Finger Out : A Blog, by James Cox

Poetry Slam first draft

2011-10-08T08:44:00.000-07:00

I am writing a poem to try and compete at the Stanzmania Poetry Slam at Colchester Arts Centre on Thursday for work.
Been writing it today. I figure hiding behind comedy is my best bet as I am (like most other people) terrible at poetry.

It's called "I fancied you so much that I became a cyber-stalking nut job"

I have a bone to pick with you, Elaine,
That's right, I know your name,
Have you any idea how much time that it took,
To get enough details to add you on Facebook?
I guess it started in 2007,
You were bowling in aisle 10, me in aisle 11,
I was alone and you with your mates,
You know that stumpy Brunette, Kathleen or Kate?
She yelled "Hey Elaine you're up next"
We both went for the same ball and out eyes met,
And you smiled and it knocked me out for a strike,
And with the voice of an angel said "You can take it if you like"
So I took it and you watched me find the gutter,
And you laughed and my heart melted like butter,
You turned and went back to your friends,
And for you that's where our encounter ends,
But not for me - I don't give in without a fight,
I started researching you that very same night,
Straight off the bat, I'll confess this to you,
Ok, I was the guy that stole your shoes,
Not for anything weird, or anything wrong,
I mean, sure occasionally I slip them on,
And parade around my flat and take pictures of my feet,
or keep them in my bed so I can smell them in my sleep,
Look, Im getting off track,
Point is I had your first name but not a lot more than that,
So I looked up every Elaine within 20 miles,
Got all their numbers and from a phone booth I dialled,
I visited the houses of maybe nine different Elaine's,
Rang their doorbells and ran away,
And I knew you would be trouble because you were the last one on my list,
You emerged from your door like a ship from the mist,
Like a punch from a fist, like a knife from my wrist,
And you were wearing a similar expression to now,
As you came out in your PJs and looked around,
I thought about rolling out from under your dads car,
Just to tell you how beautiful you are,
But you got cold and went back in,
So I hopped you fence and rifled through your bin,
And found some payslips from your weekend job at Boots,
Oh and some discarded gum and tissues which are framed up in my bedroom,
I ran home never more in love,
Guided by a sparkling sea of stars above,
Which seemed to move to form the outline of your face,
And I screamed your name and it echoed into the eternity of space,
I added you to the social network site,
And stayed awake staring at your profile for three consecutive nights,
On the 4th night I got a message that I never expected,
"FRIENDSHIP REQUEST REJECTED,"
So I tried again maybe five, or ten, times,
And decided that I would follow you until you changed your mind,
So everywhere you went I was three paces behind,
At the library, the park, the supermarket checkout line,
At the swimming pool, the pub, when you picked up your little sister Heather,
At the train station, at the your grandmas, family only, 80th birthday get together,
I just thought we could get to know one another,
And maybe sometime, next week, you could meet my mother,
I just want all the stuff that other couples have got,
You know names for kids, deposits on adjacent burial plots,
I know I've garbled and not made much sense,
And I've been told that sometimes I come off a little bit intense,
But we could get married, make love below a weeping willow,
And when you're 95 and terminal I'll smother you with a pillow,
And we'll be together in heaven with no space between,
And rule it together me as king and you as my queen,
But you've blocked me from Facebook, ran off, left me bitter,
And I guess the only saving grace is you've got an account on Twitter.

Early draft.
Need ideas.

Blind woman story explodes

2011-08-13T04:42:00.000-07:00

So a story from my little provincial newspaper has blown up and gone national, being aired on tv stations, radio broadcasts and making the biggest selling daily paper in the country. This is how.

On Tuesday I received a phone call from Susan Henshall.
She is a lady from Dovercourt with only ten per cent vision in her left eye and uses guide dogs to get around.
She informed me that she had just been evicted from the White Coffee House in Kingsway, Dovercourt, for trying to take her latest guide dog, two-year-old Usef, in there.
She was offered a seat outside and refused, opting instead to report the cafe to the Guide Dog association and to call me.
Refusing to speak over the phone, Miss Henshall invited me to her bungalow where we discussed the details, I met Usef and invited a photographer along to grab a snap of them together.
I put the story together, spoke to the cafe regarding their side of events, stood it up with legislation from the Guide Dogs association and told my newsdesk I thought it was a strong contender for our front page that week.
It ran as a page three lead for the Daily Gazette and, sure enough, was promoted to a front page splash for the weekly Harwich Standard.

The following day I was in court covering District Judge day, when I got a call from my news editor, James Wills, informing me the Daily Mail wanted to buy the story.
And so it began to run nationally.

The next day I received a call from the Jeremy Vine show asking if they could use the story and asking me to contribute on air.
I handed the honour to my editor, Brendan Hanrahan, who took the interview in our office while we listened to the live broadcast through headphones.

(37 mins in).

It has now been on Daybreak, Anglia TV and Miss Henshall contacted me the day after to thank me for the piece and offered me an exclusive follow up for breaking the story.
I fielded a call from the son of the cafe owners who was unhappy at the level of the coverage but we came to an agreement that the article was only representing the truth of the matter and represented his parents comments to me well.

As well as being hugely self congratulatory, this post is more about the way a good story can be universal.
I've been reading, with amusement, the vitriolic comments under the Daily Mail story. People from all across the country commenting on my little story with such passion.
Miss Henshall herself has told me it will help raise awareness to cafe owners and guide dog users so they can discuss this grey area of the law more openly.

