they do this? The extent of human laziness and incompetence never fails to amaze me. Her prime, and perhaps only, target was Johnny Vaughan, the writer for the Sun newspaper (incidentally, or maybe not, the one that draws the largest audience). She claimed that he had not been seen at press viewings of films for a long time, yet reviews appeared weekly in his paper. She claimed that his readers deserved better. His argument was that he had special arrangements with film companies. The film companies denied this. She also targetted regional newspaper critics, and whilst I am not sure about Johnny Vaughan I would have to agree with her on this. I've noticed they are almost incapable of making negative remarks about a film, unless it is obviously terrible. I know some people simply interpret the word 'critic' to mean 'negative comments', but I believe only making positive comments is as bad as, if not worse than, this. Incidentally, the best newspaper critic would have to have been John Betjeman with his verse reviews of films.

Thursday

The Prestige is a disconcerting film. I want to say it's good, but I have a feeling that it wasn't. One never knows, of course, when there's a book you haven't read behind a movie: how much of what is good is the novelist's or the film-maker's? Perhaps all that I liked about the film was the creation of the writer. I don't think so, however, as I was struck by much of the photography - as I was in Nolan's earlier film, Insomnia. The film began at its end, which I normally consider the refuge of a director when there's a weak plot. But this wasn't the case: the plot is good. What was lacking perhaps was characters that one could really sympathise with. Not wanting to spoil the plot, but there are several unconvincing similarities throughout. I found myself, in fact, more fascinated by one of the minor characters than by anything else in the film. Michael Caine I wasn't impressed with, where I normally am. The third element, music, I hardly noticed. Overall, as I left the cinema on Tottenham Court Road (good sized screen, plenty of leg room, and staggered seating), I couldn't help thinking what I usually end up thinking about films based on novels - I bet the book is really interesting.

Wednesday

Text messages in films are becoming increasingly more common. What do you think of them? When it is required of the plot for a character to read anything – a letter, an email, a sign – the whole momentum of the film seems to slow down. Only very occasionally does it work – when the thing being read is so important that we are carried through it quickly. Most of the time they are quite an obstacle, especially when the film-maker decides to have the message read aloud, by the character (internally or aloud), by a narrator, or worst of all by the person who wrote it. Often such recitals get in the way of the film’s style, or the character’s naturalism. I don’t really see a remedy, however. Text messages, and mobile phones, are integral to the latest Bond film from the first scenes to the last. They are a new device opening up a whole new range of scenarios to the film-maker. For me, there is still something a little strange about James Bond reading a text message, but maybe that’s just me. (More to be said about this later concerning the film The Prestige.)

Tuesday

Casino Royale is a good Bond film. I was almost tempted to consider it as a film on its own, as I think its makers attempted to do at times, but they eventually, as did I, returned to rely on the conventions of the franchise and the expectations of their audience. Nonetheless, they seem to have at last acknowledged the threat to them, and the excitement for us, of films like The Bourne Identity, and made a much more modern, energetic James Bond film. As I say, it is so good as to almost stand on its own. There was much more sincerity, and a lot less humour and gimmicks, than we’ve seen with Pierce Brosnan. They stretch Bond’s vulnerability a little too much, but then appropriately reel it all back in at the end. Some people may dislike the whole idea of franchises, but then I would say that they have no understanding of cinema, and can not consider themselves ‘cinema lovers’ if they continue to maintain such a position. Franchises are cinema – the ultimate big screen, bag of popcorn, Saturday afternoon entertainment. As such, I was convinced of seeing it in the largest theatre – the Odeon Leicester Square – and don’t regret doing so, or spending so much, for a minute.

Monday

The paedophile controversy is not a controversy. I refer to the recent remarks of Chief Constable Terry Grange on the issue and the 'controversy' that followed them. He said that men who have sex with girls under 16, but over 12, should not necessarily be classed as paedophiles. At first this might seem a shocking statement, and this was the aspect that the BBC news, predictably, pushed. However, if you listen to the details of what Mr Grange said you will find it not so shocking, and in fact quite sensitive. He said that boys under 16 having sex with girls under 16 shouldn't be classed as paedophiles. This is, indeed, perhaps so obvious as to be banal. But the BBC news didn't want a banal news story, they wanted a shocking one. So this 'controversy' over the last few days was entirely created by the media deliberately misinterpreting Mr Grange's remarks. Incredible, if you ask me.

