I Give It Three Stars

Well, I would probably give I Give It a Year three stars if I awarded star ratings in my movie reviews, anyway. It is the kind of film I might not have got round to seeing had I not got a ticket for a free preview screening. The trailer and the preview clip I saw were both pretty funny, and despite the impressive cast, I was a little worried that they had put all the funny bits into the trailer. This turned out not to be quite true, but I didn't laugh as loudly during the movie as I did during the trailer.

I Give It a Year comes from "the producers of Love Actually, Bridget Jones's Diary and Notting Hill" and "the writer of Borat." Funnily enough, it's being released the week before Valentine's Day, so do you think, by any chance, that they may be going for compromise of a dash of romance for the ladies, a sprinkle of loud, sweary, lad humour for the guys, and a generous dollop of totty for everyone? I think this is the main problem with writer-director Dan Mazer's movie: it's too much of a compromise. It's a bit too sweary and gross for the women secretly hoping Mr Darcy Colin Firth will show up, and it's not offensive enough or funny enough for the blokes expecting Cultural Learnings of the Chattering Classes of London for Make Hilarious Social Commentary. 

As the movie opens Nat (Rose Byrne) and Josh (Rafe Spall) are getting married. They've only known each other seven months, and they are chalk and cheese: she's a sleek, successful marketing professional and perfectionist who gets song lyrics wrong, he's published one book and is struggling to write his second and, er, hates emptying the dustbin. But despite the best efforts of the phlegm-filled vicar and Josh's embarrassing, David-Brent-like best man (Stephen Merchant), they make it through the wedding. "I give it a year," says Nat's older sister Naomi (Minnie Driver). Hey, that's the name of the movie. Next thing we know, it's nine months later and Nat and Josh are showing up at the office of the world's worst marriage therapist (Olivia Colman) exploring their options and looking back on where they went wrong.

You see, Josh's ex Chloe (Anna Faris), an American charity worker with self-esteem issues, is still hovering in the background, and Nat seems to have snared a rich new American client Guy (Simon Baker), in more ways than one. Are Josh and Nat really meant to be together or are they just more suited to Chloe and Guy, respectively? You'll have to watch the movie to find out, but to be honest, I didn't really care much what happened at the end. Nat is quite unlikeable and Chloe and Guy are fairly two-dimensional. Spall does his best as the schlubby, down-trodden Josh, who is constantly made to feel like he married way too far above him, but somehow it's not enough. The double act between Naomi and her husband Hugh (Jason Flemyng) is much funnier, with Driver being particularly good here. Colman is funny too, with her anatomically correct dolls and all, but she lost me at the scene where she loses the plot. Merchant had a few good lines, but I found his most of his scenes irritating. I guess I wasn't in the mood for that much cringing.

Bridget Jones Meets Borat this film ain't, no matter how much it would like to be. I chuckled throughout and the cast is great, but given that it is a perfectly adequate romantic comedy, it is somewhat ironic that I Give It a Year lacks heart.

All the President's Women

I saw Hyde Park on Hudson at the movie preview event I attended recently and, armed only with the film title and a non-existent internet connection, I thought I hadn't heard of it, but as the opening credits began to roll, I realised I had already seen the trailer for Roger Michell's new film. I ended up liking Michell's previous movie, Morning Glory, despite myself, and Hyde Park on Hudson was similarly charming and funny, but probably won't be sticking in my mind for years to come. Indeed, if they use the poster shown on the film's IMDb page for the DVD cover, I don't think it will amass many sales.

While watching Hyde Park on Hudson, I couldn't help but think the title should really have been The King's Speech 2: Meet the Roosevelts, with FDR's mother (Elizabeth Wilson) playing the Robert De Niro role. The film centres around a weekend in 1939 when King George VI (Samuel West), better known as Colin Firth Bertie, and Queen Elizabeth (a brilliant Olivia Colman) are making the first royal visit to America. Their goal: get the Americans on side to help with the burgeoning war in Europe. They will be spending the weekend with the charming FDR (Bill Murray) and his cool wife Eleanor (an underused Olivia Williams) at Mrs Roosevelt Sr's country pad in upstate New York. "I'd like to meet some Americans," says Bertie as they drive out into the countryside. A group of workers in the surrounding fields gamely agree to be met. Elizabeth, meanwhile, is more concerned about whether the plan of serving hot dogs at a picnic (and never have those words been spoken with as much disdain) is some kind of insult to her and her husband.

