Most definately a space oddity ...

Moon is the story of Sam Bell who is working, most surprisingly, on the Moon as it is seen in the future as a major source of energy. His job as an astronaut involves a three year contract in which he remains alone and the tests that come with such isolation are what follows (bearing in mind it is extremely difficult to explain the film without giving away its fundamental plot, so go and see it!). Sam Rockwell beautifully portrays his despair in the little actions and idiosyncrasies, a subtly that lacks an obvious desperation which could so easily have been presented. Sam Rockwell holds this film entirely on his own, a completely commendable achievement and even with this omnipresence his charm never fades and it is hard to become bored with such a compelling performance. This is due mainly to his ability to both complexes us yet make himself truly accessible with a humanity we are able to relate to.

As solid as this is for a first time director, it was the faceless robot friend GERTY (voiced by Kevin Spacey) who completely stole the show. He is represented merely by a screen which adorns a smiley face, and when this face starts to shed a single tear, it’s hard not to be moved regardless of how ridiculous you know it is. Such an advance in technology was completely believable and utterly endearing as there is a sensibility behind such a 2D character
It however, refuses to be constrained by the rules of science fiction and is much more deeply rooted in philosophical ideas. Jones does not shy away from a strong agenda and it is startling to see such confidence be rewarded with success. Man Vs Man is thoroughly explored, with Sam feeling ever distanced from reality as the days slowly progress. An unpredictable anxiety unfolds which never leaves us throughout the film and it’s with this tension that we never quite know where we are and who to believe. His desperate messages to home only help in establishing a much needed sympathy towards Sam that is later tested.
It’s disappointing that its release was so limited however makes it all the more encouraging finding it entered the British Box Office a number 8, an achievement which has no doubt been helped with the film being rightfully awarded the Edinburgh Film Festival award. There is a great potential to take away from this, an encouraging move in a time when we are meant to be happy with regurgitate re-makes and heart deflation transformer sequels!

Unfortunately at some point I have to mention that the director’s father is the legend himself ... David Bowie! It seems more than a coincidence that such a space driven film has gone without family influence. However it is clear that Duncan Jones has an individuality that he will ever shy away from as a director, as convention is definitely toyed with in this film, a triumph most certainly.

H xx

WoW

There is nothing quite like seeing a father (very much looking like a heroin pro) adorning his month old baby onto his extrememly scary dog, foaming at the mouth as he proceeded to ride it like a horse. Its shoking how Gorton can carry such charm, it really is. I just wish I had taken a picture!

H xx

Rufus Wainwright

I am finding it particularly difficult to write anything about Rufus Wainwright that hasn't already been said. Watching his recent intimate gig at the Manchester international Festival pavilion I was subject to a stunning display of unadulterated and enviable talent. This man has certainly led a life of debauchery and excess yet to overcome this and hone so specifically on lyrics that are beauty in its purest form is beyond commendable. As well as this he is a showman, a quality that seems to have been replaced and even when sat plainly behind a piano you are smacked with is many witticism and endearing monologues.

Three songs in it was announced that Rufus’ “dear mama” would join him on stage. A cult icon in her own right Kate McGarrigle graced the stage to perform a duet of “Every time we say goodbye”. There was a poignancy and inextricable connection between both mother and son. I quickly became aware I was in the presence of something very special and very different. His style is something I struggle to see in others, a charisma which I crave as it is impossible to find now in the endless guitar bands and monotonous electro collectives. There is a tradition to his delivery and an intricacy to his song writing which puts him up there with the best.

By the end I became incredibly moved. The reason people love him so much is due to the clear passion he has for music. Some may mistake his confidence for arrogance but the play with conviction, each word sounding like the first time he sang it. It is obvious that he does not take music lightly; he easily creates an intimacy and relationship with the audience merely by saying hello.

We were led to believe the concert had ended, whilst receiving a standing ovation he stood dead on looking until the applause faded then claimed “when I am in my kitchen I don’t go off and come back later”. A rejection of an encore is just another reason why I love this man, recognising its pointlessness he plowed on through playing a hauntingly stunning rendition of “Halleluiah”

H xx

Ballet

Carlos Acosta, a fine specimen of a man but that’s not all he is, he happens to be the world finest ballet dancer, some people have everything don’t they?! It’s safe to say I know absolutely nothing when it comes to ballet, a true ignoramus when it comes to a double plie. Although I may have gone last night purely to see a beautiful man it happened to be one of the most extraordinary experiences. I was completely expecting to think ballet would be OK but a tad on the boring side. Instead I was engrossed in its streamline elegance and power. I know that dancing aficionados worldwide will detest my ignorance but you have to start somewhere surely?

