EXTREMELY LOUD AND INCREDIBLY CLOSE

"Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close" has got to be the worst film I've seen in a decade. A mawkish, vomit-inducing, sentimental pile of horseshit, with a lead child actor you want to strangle half-way through. Not to mention, it's incredibly cynical in its intent.

To make this stupid, wrong-headed film seem interesting, they used the backdrop of 9/11 to give it some point. That cancelled any insight the film might have had. Instead, the makers' pile on the emotional manipulation throughout, until your forced to surrender, having had someone call an ambulance from the coma you've suffered, from the 10 pounds of proverbial sugar you've just swallowed.

Call it an urban "Hugo" without the enchantment, if "Hugo" did have any in the first place. AVOID!

Snore Horse

Just sat through "War Horse"- quite a bit pony, unfortunately, and full of the kind of sugary sentimental horse shit Spielberg does so well. Much of it looks like a Hovis ad or a BBC1 Sunday night drama and the dialogue, save for one brief moment, is hokey... at best. Six degrees of separation from a horse throughout WW1 is basically what it's about. It's three episodes of war antics, surrounded by a horse, who gets sent to fight or have a soldier sit on his saddle; the horse gets captured by the Germans; falls in with a grandfather and his toothsome grandaughter; and then ends up towards the end of the war with the blinded young private who brought him up in the first place.

Nice scene between an English soldier and a Jerry- good dialogue and some pathos as the nag of the film's title has barbed wire carefully snipped away from his battered bod. There's a strident score by John Williams throughout and is about as manipulative as possible to tug on the heart strings. You could replace the horse with a teddy bear- it makes no difference- but we all love an animal that's managed to survive a war and looks great and displays human characteristics! Oh, and there's Benedict cucumber slice with his plummy accent rallying the troops with "Be Bwav", as they go off to certain death. 2/10 for 2.5 hours of emotional Tate and Lyle.

PAYCHECK, DIRECTOR: JOHN WOO

Watching Paycheck made me want to give up reviewing films altogether. This inept, silly and annoying movie should have never left the pre-production stage.

It features career-low performances from blandly handsome Ben Affleck, toothsome and vapid Uma Thurman and John Woo, who should be thoroughly ashamed of himself.

Paycheck sees his soul, brought, signed, sealed and delivered to Hollywood and his sellout mentality is now well and truly complete.

If you thought Gigli was bad, Paycheck is just as awful, if not worse.

It's a rip-off of Minority Report and Total Recall, even though Phillp K. Dick loosely bases it on an original short story.

Affleck plays Michael Jennings, a "reverse-engineer" who steals other people's technology, sells it to the highest bidder and then, conveniently, has his memory erased.

He's approached by an old friend, Jimmy Rethrick (Aaron Eckhart) to committ himself to a three-year project , which, if completed, will secure the biggest payout of his career.

But Jenning's colleague Shorty (Paul Giamatti) has reservations about this job, citing the old adage that, if it's too good to be true, it probably is- as Jennings discovers to his cost.

Jennings wakes up to fins that it's three years into the future and his only help in piecing together what has happened is in an envelope filled with a wristwatch, a diamond ring and a matchbox.

In all this confusion, time is running out for him to find out what happened. Making matters worse, people are trying to find and kill him.

With a script that either states the obvious at every turn or repeats things such as character motivation long after the audience has established it for themselves. Paycheck is an essay in stupidity.

With more holes than Swiss cheese, its artless and graceless action sequences are poor payoff for a plot that is either very silly or needlessly complicated.

Affleck has never been more wooden or more smug. Thurman, as a biologist must be the most airheaded and vacuous doctor that I have seen on film.

Woo manages to make the action set-pieces incredibly conventional and very unexciting. His reputation, gained from Hong Kong action flicks, has been lifelessly drained away and he's been forced to cover up a feeble plot, rubbish acting and script that does nothing but slither along.

Paycheck is a desperate effort by all concerned and should be avoided by audiences like the plague.

TOKYO STORY, DIRECTOR: YASUJRIO OZU

It says a lot that the best film of the week is 51 years old, but then Tokyo Story is a special film, a life-changing experience that has stood the test of time for over haf a century.

In the renowned film magazine Sight and Sound, Tokyo Story ranked as number five on the 2002 critics' poll, adding testament to a well-deserved legacy.

Tokyo Story is a universal tale of estrangement between parents and their adult children, a story that never seems to date and has emotional resonance for any mother, father and offspring.

It's a very simple film, in the sense that it builds its emotional power from nuances, in terms of camera placement and characters' expressions and from a story that reflects reality, showing how people deal with a range of situations.

The story is of an aging married couple who travel from a provincial town to visit their various grown-up children.

But the children have moved on, leading busy lives as professionals, seemingly only taking them out to see the city because they feel obliged to.

But the don't seem to have time to show them around properly, eat a meal or just chat, hamstrug as they are by their jobs and their seperate, hectic lives.

The parents come to terms with this turn of events and turn their attention to their widowed daughter-in-law, someone who seems to have time for the couple and shows human kindness.

However, on their trip, the mother dies and the scene is set for a funeral at the ancestral home, where the siblings face up to their priorities and try to absolve some of their guilt.

Recriminations are kept to a minimum, as is the apportioning of blame. The widowed daughter-in-law comes off as showing the most compassion, which the father remembers even if she is nothing less than modest about what she has done.

The greatest sorrow is reserved for the widowed husband. His resignation to loneliness is heartbreaking and there is little he can do but face his fate without the woman that he loved.

This simplicity is also the brilliance of a director like Yasujrio Ozu. He is able to make big emotional strides by expression real human emotion and this is why the film exudes a power that is rarely seen in cinema.

Ozu's sublime trademark style of little camera movement, setting up the scene and playing lt long after the narrative necessitates is cinematic poetry.

Ozu knows more than most directors about exploring off-screen space and enhancing it for emotional heft. However, this is the least conventional or emotionally manipulative film that you are ever likely to see.

Characters are framed with utmost relevance to their surroundings, making a relationship between person and environment. The idea of loneliness being conveyed in terms of film space is something that Ozu understands.

