(I'm) Oscar The Grouch

What exactly are we meant to make of this morning's Oscar nominations? What does it say about culture in early 2006? What does it represent for the Academy? And how should you, the all important viewer, feel about it? These questions, and many more, will not be properly addressed over the course of this post...

Someone who clearly carries some clout in Hollywood announced the nominations - and Mira Sorvino was there too - and I must give credit where it's due. It was my first nominations day and I fully expected a song and dance routine, a plethora of models or at least a roar from King Kong/Andy Serkis but they just got on with it. I guess that seeing as it was 5.30 in the morning over on the West Coast, they couldn't drum up the enthusiasm and, anyway, what good is a power breakfast if it doesn't start at 6.00am?

More predictable were the nominations themselves. Yet again the Academy has outdone itself by seemingly rewarding the films that its members believe to have some sort of merit and haven't actually bothered with the best films of the year. It doesn't annoy me in the slightest that Brokeback Mountain leads the way with eight nominations. I haven't even seen Ang Lee's almost certainly well crafted film and, you know, the business of these two cowboys is theirs alone. I just want no part of it (though I fully encourage the use of 'brokeback' into the popular lexicon. 'Where are John and Jack?' 'Oh, they've gone brokeback bowling'). There are far worse offenders I'm afraid...

CRASH, BANG, WHASSUP?

I saw Crash on its opening weekend way back in May and left the theatre distinctly unmoved. Actually, that's not entirely true: I can't remember seeing a film so pleased with itself as this one. It might as well have screamed "WE'RE RAISING SOME REALLY IMPORTANT ISSUES HERE YOU HEATHENS! CAN'T YOU GRASP WHAT WE'RE TRYING TO DO?". When all's said and done, Crash comes down to four 'ooh' and 'aah' moments: Sandra Bullock is scared to say that two African-Americans are going to car jack her and her husband (ooh). They do (aah). Matt Dillon plays a horrible cop who is particularly nasty to Thandie Newton (ooh). But not at the very end (aah). To those who raved about the interlocking storyline and coincidences, you should know that Crash is simply an inferior version of any Seinfeld episode. Just without the laughter and guitar. Paul Haggis is truly the emperor with another new batch of clothes - he penned the insufferable Million Dollar Baby where you ended up envying Hillary Swank's situation. Next up for Haggis is his chance to put the final nail in the James Bond coffin with his re-write of Casino Royale. But the depressing thing is that Crash will be the surprise winner on Oscar night and this is why: the majority of the people who vote are actors and this was a real actor's film because it's an ensemble cast with no headlining star. And that alone made for a poster where no egos were in the least bit bruised. Trust me, it'll do well on the night but it wasn't even the best film of 2005 with the word 'Crash' in the title...some small consolation for Wedding Crashers.

GEORGE SWOONEY

It's official. Oscar is in love with George. He has two nominations, which is the same amount as my favourite two films of 2005 put together! I haven't seen Goodnight, and Good Luck so can't comment on his directing but was unimpressed by him in Syriana. Is it really as simple as putting on weight for a role literally lends gravitas to your performance? For me, his one great part was in his breakout film, the painfully cool Out Of Sight (what about Batman and Robin, I hear you cry). At least he'll walk away empty handed on the night. Probably.

BUT WHAT ABOUT?..

Why oh why does the Academy ignore great movies to the extent where they're now mocking modern cinema? Thank goodness Joaquin Phoenix and Reese Witherspoon's amazing performances in Walk The Line are recognised...and yet not a sniff in Best picture or director. The Squid and the Whale gets one solitary nod in Best original screenplay and there's only two for A History Of Violence, easily the best English language film of the year. At least the omens are in its favour to walk away with one Oscar: for me, the two greatest American films of the decade - Almost Famous and Lost In Translation - won for their screenplays and so should this. Shame on the Academy, however, for their shady rules over what constitutes a foreign language film, which must be the reason the incredible Caché misses out. You may not know this (I only learnt about it a few weeks ago) but the film must be in the same language as the director. And so because Michael Haneke is Austrian and the movie is in French, Caché will now go down as the great undiscovered film de nos jours. Hidden indeed. Of course, Caché should have been in the running for Best picture but, frankly, there was more chance of me hosting the Oscars than that happening.

THE BRITS ARE COMING?

