Double Duplicity

I had the impression that Duplicity was a straight thriller instead of the campest effing thriller I've seen in a long time. Actually, thriller is probably the wrong word because although there were a few thrilling moments (Clive getting his kit off did it for me more than Julia running around some corporate HQ trying to find a photocopier before she got caught, somehow), I wasn't exactly on the edge of my seat for most of the film. 

In fact, towards the end, I was expecting that Clive would rip off a mask and reveal that he was actually George Clooney in Intolerable Cruelty (or even in Ocean's Eleven) because it felt like a very Clooneyesque role. Maybe that's just because I think Clive's hotter when he's being serious (a la Children of Men or Sin City), though I did quite enjoy his Chancer days, not to mention his working class guilt in Closer.

Actually, Closer, which also starred Clive and Julia, isn't a bad connection to make for Duplicity because the former was all about four people who don't trust one another, duping (duplicitising?) one another as much as they could get away with, although the main motive seemed to be "true love" rather than lots of lolly. 

Duplicity too is about Clive and Julia screwing — and screwing each other over, while also trying to screw the companies for whom they work. It's all a little complicated with plenty of flashbacks, gorgeous hotel rooms and it really isn't very deep (I think there was maybe one scene, of about 50 seconds where C and J let down their defences briefly and even appear vulnerable and emotionally involved (well, emotionally involved, anyway, as opposed to the randy competitiveness (or is that competitive randiness) that is the dominant mood for the rest of the movie).

Duplicity is a funny film, although I'm not sure it's always intentional. I'm not sure whether Clive's Nashville accent was intended to be quite so awful but it was pretty hilarious (and still got him laid). As in The International, I couldn't help but snicker at some of his cheesy lines and at Clive's character's arrogance (people he's slept with are a traditional strength for him, don'tcha know?) and the way he can't stop grinning when two of the guys on his team tell him what a big swinging dick he is.

Of course, I had to watch out for the scene I saw being filmed. We waited at Grand Central for an hour while I watched and they were filming when we started and after we left and, of course, the scene lasted about 20 seconds. I was hoping to catch a glimpse of myself, blurry, in the background (all of the people on camera were proper extras) but the stupid information booth in the centre of the station blocked me out. However, as with the punt scene in Sylvia, It was still quite fun to see a scene I had seen been filmed.

I felt it all lost momentum at the very moment it should have been climaxing (possibly because at two hours, it was a little too long); by then, it was all rather, "yes, we know...they're all very duplicitous and yes, we're sure it's going to be another 20 minutes before we find out who duplicitised whom the best." It was entertaining, though, and more enjoyable than The International, not least because in Duplicity Clive was more Bogart-with-a-heart than the random dude with about seven words of backstory and about five personality keywords he played in The International. He and Julia do have good chemistry and the characters were charismatic enough, if frothy and a little predictable.

Blaise Pascal summed it up pretty well: "We are only falsehood, duplicity, contradiction; we both conceal and disguise ourselves from ourselves." Duplicity is, at least, smart enough not to try to preach this explicitly...

Saving the Date

The clocks went back again last night, which left me temporarily temporally confused — this is the third time in eight days that I'd gained hours, not that I'm complaining. I was, however, worried about my iPhone, which is even more confused than I am. On Saturday morning, my phone alarm went off at 7:39 am, as planned, but bizarrely, it was still very dark outside — much darker than on Friday at the same time. 

Nonetheless, I got up, started hunting for my trainers and turned on my computer to check the temperature. It was only when I saw my laptop was showing the time as 7:45 am that I realised the time was really 7:39 a.m. in the UK and that my phone had reset its time to the UK time (I later discovered this happens whenever I sync the phone with my laptop). I was thus worried that this morning, my phone would automatically change out of daylight savings time, messing up my alarm time so I also set an eight-hour countdown timer just in case.