We see the run-up to the weekend in the country and the weekend itself through the eyes of Daisy (Laura Linney), a distant cousin of FDR, who is also his mistress. Actually, one of his mistresses; another alternative title for the film could have been All the President's Women. On the death of the real-life Daisy in 1991, a trove of letters and diaries revealing the affair were discovered. "I helped him forget the weight of the world," Daisy tells us, but we don't get to see much in the way of raw passion, though, apart from a cheeky fumble in the car. FDR just says things that wouldn't be out of place in Jezebel's crap email from a dude column, such as: "I've built you a place where you can be alone and miss me." How enticing... The gesture seems even less special when she finds his private secretary Missy (Elizabeth Marvel) occupying the love nest she thought was her own.

As the film progresses, however, it becomes less about FDR's personal relations and more about international relations. The president and the king swap tips and insecurities. "Sometimes I think [my people] deserve better than me," Bertie confides. FDR, meanwhile, explains that the press are too scared to write about his polio. Banter is exchanged. Some hilarity ensues. Hot dogs are consumed. The birth of a special relationship, between the US and Great Britain, is observed, as another special relationship, between FDR and Daisy, seems to falter.

I enjoyed Hyde Park on Hudson well enough while I was watching it, and that was mainly thanks to the performances. Bill Murray is really good, playing FDR as a charming rogue. Olivia Colman was hilarious, and although Laura Linney won't win awards for her subtle portrayal of the all-seeing mistress, her performance was perfectly restrained and of its time. Samuel West wasn't a bad Bertie, but two years after The King's Speech is probably too soon for anyone to have forgotten how remarkable Colin Firth was. Hyde Park on Hudson is entertaining enough, but there are so many great films out at the moment that unless you are a hardcore movie-goer, you will have a number of other films to work through before you think about seeing this one.

A Flight of Fancy

The last Robert Zemeckis film I liked was Back to the Future, which is also one of his first films. I was intrigued by the trailer of his new film Flight, though, and was pleased that it was shown as part of the day of previews I got to attend a couple of weeks ago. That it was probably my favourite film of the day, even though it was the last one I watched, having been in the cinema for nearly 12 hours says a lot for the film and I think a lot of the credit is to due Denzel Washington's performance as pilot Whip Whitaker, who manages to land a rapidly disintegrating plane, saving 96 of the 102 passengers and crew.

The trailer gives you the impression that Whip is seen as a hero figure, who is then gradually revealed as a troubled alcoholic and drug addict. In fact, the audience learns just how troubled Whip is in the first scene where he stays up late boozing with one of his flight attendants, before taking some coke to "wake up" before their morning flight. What I find remarkable about Washington's performance here is that he is not playing a likeable character—Whip lies, he breaks the rules, he is unreliable and abusive—and yet nonetheless, for a good chunk of the film, you still find yourself rooting for him as the investigation into the crash reveals that he seems to have been drinking shortly before the flight. Eventually, though, you realise that it would be best for Whip if he is punished for his actions (I won't say whether or not he is), because he has been coasting along for so many years thinking he's the man, whereas in reality, he has failed as a husband, a father and a friend.

But just as Whip's failings as a person are revealed, so too are his incredible skill as a pilot. The flight conditions are reconstructed in a flight simulator and no other pilots are able to land the plane like Whip did, which involved flying the plane upside down temporarily. But it's beside the point that his drinking didn't cause the crash; it's all about being responsible and not abusing one's power.

Along the way, we meet several of the people in Whip's life. Nicole (Kelly Reilly) is a recovering heroin addict whom he meets in the hospital after the crash and whom he invites to live with him. She feels like she has escaped from a terrible living situation, but she doesn't realise that she may have slipped out of the frying pan and into the fire. Reilly is really good as the beautiful, fragile, well-intentioned Nicole, as is Don Cheadle as the long-suffering union lawyer, desperately working to get Whip cleared of all charges. John Goodman has a small role as Whip's dealer friend Harling, but he steals a number of scenes as though it's Carry on Lebowski. There is also his ex-wife, Deana (Garcelle Beauvais), and his teenage son Will (Justin Martin), with whom he has an almost non-existent relationship. "You're the most fascinating person I've never met," Will tells his father.