A reasonable showing for British representation on the night. Was it me or was there audible laughter upon Keira Knightley's nomination for Pride and Prejudice? The Punch and Judi show carries on unabated with our Dame's nod for Mrs. Henderson Presents. A shame that the radiant Rachel Weisz couldn't get a grown up nomination for Best actress in The Constant Gardener. I mean, the film's only about her. Nick Park, meanwhile, is a lock for Best animated film with Wallace and Gromit in the Curse of the Were-Rabbit. I'm seeing that and Capote on my flights to and from the UK next week, which will be like my own personal Oscar viewing night (if personal means sharing space with a few hundred others). I love the fact that Hollywood head honcho (bless you) Jeffrey Katzenberg flew to Bristol last year to see Park (believe it or not, they had to extend the runway for his arrival) and made suggestions to change his movie. Park made him a cup of tea, took his comments on board and didn't alter a single frame! And shouldn't that be our two countries relationship? You fly in, we host you and listen politely. We don't change our opinion and are ultimately proved right. It's like Hugh Grant and Billy Bob Thornton in Love Actually...just slightly more profound.

The credits are about to roll on this post so check back in a few weeks to read my 'Who should win/Who will win' article and - if I can be bothered on March 5th - a live and updated blog about the ceremony as it happens. To everyone involved over the next few weeks then: Goodnight, and Good Luck.

SBlogs, anyone?

A good 24 hours for sports blogs. Firstly, the New York Times profiles Will Leitch's dazzling Deadspin in yesterday's sports supplement. If you go to his website, you might even spot the odd contribution from yours truly. My, I feel quite honoured: I was offered a comment invite before the world found out about the site. This must have been what it felt like to have been a fan of the Arctic Monkeys pre Domino records signing them.

And for this week only, the witty, acerbic Chuck Klosterman is probably being paid an obscene amount of money to write about the Super Bowl for ESPN in Detroit. His blog is only up for a week but it now ensures that these two sites will be more entertaining than the game itself. The pen - or at least the keyboard - is mightier than the sport it covers...

www.deadspin.com

sports.espn.go.com/espn/page2/story?page=klosterman/blog

Here's a brief example of what you can reliably expect with Klosterman...

"I guarantee this will be the greatest one-week sports blog ever written, or at least the best one since Jacqueline Susann's unforgettable blogging of the 1967 Ice Bowl. If this is not the best sports blog you have ever read, I will personally drive to your home, clean your garage, wash your car, shingle your doghouse with pancakes, and blow up your children with dynamite. That is my guarantee.

I shall not Vander-jack this opportunity; like Kobe against the Raptors, I am Napoleon Solo (i.e., unstoppable one-on-one). So, wassup, rockers? Do you (metaphorically) feel me? It's time we all embrace a little game I like to call North American football. It's time to make keen references to Shaun Alexander's addled skull. It's time to get punched by random strangers. This is Super Bowl XL. And I am ready."

Hasta La Visa, Baby

We got Liza's visa for the UK earlier today. It was third time lucky as the previous occasions saw us lacking in certain documents. I waited for the visa and had some classic moments from The Office to keep me company: the Brent dance ("I fuse Flashdance with some MC Hammer shit") and the appraisals with his staff (Brent: "If 'don't know' wasn't an option what would you put?..Keith: "Don't know"). As for the passport page in question, my favourite bit is how the word 'UK' is written in an olde world stylee. Is that the consulate's way of suggesting that we have history and, er, American doesn't? Apart from being born in Britain, this visa is about as good as it gets - I'm just miffed that she didn't have to learn the words to 'God Save The Queen' as part of the process.

And on this historic day, I've made a welcome return to the BBC Sport rotas. Your life is pretty much defined by the WDW (Who Does What) which tells you which programmes you're assigned to over the course of a month. Within minutes of the March rota being published, two of my colleagues welcomed me back with their hastily put together GDW (Glen Does What). Compare and contrast below...

WDW

March 28 - Re-join
29, 30 and 31 Football Focus
April 1st Match Of The Day
2nd MOTD2

GDW

March 28 - Ponce around the office
29 - Comp weekend goals
30 - Get Train to Scotland for Focus Piece on some obscure 2nd div side
31 - Train back and late edit
1 - MOTD: Analysis Bitch
2 - MOTD2: Openings/Closings

The Lie Heard Around The World

Author James Frey confesses to fabricating the truth in his memoir 'A Million Little Pieces'. Gasps all round. The world, last we checked, was still turning on its axis...

Next week: Frey to write an account of being on Oprah ("And then she took out a gun and shot me in both legs before finishing the rest of my root canal work. The bitch didn't even give me an anesthetic").

The Greatest Rabbit Fur Coat Cash Machine

The above title might read like a passage from Toni Morrison's Beloved but it's just my way of bringing three pieces of music, newly released this week, to your attention.



Cat Power's 'The Greatest' is not the sultry singer's best of album (as the title might make you think) but is undoubtedly her finest release of her career. She's dabbled with hit and miss solo albums before - as well as being the vocalist for the last Handsome Boy Modelling School release - and this is clearly her most consistent album. And is her patchy live form a thing of the past too? Her next date - how apt! - in New York is on Valentines Day if you wish to find out.