Incidentally, the photographs, which made the story, were taken by our Newsquest 'snapper' Seana Hughes. In many ways the photograph enhances the story.
(And it was her idea for a GV of the coffee shop).

"Dance" A short stoy by James Cox

2011-08-05T07:57:00.000-07:00

DANCE

It plays the song, the radio does,
And as it plays she sings along.
She learnt the words when she was young,

The song came on the radio and slammed the breaks on her day.
Her Pavlovian response was to squeeze shut her eyes and smile.
Without consent her body began to sway and her arms extended around the space where he no longer was.
If he were to fall out the sky at that moment, Jim would have slotted perfectly into the gap between her cheek and flattened palms just as he had done all those years ago.
The snare played a sassy shower. A trumpet blew a glassy melody.
She was twenty years old and at the Corn exchange home guard dance.
Jim was a taut 23 year old cutting a fine figure in his de-mob suit, with his thick tanned wrists and perfect nose.
He lead her to the shiny wooden floor with little more than a smile and they stayed there until the MC raised the lights.
When she opened her eyes she was 78, and wearing every year.
She wiped away the swell of a tear.
“You old fool,” she said aloud.
“This is a dedication,” read the announcer, “from Jim to Matilda. He says thanks for the memories and being you, even when I was barely me.”
The music played on and a nasal crooner with a geometric voice began to sing.
For a moment the tune was drowned out by applause as Jim span her into his arms and kissed her.
The claps were from the swathes of well wishers at their wedding, sealing their whirlwind affair after just months of courtship.
The man they hired to sing with the band that day wasn’t quite as good as the guy on the record – she had never cared for singers’ names – but the instruments played just about as close as the recording.
When they slow danced chest to breast, she could hear Jim whispering each word to her.
Each face that swirled into view over his shoulder, the beaming bridesmaid, her teary mother, vanished into insignificance at that moment and she wished she could trade the elation for privacy.
But still he whispered and still they danced, under the parasol of that song.
Matilda caught herself wearing a grin and shook it away.
“Old fool,” she repeated and filled the kettle.
She turned to kill the wireless but caught sight of the cracked, matt photograph on the shelf. The one of her and Jim suspending their boy between them as he shrieked with laughter.
Harry fell asleep much faster when Jim sang to him.
She would listen through the door and would hum along with the melody.
Without that sassy shower of snare and slippery trumpet melody the words were raw and aching.
When Jim’s volume tapered off she knew Harry had fallen asleep and knew it was time to creep off into the front room.
“It’s funny,” she thought looking at that photograph “how something as simple as a song can crop up so often.”
The photo was bleached from years of being on display and the colour had faded, apart from the flash of Harry’s red wellingtons and Jim’s navy suit.
He loved that suit.
He even looked dapper in that stubborn, double breasted suit when they buried him in it.
He laid perfectly still looking calm and grey.
The song played over a poorly amplified sound system and the snare was lost to the sniffles from the chapel.
Harry didn’t blink, not once during the service.
She stood beside Jim and said goodbye, kissed her finger tips lowered them onto his perfect nose.
She mouthed the last few lines of the song and prayed he would do the same. But of course he refused. It was the first time she had cried that he had not come to her.
The song finished and she found herself sitting at the table in her yellow kitchen staring at her thin hands.
She wondered how many times she would hear that song between now and her own death.
“Wasn’t that lovely,” said the announcer “Something nice and breezy to start the show, now for something all together more serious…”

Spiders Nest

2011-04-10T06:40:00.001-07:00

Photographs of a spiders nest in my parents greenhouse. They ran when you blew on them, otherwise they just looked like seeds.

"When You Are Old" by W.B. Yeats

2011-03-17T16:10:00.000-07:00

Found this poem while perusing Waterstones.
Rushed home to find it. Heartbreakingly beautiful.

WHEN YOU ARE OLD

by: William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)

WHEN you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

Another Dead Hero Podcast parts 1, 2 and 3

2010-10-30T14:23:00.001-07:00

These are linked to the direct files so should be working better than the last lot.
ADH's Radio show whittled down to a 45 min podcast with all their songs included.
ENJOY

PART 1

PART 2

PART 3

Buried...and why I wish cinema audiences were

2010-10-05T14:27:00.000-07:00

By James Cox

"Buried"