Clocking in at 2h20, Flight is an intense and often very sad portrayal of a man in crisis. The lawsuits that are being pursued against Whip give the film structure as time after time, we watch Whip try and fail to get his life back together. Also, the soundtrack is fantastic, from Under the Bridge by the Red Hot Chilis to Gimme Shelter and Ain't No Sunshine, it all seems to fit perfectly with what we are seeing on screen. It really is the Denzel show, though, and although I don't think he will win the Best Actor Oscar, I do think his was the most interesting and complex performance of all the nominees in this category.

"Everybody Breaks in the End, Bro. It's Biology"

Katherine Bigelow's new film Zero Dark Thirty opens with a completely black screen. It is 9/11 and we can hear a mishmash of calls placed to the emergency services by people trapped in the Twin Towers. Images aren't necessary; we can all imagine. Then, we jump to 2003 and Maya (Jessica Chastain), a young CIA operative has just arrived in Pakistan on what will, for the next eight years, be a hunt for Osama Bin Laden. As she watches her colleague Dan (Jason Clarke) torture a "detainee" to try to obtain information about a man who might lead to a lead to Bin Laden, her disgust is apparent initially.

Dan and her boss (Kyle Chandler) comment on how young and green she seems, but Mrs O'Brien from The Tree of Life she is not. She is tough and driven and when torture—including waterboarding—brings her a step closer to her personal quest to find Bin Laden, she is willing, if not happy, to sanction it. When she stumbles on a link to a close associate of Bin Laden's, known only as Abu Ahmed, Maya thinks the end might be in sight, but we the audience know it isn't going to be that simple. It's also dangerous work. Maya watches friends and colleagues get hurt and killed, and she is attacked in her own car. When she arrives in Pakistan, she is wearing a very Washington black suit, and although she eventually adapts to more neutral, casual clothes and a headscarf, you also see her later on in her home, wearing a burkha with her feet up, munching on a cheese string and drinking a beer.

And Maya never wavers from her theory that Abu Ahmed will lead them to Bin Laden. "I know certainty freaks you guys out, but it's 100%," she says in a meeting with senior figures at the CIA about whether the compound they have identified is Bin Laden's hiding place. But although she has been working diligently on this case for a decade, tirelessly researching and analyzing new data, you get the impression that it really just is a very strong hunch. Based on the best data available, of course, but still a bit of a leap in the dark. It turns out that she happens to be right.

I went to see Bigelow's last film, The Hurt Locker, on a whim, tempted, I think, by a free ticket. It wasn't the kind of film I normally enjoyed, but I ended up liking it a lot. Zero Dark Thirty is gripping and very engaging. I don't like Bigelow's use of chapter titles to section the film, which I think she also used in The Hurt Locker and which I find distracting. The movie is a little too long—aren't all the Best Picture nominees this year?—but still interesting, right up until the final act, the raid on the compound in which Bin Laden was hiding, which plays out almost in real time. The film was initially going to be about the failure to find Bin Laden, but during the writing process, the events of this final act took place, which rather changed things. Jessica Chastain was wonderful, as always, as the not usually very likeable but driven, disciplined Maya. A lot of the other performances were good too, but no one else really stood out for me. Zero Dark Thirty is bold, dark, intense and often difficult to watch. It's not really the kind of film that you enjoy, but it's certainly compelling and thought-provoking.

The Caffeine Chronicles: 124 Coffee House

Update: 124 Coffee House is permanently closed, as of 2013.

Before Christmas, I mentioned that I'd been trying to check out the coffee and brunch situation at 124 Coffee House on Bermondsey Street, but it never seemed to be open on the days I was in need of brunch. The hours are a little more consistent now, though, and I stopped by today today on my way to the river.

124 on Bermondsey Street: coffee, brunch, etc.

It was busy but not so busy that I couldn't get a table. People who were coming in just for a coffee were, however, being offered take-out or turned away. I assume this is only during the lunchtime rush. There are maybe a dozen small tables, with the kitchen and coffee bar area nestling underneath a gorgeous glass, domed ceiling. I ordered a double skinny macchiato while I contemplated the very tempting brunch menu. 124 use Ozone coffee and my macchiato tasted good. A bit milkier than I prefer, but not to the point of overpowering the coffee.

