Excursions

On Friday, I saw the film shamelessly plugged on the BBC one o'clock bulletin (while masquerading as news), Leatherheads. While not exactly swayed by the puff piece for the George Clooney vehicle, it was a reminder of a film that might be worth watching, as evinced by the trailers (in the cinema, not on the BBC News). Leatherheads obviously wanted to be a screwball comedy in the manner of the 1930s and 40s, but, while a few jokes spilled in, there was never a full rush of mirth-making. Well photographed, but more than a little inconsequential, especially for a non-American audience, given the core was about the devlopment of American football in the 1920s. It would be like selling a film about English Association Football in the inter-war period to the USA, notably where the climatic plot device is well sign-posted. The repartee between Clooney and Renee Zellweger never quite caught fire, despite occasional sightings of smouldering, while Jonathan Pryce turned in another class performance and acted everyone else off the screen. It's hard to tell what was less worthwhile - the hypermania of the Coen Brothers' movie Intolerable Cruelty where Clooney squared off against Catherine Zeta-Jones or the lily-gilding present here. Arguably, the former had more zest. Leatherheads has a few interesting curios of the 1920s and Pryce, which though admirable is not exactly compensation enough. 2/5

On the Saturday, I finally got to see the most recent Coen Brothers' movie, winner of Best Picture and Best Director(s) Oscars, No Country for Old Men. It was a cut above what I had seen the day before, but I'm not entirely sure of its credentials for Best Movie of the Oscar year. It had exquisite cinematography and avoided easy, down-pat conclusions, with a striking narrative trick that makes you give a double-take to the whole movie (maybe car afficionados would have spotted it, mind), but Crash the previous year was more satisfying (if also more manipulative) as a Best Picture Oscar-winner. I find it interesting that much of the carnage seen in the film stems from an act of intended kindness and although, not being a comedy, it had as many humourous scenes as Leatherheads. I also appreciated the homages - Woody Harrelson's gumshoe on the stairs evokes Psycho, though the P. I.'s death occurs in his own room; and also the kids on their bikes reminds me of E.T, especially when one considers the narrative trick towards the end. I'm sure there are others. Of the main actors - Tommy Lee Jones, Josh Brolin, Javier Bardem and Woody Harrelson - Jones was largely wasted and Harrelson's appearance seemed like the Coen Brothers mooning at scriptwriter schools everywhere. There was also a key point where the transponder in the money was found and I was thinking, "just throw it out the window," but that never happens and though not totally a plot hole, it is somewhat inexplicable. The film was intended to be disturbing and jarring, but it's hard to see where it was going or what it was saying, other than preaching the randomness of life. Fargo, another big-time critical success of the Coens (though not one I'm overly enamoured by) was despite a guy being fed into a woodpulper, less violent, but crucially more a piece. It told a story, with a beginning, a middle and an end. No Country for Old Men had no beginning, nor an end with the middle being wrapped up in a conclusion of sorts - another way of reflecting life maybe, but it did leave a sour taste in the mouth. For me, very good, though not one of the Coens' best. 4/5.

I saw that the last film in Odeon Covent Garden, which is actually quite a distance from Covent Garden. There were the usual bizarre London sights. Going down the stairs at CG tube station, I saw a black kid on crutches going up them! That takes stamina! It's bad enough being able-bodied walking up 193 steps, though it has to be done for the experience, but on cructches?!?! Inside King's Cross tube station as I made a connection crossing from Piccadilly Line to Hammersmith and City there was a naked guy wearing only his spectacles. His clothes were in a pile beside him and he was being, ahem, attended to by a tube member of staff (no smuttiness!). Can't see why he would want to waggle his pale, pink, skinny body around - as Mel Leigh commented as I told her, he was more of a grower than a show-er. I could understand such an undesirable sight directly outside King's Cross, but inside and past the barriers at that?
I was catching the H & C line to get to Aldgate East from whence I would convey myself to Brick Lane to see Mel and, as it turned out, Clare, for a bit of a chit-chat and a drink. We met at 1001. In its toilet was an attendant who was singing what seemed pro-Mugabe songs and ryhming couplets about soap usage (no fears, I used it) whilst lyricising his appreciation that i had pulled the flush. Back at the table, I had cider and red wine, though not at the same time. At around nine we called it a night and I made my way back to Victoria on a surprisingly efficient District Line train. At Victoria, I decided to have for the first time since 2005, proper junk fast food, a Burger King. I got on the train, only to find that the staff had left out the drink from my meal. So with minutes before the train departed, I hurried back and asked them about. I got a new drink, which was just as well since I had previously chosen Coca-Cola before seeing they had Fanta (and I'd already had a Pepsi cola earlier). Armed with Fanta I made my way back to the train with a minute or so to spare and as I went back to a spot I had bagged on the train, I saw a two pound coin on the floor. Literally, quids in! I wouldn't have seen that if I hadn't of had to go back and get a drink from the Burger King staff. The meal was typically fulfilling yet unfilling, but I was most of all pleased by the money discovery and a smooth train ride home.