As far as Jungian, collective fears are concerned, being buried alive is a banker.
It is a perfect mix of innately terrifying elements: darkness, claustrophobia, restriction, isolation.
The act of burial, of course, is so deeply rooted in our social consciousness as being the final stanza of a funeral that the fear is positively theological. You are being buried, descending to hell, beneath a ton of earth where no one will hear your last breath.
In "Buried" director Rodrigo Cortés, shows us, with a vivid lack of mercy, just how horrific an experience that lonely hell would be.
Paul Conroy (Ryan Reynolds) wakes up in a wooden coffin beneath Iraqi soil.
He is a contract truck driver whose convoy was ambushed by put-upon insurgents hell bent on teaching the West a lesson.
The main selling point of this film is the narrative decision not to leave the coffin, at all.
It is the ultimate single-location, situation concept.
The specially designed "set" allows Cortés the ability to make frenetic use of his limited space.
I would applaud the tight composition that heightens the claustrophobia and tethers you to Conroy as his temperament waivers between calm acceptance to frenzied panic, but it's difficult to see how you could fail to apply a cramped feel when you've opted to shoot an entire 94 minute movie in a box.
And it's in this decision that it really earns it's stripes for commitment to a premise.
It pips "Phone booth", which despite it's limitations still allows itself a ten minute, free roaming prologue around New York before settling into the call box.
It even outdoes Hitchcock's masterful "Rope", which never leaves the studio apartment in which it's based, but which feels positively brimming with activity considering its half dozen party guests and city-view balcony.
For an hour an a half Reynolds lays in a box, and we lay with him.
The miracle here is that it never gets dull.
As the air supply gets low and the gentle trickle of top soil begins to fill the coffin, I found myself captivated by the stark helplessness of the situation.
And just as in Reynold's core dilemma, time becomes irrelevant when you're buried underground.
Much has been made of his performance and he deserves the plaudits.
Fast carving himself a respectable body of work, Ryan Reynolds is a sympathetic and charming every man, comfortable in his role as the narrative fulcrum.
He even manages a little of the Van Wilder cheekiness to break the unbearable tension with a few, close to comedic phone retorts.
Unfortunately the film isn't a complete success.
Strangely, it is only when the script tries to inject narrative urgency, peripheral to the immediate threat of suffocation, that it falls flat.
Paul has a mobile phone, and it is through this that the details of his imprisonment are revealed.
The phone brings a lot of bonus points to the production with the ever decreasing battery life and fading signal, it is a tool of annoyance that ratchets up the tension at crucial moments.
But it also relegates the supporting cast to voice acts, and here it fails miserably.
Quickly we are introduced to a game of cultural stereotypes as we purvey a myriad of global accents each a little over eager to paint us a picture.
It is detrimental to the political message, that appears to have been shoe horned into the background, that the Middle Eastern antagonist sounds like an Aladdin henchman.
There is a bizarrely misjudged critique on American bureaucracy that has Ned Ryerson from Groundhog Day (incidentally a strong voice actor with a poor role) delivering an indictement of red-tape America which verges on embarrassing.
That the film manages to break free of it's sodden confines and deliver any succinct plot is a triumph.
But ultimately the film is at its best when forcing us to face the terror of the central premise.
Everything else is window dressing for an impressive Hitchcockian set piece.
Reynolds may just have earned his "serious" credentials and if Cortés can be this captivating in a box, imagine what he can achieve above ground.

ADDITIONAL:
"Buried" relies on a very personal empathy to create the lonely, claustrophobic atmosphere that heightens this conceptual nightmare.
It is purposefully restricted to a 3 x 6 ft wooden box, and although director Cortés manages to milk every twist and turn out of that narrow crate, and deliver impressive light trickery, it is not a picture with mainstream appeal on it's mind.
It's not that this film is intellectually or culturally challenging. It's a suspense thriller and Panic Room sold well enough, right? But it will test the patience of "pop-corn" audiences who demand thrills, spills, and (almost forgivably) more than one character.
Having said this, "Buried" for all it's positives, was one of the most trying cinema experiences of my life. And I do not refer to the purpose built claustrophobia.
Instead a young audience who failed to connect to the subject matter, and thus failed to commit to a challenging premise, got restless and chatty.
They became uncomfortable with the unusual cinematic cues, because they haven't learnt how to react to five minutes of darkness at the movies before.
This is not a critique of them as people, it's a challenge to the entire cinema system, to change it's policy to protect movie experience for seasoned film fans who view going to the pictures as more than a recreational pass-time, but as (arguably sadly) a genuine interest. An interest in the way I suppose book fans enjoy reading groups, or art fans peruse a gallery.
That this experience must be shared by a populist cross section of the general public who are intolerant of challenging cinema and have formed the opinon that it is socially acceptable to fraternise mid-movie is not just a mild irritant to me, but the central thesis of my next blog post!
Let the ranting commence...

TV show cast negative light over criminal scheme

2010-09-03T05:31:00.000-07:00

A TV programme that criticised a community jobs scheme for convicts has been described as “fear-mongering” by a councillor using the initiative.
The ITV1 Tonight programme, screened on Thursday, said the Community Payback scheme was too easy on criminals.
It showed secretly filmed participants smoking cannabis, relaxing in the sunshine and complaining of little work.
Martyn Donn, Ramsey and Parkeston councillor and qualified Payback chaperone, is a major supporter of the initiative and was left angered by the negative programme.
“I had eight offenders over the Welfare Park on Wednesday, working like Trojans,” he said.
“Some of them don’t like it, but recognise that it’s a punishment. I never ask what they’ve done or why they were arrested, but a couple have actually told me that because of the scheme they will not offend again.
“I was annoyed at the program and the way they kept calling them criminals. Most of them have committed nothing more than motoring offences. People go on about jails being over crowded and they are giving back to the community.
“They have done some very important work in and around our area. Levelling the ground and clearing brambles.
“This tv programme was clearly just fear-mongering made to sell. It creates animosity towards the offender and puts people off using the scheme.
“It’s already worried about potential financial cut backs and this will not help its cause.”
Louise Casey, one of the architects of the scheme, turned objector, said: “Some of those people have committed serious offences, including violent offences, yet they're on a kind of a version of a holiday camp.
“I mean, it's a bit of a joke really. The punishment as it is at the moment isn't punishment.”