He also expresses beautifully the images of a character in the middle of a frame surrounded by huge gulfs of space as a metaphor for helplessness and isolation in scene after scene.

It's the unobtrusive camera placement, usually only a foot or so higher than the floor, which puts you at the heart of the drama and the heart of the characters. It's as if you are an invisible member of the family, absorbing the humanity surrounding you.

Ozu was one of the greatest directors of the 20th century and most of his film are inbued with the kind of humanism that makes him a great film-maker.

The film manages, simply and in an unfussy manner, to explain more about the complexities of life than many so-called epics.

Tokyo Story is epic, not in terms of its canvas, but in terms of its ambition, its depth and its perception of human values and feelings.

If there were only seven wonders of the cinematic world, Tokyo Story would surely be one of them.

This is absolutely unmissable cinema that will stand the test of time for the next 50 years and way beyond that.

BIG APPLE LIMEY

It was just after I got my visa to start a film course at Point Park College (now university) and the embassy official told me that Point Park wasn’t a very good university and I should think about going somewhere else or abandon my plans altogether. I took her comments under advisement and still hoped that a film course in Pittsburgh would prove interesting, enlightening and lead me to some sort of long-term stay in the U.S or some film-related job back in London, where I’m from. I came back to my apartment in Central London to find a huge package with the logo of New York University (NYU) emblazoned on the top right hand corner. I opened the package, which revealed a red folder, and opened that, which showed a letter of acceptance to the most prestigious film-related university in the world. I was shocked; numbed. I couldn’t believe my luck. It was a long shot that NYU would accept me. After all, University of Miami, University of Iowa and University of California at Los Angeles had all turned me down I had predictedA’ Level passes in English, Sociology & Psychology and the offer at NYU was conditional on securing those grades. NYU’s acceptance came with some conditions, which gave me trepidation: namely, being on academic probation my first year and having to maintain a Grade Point Average of 2.5 on a 4.0 scale.

TAXI DRIVER (1976) NOW ON REGION A (U.S) BLU RAY: SOME THOUGHTS

"Taxi Driver" must rank as one of the greatest films ever made. A study of the pathology of loneliness in and around the mean streets of 1970s New York City, it's now released on blu-ray and has a timeless status and quality that has never been matched. Not an easy watch by any means, it's still a compelling, engrossing, downright gritty piece of cinema, which I've seen several times,. The following are some observations of the movie I've had over the years, having seen it many times over the years, since I first watched it on a big-box red VHS back in 1986.

Travis suffers and his “mission” at the end is catharsis, a release. He’s looking back in the mirror- nothing has changed. His loneliness is his pathology, his need to save Iris is a little more than focusing his mind away from his terrifying emptiness, which he embraces through his pathology of eating crap food, going to porno cinemas, making a hash of the date he’s on with Betsy and, even worse, trying to get Betsy to embrace his loneliness too. Understandably, Travis is hurt, but he can’t see the normality of just going on a date. He even makes grand judgements to Betsy at the coffee shop. He’s unable to stop the pain he feels because of the trauma of his past, post Vietnam. The taxi is a yellow coffin. He’s suffering. But he’s also dead inside. The nearest he gets to being a hero is that he’s a loner, an outsider. If anything, he’s an anti-hero. He’s also not bitter; he’s pathetic and sad and deserves our pity. His aborted date with Betsy is little more than a self fufilling prophecy, where he thinks that she would be interested in his sad little life. She’s rejects him in the cinema, he rejects her at the end, refusing to charge her for the fare. He remains a sufferer, not an unhinged beast.

He’s bitter when rejected by Betsy, but subsequent attempts to ask her out again are conveyed in a pathetic hoplessness- especially when the camera pans down the empty hallway. He’s pissed off with Betsy’s co-worker and wants to kick the shit out of him, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t raise his voice anywhere during the film. He’s always desperate. He talks to Iris in desperate tones “you should be in school”. His robotic march of death at the end is devoid of emotion- he’s expressing his true force, every muscle must be tight. It’s all about the mission. Bitter people don’t have the energy to do what he’s doing. He’s lonely and suffering passively. The killing of pimps and dealers is an agressive sense of purpose, the only one he’s had since he got back from 'Nam. He must be depressed, because he has no fear of working long hours, driving his coffin through black ghettos, begging to get hurt. He hates black people- that’s for sure. But NY was fairly diverse even in 1975/76, so he had time to come to terms with migration. He probably had black squad members fighting with him? He can’t expect to pick up women in a porno cinema, either by taking them or chatting them up whilst they’re working there. He doesn’t have any skills to jump back for a minute before he pathalogically heads further into the abyss. Whist he maintains his outsider status, he’s also revelling in it, happy to be that loner and for the viewer to empathise him, if only because he can’t see how unhappy he is.

and he wanted to and expects to die at the end. The media label him a hero because he’s diametrically rid NY of some bad anti-social dudes, but the media don’t see how unstable he is, so he’s happy to have the attention. But wait, he looks back in the mirror, and it’s back to the same old misery, if untreated, will cause his death by his own hand, not by the guns of the sleaze merchants of Manhattan.

But he expected to die, which is why he wrote the letter to Iris. I don’t take the idea that society adores him- they would only be doing that on the level of the fact that he got rid of cliched “scumbags”. As an audience we’ve been following Travis from his perspective for the whole time, so we know that what he did isn’t something to be championed. As an Idea of transcendence, this must be a very extreme form of it. He nearly dies after rescuing Iris and fully expects to, but doesn’t. He manages to reject Betsy, but to what end? He’s not happy, despite managing a smirk. He looks in the mirror, is alarmed, the mirror is blurred, which must be a visual representation of Travis’ warped mind. The last images are of scummy 1970s New York, and he’s back in his yellow coffin, wandering the streets, waiting to die again. It’s a hopeless moment. He’s accepted his loneliness, and he will die again again because of it because he has no connection to society. He couldn’t even connect with his cabby colleagues. He can’t live with Iris or her family… It was a one off moment. He got clarity, but only for a moment. He’s still trivial and he’s dead inside.