Double macchiato

Although the food choices sounded interesting, the menu itself looked like it could have done with some input from a graphic designer, which surprised me because the exterior and the chalkboard signs all looked very much in keeping with a trendy cafe on Bermondsey Street. I thought about having the 124 muffin (English muffin with grilled chorizo slices, fresh rocket, two poached eggs and hollandaise sauce), but it was always going to be the English-style pancakes with maple-glazed crispy pancetta and maple syrup; there are also a couple of fruity pancake options, and all three are £5.50. In fact, everything on the brunch menu is between £4.50 and £7.50, which is quite reasonable for Bermondsey Street. English-style pancakes turned out to be halfway between the über-thick American pancakes and the très chic French crêpes, and two of them turned out to be just about the right amount of food for me for Saturday brunch. The bacon was delicious, although an extra rasher wouldn't have gone amiss. I would also have liked to have a tiny jug of maple syrup to decant myself, rather than having the pancakes pre-doused, but this didn't detract from the taste.

The delicious pancakes with bacon and maple syrup

All in all, it was a successful brunch and I'll definitely back to try some of the other dishes or to grab a coffee. 124 have also started opening up as a bar on Friday evenings, and they are planning to convert the back section into a sort of restau-bar with foodie credentials (though not foodie pretensions), giving the sort of all-day, casual dining I like so much. It may currently be in a transitionary phase, but it's still a great place for a low-key brunch.

124. 124 Bermondsey Street, London, SE1 3TX (Tube: London Bridge or Borough). Facebook. Twitter.

"Things That Are Equal To the Same Thing Are Equal To Each Other"

It's not every day that you get a movie that quotes Euclid, but it's clear that Steven Spielberg's new film Lincoln isn't your average film. Since Lincoln's appearance at the New York Film Festival last October (at the Lincoln Center, of course), it has had 'Oscar bait' all over it, with film pundits predicting wins in several of the major categories, especially Daniel Day Lewis for his role as the eponymous 16th POTUS.

I got to see Lincoln at a preview the weekend before last and I have to say that it didn't blow me away. It probably didn't help that it was the third film of five that I watched that day and, not having had much time for lunch, I was a little sleepy. Even so, it felt longer than its 2h30 length, and I think the first act in particular was far too long, although the action did pick up in the second half. The film opens in the dying days of Abraham Lincoln's presidency. The Civil War is still raging, but all Lincoln really wants is to push through what would become the 13th Amendment, abolishing slavery. Of course, as we learned from Django Unchained (thanks, Quentin!), not everyone is in favour of such a radical position, and even within Lincoln's own party, opinions differ as to whether black people should be considered fully equal or just legally equal.

Part of my problem with the film may have been my own understanding—or lack thereof—of the politics of the period. I feel like I have a fairly good working knowledge of contemporary US politics, but I knew I was in over my head when I discovered that Lincoln was a Republican. The party was, of course, completely different back then, but without the helpful modern analogies to fall back on, I struggled to work out who was doing what and why. This being a Spielberg movie, the cast was also huge, with a lot of big names, and I kept getting a lot of wig-donning, white, male senators mixed up. I thought Joseph Gordon Levitt was underused as Lincoln's oldest son Robert, but it was nice to see Lane Pryce Jared Harris popping up as Ulysses S. Grant. Tommy Lee Jones, playing Thaddeus Stevens, a fierce opponent of slavery and a radical Republican, was really good. His character got a lot of the best lines and, judging by Wikipedia at least, he really looked the part too.

Of course, no one did a better job of looking the part than Daniel Day Lewis. Well done, Daniel; another great physical transformation. I really like DDL (it started with his performance as Hawkeye in The Last of the Mohicans, one of my all-time favourites) and I thought he was really good and extremely convincing, but I just wasn't as excited by his performance as I expected to be. I am pretty sure he will end up adding another Oscar to his collection, but having now seen all five of this year's Best Actor nominees in action, he wouldn't be my first choice.