Writers note: The actual work I have seen conducted through this scheme has been incredibly beneficial to the community. Specifically in cases where small parish councils struggle to raise funds to satisfy public demands.
The Payback Scheme offers a cheap alternative to drawn out, expensive, district contracts and everyone involved has given the work glowing reviews.
Interestingly there have been no submitted reports of violence, or even dissidence, among the participants, with testimonials from the offenders themselves that the scheme was a personally rewarding experience.
On watching the ITV documentary on Thursday I felt compelled to write something as I thought it was lazy, biased and genuinely damaging journalism that threw a good scheme to the right-wing wolves.
If only I had a bigger platform than the Harwich and Manningtree Standard and a blog read by six people.

Braintree poppy fields - 12th July 2010

2010-07-12T14:58:00.000-07:00

W.B.YEATS "Her Anxiety"

2010-06-13T16:30:00.000-07:00

I have to confess I had never read anything by the great Irish poet William Butler Yeats until this week, but I'm glad I came across him.
He reminds me of Arthur Rimbaud - but much more pessimistic.
I'm quite ignorant when it comes to poetry (and I think most people are, although claim not to be - but that's a post for another, more vitriolic time).

Amongst his collection I found this 1929 poem.

Her Anxiety

Earth in beauty dressed
Awaits returning spring.
All true love must die,
Alter at the best
Into some lesser thing.
Prove that I lie.

Such body lovers have,
Such exacting breath,
That they touch or sigh.
Every touch they give,
Love is nearer death.
Prove that I lie.

William Butler Yeats

Daisy Roxwell & The Humdingers

2010-06-06T11:56:00.000-07:00

Saw a fantastic gig at the Boars Head in Braintree last night.
The band were called Daisy Roxwell & The Humdingers, a funky little three piece, playing original songs at their first ever show.

I know drummer Kat from her days playing with Paul Gronland (singer from my old band Pulse) in popular college band Oliver's Remains.
What I didn't know was she is an amazing vocalist as well as a drummer.

Look our for the name: Daisy Roxwell & The Humdingers.

"Inferno" artwork

2010-05-28T11:55:00.001-07:00

Inferno is an upcoming drama/biopic film that revolves around the late American porn star, Linda Lovelace. Lovelace gained fame for starring in the most successful porn film, Deep Throat, in 1972.
I'm not sure that the film will be any good as it's directed by Matthew Wilder, who is famous for THIS. Ahem.

But judgements aside, the artwork is fantastic.
I am looking forward to more posters being released by the end of the year.

Photography and poster design is by the amazing Tyler Shields, who is by far my favourite portraitist, and fast becoming my favourite contemporary photographer.

Confessions of a LOST geek

2010-05-23T08:19:00.000-07:00

The six year marathon series Lost comes to an end tonight with a two and a half hour finale.

Blogs and forums have gone berserk in pursuit of answers to the puzzling series and it’s expanse of unanswered questions and intricate mythology.

For the first time in my life I understand the fanboy allegiance to a show.
I started watching Lost six years ago via noisy internet streams and thought it was a well produced, excellently written episodic drama with great characters and Stephen King like appreciation for cliffhangers, suspense and riddles.

Before I was even aware, I was hooked.
The show transformed before my eyes, dragging me along with it, desperate for answers.
First it was a survival drama about a group of seemingly unconnected crash survivors establishing a group dynamic and unravelling a cosmic connection portrayed through their delicately introduced back-stories.
Jack was the handsome leader, Sawyer the roguish loner. Hurley was the chubby comedic relief and Kate the sexy enigma with a criminal past.
Then came polar bears, supply air drops, the Dharma initiative, underground bunkers, monsters made of mechanical sounding black smoke, ghosts, whispers on the breeze, those damn numbers, electro-magnetic fields, TIME TRAVEL, flashbacks, flash forwards, flash sideways, millennia old island dwellers who never age, a mysterious power source connecting all living things, healing properties, gang wars, giant green talking birds, psychic kids, the inability to commit suicide…

If you have never seen Lost, then I can’t even begin to explain how we have got to here from where we begun.
Eventually, the show that enthralled me and impressed me, began to piss me off.
Every answer offered threw up seven more questions, and now on the precipice of the ending, the mythology has expanded and ballooned into monster more terrifying than the black smoke itself.

Going into the last episode *SPOILER* we know that at the heart of the island is a mysterious light that has been guarded by Jacob and his twin brother (who we now know is the smoke monster).
What we don’t know is….everything else.
I delighted in series one and two (even beyond their frustrating refusal to tie up mysteries). I persevered with the terrible third season (ten episodes in and the main characters were still in a cage) and I played along with the whimsical introduction of time travelling and parallel universes beyond it.

With the arrival of the 6th and final season, I was sure every episode would be required to stitch together all of the loose ends.
First and foremost I have to say the sixth series has been brilliant. The writers and producers have created something special in terms of action, plot development and character – but I must admit, I am worried.
I’ve enjoyed Lost, but when I tune in tomorrow night, it will be for closure on six years of belief and trust, that the makers were going to deliver a satisfying conclusion.
But the penultimate episode (which veered away from the main character and their on island shenanigans) made no hint that a narrative full stop was anywhere near.
Two and a half hours stand between the ever expanding mythology and the relieved sighs of the fanboys who need answers.

What IS the island?

That’s the crux of it.
“Every question you ask will just lead to another question” said Jacobs adoptive mother before she delivered the island keepers and bludgeoned their confused natural mother to death.
Enough with the questions.
We want answers.

A finale report will appear here shortly after the finale.

(For the best internet resource on the web of mysteries surrounding the Lost universe, visit: www.lostpedia.com).