Jenny Lewis is better known as the lead singer in Rilo Kiley but - true fact alert - as a birthday present to herself, she has made this side project of an album with the Watson Twins. And thus 'Rabbit Fur Coat' is her gift to us. The voice is as magnificent as ever as strains of alt-country, soul and even gospel make their way into your head. You'll even forgive her cover of The Travelling Wilbury's 'Handle With Care', quite possibly the most self-knowingly uncool cover version of all time. Which makes it pretty cool. Many Happy Returns indeed.



And for any US users of itunes, make sure you snap up their free download of the week. Inexplicably, they're offering British band Hard-Fi's current single 'Cash Machine'. It's my favourite three minutes and forty two seconds of music in 2006. And as they're the closest thing we have right now to The Clash, you should heed my advice and check them out. Lest we forget, London is Calling...

The Wing Is Dead. Long Live The Wing.

Sometimes I swear I just write these postings because a witty title comes to me whilst I’m sitting on the bike at the gym. That’s why literature was better in Shakespeare’s day – he actually wrote when he had a valid reason to do so.

But I didn’t want the sad news of NBC finally axing The West Wing to pass without (my) comment. I would think that if you can bear to read to the end, you’ll agree with me that this will be my most contentious ever posting for I shall link the show to my ENTIRE ADULT LIFE. And, probably, offend absolutely everyone with a ‘really quite without foundation’ comparison…but don’t spoil the fun for yourself and just let it wash over you, as nature intended.

The West Wing has been constantly vying for the enviable title of my favourite ever TV show with The Sopranos in my head ever since they made their debuts in 1999. The West Wing actually came on NBC exactly one week after I started my first proper job at the BBC so you can see why I feel we’re kindred spirits. I was making tea and coffee (badly) for the production office and trying my best to write funny asides for the crawls that ran underneath music videos. Aaron Sorkin, meanwhile, was penning the greatest scripts in the history of television whilst (allegedly) being holed up on coke in the Los Angeles Four Seasons hotel. I mean, you might as well have called us brothers. That first episode is easily the best pilot I’ve ever seen: the characters spoke at a million miles an hour, the camera never seemed to cut (a good thing, if you’re wondering) and all that dialogue about “POTUS in a tree”, Leo ringing the New York Times to complain about the crossword misspelling Gaddaffi ("I should know - I've had lunch with the man!") and Martin Sheen’s eventual entrance made me fall in love with it instantly. And yet I must give credit where it’s due: I might have come to WW late had it not been for my friend Ummit texting me on the day it premiered on Sky One and instructing me to watch. Scarily, I’m pretty sure this text was written on Monday Jan 14th, 2000. Please don’t mock me for remembering that, I’m quite possibly wrong. And this is where the entire adult life comment might start to make sense. A few weeks later, my boss asked me to write and produce a weekly comedy/music chart show for the viewer/s of BBC cable channel UK PLAY. The one hitch? The edits would be starting on Monday afternoon and took the previous guy until the deadline of midnight to finish. I was so into the WW that I couldn’t even bear to watch the weekly episode on VHS and so I seemed to somehow deliver the chart show at around 8.30pm meaning that I could get back for the 9pm start time. A month later, upon being promoted to a fully-fledged researcher, I was informed that one of the major reasons for my promotion was the speed in which I edited the chart show. Hilariously, if you were to speak to any of my current colleagues, they would tell you that I took a fair amount of time these days to edit my pieces. Indeed, one of the messages in the wedding card my office sent us said, “quick work mate, shame you never edited as quickly”. I think we can reasonably conclude from this that I might not have been promoted as quickly were it not for The West Wing.

And there’s more: a couple of years into the show, they introduced a new character played by the wonderful Mary-Louise Parker. At the time, I was in a different relationship and can remember lying on my couch wishing that I could meet someone like the quick witted, beautiful ‘Amy’ from WW. Now, of course I wouldn’t dare claim that my resulting marriage was some sort of latent desire to be with ‘Amy’ (I mean, that would be the work of a stalker and, if you think about it, I could have gone straight to the source seeing as Ms. Parker lives in New York. Oh, and to the best of my knowledge, Liza has never worked for the First Lady) but I find it interesting that her favourite show of last year was Weeds…in which the main character is played by Mary-Louise Parker. I think we can, therefore, unreasonably conclude from this that I might not have been married as quickly were it not for The West Wing.