I feel like a second viewing might improve my appreciation for this film, but equally, I feel like Spielberg does this a lot, almost as though he wants or even requires you to watch some of his films at least twice. I've probably seen about half of his films, and about half of those I liked, while the other half I could take or leave. I loved Catch Me If You Can, which I recently re-watched, loved Hook and Jurassic Park when I was a kid, never finished watching Saving Private Ryan and could never be bothered to watch War Horse. And just because John Williams does all of the soundtracks, which I do generally like, do they all have to sound so similar? A lot of the refrains in Lincoln sounded just like the bits of the War Horse score I heard in the trailer.

Lincoln is beautifully shot and there were some lovely set pieces—that shot of the Capitol Building after the vote passed, for example; so reminiscent of the Obama fever after the 2008 presidential elections... It's also a very worthy film on a very important topic, but somehow it just didn't engage me. And although there are many different reasons for film-makers to make movies, I go to the cinema because I want to be entertained and to be told a compelling story; in that way, Lincoln let me down.

"The D Is Silent"

Based on the reviews of the new Quentin Tarantino film, Django Unchained, and on past experience of recent Tarantino films, I was a little concerned that I would come out thinking it should really have been called Django Uncut, and not in a good way. But I was pleasantly surprised to find myself lasting until about 2h20 into the movie before I checked my phone. Because, sure, Tarantino could quite easily have culled a good hour or so without detracting from the story, but actually, Django Unchained is good fun and doesn't leave the audience with much scope for boredom.

The story is the same as most other recent Tarantino films; it's just the setting that is different (the American south just before the start of the Civil War, here). Christoph Waltz is Dr King Schultz, a German dentist-turned-bounty-hunter, who rescues a slave named Django (Jamie Foxx) from his masters while en route to a new plantation and buys his freedom (or steals, at least). Django, Schultz hopes, has some information on a particularly nasty set of slave-owning brothers on whom a bounty has been placed. He soon discovers that Django is a pretty good shot and offers to let Django be his partner in, er, bounty-hunting. Django agrees, but he also wants to be reunited with his wife Broomhilda (Kerry Washington), who was given a German name by her German mistress, but who was separated from Django some months (years?) earlier. With Schultz's help, he discovers Hildy is now owned by Calvin Candie (Leonardo DiCaprio) and working for him on his Mississippi plantation, Candie Land. Together they hatch a plan to buy Hildy's freedom, but none of them counted on just how cruel and sociopathic Candie would be, nor on his loyal household, particularly his butler Stephen (Samuel L. Jackson), who has worked in Candie Land for all of his 78 years.

Django Unchained is violent, it's bloody and it's bloody funny in places. One of the nice touches is that most of the white characters we see are idiots. There is a scene where some incompetent members of an early Ku Klux Klan-like group, including "Bag Head #2" (Jonah Hill), are plotting to ambush Schultz and Django but are too busy arguing among themselves about whether the eye-holes in the bags they are wearing on their heads are acceptable. The way this was played was reminiscent of the opening of Reservoir Dogs, my favourite Tarantino movie. Later on, meanwhile, even the scheming Candie has no idea that he's about to be had by Schultz and Django, and it's Stephen who has to clue him in. The less said about the dumb "Aussies" who show up later, the better, but you get the idea.

Christoph Waltz is terrific. He's a pleasure to watch and steals the show as the one enlightened and non-idiotic white man on screen. DiCaprio, meanwhile, is wonderfully terrifying as the charismatic but sick villain. It's to Leo's credit that it didn't feel strange to see him playing the baddie for once, although he has been a sort of anti-hero in Catch Me If You Can and even J. Edgar. Jackson is also great fun as Candie's loyal servant, who treats Django with even more contempt and disdain than any of the white characters. Foxx, I thought, did a good job, though I think I would have preferred to see Will Smith, for whom Tarantino apparently wrote the role. As for Kerry Washington, she, like the other female characters, didn't get much screen time.

Django Unchained would make a good double bill with Lincoln, which is out next week but which I've already seen (review to follow soon). Two very different takes on the dying days of slavery in the US; six hours in the cinema may be a little too much, of course. Lincoln may perhaps be the better film but I found Django Unchained far more entertaining.

On a final trivia note, I noticed that on the soundtrack for The Beach, in which DiCaprio starred, there is a song by Asian Dub Foundation called Return of Django, which is a nice coincidence, I thought.