Aloclair model wanted for drawing winning raffle tickets - A tribute to Lee Blowers

2010-05-22T12:41:00.000-07:00

As we were browsing a mouth ulcer treatment website we found a picture of this model and thought it’d be funny to email them from Lee, asking about the model.

We wrote:

Name: Lee Blowers
Email: leeblower@vcg-kestrel.com
Subject: Model enquiry
Query: Dear sir/madam,

I have contacted you previously, but to no avail.
I am looking for details of the model agency you used for your website design, specifically the model used in the "contact us" section.
She perfectly fits our remit for models required for my own campaign and cannot find any photography / agency references on your site.

A prompt reply would be greatly appreciated.
Regards
Mr Lee Blowers

Thinking they wouldn’t respond we told Lee what we had done, and asked him to look out for a reply.
A month later (after we had forgotten about the prank) the company replied to Lee:

From: Rob Callum [mailto:RobCallum@dexcelpharma.co.uk]
Sent: Fri 5/21/2010 8:31 AM
To: Lee Blowers
Subject: RE: Model enquiry

I'm afraid that the agency who created the website for us is no longer trading, and we have no details of the agency used.

Kind Regards
Aloclair Marketing Team

Lee, off his own back, sent these replies, one after the other:

From: Lee Blowers
Sent: Fri 5/21/2010 8:38 AM
To: Rob Callum

Subject: RE: Model enquiry

thanks for nothing u waste of space, have a good day!

Then:

Hi Rob,

I apologize for my previous email i sent you, i'm under a lot of stress at the moment. U need to help me out, as the model that I inquired about is no longer available, I need a very similar looking one at the very least. I have arranged a fund raiser and was planning to use her as the face of the whole operation. I have told all my friends and family that she is coming and have also arranged a raffle where she will be pulling out the winning tickets. A lot of very important people from the local council and surrounding businesses will be there and the local media will be covering this event. I really need you to pull together with me on this Rob as the fund raiser is tomorrow and none of my female friends look nothing like the girl i'm looking for.

I look forward to hearing from you
Lee Blowers

Cue me dying with laughter.

The thought of a whole fete resting on the attendance of an unknown girl from a mouth ulcer treatment website and everyone being there waiting, and Lee stressing about delivering his promise.

“i'm under a lot of stress at the moment”.

I'm going to make Lee the next Karl Pilkington

Mr Lamb-orine Man

2010-04-25T08:51:00.000-07:00

To dispel the tedium of working ALL weekend I text into George Lamb's BBC 6Music show today and he liked my pun enough to not only read it out, but credit it with a pan pipe of approval.
Some free publicity for VCG-Kestrel...wish Id put my name on it now

Cemetry Junction : A review by James Cox

2010-04-23T16:12:00.000-07:00

Cemetery Junction is the first cinematic offering for the Gervais/Merchant team that has spawned television gold (that requires no name check), a record breaking podcast and introduced us to Karl Pilkington’s own brand of idiotic genius.

The title is taken from a real town near Gervais’s Reading origins and encapsulates perfectly the apathetic stagnation of a working class community, and in particular, three friends who, having graced the threshold of adulthood, must decide where their future lies.
It is to Gervais and Merchant’s credit (and the film’s) that the protagonists Freddie, Bruce and Snork aren’t played by the A-listers they could have so easily called upon with their star studded connections and comedic prestige.
Instead the young debutants take centre stage, and our lack of familiarity with them as actors allows us to bond with their genuine dynamic a lot sooner, and a lot closer.
If they are guilty of anything, it’s perhaps being too handsome for working class losers, but their allegiance to the chubby, down-trodden Snork, (a young Nick Frost look-a-like, sound-a-like and walk-a-like), is authentic and never gimmicky.
In their first major roles Christian Cooke, Tom Hughes and Jack Doolan relegate the established screen names to brilliant, but peripheral characters, off which the friends bounce like pinballs, their individual insecurities bundled and bound by the collective dilemma of their impending adulthood.
Freddie (Cooke) has made his mind up. He refuses to end up like his factory working father (Gervais) who despite a life of labour and honest hard work, is anchored in the 70’s working class; complete with nagging mother-in-law, casual retro-racism and a humdrum disregard for any ambitions beyond their hometown.
In his small screen time, Gervais manages, among his trademark quips, to summon a pang of recognition in the acceptance of his station.
Freddie blags a job with a wealthy Insurance Company, owned by a brilliantly ruthless Ralph Fiennes, and decides to make a go of success, much to the amusement of his friends.
Bruce (Hughes) and Snork (Doolan) are less emphatic in their desire to progress and relish in the japes, bar brawls and scrapes with the law that have defined their teen years.
These characters could so easily have been hackneyed devices, comedic foils and rebellious devils on the shoulder of Cooke’s sensible and focused Freddie. But the script veers cleverly away from the obvious flanking manoeuvre, adding naïve charm to Snork’s court jester, and a dark homelife subplot that fuels Bruce’s anger and failure to commit to his promise of leaving Cemetery Junction for better things.
Freddie’s attempts to succeed in the insurance sales business are hindered by his empathy with the customers (his salesman mentor bats away a naïve couples saving for a quick sale, much to his dismay) and his re-acquaintance with childhood friend, the beautiful and creative Julie (Felicity Jones), who just happens to be his bosses daughter and his mentor’s fiancé.
Julie harbours dreams of her own to become a travel photographer, and her desire to explore and experience life outside of Reading infects Freddie and ignites feelings for her that threaten his own plans, and position within his new job.
Amazingly, considering the creative team behind Cemetery Junction, this is far from the sharp comedy I was expecting, but instead, we get an intelligent, funny, thoughtful and genuinely moving portrayal of a town full of losers, and a man’s desire to escape the same fate.
The three main performances are pitch perfect, and precocious in their confidence. The carefully assembled supporting cast, Fiennes, Julia Davis, Steve Speirs and Emily Watson (fantastic as Julie’s mother, the “ghost” of a woman who once had a life, now a prophetic template for her daughters inevitable descent into house-ridden monotony), are used sparingly to excellent affect, both dramatically and comedically.
Speirs, recognisable as the over friendly Welshman from Extras, provides a revelatory performance anchoring the comedy to the drama and setting up one of the many tug-on-the-heartstring moments.
I’ve also got to mention Francis Magee as Bruce’s father, who in just minutes of screen time and barely any dialogue portraits a lifetime of hurt and a man at the mercy of bad luck.