Finally, as I spent some time this morning thinking about what the show meant to me, it dawned on me how its moments would often make me shiver. President Bartlett raging at God after his secretary’s funeral, Josh’s “you want a piece of me?” to, seemingly, all of Washington DC, the entire episode based around a series of chess matches, all the genius flashbacks and – for me, the show’s highpoint – CJ’s policeman boyfriend being murdered in cold blood while Bartlett is at the theatre watching art tragically imitating life. I started to build a case comparing the show’s shelf life to the career of – wait for it – The Beatles. Both showed potential in an earlier form (Paul McCartney was a Quarryman while Sorkin wrote Sports Night…set behind the scenes of a sports show. And you doubt the earlier ENTIRE ADULT LIFE claim?!?) before wowing the world with their first few albums (if you permit me to compare an album to a season of a TV show) before outside influences led to arguments and a deterioration in quality (On the one hand, Yoko Ono and on the other, Sorkin’s nervous breakdown before he and Rob Lowe left) before regaining some past glories but only in patches (some of Lennon, McCartney and George Harrison’s solo material is excellent and WW is pretty good again these days). And just to seal the deal, how about this: both The Beatles and West Wing truly ended when Johns Lennon and Spencer (Leo) were tragically taken before their time was up. Don’t be offended by this (I can’t really compare Lennon’s death at the hands of a madman to Spencer’s heart attack, it’s just an effective literary device) but I always saw Leo as Lennon to President Bartlett’s Macca. And so, on May 14th of this year, exactly six years and four months after that fateful text message, we shall witness the end of an era. In a very real sense then: Hello, Goodbye.

Losing My Re-Wisdom (think R.E.M)

Suffice to say, I'm not feeling too clever at the moment (geddit?). As I have some time on my hands before rejoining the rat race, I'm getting the unmitigated fun that is dental work out of the way. And massive thanks must be given to Liza's cousin Gary for being the best dentist I've ever met. If you live or move here and need a dentist, just say the word and I'll pass on his details.

I won't go on about the procedure - you've probably been there yourself - but hope you find the following as amusing as I did. I'm walking home with the ipod set to random and U2's 'Where The Streets Have No Name' comes on. Now, I'm not certain if it's because of all the injections or, quite likely, because my mind thinks like this regardless but I couldn't help but be convinced that the song should be read as a dissection of the pulling of wisdom teeth. Still not convinced? Check this out...

I want to run (yep, that's pretty much the feeling)
I want to hide (ditto)
I want to tear down the walls (what the dentist is doing to one's mouth)
That hold me inside (inside said walls are one's teeth)
I want to reach out (the dentist - he's going in!)
And touch the flame (either the extracting of teeth or the blood that is left behind)
Where the streets have no name (this was trickier so concluded that it rhymed with 'where my mouth has much pain')

In the interests of fairness, if I meet Bono, I shall put my theory to him...and expect the men in white coats (see? Another dental link) to take me away before he's barely had the chance to see my pearly whites.

Saturday Night Livid

This is how the (near weekly) conversation goes...

Me: Will I be let down again?
Her: Yes.

The subject matter is whether I will enjoy the "legendary", "culturally crucial" and, most importantly, "funny" Saturday Night Live. If we're in at 11.30pm on said night, I'll tend to tune in hoping that I might catch one consistently good episode. Here are the things I know about SNL: it's been going 30 years and used to feature famous American comedians before, presumably, their successful careers meant that they didn't need to do the show anymore. And thus the baton would be passed (though clearly not in person) to the next batch of hip, young gunslingers who would send Americans off into a happy, content sleep. Oh, and there are musical guests too which, when all's said and done, should make for the most enjoyable 90 minutes you're likely to have, next to watching Chelsea actually losing a football match.

So why does it not do it for me? Last night's programme should have succeeded. The host was Scarlett Johansson, the world's oldest 21 year old and, possibly, the hottest actress on the scene. She starred alongside SNL alumn Bill Murray a few years back so surely some of his comic timing would have rubbed off? The band was Death Cab For Cutie, an act everyone seems to like...even if these people have never heard them because you're supposed to enjoy them. It says so right there in the music magazine just to your right in your living room. They played two songs and didn't exactly seem thrilled to be there, sounding flat and moving their heads in a disturbing manner. The crowd cheered but didn't mean it. Our host, meanwhile, allowed herself to appear in lame sketches, cleavage revealing costumes and tried to sing her heart out whilst wearing a wig. The crowd cheered but (by now I'd worked out) this was because they weren't outside in the pouring rain. And that, as well as some well intended cartoons that never hit the mark, was that. Maybe SNL is just running the same course as a relationship gone sour: it's not you, it's me. Perhaps you need to be American to "get" it. Or if Scarlett is reading this, she'll retort that the show's humour went above my head and was lost in translation. Do you see what she did there?