Regarding the mowhawk- this is just part of his whole ritual. He’s been burning his arm to enhance his muscles, he’s doing pull ups, press ups, but it makes him stand out like a sore thumb. He could have been killed or arrested when he tries to kill Palantine, but, unrealistically manages to evade arrest. Travis means "journeyman", and his cab is a metaphor for his mental journey into suicide and transcendence into another world, where he doesn’t have to feel, so acutely, the pain of rejection and loneliness. The only acceptance he feels are the positive media opinions and the letter from Iris’ parents, who unrealistically, say they can’t come to NY because they’re too poor. Well, if Travis wanted to, on his large salary, could surely head up to Philly for a welcome. A welcome that would be more accepting given that it wouldn’t be in a hospital ward, with Travis in a coma. But he’s not going to take up the offer. He’ll die sooner or later, but for moment, he feels that he’s made an accomplishment, even though it’s in the most extreme form of mass homicide. Did it have to be so extreme, no? But it makes for a classic piece of 70s cinema.

REVIVAL AFTER A 15 MONTHS ABSENCE.

Not sure why I put the pen down, so to speak, and stopped this bog, but I thought I'd return to it. Perhaps, I was inspired by my friend, Darren, whose set up his own blog/website? Maybe my job was getting to me and I withdrew into myself? I'm not sure, but I'm back to burn, so to speak (again) and hopefully, this will be a more constant affair; cathartic, if nothing else.

Anyway, after a long three-weeks, I have my monthly long-weekend. I spent most of Friday just gone at the cinema. It's what I enjoy doing most in life. After all, everyone has their passions, and this keeps me off the streets and out of trouble.

Anyway, whilst I'd seen "True Grit," the Coen Brothers' remake already, I went to see it again at the Cineworld Haymarket and enjoyed it just as much second time around. "Brighton Rock" at Cineworld Shaftsbury Avenue was up next. Didn't like this much. Changing it from the 1940s to the mid 1960s didn't make much sense. Sam Riley as "Pinky" wasn't really that credible as a sociopath. The atmosphere of the picture was rendered quite successfully- scuzzy, badly lit under passes creating an air of menace. But the film felt wrong and didn't need a remake. Last on the billing on Friday was "Gnomeo and Juliet"- decent enough animated take on Romeo and Juliet produced by Elton John and his husband. Some decent jokes in the mix, but it ran out of ideas pretty quickly, with the last thirty minutes your basic run-of-the-mill chase, crash and burn sequence, with pathos lifted from a hundred Pixar movies. A whole movie of Elton John songs got annoying too. As did the chavvy mother that came in thirty minutes late with her two brats. I passed comment. She tutted. We had a few "words" at the end of the film. A credit to humanity she wasn't. Ho hum, I guess it takes all sorts to make a world. Unfortunately, that kind of negative diversity can turn good people into bad or recluses.

Well, that's it for the moment. Did absence make the writing better? Who knows?

The Kinesis Thesis- a review

With a lot of British rap acts having to go the Dubstep, Grime or Drum 'N' Bass route to survive, it comes as a breath of fresh air to discover K.I.N.E.T.I.K, a truly talented rapper, out of the hectic streets of Kensal Rise, North London, at the 'notorious' end of the Bakerloo Line.
Citing influences such as Wu-Tang-Clan and the Lost Boys, this 27-year-old has been on a mission to return hip-hop back to its purposeful roots and essence - namely, a great lyrical flow, a variety of meaningful subjects and some wicked production, featuring scratching to add flavour to two tracks.
Taking film director Alfred Hitchcock's adage about grabbing the audience's attention in the first few minutes, Kinetik jumps out of the box with 'Let's Go', a blistering, amped track where he just rhymes for his life, announcing his purpose and telling all competitors to 'fall back.' The production hits you rougher than an animal, with a cinematic punch to the face, complete with a apt scratched-in Big L sample: "You think you're nice as me? Ha ha!'
Things slow down a bit on the title track, 'The Kinesis Thesis', to take things a little more reflectively. Over a nice funky two-step drum-riff and a female vocal, Kinetik raps about his reasons for being a rapper and the struggle to achieve his goals.
Other tracks speak upon living in London - 'In the City' paints a vivid picture of the daily grind of avoiding drugs, guns and having to survive - the hip-hop business, ('Keep it Goin') and domestic violence ('Love Has Never Lived Here'.) The 1980s break of choice, Melvin Bliss' 'Synthetic Substitution', provides the foundation for 'An Intense Rush', a track that speaks of the thoughts and feelings of rhyming as an outlet for frustration and positivity. 'Don't Be Silly' has a lovely trumpet sample and some Roy Ayers- inspired xylophones lacing the subject of Kinetik's lack of commitment with the ladies.
Inspired possibly by Nas, we also have 'Memory Lane', which is no less vivid and heartfelt than Nas' version. Kinetik raps about his hip-hop influences ('B.I.G') and quotes some cartoons of old such as Ninja Turtles and Transformers.
Kinetik reminded me a lot of underrated rapper O.C, another rhymer with skill, high-quality production and a gift for painting gritty stories with his rhymes. Thankfully, whilst Kinetik talks about British lives and issues, it doesn't detract from how well-produced the album is, or how much care and thought has gone into his rhymes.
If you're bemoaning all the Yin of hip-hop being about partying, blunts and materialism, then balance your Yang and support this artist. No more moaning; it's time to put your money where your mouth is and enjoy the essence of rap once again.

The Human Condition...

So, I just finished watching the mamoth (9.5 hour) Japanese epic "The Human Condition", recently released on Region 1 dvd by Criterion, upgrading it from some horrible VHS versions and a jarzy triple dvd set that didn't do the film(s) justice.

As we humans seem to be the only ones that question why we are here, beyond the basic need to survive etc, it seems only fitting that a film try and tackle the questions of 'Why are we here?' in a tangible way. As I've always argued: "there's no real meaning to life, which is why we must bring meaning to it."