We’ve always known Merchant and Gervias were writers at their core.
They proved with The Office that they can create quotable dialogue parallel with acute observations, and it’s their ability to recognise people, and write that recognition into their scripts, that is so successful in this film.
Every time a scene is played for laughs, a flash of dour observation is moments behind, and every time a musical set piece or chase montage ups the tempo, we are brought back to our kipper-tied reality by sparkles of pathos that brought audible sobs from the audience.
The main criticisms have been towards the lack of laughs (which are a lot more sparse than a conventional sitcom, which, of course, this never claimed to be) and its light hearted temperament, which I personally cannot understand.
The direction shows an unintrusive, mature quality that I didn’t expect, helped along by the authentic set design and establishment of the small town working class community.
The soundtrack plays it safe most of the way (although opting for the David Bowie original of “All the Young Dudes” rather than the popular Mott The Hoople version was a master stroke) but the allusion to pop culture is authentic in a way that seems autobiographical. In fact much of this film suggests Gervais may be developing a Polaroid of his own 70’s childhood; from the Ziggy posters to his mothers shocked retort to his ambition to travel “there are parts of Reading you haven’t seen yet”. This dialogue will be familiar to podcast fans as a genuine soundbite from his real life mother.

As a Gervais/Merchant fan, I was concerned about this movie, well aware that anything deemed less successful than their two monster sitcoms would receive barbed criticism. I am also aware that the subject matter and British made 1970’s context may alienate some of his more subversive fans who like Gervais for his shock humour and child like energy we are accustomed to from his stand up and radio shows.
Cemetery Junction is, however, a thoughtful and often funny melodrama in the mould of “Saturday Night And Sunday Morning”, that pulls on your emotions and crystallises the fading light on a town full of broken dreams, and the youthful exuberance of creative minds that need to escape.
A truly enjoyable film that could be as important for the British film industry as it could for the directorial duo’s big screen aspirations.

Footnote: Karl’s very minor cameo made me choke on my coke with laughter.

A letter from God to Man (from the track by Dan Le Sac vs Scroobius Pip)

2010-04-11T07:35:00.000-07:00

Hey There, how, how’s it going?
Long time no see.
I know I haven’t been around much lately
But…it didn’t seem like you wanted me to be
The last time I sent down a message you nailed it to the cross
So I figured I’d just leave you to it, let you be your own boss

But I’ve been keeping an eye on you, I have, and it’s amazing how you’ve grown.
With your technological advances and the problems you’ve overthrown,
And all the beautiful art you’ve created with such grace and such finesse,
But I admit there are a few things I’m afraid have impressed me less.

So I’m writing to apologise for all the horrors committed in my name,
Although that was never what I intended, I feel I should take my share of the blame.
All the good I tried to do was corrupted when all the religion got into full swing,
What I thought were quite clear messages were taken to unusual extremes.
My teachings taken out of context to meet the agendas of others,
Interpretations taken to many different ways and hidden meanings discovered

Religion became a tool, for the weak to control the strong
With all these new morals and ethics, survival of the fittest was gone
No longer could the biggest man simply take whatever he needed
‘cause damnation was the price if certain rules were not heeded

Some of the deeds committed in my name just made me wonder were I went wrong.
Back at the start when I created this, the foundation seemed so strong.
See all the elements were already here, long before I began, I just kind of put it all together
I didn’t really think out a long-term plan.

I made the sun an appropriate distance and laid the stars across the sky
So you could navigate the globe or simply watch the sun rise
I covered the earth with plants and fruits,
Some for sustenance and some for beauty
I made the sun shine and the clouds rain so their maintenance wasn’t your duty
I tried to give each creature its own attributes without making them enveloped
I gave you all your own space to grow and in your own way, space to develop

I didn’t know such development would cause rifts and jealousy
Cause you to war against each other and leave marks on this planet indelibly
You see, I wasn’t really the creator, I was just the curator of nature
I want to get something straight with homosexuals right now: I don’t hate ya
I was a simple being that happened to be the first to wield such powers
I just laid the ground, it was You that built the towers

It was You that invented bombs, and the fear that comes with them
And it was You that invented money, and the corrupt economic systems
You invented terms like just-war and terms like friendly fire
And it was You that didn’t know when to stop digging deeper, when to stop building higher
It was You that exhausted the resources I carefully laid out on this earth,
And it was You that even saw these problems coming but accredited them little worth
It was You that used my teachings for your own personal gain
And it was You that committed such tragedies, even though they were in my name

So I apologise for any mistakes I made, and when my words misconstrued
But this apology’s to mother nature, cause I created you.