I was pounding the pavements of Eighth Avenue by 7 am (new time) and in Central Park five minutes later. It had been my plan to run the six miles of the full park loop but the set-up for the marathon interfered for this so not only did I have to run anti-clockwise not clockwise (very anti-zen) but I had to make various detours along the way. Still, I ran the three miles of the marathon and then an extra five miles before detouring to Sarabeth's on Central Park South for pancakes with bacon and maple syrup and a great view of the park. So much for early morning virtue... Breakfast and coffee were great though.

After a quick manicure at Bloomie Nails, I headed up to the Frick Collection for some bargain token culcha — Sunday morning is pay what you wish there, which in my case was all my $1 bills (five), and was very good value. 

After a bit of final Midtown shopping, I headed to the 55th Street restaurant where I was meeting my parents and their friends for lunch after one of Mum's friends had finished the marathon. Rendez-vous-ing with her proved more complicated than planned, delaying the lunch, but she was glowing and very excited to have completed her second NYC marathon (and eighth overall). So much so that she convinced me to enter the lottery for a place in next year's NYC marathon. If I get in, then great, and I will be sure to train properly (hey, with the excuse of a guaranteed New York trip next November, how could I refuse?) and if I don't, there's always the year after.

I spent the last few hours in SoHo, double-checking that J. Crew and Lululemon didn't have any further items with which to tempt me and procuring some cupcakes before speeding back up town and to the airport. Now, I wait in the BA Club Lounge, crossing my fingers for an upgrade but without much optimism. There was a huge queue at the First Class check-in, including at least one 20-person entourage of someone important, which means Club and Premium Economy are probably full. Ah well; at least I've got a window seat so some shut-eye might be possible.

Grim Pasts, Grimmer Presents — Red Riding Review

Given that a huge chunk of the video ad space on IMDb as well as on other websites I frequent has been taken up with trailers for Red Riding (a new trilogy of made-for-TV movies based on a quartet of novels by David Peace, which recount gory tales of woe and corruption in the West Yorkshire police force in the 1970s and 1980s), I felt like I had to at least watch the first part, 1974. With an advertising budget that high, you'd imagine there might be something good about it. 

And yes, part one was good — gritty, dark and convoluted but attention-grabbing. Yes, it definitely is grim up north; or, at least, it was in 1974. I'm not sure that I found any of the promised "harrowing scenes of violence" to be overly traumatic but I've long since been convinced that I'm fairly desensitised to portrayals of violence on film (although it still upsets me to see animals — particularly cats — being killed or hurt). The acting was good, though, with Sean Bean playing the nasty, dirty, evil businessman and Rebecca Hall with a lot more to work with than in Frost/Nixon (blonde hair really doesn't suit her, though).

Andrew Garfield, who played the keen, rookie reporter trying to solve the crimes and getting in way over his head, looked strangely familiar although the only other film he's been in that I've seen is The Other Boleyn Girl, where he played one of the other other Boleyn girl's supposed lovers, although I was probably too busy wishing that film were more like the book — or like actual historical events — to remember much of him. 

I did, however, notice that Garfield is now linked to the movie version of Never Let Me Go, my favourite book of last year, presumably playing Tommy. He looks enough like the Tommy I had imagined for me to support this casting. Two actresses are also tentatively linked with the film: Carey Mulligan and Keira Knightley. I can only imagine that Ms Knightley will play Kathy, the novel's protagonist, and this saddens me greatly (I can see her better playing Ruth, the third part of the love triangle, who has less screen time, although both Ruth and Kathy are pretty complex characters). Of course, as this is still in pre-production, there is plenty of time for cast changes. It will be interesting to see what Alex Garland does with the script and how Mark Romanek directs the project (his pedigree seems to consist mostly of music videos). 

Nearer the time, I might have to decide whether or not seeing the movie might ruin the book for me. Now this book was something that was seriously dark and haunting, without the need for any graphic descriptions of gruesome murders and violence.

ETA (22:58): Actually, IMDb notes that K-Squared is tipped to be playing Ruth and not Kathy but that still doesn't make the casting OK!