Brrreakfast in Brrrmondsey

Pretty much since I moved SOTR, I've been wanting to have breakfast or brunch at Bea's of Bloomsbury's Maltby Street diner. Earlier this week, a few friends and I made plans to go there this morning, and I'd been looking forward to pancakes with bacon and maple syrup and a bottomless mug of coffee all week long. My favourite breakfast is certainly enough of an incentive to don my snow boots and trek up the road to Druid Street in the winter wonderland / snowpocalypse (delete as appropriate) that is London this weekend. But, alas! When I arrived at the location, 'neath the arches under the train tracks, the doors were locked and a quick check on Twitter revealed that snow, or at least the cold, was stopping play.

The Ropewalk, Maltby Street

Luckily, there are a number of other options for hungry south Londoners in the section of Maltby Street known as the Ropewalk. As it was a little too early—and too cold—for gin, we went to Comptoir Gourmand, where a vast array of delicious, freshly baked, flaky pastries are available. I ordered the closest substitutes I could find for the breakfast I had really wanted, which turned out to be a sausage brioche, followed by an almond croissant. The former was yummy—a posh, French take on the sausage bap, with the moist, slightly sweet brioche contrasting nicely with the sausages and the caramelised onions. The croissant was good too, although I do sort of wish I'd bought an eclair to take away instead. As I never trust the coffee in French-run places, I ordered an americano, which was fine, but nothing to write home about.

Gourmandises at Comptoir Gourmand

After breakfast, we had a wander down the Ropewalk. A stall selling posh South American hot chocolate was offering samples, which we thought it would be rude to turn down. Then, we had a browse in Lassco, a hipster antiques store specialising in furniture reclaimed from various London locations, from church pews to tarted up London bus seats. I was sorely tempted by a two-tiered coffee table from the 1960s with a design featuring Christopher Wren architecture, but it was pretty pricey, so it was probably lucky it had already been sold. They are having a sale on at the moment, though, so if you've ever wanted a liquor cabinet shaped like the front of a boat or a Moroccan lantern, check it out. They also sell waffles with bacon and maple syrup, we discovered too late.

The Tower of London, the Gherkin and the Shard in the snow

I had a few errands to run in the West End, so I walked along the north bank of the Thames to Covent Garden. The snow was already turning to slush, but I was glad I was wearing my snow boots. I think I've had enough snow for one season now. Bring on spring!

It's Grim Oop Nord

Just before going into Tom Hooper's new film version of Les Misérables this evening I got some good news: I found out that the movie was 40 minutes shorter than I thought, clocking in at a mere 2h35. Despite the good reviews and despite the fact it will probably end up winning Best Picture at the Oscars, I had some serious misgivings, the main one being that I don't like musicals. I go to the cinema for the stories and the characters and I take some convincing to see why an emotion or a plot point that could be conveyed in a line or even a look in a regular movie takes four minutes of song (plus refrains) in a musical.

Nonetheless, I enjoyed Les Mis more than I was expecting to, not least because Hugh Jackman was great as Jon Bon Jovi Jean Valjean, really holding the whole thing together, and because Eddie Redmayne and Aaron Tveit (last seen ditching Serena van der Woodsen in a cowardly fashion after a car crash) provided some aesthetic appeal. Anne Hathaway was also as good as reviews suggested, but she had so little screen time that I couldn't bring myself to feel that sad for her character's (implausibly rapid) demise. Move on, Fantine, we've got plenty more miserables waiting in the wings...

And that brings me to the second issue I have with Les Mis, which isn't specific to this adaptation: it feels too much of a collection of short stories musing on the nature of being poor and wretched in 19th century France. Apart from former prisoner turned hero Valjean and Javert, the policeman who makes it his life's work to be the death of him for reasons that are poorly conveyed or at least that are hidden beneath Russell Crowe's distracting, er, singing voice, there is very little continuity. Let's just say it's best not to get too fond of any of the miserables.