The film is adapted by director Maski Kobayashi from Jumpei Gomikawa's six-volume novel, and, in three parts, tells the story of Kaji (Tatsuya Nakadai), an idealistic technocrat and it's his story, his anguish that contrasts this sprawling epic, which encompasses so many vistas, so many changes of weather and scenery, that this is about as near as a movie gets to recreating the scope of a novel.

It's really about one man trying to change things in the face of so much oppression; a man trying to make things better despite the increasingly hostility and loneliness he suffers.

On one hand he could be seen as a stubborn, self-righteous prig, and, on the other, a true moralist, standing up for the rights of the individual, who usually had no say in how they find themselves, especially as this film is set around WWII, a time of termoil for most.

I enjoyed the film, even though it was the longest I've sat through in about a year. Much of what he goes through in the film resonated with me, in my own experiences. There's a lack of morality and decency in a lot of a humanity, or lack thereof. I bemoan comments like "Well, that's just the way it is." It isn't. It's a choice, and we must never forget that whilst most of us don't understand why we're on planet Earth, our dealings with each other could be a whole lot more productive and happier.

Brother Ali- he ain't no terrorist.

Brother Ali, Barfly, Camden, London (15th Sep 2009)

After a schizophrenic summer in London, where the sun shone sporadically, this concert, featuring Minnesota based Brother Ali, was prefaced by an all-day downpour, which, thankfully, didn't dampen the spirit of the sold-out crowd at the intimate Barfly.
Sporting a green Adidas tracksuit with gold stripes, contrasting with his highly publicised, but never exploited Albino skin, Brother Ali cut a stocky, cuddly figure as he took to the stage. Having a self-effacing, good-natured vibe about him, he got the crowd on side with tracks from his new album 'US' (Rymesayers Entertainment) which deals with such diverse subjects as his family ('Preacher', featuring an infectious drum and trumpet pattern); positive thinking and self-belief ('Crown Jewels'); poverty ('House Keys'); and the immigration experience ('The Travelers').
Equally diverse is the production from Ant, from underground rap group Atmosphere. Using DATS featuring funky trumpets, guitars, drums and pianos, Brother Ali took his audience on a journey of reflective, almost bluesy tranquillity- as if rap had finally grown up from its angry roots and successfully channelled its frustrations.
To balance the seriousness of some of his themes and rhymes Brother Ali knew when the time was right to show his sense of humour. He goofed off with some witty anecdotes and let his DJ BK-One show off his talents with a Latin American inspired, electrically funky mix of carefully thought out production and turntable wizardry.
Brother Ali is fast becoming a stalwart of a rap industry that falls between two stools: the conscious grafters who stay below the radar and the 'stars' who get the fame and fortune, but don't move the art form forward. If anything, the Lil Wayne’s of the rap world bring it back to its more vapid, party-orientated days. Not that I'm hating on the latter, but Brother Ali's blend of bluesy and intelligent hip-hop is a rare breed, even rarer for it to be heard live.
Going on the evidence tonight, Hip-hop has lost a lot of its angry, unfocused energy and managed to make 'golden age' generational fans proud, whilst picking up new heads along the way. Words like ‘edutainment’ have been absent in rap circles ever since KRS-1 lost his relevance; but Brother Ali's picked up the mantel and ran with it.
Ali’s paid homage to rappers like Public Enemy and Ice Cube and moved things on a pace. It has nothing to do with colour; it has everything to do with attitude. He’s the keeping-it-real face of mature hip-hop for cats that like to think beyond the blunt and the cheap fumble. Masta Ace once said: 'Take a Look Around.' -you couldn't have a better guide that Brother Ali.

SUGAR BEAR- THE ONE SHOT WONDER FROM LONG ISLAND

Back in 1988 when I was sixteen years of age, submerged in the golden era of hip-hop, I constantly heard this one track which always started with the now immortal words: “I said it before, time after time, whoaaaaaa… don’t scandalize mine” before the track whip-cracked into the Talking Heads sample from “Once in a Lifetime”.

It took a while to find out who this rapper was and when I found out it was the self-confessed “Powerful Powerlord from Strong Island” known as Sugar Bear- who took his name from the advertising cartoon mascot of the 1950s American breakfast cereal Super Sugar Crisp- I was duly impressed. “Scandalize” played well with everything at the time, especially Doug Lazy’s epic hip-house track “Let it Roll”.

Sugar Bear, a.k.a Teddy Jackson was, at the time, the manager for Townhouse 3-who became Son of Bezerk-and wrote rhymes in his spare time, mainly as a hobby. Befriending Chuck D on his pioneering radio show Spectrum City (the original name for Public Enemy) at Adelphi University, Sugar Bear would showcase his rhymes along with his crew, the Players Club. Opening for such acts as The Fat Boys, Sugar Bear gained some valuable experience of the rap music industry, especially in how to rock a crowd.

Sugar Bear’s crowning glory came with the single “Don’t Scandalize Mine” b/w Ready to Penetrate”, the brainchild of Sugar Bear whilst testing out ideas with Paul Shabazz, friend and studio space sharer of Bomb Squad producer Hank Shocklee.

Producer GM Web D, nowadays a producer for MF Doom, laid down the track for “Scandalize”, which, originally, wasn’t the “Once in a Lifetime” sample, but a far slower incarnation. Once the Talking Head’s sample had been laced under Sugar Bear’s rhymes, he knew he had something.

But Long Island and the rest of North America wasn’t really feeling “Scandalize”. Save for a little radio play in New York, the single didn’t really bring the noise, despite being pressed up by little-known Coslit Records and then picked up by Next Plateau, also home to the Ultramagnetic Mc’s. Why the track may not have had the impact it should have could be linked to fellow New York rappers DJ Chuck Chillout and Cool Chip, who had already used the same sample on their seminal track “Rhythm is the Master”, with backing from big label Polygram.

Ironically, U.K hip-hop and club heads embraced the single with surprising results: it became an underground hit with crossover appeal. So much so that Sugar Bear got exposure and a lucrative tour in the U.K and Europe.