Don't vote Conservative: This week: Homophobia

2010-03-30T11:45:00.000-07:00

By James Cox

The dawning of a general election campaign and we all have difficult decisions to make if we wish to exercise our legal right to vote for the party who will govern us for up to five years, until we have to do it all again.

For some, it will be a selection based on parental guidance (which is as illogical as the social perpetuation of localised religion, and a damn sight more important than which football team to follow), for a few it will be based on the physical interpretation of political promises and key issues, and for others it will be based on the candidates haircut and tie.

I’d like to appeal to those who, like me, are disenchanted by the political system; By the “us and them” mentality coursing through the veins of BOTH majority parties.
We live in an age where Labour fail to represent the working Left, undermining the entire principle of their existence. New Labour and the Tories seem remarkably interchangeable, in this age of media savvy Government and after 13 years of bloody war, privatisation and assaults on workers’ living standards, some say they will never vote Labour again. Already the Labour vote has slumped by four million between 1997 and 2005.
But there is an important difference between Labour and the Tories.
Basically it comes down to class and the reactionary nature of the “right” we have come to openly abhor in publications such as the Daily Mail : a nasty, fear mongering daily that wears it’s preservative, colonial, prejudices on its cuff linked sleeve.

Labour still retains a link with the organised working class through its union affiliations. And workers vote far more heavily for Labour than any other party.
Around 50 to 60 percent of workers vote Labour at general elections, three or four times more than any other party.

The Labour Party came into being to represent trade union leaders in parliament. The unions are still important to the party, although the union leaders are remarkably reluctant to use their power inside it in any meaningful way.
The Labour Party is based on the idea that workers can collectively change society while operating within the existing capitalist system.
It is a break from the idea that everything is best left to our “betters”. But it is still imprisoned by the severe limitations of a modern capitalist democracy that dictates votes are won and lost in televised debates and by vocal celebrity endorsement.

There are MANY reasons I will never vote for a Conservative Government and I think HOMOPHOBIA may be as good a reason as any.
In 1988 the Conservative Government instigated the controversial SECTION 28.
The amendment stated that a local authority "shall not intentionally promote homosexuality or publish material with the intention of promoting homosexuality" or "promote the teaching in any maintained school of the acceptability of homosexuality as a pretended family relationship”.
Conservative MP Jill Knight, who introduced Section 28, 1999 speech:
I was contacted by parents who strongly objected to their children at school being encouraged into homosexuality and being taught that a normal family with mummy and daddy was outdated. To add insult to their injury, they were infuriated that it was their money, paid over as council tax, which was being used for this.
They gave me some of the books with which little children as young as five and six were being taught. There was The Playbook for Kids about Sex in which brightly coloured pictures of little stick men showed all about homosexuality and how it was done. That book was for children as young as five. I should be surprised if anybody supports that.
(Note: She obviously never read Roger Red Hat).

In 1983 the Daily Mail, reported that a copy of a book entitled Jenny lives with Eric and Martin – portraying a little girl who lives with her father and his gay partner – was provided in a school library run by the Labour-controlled Inner London Education Authority.
This is the same newspaper that not only supports and compliments Conservative policies but also published a very recent editorial condemning late popstar Stephen Gately for his lifestyle choice: “the ooze of a very different and more dangerous lifestyle has seeped out for all to see” – Jan Moir 16/11/09, Daily Mail.

In 1999 Conservative leader William Hague controversially sacked frontbencher Shaun Woodward for refusing to support the party line that Section 28 should not be repealed.
2000 saw prominent gay Conservative Ivan Massow defect to the Labour Party in response to the Conservative Party's continued support of Section 28.[15]
In May, 2000 the Christian Institute unsuccessfully took Glasgow City Council to court for funding an AIDS support charity which the Institute alleged promoted homosexuality. It had done so under the Conservative endorsed legislation of Section 28.

CONSERVATIVE LEADER, POLITICAL CANDIDATE AND POTENTIAL LEADER OF OUR COUNTRY DAVID CAMERON repeatedly attacked the Labour government's plans to abolish Section 28, publicly criticising then-Prime Minister Tony Blair as being "anti-family" and accused him of wanting the "promotion of homosexuality in schools"; At that time an unelected Conservative party member.

In 2003, once Cameron had been elected as Conservative MP for Witney, he continued to support Section 28. As the Labour government were determined to remove Section 28 from law, Cameron voted in favour of a Conservative amendment that retained certain aspects of the clause, which gay rights campaigners described as "Section 28 by the back door".
This was unsuccessful, and Section 28 was repealed by the Labour government without concession (Cameron was absent for the vote on its eventual repeal). However, in June 2009, Cameron - now the leader of the Conservative party - and campaigning to be the next Prime Minister (hmmmm)- formally apologised for his party introducing the law, stating that it was a mistake and had been offensive to gay people. (Don’t worry about it).
He restated this belief in January 2010 and proposed to alter the policy of the Conservative Party to reflect his belief that equality should be taught in British schools. (He’s a modern guy!)

It is of course up to you to decide if “former” homophobia is a good enough reason not to vote for the elitist, anti-union, Christian-right Conservatives.
It certainly is ONE of the decisive factors for me.
Labour may not offer the solutions we are after, and I feel that impotent dichotomy more than others, but voting for them can stop five years of Conservative rule.

Next week: Conservative rascism.