Still, let's do it all over again next Saturday. Peter Sarsgaard is hosting and he's an amazing actor with a surname you'd just love to put down over a triple word score on a Scrabble board, if it were allowed. And The Strokes are going to perform! They're only, like, New York's coolest band of our lifetime who transformed music with their debut album Is This It. But what odds that will be my reaction come the end of the programme?

Killing Yourself To Live...85% Of A True Story

Don't worry, I haven't gone all "American" and have come up with some ghastly manifesto about being 15% dead (or something) but just wanted to bring the book I'm currently reading to your attention. Chuck Klosterman seems to have attained some sort of status of "geek cool" (did I just make that term up?) in the pop culture world by writing about, er, pop culture. You might recall Seth Cohen in The O.C clutching a copy of 'Sex, Drugs And Cocoa Puffs' around with him in various times of trouble ("Why does no one, specifically you Summer Roberts, love me? At least I have my book to turn to for solace". That's not actual dialogue but you get the picture). Thanks to an error at my local library, my copy of the aforementioned has yet to turn up (cheers, Tompkins Square Park branch) though it does seem to result in my bumping into my "mate" (i.e I had a meeting with him once) Alan Cumming whenever I'm in the area. Actually, that's probably worth a posting in its own right so I shall go back on topic...

ANYWAY (as Chuck himself would write), Klosterman has been described as, "the reigning Kasparov of pop culture wits-watching" (what does that even mean? That he knows what he's going to write about in four articles time now?) and discovering his columns in Spin and Esquire has been a literary highlight of my time over here. For a music writer, Klosterman perversely agrees with the argument that his job is simply, "writing about your mail", and this sets him apart from his worthy wordsmith peers. Chuck's latest book finds him attempting to visit the various locations in this fine country where musicians have taken their own lives...but with musings on our author's own worries and theories. It won't be for everyone but if the notion of imagining how your own sudden death might get relayed to your friends and family sounds appealing (of course, I hope you're in fine health) or the devoting of six pages to how Radiohead's 'Kid A' (in Klosterman's opinion) seems to have predicted 9/11, then you should probably stop reading this drivel and open up the pages of his far more eloquent work. If I was doing the blurb - now there's a dream job - for "Killing Yourself To Live", I would write, "it's literally quite a trip". But I'm not so I won't. Hmm, that just might be the most post-modern passage I've ever penned.

Chuck's book takes place in the summer of 2003, which got me to thinking about what a crazy few months I had back then as my work sent me all over the world (Los Angeles! Barcelona! Washington D.C! Oldham!) in the name of "sport". Surely, I could have spun a few tales out of that but who, ultimately, would want to read it (one's own wife and family don't count)? Should I resolve then to write about the past year? Imagine: some editor somewhere will believe in my "voice", the book will come out to tumultuous praise, I'll be compared to a chess Grand Master by some Ivy League graduate and then give book readings in exotic locations before signing the words 'Best wishes' with a stylistic flourish. The press will be desperate for a follow up but I'll never bite, preferring to rest on my laurels and shall carry on being paid to visit car parks in different countries because "very important football matches are taking place there" and we all need instant replays of goals, don't we?

Soccer Strikes Back

What a wonderful weekend for the world's oldest football competition, the FA Cup. Yesterday saw plucky Nuneaton and Torquay hold Premiership opposition in Middlesbrough and Birmingham. Millwall, langushing in the Championship, earned a replay with Everton and Tamworth have another crack against Stoke. Meanwhile, credit must be given to Huddersfield, many league positions and millions behind Chelsea, who only went down 2-1 at Stamford Bridge. Over in Luton and we found ourselves with an early contender for game of the year - less than a week into 2006! - as Champions League holders Liverpool found themselves 3-1 down. And though their Premiership class held out and they recovered to win 5-3, they nearly had the shock of their lives.

Speaking of shocks, Sunday's games threw up some startling scorelines. Leyton Orient held on to win 2-1 at Fulham - we're all happy with that one - and Nigel Clough's Burton Albion somehow managed to avoid defeat to mighty Manchester United with a brave 0-0 draw. Wayne Rooney will never have imagined he'd be playing non league opposition and now he'll have to do it all over again. And the last game of the round has just finished and it was in keeping with this weird weekend: Spurs quickly went 2-0 up to lowly Leicester City and somehow contrived to lose 3-2 in injury time. Same old Spurs, you might say, but in this weekend of shocks, perhaps a Spurs win would have been more surprising...

50 Not Out

A smattering of polite applause, if you will, for my 50th post. Can I now push on, in a Brian Lara stylee, and go well past a century and look to 500 plus? And how ironic it will be if the 500th posting should come on the day England play Trinidad & Tobago in the World Cup!