The U.K has always embraced the ‘real’ hip-hop coming out of New York, especially in the 1980s and “Don’t Scandalize Mine” (a metaphor for ‘mind your own business’) remains-along with Most Wanted’s “Calm Down”, Mantronix’s “King of the Beats” and Masta Ace’s’ “Letter to the Better”- a New York bastard child adopted by British surrogate parents.

Interestingly, the ‘B’ side of “Scandalize”, “Ready to Penetrate”, became reincarnated by Public Enemy four years later for “Tie Goes to The Runner”, off their otherwise poorly conceived “Greatest Misses” album.

Very little is known about Sugar Bear in the intervening years. It has been documented that he’s happily married with children and, I assume, has a normal life, away from the music industry.

His brush with fame, whilst all too brief, was, for a one-shot wonder, more interesting and longer-lasting than most. Perhaps if he had actually joined Public Enemy, he may have made it to the hall of fame, the pantheon of hip hop greatness. I suspect he’s happy he was just a part of it all in the first place.

ANGELS AND DEMONS- A ONE WORD REVIEW

Bollocks....

MICHAEL JACKSON: DID HE STOP WHEN HE HAD ENOUGH?

No matter what you might think of Michael Jackson in his later years- by later years, I mean post 1987, when he had his best years behind him after the album "Bad"- he was a genius of showbiz talent and pizazz. Along with his mentor and super-producer Quincy Jones, his albums "Off the Wall", "Thriller" and "Bad" changed the face of modern music. These were stone-cold classics of mainstream R n b and that crossed over into the pop market. I vow anyone not to dance if "Billie Jean" ever came on in a club or at a dance or wedding, even "Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough" and "Rock With You" have their moments. The album, "Thriller", didn't become the biggest selling album of all-time for no reason. Thanks to Michael's talent and Quincy Jones' production, the album was 40 minutes of tightly arranged music and amazing songs, seven of which were released as singles and all of which went to No.1, in country after country, transcending race, gender, nationality and class.

Jackson, a product of an over-bearing and emotionally abusive father, never had a childhood, and was propelled into the limelight far too young. Obviously he had the talent and it needed to be nurtured, there was no point in pushing him out to work like some Motown chimney sweep at such a young age.

Not surprisingly, his later years were a delayed reaction to not having a proper childhood, having far too much money, too many hangers on and having an identity crisis which made him as troubled as he was. The skin condition, so severe that it changed his pigmentation, opened him to ridicule. His relationship with a monkey, made a monkey of his reputation. His possibly sexualised interest in young kids, overstepped the boundaries of fondness for children, making him somewhat of a pariah.

I remember the 15 minute video of "Thriller", a sort of riff on "American Werewolf in London", in which Michael becomes possessed, mainly because nothing like that had been seen before. As a mini-movie it blew people away, especially with the special effects and choreography. Michael's grace and dexterity in his dance moves, along with the synchronised zombies was fantastic, especially for 1984 and which has stood the test of time. The video didn't have all the flashy whip-panning or crane shots or sweeping movements, it just was able to capture the entire essence, letting Michael do his thing. In the U.K the video was so 'scary', they rated it "15", meaning you couldn't see it unless you were 15 or over. For some reason, we all watched it under-age in a chemistry lab, with the teachers blessing. I think they showed it on TV sometime after. But the video started the sell-through VHS craze and fans were only too happy to pay the £20 (a lot in 1984) asking price for a bit of thriller.

There was no way he was going to be able to do 50 shows at the O2 in London. Even if these shows were not 50 in a row, they still would have tested the endurance of any man or woman. Even Madonna, as fit as she is, would have struggled. It seems all the prescription drugs he was taking, the stress and pressure he put himself under, the enormous debts, the near-miss conviction for child molestation, all compounded his frail frame, until he couldn't take it anymore.

I didn't care for his later work, after 1987, and after Bad. By then he had go a bit potty and his aura became irritating and put me off. I liked "Remember the Time" as a song, but the rest left be cold. He had all the moves and sang all the right notes, but I think he just couldn't live a normal life, which is what he so badly craved. His death seemed to be symbolic of that famous white glove being held up as some sort of indication of surrender. Truly stopping when he had enough.

Sad that he's gone, but his music will live on and for Generation X, my generation, he'll be forever known as our Sinatra, our Elvis.

TRANSFORMERS 2: WHAT AN ORDEAL!

I saw "Transformers 2" yesterday. For some reason, it opened in London before most of the rest of the world. Wow, this was probably the dullest, most stupid and irritating film I've seen in a long time. Like watching paint dry, while being punched in the face at the same time. Transformers as characters are dull visually, so I'm not sure why they would have made a good movie in the first place. The plot ends up being some symbol-driven Indian Jones quest for something that makes no sense, as does most of the film, which means there's consistency, but not a fun film, at all.

There's the stock shouty sidekick character, a lot of boring explosions and endless minutes of over-sized robots knocking the crap out of each other, which, without any characterisation or plot development is just an exercise in sitting with very expensive computers and having a lot of money to make these things visually interesting, which given the results means that isolating yourself from the screenplay and the rest of the movie, gives the money a fractured feel- between the non-existent plot and the explosion pornography.

If any of it made sense, then the payoff would be somewhat compelling, but this film insults its audience. Nothing wrong with dumb Summer movie, but not so quite stupid and annoying and boring would have helped. Especially, as they added two Transformers that have obviously being hanging around gangs in the ghetto, because they speak so "street". Jar Jar Binks-all is forgiven.

The set pieces are boring too, especially as they're made in isolation to any hint of a plot that engages or makes sense. At 150 minutes, it's at least an hour overlong. People may say, "well, what did you expect?". True, I wasn't expecting great things, but, in contrast, I didn't expect something so stupidly dull. I'm sure it'll clear up at the box office, but I'll be looking for Michael Mann's new movie to re-engage my cinematic taste buds. I'm not a film snob, but "Transformers 2" upset my sensibilities and didn't entertain. I'm sure it'll make a bundle... which is a pretty sad state of affairs for movies for the future. And Foxy Megan Fox might look hotter than Palm Springs in August, but she'd give Jeppeto a run for his money in the wooden stakes.