Saturday

The Host is a very good film. I think I read somewhere someone call it a cross between The Royal Tenenbaums and Jurassic Park. I see what they mean, but it's not quite apt. There are funny family moments, and there is a big monster, but there's a lot more to the film than that. For one thing, there's a seriousness to the film that both of those lack, and there is also a real striving to achieve something great, which seems to be lacking in general from American cinema. This is a really exciting, brilliantly acted, shot and conceived film. Perhaps the only problem is that it either isn't funny enough, or serious enough, alternately, when it needs to be. This can only be explained by ruining the film, which I don't want to do. Go see it. It's great.

Wednesday

You can now petition 10 Downing Street via the internet. They will still accept paper and pen ones. This is perhaps one of the most cunning moves to marginalise anti-establishment thought. It flatters them into thinking they are getting a step forward: they can now create a petition at the click of a button about almost anything they want (although some, we are told, will be censored). However, it is that very liberation that Downing Street are relying on to dilute the messages. If there are so many, a single one won't be able to stand out. Also, there won't be the very physical, and televisual, presence of someone knocking on the door and delivering the signed papers that we see on the news. These are the very best moves in politics - give the people what they think they want.

Friday

I began to doubt my ability to make it to a film today. How could I possibly get to Tottenham Court Road in half an hour? I couldn't. Even if I did make it, the film would be very busy and maybe I wouldn't get a ticket. However, before the day was over, little did I know, things would take a series of unpredictable turns.I first decided to ask my colleage and good friend Eugenio if I could leave ten minutes early. He was more than accomodating and said I could leave 30 minutes early if I wanted. I strolled out of the shop casually at 8:30, confident I would make it with time to spare. Sitting on the train, however, I came across a copy of the Evening Standard. Now, my voucher specifically says 'any film any time after 7pm', but there in the paper were the words 'no free guest passes' underneath the film I wanted to see tonight: Borat. How could this be? And if I turned up to see that film and they turned me away, I wouldn't be able to see anything. I had to have a new plan...

As soon as the train stopped at Victoria I began running. I ran to the tube station. I changed at Green Park and ran between platforms. I ran up the escalator at Leicester Square. I ran along Charing Cross road and turned right onto Shaftesbury Avenue. It was 9pm. This was my only option. I was just in time to see the film A Good Year, but I would make sure I asked at the desk about Borat. A cunning plan, and it worked. No, I would not be allowed to see Borat with my free pass. 'One ticket to A Good Year, then, please' I said, rather too smugly, and a little out of breath. I bought a bottle of water and entered the film, before the trailers had even started.

So, how good was the movie? I had not expected much from it, having read several bad reviews, including one in a wine magazine (which was why it was not my first choice). However, I was pleasantly surprised. The film was very enjoyable - funny, well acted, well paced, with some beautiful scenery. Yes, the plot was predictable, but that didn't mean I didn't have fun along the way. Overall, exactly what I wanted, and so much more enjoyable because of how hard I had to work to see it.

Thursday

There was no doubt that I would make it to a film today. I folded the voucher and placed it inside my pocket, certain of my mission once again. The hours went quickly and already it was 5, and I was in Oddbins serving people wine. My manager had not remembered he'd scheduled me to work until 8 only - and he could not remember why, but, seeing what he had done, he could not refuse me leaving an hour early. However, that hour from 7 to 8 took an interminably long time to pass. I stood, and sat, and waited, and only a minute passed. Some customers came, and at last time sped up, and it was 5 to 8. I put my coat on and left.

The film, set to start at 9:20, I had chosen was Red Road at the Covent Garden Odeon. I easily had enough time to get there. I strolled on to Shaftesbury Avenue about 8:45. I had time, and time to spare. The cinema was busy again, as I had not expected. I got my ticket and went in search of an espresso. On the way I stopped at a cash machine. In front of me a man was taking a picture with his mobile phone of his bank balance. I got my cash and strolled around the West End. London seemed alive again, full of people, and full of exciting places. I bought myself an Evening Standard. I stopped at a small cafeteria on Charing Cross Road and had an espresso. I bought a bottle of water. Everyone I met seemed friendly and helpful. London had not seemed so exciting since I was 17, and first came here with my friends.

As for the film: quite exceptional, ruined only marginally by the large group of people coming in 40 minutes late. Who does that? An indicator of the type of film it was is that about 5 people left the cinema never to return. Another one, sitting two rows in front of me, fell asleep after about ten minutes and only awoke at the sound of the credits at the end. The pacing was slow, but the tension at times was almost unbearable. I would like to venture that this film might be more terrifying than Saw III. At times I couldn't look at the screen. A very good movie, very well acted.