Lack of 'rigour'-mortis

Hmm, it seems pathologists can't find the reason how the code-breaking British 'spy' Gareth Williams, found stuffed in a bag in Pimlico, died. Well, why don't they just put bronchial pneumonia on the death certificate. That's the normal thing they do in a post-mortem when they can't work out/can't be bothered to ascertain the method of expiration.

Homophone homosexuality

The revelation that Crispin Blunt, the prisons minister, was a closet homosexual, got me thinking about Quentin Crisp, author The Naked Civil Servant, another among the upper echelons of society to be saddled with a name that would invite ridicule from less-than-open-minded individuals. Factor in Anthony Blunt (sadly there is no-one with the Christian name Blunt) and we've got a high-class six degrees of Kevin Bacon going on, something where one must be more familiar with Debretts and Who's Who than Variety and having a sizeable filmic knowledge. It works for any eminence, but might pall as a party game.

Blunt's actions are very apt to his name, given that he has probably shattered the confidence of his wife in the run-up to what would have been a very happy occasion for the whole family. To pull the plug on the marriage just before the 20th wedding anniversary may serve a visceral purpose for him, but ignores the needs of those close to him. He should at least have gone through what would have been a charade for him and then a few months after that declared it was over. As it is, Blunt has gone down the selfish route, reflecting growing trends in this country.

Returning to the theme of the highermost rungs of British life, while I was setting for publication this week's Daily Telegraph Kindred Spirits pages, I noticed a new ad that stipulated as one of the conditions for union "You will be privately educated," which could mean either only public school toffs or home-schooled (for your parents must be rich) pupils need apply - no room for grammar school or bog-standard comprehensive oiks (I'm sure they're kicking themselves) - or it could have a promise for the future of being initiated into some sort of personal domination activities. Or both.

Singing for England? The FA isn't

So, today England play another football team who have reached more World Cup finals than them (without winning it though). The English national team were only really the best in the world between 1886 and 1900 when they won 35 out of 40 internationals, though this was before Italy and Brazil among others had cottoned on to the game.
Hungary (like the former Czechoslovakia) reached their World Cup finals before England, which may account for the reason they were rarely mentioned in the same breath as The Netherlands before 2010 in being denied the taste of holding aloft the trophy. In light of this, let’s compare all the teams who equalled or bettered England’s World Cup tournament performance from 1970 onwards. Unsurprisingly, this includes all the World Cup winners. The list:
Brazil,
Federal Republic of Germany (AKA West Germany)
Argentina
Italy
France
Spain
Uruguay
The Netherlands
Portugal
Republic of Korea (AKA South Korea)
Turkey
Croatia
Sweden
Bulgaria
Poland
Belgium
What really puts England’s standing into perspective is that since they achieved 4th in 1990 (a solitary appearance in the semi-finals, 1970 onwards), Croatia wasn’t even an independent country. By achieving 3rd place in 1998, they’ve achieved more in 20 years than England have ever done in that period. And then you have the likes of Belgium and Bulgaria on an equal par with England. It seems that the FA has proved more hindrance than help. They didn’t enter England in the pre-World War II World Cups, arrogantly thinking they were better than everyone else, something brutally exposed in their belated 1950 bow. The FA, in their xenophobia, created the League Cup to try and prevent clubs from entering into European competition. And now, they refuse to push for a winter break by winding up the League cup, though admittedly they are without a chairman and a chief executive and are in the pocket of the Premier League which has no intention of helping the national team. Now, England are without a sponsor, foolishly passing up Nationwide's £20 million offer, which has now been withdrawn, without getting anyone to match or surpass that. Maybe it’s time to wind up the FA and start again.

To borrow someone's else's invention - Inceptional

Inception, Christopher Nolan’s latest, is a blockbuster with brains with a tremendous cast, heart-pumping narrative and big, bold, brassy music from – who else? – Hans Zimmer, like Michael Caine, another Nolan favourite. Based on dream-making and the idea of implementing a heist, it makes that ‘one last job’ plausible, not because Cobb (Leonardo di Caprio – very impressive, the revulsion over Titanic slipping beneath the surface of collective consciousness) can’t kick the vicarious thrill, but because he wants to get back to his family. Having slept on it (and had a dream, natch), the movie can seem as frothy and insubstantial as what we create in a slumber. The world may or may not be in danger, through energy control (another hot button topic for thoughtful scriptwriters), but it comes down to the characters and whether you care for them. Christopher Nolan leaves their fate to us to decide, being too clever to give us a pat conclusion, but there are enough clues to work out that it’s not a happy fate for any of them. If you like spoilers, they are all trapped in one dream level or another, as even the survivors receive the kick but don’t wake up, except from Cobb’s viewpoint (like ‘projections’, they do not speak). Also, we are not told how exactly they invade the subconsciousness of others, so it’s hokum, very well put together hokum, but hokum all the same. Like a magician, you are distracted from this but the tricksiness of it all (remember Memento?) and this is why it is a must-see. 4 and half out of 5.

On Saturday night, I saw the second half of George Clooney vehicle The Perfect Storm and really the only where anything perfect is to be found is in the title and that in a nominal way. For a disaster movie, it was irritatingly repetitive. After going out way too far to find fish, the crew of the fishing ship come back in the middle of what at one point was predictably described as ‘hell’ (in the absence of entertainment I waited for someone to say that). So, they crash through one wave and break a window, then do the same and break another. Even when Clooney is bouncing about on a stabiliser, there is no sense of any danger – he’s the star, he’ll survive to the end or pretty near it. Characterisation comes through the saltiness of their language, to prove that they are a seafaring community; to slightly mix a metaphor (far more interesting than anything in the film), the whole reel was peppered with profanity, liberally seasoned. Aware that action on the ship and the grief of their families on shore were not enough to sustain the whole movie, they have a subplot involving a helicopter rescue crew who themselves get into trouble. I hung on with grim endurance, like the crew of the fishing ship, to see if things would improve. Even the money shot, as the boat tries to crest a 100ft-plus wave, it’s no more than yawnworthy. Maybe it would have looked better in the cinema than on a (big) television screen. Maybe developments in computer-generated effects have rendered the CGI here old-hat. Or maybe it’s just a rubbish film. I’m inclined to the latter.
Clooney has done many a fine flick in his Hollywood career, but The Perfect Storm reminded me of his attempt at screwball comedy Leatherheads, where I raised one half-smile for the entire duration. It wasn’t as bad as The Perfect Storm but a pretty near-run thing, redeemed by its obvious period detail and Jonathan Pryce’s keen performance. Renee Zellweger and Clooney might as well have leather for brains for all that the interplay works between them. The punchiest incident of the entire experience was when I walked out of the theatre and the multiplex was playing in their corridors No More Heroes by The Stranglers which woke me up and got my blood pumping in contrast to the anaemic immediate past.