CALIFORNIA LOVE?

I've just come back from a trip to Los Angeles to see my dad, catch up with some old NYU friends and make some new ones. This must be the fifth time in the modern era (post 2006) since my dad emigrated there. Whilst the weather is lovely, sometimes barmy, sometimes a little too humid, and, even, sometimes a bit chilly, certain aspects of Californian life bug the hell out of me. Namely, that because Los Angeles is such as car-o-centric city, it treats pedestrians as a massive inconvenience. Every time I walked across a road, I'd have a bloody car snaking behind me, impatiently trying to turn left or right. They couldn't wait for me to cross completely, oh no, that would be too much to ask, even though they're supposed to yield to people crossing the road, and so many of them stick one or two fingers up to that process. I got so annoyed with it, that, at times, I gave an extended finger, a clear indication of how pissed off I was because people were so bloody impatient and rude, sitting in their air-conditioned cars. California, especially Pasadena, is not a fast, zippy state. Its palm trees and good weather and plastic blond Stepford Wives identikit washboard stomached females don't really inspire running around like a blue arsed fly. It's a bit like the bunny in the Cadbury's Caramel ad: 'take it nice and slow.. take it easy'. Anyway, apart from that-some incidents where no one understood my accent and experiences of really annoying vapidity, which certain Californians do so well, ignoring nuance, sarcasm and irony-things went quite well; it's hard not to have fun in Los Angeles, no matter what you're doing.

Watching a half-cleaned up print of John Ford's "Stagecoach" was one of the highlights. I say half-cleaned, because UCLA touted this film as 'really cleaned up'- it wasn't close. But, still, it was great to see it on the big screen after a long absence in the Academy's screening room in L.A, complete with Buck Rogers episodes and a Loony Toons cartoon. Thanks, dad, for buying the ticket. My only gripe is that they need to be more contemporary, just like the stuffy Egyptian Theater in Hollywood. More like the New Beverly, which doesn't have the 'agenda' the Egyptian clearly does. Cinema needs to be inclusive, not exclusive. I'm sure my dad would beg to differ, but I'm sticking to my guns. The Hal Ashby 'Harold and Maude' screening on the 25Th of June looks excellent, taking back everything I just said about the Academy not being contemporary. ' If you want to sing out, sing out. If you want to be free, be free. There's a million ways to be', as Cat Stevens once wrote and that ditty is the signature toon of Hal Ashby's joyful, humanistic comedy masterpiece 'Harold and Maude'- one the greatest movies of all time, and especially of the 1970s.

A trip to Oakland via Burbank airport went well. I enjoyed the BART subway line in San Francisco and the dinner that evening in North Beach went well, with a wonderfully beautiful trip walking across the Golden Gate Bridge. Fisherman's Wharf and the Castro district followed in the morning/afternoon, including some shopping for a G-Shock watch, Old Navy T-Shirts and the plane back in time for early evening. I missed having lunch at Crackerbarrel- very few exist on the West Coast, but I made up for it in a decent diner in the same area.

The two trips to Long Beach were great fun. Visiting Rosco's Chicken and Waffles is something to be done only once, given the huge slab of fried chicken and waffle you get given. Tasty as all hell, but heart attack city if you made that a staple of your diet, which many seem to, especially in the deep South, where there are variations on Rosco's. The surprise trip to San Diego was great, especially the hotel with the harbour view. Downtown was a little too crazy for my liking, but booze, cherry pie and good company made up for it. The trip to Tijuana was aborted at the border when we chickened out of going through to the Mexican side, mainly because everyone had told us how dangerous it was. Taking a straw poll of various people, they all said 'no', in no uncertain terms.

But Coronado was great, especially the hotel where they filmed "Some Like It Hot' and the beach attached to it. The food wasn't great, but the company, atmosphere and weather made it a lot more palatable.

So, another successful trip to the West Coast. Thanks to everyone who made it possible.

As a post script to the holiday, I thought the flights there and back on Virgin Atlantic sucked majorly. The flight out was long, cramped and for some reason the new planes on Virgin's fleet are smaller, meaning less slack at the back of the plane where you usually can rest up, stretch your legs, which has been replaced by a poky toilet and crew food preparation and rest area. It makes the room in the galley pretty small with people frustrated that they have to use the tiny amount of space they have wisely and in consideration of others- not always successfully, I may add.

The flight back was even worse: crap food, more indifferent service, the same poky toilet set up, which meant up to 80 people for one loo. I had some female member of cabin crew slam the door on me because she had been too stupid to lock it, thereby avoiding that kind of thing. Good to see they notice their own notices- not! Also, throughout the night flight, around 15 times we entered pockets of turbulence, with a captain obviously covering his arse but not using best judgement. This meant returning to seat, fastening the seat belt and then having a pissed-off cabin crew with a pen-light coming round to check you've fastened your belt. I wouldn't have minded, but I was trying to get the bleach out of my eyes and sleep on the 10Th time. After it went on and on, I ended up calling them Virgin Pedantic and vowing never to fly with them again, which I haven't vowed since my trip to New Orleans in 2005 with U.S Airways when I had to sit next to a very large man, sitting in the seat side-saddle with some very rude and stupid cabin staff on that journey too.

Anyway, all in all a good time was had by all. Roll on the next time, but with a different airline that doesn't cut space to the bone , forcing customers to have an endurance of a flight rather than an enjoyable one.

RELAPSE-EMINEM'S NEW ALBUM

Another big album leaked to the internet via Rapidshare and the other share file servers, Eminem's Relapse isn't a great album lyrically, but production-wise, the greatest producer in music, Dr. Dre, has excelled himself.

Opening with "Dr. West", with Em in conversation with his doctor (he's obviously been having treatment for alcohol misuse) played by Dominic West (McNulty, from The Wire), with British accent, playing a laconic, devil-may-care doctor, who doesn't seem to care that Em is quite nervous about going back into society, hoping he doesn't go back to the demon drink. The end of the funny skit tells a different tale, sending the listener in 78 minutes of Eminem as he falls off the wagon.