Top 10 Films of 2005

Equal 10th: Match Point

Beautifully shot and the Brits in front of and behind the camera do a fine job. Perhaps rather poignantly (or not), it’s only hampered by the two Americans involved with this: namely, writer-director Woody Allen’s horrific idea of how upper class Brits speak and Scarlet Johansson’s utterly stiff performance. His best film in years, as you’ll hear all the time. But surely that's not so much a compliment but more a sigh of relief?




10. Munich

We should cherish Steven Spielberg for making such important films accessible to the mainstream audience. Though 'Munich' flags in places and is prone to cliché (they're in Paris - can you guess the backdrop to the meeting?), you can't deny how thrilling the set pieces are. But it does now feel ever so slightly like we're playing Spielberg bingo: main character consistently wracked with guilt? Check. Young innocent girl perilously close to death? Check. Still, it's sumptuously shot and Daniel Craig gets in some early James Bond practise by being part of an excellent cast, seemingly all licensed to kill.




9. Primer

Made for roughly the cost of one of King Kong’s roars – that’s $6000 to you, guv’nor – this original (note, original) take on the tricky topic of time travel is well worth seeing (presumably in the future, if you haven’t heard of this movie until now). ‘Primer’ succeeds because our protagonists don’t attempt to use their invention to cure illness or rescue a cat from up a tree but rather make as much money as possible. Be warned – you’ll need to watch it at least three times (with one of those accompanied by the excellent director’s commentary on the DVD) but this will keep you going till they finish making ‘The Time Traveller’s Wife’. You have read that, haven’t you? Oh do keep up.




8. The Matador

Pierce Brosnan’s first foray into film post Bond is far more successful than on any of his four outings as 007. He plays a drunk hitman who strikes up an unlikely friendship with Greg Kinnear’s down on his luck salesman down Mexico way. Check out director Richard Shepherd’s website for my full review (or, er, scroll down the page).




7. Oldboy

The first of three foreign films in my list, 'Oldboy' is a peculiarly gruesome trip. A Korean businessman is kidnapped and released 15 years later with a new phone and wallet…and that’s it. He has to work out why he was taken, what’s become of his daughter and he just might have to kill a few people in the process. This ain’t for the faint of heart but place your fingers over your eyes during the squeamish bits and you’ll be fine.




6. Cinderella Man

Why on earth hasn’t this had a better reception? AMC theatres over here were offering people their money back if they didn’t like it! What’s not to like? It’s a terrific story, sensationally shot by Ron Howard with a commanding lead performance from Russell Crowe. Is it because he throws telephones in New York hotels? Honestly, what’s the world coming to? I live in this city and you see and hear far worse than a cricketer’s cousin roughing up a bell boy*. Probably. Memo to the NYPD: he loves his wife! No, really!
*This blog does not and never will condone throwing telephones at hotel employees. Chelsea fans, yes, hotel staff, no.




5. Kiss Kiss Bang Bang

This was clearly the year that the sick and twisted buddy movie hit back. Literally. And if 'The Matador' was one example, ‘Kiss Kiss Bang Bang’ did the job even better. It marked a return to form for wunderkind Shane Black (he wrote ‘Lethal Weapon’, ‘The Last Boy Scout’ and ‘The Long Kiss Goodnight’) who also directs Robert Downey Jr. and Val Kilmer in the movie of their careers. Though it suffers from being slightly too knowing and clever clever in places, it showed more creativity than almost everything else on offer.




4. Kung Fu Hustle

Steven Chow’s follow up to the wonderful ‘Shaolin Soccer’ didn’t disappoint either. The fight sequences are so beautifully choreographed you’ll swear you’re watching a musical. Albeit one where Gene Kelly is spinning in the rain and Ginger Rogers isn’t so much dancing but rather smashing cheek to cheek.




3. The Constant Gardener

Speaking of follow up’s, Brazilian Fernando Meirelles went from the leftfield ‘City Of God’ to the ‘you couldn't possibly get more mainstream than by adapting a John Le Carré book’ with ‘The Constant Gardener’. Watch it on a double bill with ‘Match Point’ to see how differently and deliciously London can be filmed. And then feel your heart swell with pride seeing Rachel Weisz acting to a far higher degree than Scar Jo will ever achieve. She might just nab the Best Actress Oscar for this one.