It became an hour and a half of pure escapism, backed stunningly by the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra and it was striking how quickly the time passed. The sheer strength and grace which Acosta carries is inspirational. By sprinkling his dances with aspects of comedy he combined modernity with the traditional which in turn helps ballet become accessible to anyone. Many fear ballet; it’s easy to consider it a product of elitism, its high brow nature something which only the middle classes can enjoy therefore an evening which destroys this convention is admirable.

It may not be the finest ballet ever performed but if it shatters people’s preconceptions and reticence towards Ballet then we should embrace Acosta's motives. Admittedly 99% of the audience was women but I think most people left feeling more affected than they thought they would be.

H xx

Everyone's a Winner!

We are slap bang in the middle of the Manchester International Festival, 2 weeks which truly reflects the cultural diversity of Manchester, from De La Soul to Carlos Acosta. Perhaps one of the most understated additions to this line up is "Everyone's a winner" playing at The Royal Exchange until August. You don't naturally assume that bingo and theatre go hand in hand but as I sat down, with my dabber poised my heart began to beat that little bit harder with the prospect of winning £200. This very real game of bingo was juxtaposed with a tragic yet comical play of 20 people, and their struggles to survive on the bread line, a grim existence which consisted of bingo in the morning, bingo in the afternoon and bingo at night with the odd bowl of chips in the middle.

Audience participation is something I truly fear, the prospect of humiliation never far away however there was something less intimidating about “everyone’s a winner”. We were instantly and endearingly involved in people’s lives, feeling as though we were peering into every human emotion possible. It seemed that the plays biggest focus was atmosphere, a true sense of authenticity to play which as inescapable, whether this ranges from the broken seats or the banter that occurred between the bingo ladies.
Sally Lindsay’s performance was slightly disappointing; however this was due mainly to the fault of the writing with her character never fully being able to develop till the last five minutes. Yet it was Bingo caller “Frankie” who really stole the show. His personal development throughout the play really struck a chord reminding us constantly that life is like bingo. The recognition of his own unhappiness left the audience feeling awkward, a sense that perhaps we shouldn’t be the ones watching this subtle breakdown and its with creating this intimacy that the play truly succeeded.

Ultimately it became hard to avoid the bleak grimness that is hidden through the many songs and dances, a desperate longing for money, that “one last chance” of momentary happiness. Although I left feeling a little melancholy, I recognised that this play is truly affecting as a mirror to the working classes, a reflection of the human condition which is an admirable achievement for theatre.

H xx

MJ 4 LYF

We thought Diana's death was blown out of proportion but my god, a low key church service is nothing compared to an almost bizarre spectacle that was so out of the ordinary that it was hard to comprehend. I was going to reel of a ridiculous rant on how disguted I was with the sacrin, sycophantic and utterly tactless dipslay of a memorial service for Micheal Jackson. But should I feel guilty for feeling this way? It seems the whole world is in a state of bizarre mourning for a man, who essentially was a pop star yet he apparently has transcnede this role in to becoming what can only be described as the new messiah. Yesterday it was claimed he had changed the face of the world and even stopped aparteid, but are we taking his death a little too far? Yes. Its public grief that makes me feel uncomfortable, watching Brooke Shileds having a nervous breakdown is something I really don't need to see and is most definately not for public viewing.

Heaven forbid that forget he was a suspected peadophile as it seems that death erases all of lifes "little mistakes" and elevate us into a state of glory we never would have receieved if we were alive. Its this hypocracy that gets me, a month ago we were quite content to claim "Wacko Jacko" will never finish his tour, he will let us all down and it will be a hilarious disaster which showed an aging star whose had is moment. But now? Well every two bit celebrity is crawling out of the woodwork hoping to be recognied as a friend or an aquaintence, even people who had never met him were stating their grief 'at such a difficult time'. I think the saddest thing about it all is his children, yet even forcing them to sing and perform seemed a disgusting farce at a time in which surely they need to be at home and not infornt of millions staring and gawping at ever movement?



Maybe we should gain a little perspective. Yesterday I watched as a 10 year old kid who was a runner up in Britains Got Talent sing a song in front of Micheal Jackson's coffin while his five brothers wore matching suits and identicle single gloves. Are you fucking kidding me? As much as i tried it looks as if my rant went ahead, but I just look forward to next week when we have forgotten all this and are back talking about the Big Brother eviction, you know, the important things!



H x