We go through Eminem's insanity, issues with his mother, obsessions with celebrities (like Lindsey Lohan and Mariah Carey), references to felching (a pretty gross sexual act); it's all business as usual and, lyrically, it doesn't break new ground, even though it's quite witty in places. The trademark flow is evident throughout and the wordplay is inventive, if a little lazy and obvious.

What sets this apart from the usual hip-hop albums is Dr. Dre's production. His trademark synths and drum patterns, including some wonderful samples of sitars all make for a head-nodding, funky, cinematically kaleidoscopic landscape.

The unofficial sequel to the introspective "Stan", "Beautiful" is about the only time Em shows he can make a track with that seems troubling and heartfelt. The production, by Dr.Dre has a touch of the Aerosmith's about it, especially with guitar and sad refrain.

The carnivalesque "We Made You" is obviously a commercial sop for the album to get more exposure and more sales. Musically, it could have been a track made for Britney or Christina, even they're the targets, more or less, for Em's rant on this track.

The French singer Mike Brant's Mais Dans La Lumiere track gets the sample treatment in the excellent "Crack a Bottle". That is, until 50 Cent chips in with the most lackluster rhymes he's ever bother to record. At least Dre's credible performance (and elsewhere, vocally, on the album) elevates the album a bit more that it probably deserves. Even though it's probably a sure bet that Dre's rhymes were ghostwritten, as they have been in the past by Jay Z and MF Doom.

Overall, Relapse is solid, but more so for the production, which is always consistent and worth listening too. Perhaps they'll release an instrumental album. Relapse 2 is due out at Christmas. I suppose, for Em's fans, this makes up for his 5 year absence.

THE WIRE-BEST SHOW EVER MADE ON TELLY

Since I fell Ill recently with some bug or whatever, it has been miserable and boring trying to get through the illness without going stir crazy with cabin fever.

Recently I picked up from Ebay the entire 24 discs of critically-acclaimed U.S TV series The Wire. To be fair, I've known about it for a long time. My mum, brother and some friends have always mentioned it. I suppose I've dismissed it up until now because of my love for films and thinking, rightly, in a lot of cases, that TV is/was the poor cousin of cinema.

Well, The Wire has proved to be the exception. This multi-layered, multi-stranded epic 60 episode, 61 hour series had me hooked from the first episode. Each season concentrates on a different aspect of life in Baltimore, Maryland, including: the drug trade, the ports, local and state government, the school system and the newspaper industry, specifically the Baltimore Sun. But these aspects overlap, and the series' try to show you the six degrees of separation between, for instance, between the drug dealer on the 'corner', and the police chief, his subordinates and the politicians that need the dealers off the streets as they're linked to a series of brutal, drug-related murders.

But this only scratches the surface. Both the police and the drug dealers have their own hierarchy, but its expressed in different ways, with different sanctions for those that step out of line. Depending on your point of view, you decide on who has the more legitimate coda. Although, it's fair to say that stepping beyond your boundaries in the drug world is usually a lot more bloody and fatal than upsetting your boss in the police force.

To complicate matters, brilliantly, the characterisations of each character are shaded and multi-dimensional, so that there is no black and white easy way of defining anyone. Main characters include McNulty (Dominic West), a maverick cop with a rebellious streak, who hates authority, drinks heavily and can't commit to a relationship; Omar, (Michael K. Williams) a gay drug dealer with a contradictory nature: He's not materialistic and sticks to his own strict code, but has a fondness for extreme violence, usually with a shotgun; Stringer Bell (Idris Elba), a drug Kingpin, who is far more intelligent and cunning than anyone might give him credit for, he's the main henchman of drug lord Avon Barksdale (Wood Harris), both of whom run the drug game on Baltimore's West Side.  This is only the tip of the iceberg as far as characters go. There are many more, overlapping, contradicting and similar traits in many of the series' many players. 

Also, for a TV series this goes in-depth in sociopolitical issues, so that the viewer understands that the drug dealer on the corner isn't always there by choice, but by circumstance. The police have their own agenda, which doesn't always mean that they get the results they need; they're subject to the same problems as all human beings: namely maintaining a sense of self in a senseless world.

The Wire goes in depth into every facet of Baltimore life, not always with the most interesting results, but, in the main, the program is compelling viewing and even with the lulls, there's plenty to enjoy and to learn from.

The music, apart from the title sequence, is usually urban hip-hop, much of it the soundtrack surrounding the urban blight and crime of west Baltimore, a part of any city in the U.S, but which has its own feel. Baltimore hasn't been seen much on TV or in the cinema (save for John Waters, a native of Baltimore) and with the distinct housing architecture, it seemed it was only time before someone would exploit this untapped city, nestling as it does between Washington D.C and Delaware.

The language of those in the drug neighbourhoods seems authentic and the slang tells its own story- it's good to see that the makers didn't feel they had to dilute the expression and language to make it more palatable for consumption. Incidentally, the brilliance of The Wire is how things overlap, so the kids in the school, blighted by a poor education system, slang their way through school, acting up to a self-fulfilling prophecy, so that the teachers (including one disgraced police officer) find it difficult to get them to integrate back into "normal" society.

The grasping, ambitious politicians pull rank at every turn, but even they are "schooled" into the machinations of government, making sure they don't get their own way all the time. The dockers union come into criticism, as its elected leader finds himself in temptations way with a nephew and son who seem too easily embroiled into the world of drugs and smuggling prostitutes.

Anyway, The Wire can't really be written about successfully. You just have to drop a fair bit of cash, take the weekend off and enjoy a wonderful, fascinating, brilliantly written and acted epic slice of crime drama in the city of Baltimore-a city rarely ever seen on the screen.