2. A History Of Violence

David Cronenberg took 20 years to make as commercially viable a film as ‘The Fly’. But boy, was it worth the wait (that’s not a question). Viggo Mortensen is extraordinary as Tom the hometown hero with possibly - yes - a very murky past indeed. Four moments (possible spoiler alert required here) will stay with me forever: the way in which he deals with trouble at his café, the scenes of a sexual nature between Mortensen and Mario Bello must be the best ever committed to celluloid and THAT look he throws his son after the shotgun incident on the lawn just might be the most harrowing. In short: he’s the new De Niro.





1. Caché (Hidden)

French cinema can hold its head high thanks to this towering achievement. It’s no exaggeration to call Caché's first and last shots nothing short of staggering…and everything in-between is pretty damn perfect too. Ostensibly telling the story of a well to do Parisian couple (Daniel Auteuil and Juliette Binoche) being terrorized, Caché slowly develops into a terrifying thriller which leads you into the murky waters of French-Algerian politics. There’s a theory now doing the rounds that Caché partially inspired the Autumnal riots in Paris. And you simply must see this film to be able to have an opinion on it.

Top 10 Singles of 2005 (with pictures!)

10. LCD Soundsystem: 'Daft Punk Is Playing At My House' (Ironically, this is probably preferable to Daft Punk playing at your house.)




9. Hard-Fi: 'Tied Up Too Tight' (Sounding like The Clash on crack - put that on the poster! - this is what you can reasonably expect from a walk through West London.)






8. Franz Ferdinand: 'Do You Want To' (If 'Take Me Out' was two songs in one then this upped the ante by giving you three for your money. But are they turning into The Monkeys? And if so, is this a good or bad development?)







7. Kelly Clarkson: 'Since U Been Gone' (The best pop song of the year, bar none. Blender magazine called her their woman of the year you know.)








6. John Legend: 'Ordinary People' (Good enough to be the first song at our wedding and the brightest new talent worthy of being called the new Stevie Wonder. That said, I hear the old Stevie Wonder released his best album in years so might have something yet to say on the matter.)





5. Gorillaz: 'DARE' (Urban legend - not to be confused with John above - has it that this sensational track was originally titled 'Rare' but vocalist Shaun Ryder couldn't pronounce it. Has that man ever let us down?!?)






4. KT Tunstall: 'Black Horse & The Cherry Tree' (To look at her, you wouldn't think she was capable of getting the words out, yet alone sing them with such ferocity. Amazing live, and we'll be going again next week. Sweetest anecdote of the year: after watching her in concert for an online mag, I asked her for her setlist...to which she laughed, said she hadn't bothered to do one and wrote it down on my notepad before rushing off for a curry. You wouldn't get that with Mariah Carey.)



3. Arcade Fire: 'Wake Up' (If you were lucky enough to see U2 live in 2005 and wondered what music they came onto the stage with then wonder no more. This achieves more in its 5 minutes than most bands manage in 5 years.)



2. Kanye West feat. Jamie Foxx: 'Gold Digger' (Lyrically astute - it has the audacity to mention the insurance company Geico in its rap for Christ's sake - and good old fashioned fun to boot, this was guaranteed, as they say, to bring the house down whenever it was played. Which was seemingly every hour.)



1. Rilo Kiley: 'Portions For Foxes' (Of course, not nearly enough people heard this but it was pretty much the perfect single. 'Portions For Foxes' has an intro to die for, is brutally honest and when Jenny Lewis sings, "baby I'm bad news", well, put it like this, you ain't gonna stop listening.

The Young Ones

Here's a thought: do you think there are more blogs being updated today with comments on Vince Young's incredible night leading Texas to victory over USC than are not? Against the odds (well, a 7 point line), Quarterback Young ran all over the field, scored three touchdowns, including the last minute winner in the 41-38 victory and was a Monster of a man throughout. I speak as a rare breed of Brit, who has always enjoyed the NFL and had been brought up to believe that the key to winning or losing a game was with the QB (Montana, Marino, Elway, Cunningham, Steve Young, Favre and now Brady and Manning) and, furthermore, had never paid any attention to College Football. I viewed it as asking me to take an interest in the fortunes of Oxford or Cambridge University's sports teams (no thanks). But I'm quite happily prepared to admit that watching the College games this year has been equally, if not more, exciting as the NFL. Going back to my QB comment, the status quo was meant to have been disturbed this season with the emergence of USC's Running Back Reggie Bush. His highlights reel is easily the greatest ever by a young athlete in this game and he walked away with the Heisman Trophy, given to the best player of the season. And last night was supposedly his chance to show the world (yeah, I know, America) of his undoubted ability. But this is sport and though his 177 rushing yards would normally be considered excellent - and his breathtaking touchdown complete with outrageous somersault into the end zone wasn't just a sign that he's good enough to play in a Superbowl, this was Superman himself - he couldn't compete with Young. Oh, and if someone can explain to me why Bush wasn't on the field when USC had 4 and 2, with a completion pretty much making sure of victory, I would be grateful.