Crowe, of course, is another problem. Throughout the film, you cannot help but wonder why they couldn't have found someone—anyone—who could sing even a little bit. There was some consolation in the final act

***SPOILER ALERT when Javert meets his surprisingly satisfying, if slightly grim, end. ***

Still, the whole film looks very impressive and is beautifully shot. Jackman and Hathaway's physical transformations to play their characters are admirable. Hathaway has to win the crown of Chief Miserable and you got the impression Valjean had drunk some of what Benjamin Button had, given that he looked about 75 as the film opened, and then, eight years later, looked handsome and boyish again. I enjoyed the comic turns from Sacha Baron Cohen and Helen Bonham Carter as the Thénardiers, although you did get the impression they had stumbled onto the wrong film set—Carry On Slumming It, perhaps—and the slapstick interludes did jar rather when you were then faced with what was effectively a message saying, "and now back to some misery." Actually, some of the characters annoyed me more when they were being Les Heureux, and making foolish mistakes like falling in love after three and a half seconds (ah hem, Marius).

As for the music, I'm not really the best judge. I think it's slightly unfortunate that all of the best-known songs are in the first half, which meant that every time anyone opened their mouth after that, I was hoping we'd just get on with a bit more plot instead. Personally, I'm not sure that the live singing made much difference, but I'm no music buff. The constant recitative was a little irritating too, although on leaving the cinema I found myself doing it too.

This review may come across as being rather negative, but I did quite enjoy Tom Hooper's film—a lot more than I was expecting to, certainly. There were several good performances and despite its plot:length ratio, I made it two hours in before surreptitiously checking the time, suggesting it's also quite well paced. It wouldn't get my Best Picture vote, but it isn't my least favourite film among the nominees that I've watched either.

At the end of Les Mis I was glad it was finished
But that it isn't to say that it wasn't quite fun...

South Bank Days, Shoreditch Nights

I had a pretty busy weekend, spending the whole day in the cinema yesterday, attending a film blogging workshop, followed by preview screenings of five movies (which I will review closer to their UK release dates). On Saturday, Maman was in town and we went for brunch with The Bro and The SIL at the Surrey Docks City Farm. It felt a little bit cruel walking past some very cute piglets, only to order some bacon in the farm's restaurant, Frizzante, but I couldn't resist the Canadian brunch, which also included scrambled eggs, banana bread and, of course, maple syrup. The food was really good and not bad value at £7.50 for my brunch.

All the fun of the city farm...

After lunch we went to check out some of the animals. The piglets, which were only a couple of weeks old, were adorable, but the mini goats were pretty cute too. We then walked our way along the Thames path, through Rotherhithe and Bermondsey, via Borough Market to the Tate Modern, where we managed a little bit of culcha before taking afternoon tea in the ground-floor cafe, watching what would have been the sunset had there been a decent one that day.

SOTR navigation training

Maman had to head back to the Shire but the rest of us caught the Overground to Shoreditch, where we contemplated a Brick Lane curry, but couldn't face the hard sell of the restaurant touts, who seemed even more persistent than usual on such a cold, rainy evening. Instead, we went to The Love Shake, a diner-style cafe at the bottom of Kingsland Road, where you could get a hot dog and a beer for £5. I had a peanut butter shake instead of a beer, and we all ordered fries too, but £23 for the three of us seemed like a reasonable bill. The Love Shake is tiny inside, with only a handful of tables and the kitchen, such as it is, tucked behind the bar. With its US license-plate-decorated walls and mix of '90s and '80s music, The Love Shake is a cool, chilled out and surprisingly unpretentious place to hang out over some unhealthy food. The chips were a little too salty, but my dog was good and I'm rarely anything less than euphoric when I have a PB shake in my hand. They do also do hard shakes for the more adventurous.

The Love Shake in Shoreditch

Frizzante. South Wharf, Rotherhithe Street, London, SE16 5ET (Tube: Canada Water). Restaurant website. Surrey Docks Farm website.
The Love Shake. 5 Kingsland Road, London, E2 8AA (Tube: Old Street / Hoxton Overground). Website.

To Wish Impossible Things

"Enjoy the film," said the usher at my local multiplex as he checked my ticket and pointed me in the direction of screen four. I thought it was unlikely, but I just said thanks. I don't think many people will come out of Juan Antonio Bayona's new movie The Impossible and say that they enjoyed the experience, but not because it's a bad film, by any means; far from it, with great acting from Naomi Watts and Tom Holland, who plays one of her on-screen sons, as well as a good performance from Ewan McGregor.

It's just that as well as being compelling, brave and moving, The Impossible is incredibly harrowing for the majority of its 1h55 length. So much so that the aforementioned multiplex really should have selected its lobby music a little more carefully, because after nearly two hours of devastation and intense emotion, the last thing you want is to be bombarded with very loud, very jarring R&B. But I digress.