STAR TREK-BOLDLY GOING AT LAST-HOLLYWOOD MAKES GOOD FILM SHOCKER

After a bout of gastric flu, food poisoning and all kinds of intestinal comings and goings, I was well enough, and looking forward to, Star Trek- the re-imagining, or whatever its purpose was. I remember seeing the first ever Star Trek movie back in 1979 with my dad at the Golders Green ABC (now demolished)- we walked out after half an hour; God, it was boring, but then I was only 7 at the time.

Still, I wasn't really interested in going to see the sequels that came out in the 80s. Wrath of Khan was good and so was the Search for Spock, mainly because they had more action, or in "Search's" case, it had a lot more humour, and didn't take themselves oh so seriously as they had in the past. I did like the TV series, but never took it seriously, never rushing home for the exploits of Shatner and Nimoy (I always thought T. J Hooker was more enjoyable, even if Shatner wasn't in shape enough to chase criminals or jump over the bonnet of criminals' cars).

Anyway, back to "Star Trek". Creator of "Lost" and a host of other things, J.J Abrams has updated the saga by injecting youthful energy into every scene. This is a prequel of the "Star Trek" saga that has gone before it. So, we're treated to the interesting idea of showing the crew of the USS Enterprise as space cadets, who, as the film unfolds, have their own set of problems, and don't seem, on first glance, able to take on the rigors of manning a space ship.

James T. Kirk (Chris Pine) is a reckless risk-taker, stealing cars, drinking heavily and overly confident (if not very successful) womanizer. Spock (Zachary Quinto) is as logical as ever, even if he's not allowed to be emotional, despite having the conflicting characteristics of being both Vulcan and Human, as such, he's tormented by these two worlds, feeling left out of both. It isn't spoiling too much to tell you that Kirk and Spock- respected colleagues and friends in the original series-are at each other's throats in this new version, giving the film a lot of its energy and spark.

Whilst a prequel could have been boringly predictable, this "Star Trek" takes you in unexpected ways, with action sequences and a plot that shoots along with a cracking pace. If the battle with Romulan Nero (Eric Bana) is a bit old hat and one-dimensional, the screenwriters pepper the film with observations and a sub-plot-slightly complicated- regarding time travel, which includes a cameo from Leonard Nimoy. I won't spoil it, but it's an interesting conceit.

The look of "Star Trek" is bold and futuristic without being obvious. Anticipating the future, when much of the 1960s original series looks very dated and updating it for a very cynical, ungrateful age wasn't an easy ask, but the filmmakers have equipped themselves wonderfully. Not sure about the cameo from Simon Pegg as Scotty, the engineer. His 15 minutes of fame should have been up when "Hot Fuzz" opened; half an hour too long and just not very funny. Pegg's been trading off of "Shaun of the Dead" for far too long. At least he keeps his mugging to camera to a bearable minimum.

Overall, the film works. Finally Hollywood has made an intelligent, witty and engaging piece of cinema. Whilst it's easy to be cynical and point out that Hollywood has run out of original ideas, so has to rely on TV series, old films, etc, but this is actually worth the effort, able to stand alone in the vortex of space, boldly going, inevitably, to the sequel, star date... probably Summer 2010.

X-MEN: WOLVERINE (THE CINEMA VERSION).

Not much difference between the two versions. As I suspected, louder and a little more obnoxious. A lot more clarity on sequences filmed in darkness. Otherwise, popocorn fodder- digestible, but hardly memorable.

X-MEN: WOLVERINE (THE SNIDE EDITION)

So, from my contact in the 'underworld', I snagged and bagged a snide, bootleg copy of the latest "X-Men" movie. The quality was quite good, just a little under the type of clarity I'm used to when watching most bought dvds.

Anyway, the movie, for me, was a fair old dud. This version had a few special effects missing-these were strangely rendered by grey, matted animation, which obviously needed shading and editing. It didn't detract, much, from my overall feeling that this was lazy stuff- produced, edited and directed by committee, to satisfy the short attention span of the all-important 18-25 demographic.

Hugh Jackman oozes charisma throughout, but it's a bit unfair for the filmmakers to expect it all to fall on his shoulders, especially as the writing, at times, is pretty bloody weak. The opening sequence had a certain flair about it- but following the rule of keeping an audience glued by what you show them in the first few minutes-this quickly descends into trite territory, with lots of swirling camera angles, pre-censored, teen-friendly swordplay and knockabout violence. The tacted-on plot devices of sibling rivalry and corrupt government officals are just too hackneyed to be bearable.

The trailer gave away all the best bits, including the cheesy one-liners. But even the action is lazy: if there's no plot device or well-written verbal joust, just blow things up, which this film does- over and over again. I suppose as this the start of the Summer blockbuster season, you can't expect much more than popcorn fodder, but the best movies, be it Summer, Winter, rain or shine, give you something to think about as they blow everything to kingdom come.

We used to have comic book heroes in movies- John Matrix in "Commando", for instance. But now, because Hollywood, having had a dearth of original ideas for far too long, has had to take everything so literally, and plunder the actual comic book heroes of the actual comic books.

I wonder how many scripts with originality are being thrown to the wayside because, on the surface, they're just not marketable.

Hollywood- you need to think a bit harder, and, have more security on your product, so top-quality leaks of your new movies don't get into the hands of people who won't be encouraged to watch films in the cinema or rent them on dvd. Before anyone says anything, I will probably see "X-Men: Wolverine" in the cinema, but not until the crowds die down. Although I still don't hold out much hope that the reasons I didn't like it will improve on a big screen.

I noticed that lots of extras in the film get to flay their arms wildly and look earnest and exciting at the same time, even though most would probably be thinking: "how dumb I look trying to look cool"... and failing miserably. The uber-smug and piddingly talented Ryan Reynolds gets little screen time- thankfully so.

When all is said and done, it's an hour and a half of entertaining mayhem, but it could have been so much more. I'm sure it'll make 20th Century Fox a bundle of money, and that's the bottom-line. You might think that if this is all Gavin Hood and the gang have to offer, are they just toying with us? Is there a better film in the pipeline to be released in a parallel universe?

Let's hope the re-imagined "Star Trek" lives up to the hype, otherwise I'll boldly go back to watching classic foreign films.