As for Young, I'm in awe over how he's rushed for well over a 1000 yards all season long and his casual manner of celebrating the last minute touchdown was sheer class (such a shame he was manhandled by the mascot!). And let's not forget his opposing QB, Matt Leinart of USC. He had an amazing game too and the NFL will only benefit from these three talents later this year. Speaking of forgetting, ABC's pitch side reporter called Leinart 'Vince' at the end of her post match interview with him, as if things weren't bad enough. In her eyes at least, he, and maybe all of us who witnessed possibly the best American Football game in 20 years, were Forever Young.

Cash Crabby

Finally, after an interminable wait, my sister-in-law (hee hee, I have a sister-in-law) and her husband appeared on the Discovery Channel's game show called Cash Cab (British readers might remember it from its debut in Blighty last year). Their appearance was long overdue: the production company had assured them they would be on last year (nope) and then at a later date (shakes head) before a quick resheduling last night. Bookmakers in Vegas had actually taken to ask what would occur first - their screening or the Second Coming. And lo, it came to pass...well, as it turned out, it was Jess and Jeremy. I won't bore you with the details (distinctly unfunny cab driver asks increasingly difficult questions. They aced them all, complete with obligatory high fives) but yours truly played a leading role in being their mobile shout out (thank you, Cingular!). Naturally, I got the question wrong (which Baltic nation won its first Olympic medal in 1992 at the basketball? Trust me: in 1992, I was pleased just to be able to spell 'Baltic') but am proud to have been called "useless" afterwards (like, cheers). The cab driver then questioned why I was used (they already knew the answer) whilst the icing on the cake was there for all to see: my name had been spelt as 'Glenn'. And you must know how I love that...Speaking as someone who has received almighty bollockings in his time for typos onscreen, I trust that the offending producer will be fired over this. Or at least be made to sit in that bloody cab as it makes its way around Manhattan.

I Coppi (with a New Year)

A quick shout out for the East Village restaurant Liza and I dined in last night. Called 'I Coppi' (between Avenue A and 1st on 9th Street), it's an Italian which doesn't conform to the typical Village standards. That is to say, it's clean, not populated by hipsters (and don't you find the word 'hipster' to be anything but hip?) and has staff who don't aspire to a career in acting. Though their sudden outburst of operatic hits was most welcome (kidding). We were offered "the best table in the house" for some reason, which was a balcony affair - how very Romeo & Juliet - resplendent with flowers and no punters within earshot. Maybe it's a perk of marriage? The food was exquisite: pasta for me, a baby chicken (we never got to know you!) for the lady and a fine drop of red to wash it all down. And are we meant to praise a bill under $100 these days? Quite probably.

As for the before and after, well, the before was watching 'Match Point'. You'll be aware that critics are calling it "a return to form" and "Woody Allen's best film in years". But I think it's fair to say that the movie only needed to be adequate (i.e point the camera at the actor and make sure you can hear him/her) to have the "experts" salivating at the mouth over this one. The truth was that it was interesting precisely because it didn't resemble a Woody Allen film: he wasn't in it and the location was London and not New York. Speaking of which, I can't wait to read how significant it surely must be that the Gherkin building appears in the film - come on therapists, don't let me down! The performances were decent (the parents in particular) save for Scarlett Johansson. Her first words are, "so, who is my next victim?" and it soon dawns that the answer is us, the audience. She seems nervy throughout (no wonder Allen has already cast her in his next film, also being filmed in London) and you have to now wonder whether her breakout part in 'Lost In Translation' was a one off. None of the cast, meanwhile, are helped by Allen's idea of how the British upper classes speak. You'll cringe when hearing Tom exclaim "yum yum" after ordering at a restaurant though even Allen can't prevent James Nesbitt and Ewen Bremner turning in quality cameos towards the end. And whilst the dialogue and storyline are full of holes (this isn't really a spoiler when I write the words 'mobile phone records'), it's enjoyable hokum and beautifully shot to boot. There's one key scene three quarters of the way through which will make you think "that's bloody clever" and it's been far too long since we've been able to utter that at a Woody Allen film. Let's not get too carried away and call it game, set and match (point) but Woody is certainly still in the tournament that is film making.

And our friend Deb still knows how to throw a party. We arrived at her Williamsburg loft post dinner, pre midnight (or, as they say in these parts, the ball dropping) for copious amounts of champagne, cold pizza and yours truly hastily putting together the 'bringing in '06 mix' on her itunes. If I knew how to link to it, I would paste it here but don't worry, it didn't include Auld Lang's Syne. You could say it was never brought to mind...