The Impossible is based on the true story of a Spanish family who were having their Christmas holiday in Thailand when the South Asian tsunami struck. In the movie, the family are British: Watts and McGregor play Maria and Henry Bennett, who have been living in Japan with their three sons, Lucas (Holland), Thomas and Simon. Apart from a little foreshadowing in the form of turbulence on the plane ride to Thailand, the opening few minutes allow us to see the family relaxing and enjoying their Christmas. The boys argue and Henry expresses concerns about his job, but they are happy.

When the tsunami hits, on Boxing Day, the family are at the beach. We see them all being swept away by the waters, but after we watch Maria being thrown around underwater, she surfaces, grabbing onto a palm tree and eventually spotting her eldest son, Lucas, struggling to stay afloat a short distance away. Mother and son reunite but in doing so, an aftershock leaves Maria with a seriously damaged leg. They have no idea where the rest of their family are. Together, they struggle to look for help, although with so much destruction and devastation, it's hard to work out which way to go. Initially, Maria is the strong one, but on seeing how badly his mother is injured, Lucas puts all of his energy into protecting his mother. He wants them to climb up a tall tree for safety, but then they hear the cry of a small child, a little blonde boy—because in the holiday resort depicted in this film, everyone is very fair—who has lost his parents. Lucas wants to press on because his mother has to be his priority, but Maria insists they take the boy with them.

It's hard to say much more without spoiling the film. I hadn't heard of the real Spanish family on whom the story is based, so I didn't know exactly what would happen, although the fact that the story had survived somehow, was something of a clue. Simon Mayo suggested that he film's title was a spoiler of sorts but I don't think that's true. For some reason, The Descent springs to mind, where (spoiler alert) in the original release at least, you think the lead character has managed to achieve what has already been established as an impossible escape, only to discover that actually she hasn't escaped, because we already knew she couldn't get out. So, I think The Impossible's title could either represent bleakness or hope, and doesn't spoil the film.

As I mentioned, there are some great performances in the film, with Tom Holland really standing out as the young teenager forced to become the adult in extraordinary circumstances. He was very convincing, conveying the desperate attempts at bravery interspersed with the fear and despair anyone in such a situation—especially anyone so young—would feel. Naomi Watts probably ought to receive an Oscar nomination for this too, and not just for the "challenge" of being covered in mud, blood and bruises for so much of the film (AKA the Charlize Theron award). The Impossible isn't an enjoyable film; but it's heart-rending, nerve-wracking and very good. Just don't forget to take tissues.

Deux Mille Treize

I've never been one for wild New Year's Eve celebrations, especially when I've been at work during the daytime, but last night was quite fun. The Bro and the SIL held a small gathering at their place, around the next bend of the river.

New Year's Eve fireworks on the Thames from Stave Hill

Spirits were running pretty high, but we made it up to Stave Hill in time for the countdown to midnight. As on Primrose Hill on New Year's Eve, Stave Hill offers a good view of the central London fireworks  on the Thames, and also has an even better view of Canary Wharf, which always feels slightly surreal when surrounded by a firework-drenched sky.

London's burning, or glowing, at least

The crowd was younger and less well-heeled than Primrose Hill, but we didn't feel out of place drinking our Prosecco from plastic cups as the clock struck midnight. A group of people were letting off Chinese lanterns, egged on by a drunken Russian urging, "let it go, let it go." I assume he was talking about the lantern rather than anything more philosophical.

Chinese lanterns on Stave Hill

We headed back home via the most blinged-up house in SE16 for a little more dancing and, in some cases, more drinking. I was just grateful that unlike the last late night at the Bro's place, I now live much closer and the journey home was much less epic.

Too much Christmas

2012 has been a rollercoaster ride and although I didn't travel to as many new places as I would have liked, I did buy a flat, which is definitely an achievement worth celebrating. Now that that is completed, though, this year my goal is to take a two-week vacation to a new country. Preferably somewhere hot. Possibly Costa Rica. Hopefully soon. My other not-really-a-resolution is to re-read more books and re-watch more movies. I like compiling my lists of books I've read and movies I've watched each year, but it does tend to make me self-competitive, racing through as many new books as possible, without returning to those that might merit a second read.