Gay couple denied room at Bn'B : The Religious Right persecutes minorities based on its archaic interpretation of "the rules"

2010-03-22T14:47:00.000-07:00

A homosexual couple have contacted police after being refused a room because they are gay.

Michael Black, 62, and John Morgan, 56, were refused custom after explaining they intended to share the double room at the Swiss Bed and Breakfast, in Cookham, Berkshire.

Far from exercising the religious principles of inclusion, compassion and humanitarianism, Susanne Wilkinson explained: "It goes against my convictions to have two men sharing.
"We turned them away because we have a Christian faith and for us to allow people to engage in homosexual activity within our house would go against our faith."
Thames Valley Police have been notified but the matter is likely to be a civil dispute, rather than criminal.

In light of this prejudicial selection policy I have contacted the owners with the following letter:

Hi Susanne,

I am writing to say that in spite of your allegiance to your faith, the denial of hospitality to two homosexual gentlemen, as reported in the media is nothing short of a disgrace.
It shocks me to realise that such a blinkered and archaic view can still be held in a modern society where people have fought, diplomatically, theologically and scientifically to be accepted on the basis of their biological birth right. You should be thoroughly ashamed of yourself.
Perhaps a little of your Christian hospitality to paying guests wouldn't go amiss?
I assume you are also anti sodomy, or sex before marriage? Would you turn a straight couple who wished to engage in such acts away? Or were you merely exercising your iota of power over a heavily persecuted minority who are still considered to be alien in their own country because of narrow minded fear-mongering spread by the religious right, who's notion of preserving a sacred moral code that has never existed, is prioritised above compassion for our fellow man, regardless of race or sexuality.

My only hope is that your antiquated views and prejudices die out with your ignorant generation and that Christianity can find its way to operating within the wonderfully diverse and tolerant society we have become, in spite of the establishment being cut from the same cloth as yourself.

Shame on you.

Mr James Cox
jamesarpc@hotmail.com

26 years old, STRAIGHT, male.

The B n B's website can be found at: http://www.swissbedandbreakfast.co.uk/ if you wish to voice your opinions on the owners peculiar need to enforce medieval prejudices on their customers.
I would ask that you refrain from intimidating them or being overly defamatory and I am not responsible for your actions.

I doubt very much that I will receive a reply, but I shall post it here if I do.

- Original story sourced from http://uk.news.yahoo.com
(http://uk.news.yahoo.com/5/20100322/tuk-can-t-stay-if-you-re-gay-b-b-tells-c-45dbed5.html)

Pancake Day

2010-02-16T06:28:00.000-08:00

Pancake day straddles a horse of vague theology, and good old tradition, and basically allows us to quaff fried batter deserts guilt free.

In the health crazed, Government controlled nutrition vacuum we live in, it is unusual to have the blessing of state and church in pursuit of cholesterol.
The average pancake contains a surprisingly low 86 calories but also consists of 5% of your daily fat amount, and that's before you drizzle maple syrup, heaped spoonfuls of caster sugar and ice cream over them.
It is a calculated risk, baring in mind the thousands of variations in pancake preparation, but with the weight of good old British tradition, and the blessing of the big man, who are we to argue?
Below is a recipe for classic English pancakes.
Just remember to give them up for lent.

Ingredients

For the pancake mixture:
110g/4oz plain flour, sifted
pinch of salt
2 eggs
200ml/7fl oz milk mixed with 75ml/3fl oz water
50g/2oz butter
To serve:
caster sugar
lemon juice
lemon wedges
Method

Sift the flour and salt into a large mixing bowl with a sieve held high above the bowl so the flour gets a airing. Now make a well in the centre of the flour and break the eggs into it. Then begin whisking the eggs - any sort of whisk or even a fork will do - incorporating any bits of flour from around the edge of the bowl as you do so.

Next gradually add small quantities of the milk and water mixture, still whisking (don't worry about any lumps as they will eventually disappear as you whisk). When all the liquid has been added, use a rubber spatula to scrape any elusive bits of flour from around the edge into the centre, then whisk once more until the batter is smooth, with the consistency of thin cream. Now melt the 50g/2oz of butter in a pan. Spoon 2 tbsp of it into the batter and whisk it in, then pour the rest into a bowl and use it to lubricate the pan, using a wodge of kitchen paper to smear it round before you make each pancake.

Now get the pan really hot, then turn the heat down to medium and, to start with, do a test pancake to see if you're using the correct amount of batter. I find 2 tbsp is about right for an 18cm/7in pan. It's also helpful if you spoon the batter into a ladle so it can be poured into the hot pan in one go. As soon as the batter hits the hot pan, tip it around from side to side to get the base evenly coated with batter. It should take only half a minute or so to cook; you can lift the edge with a palette knife to see if it's tinged gold as it should be. Flip the pancake over with a pan slice or palette knife - the other side will need a few seconds only - then simply slide it out of the pan onto a plate.
Stack the pancakes as you make them between sheets of greaseproof paper on a plate fitted over simmering water, to keep them warm while you make the rest.

To serve, sprinkle each pancake with freshly squeezed lemon juice and caster sugar, fold in half, then in half again to form triangles, or else simply roll them up. Serve sprinkled with a little more sugar and lemon juice and extra sections of lemon.

Happy Shrove Tuesday

Testing my Olympus E500

2010-01-10T09:38:00.001-08:00

Guitar prodigy JUSSJEF, interviewed by James Cox

2009-12-26T16:29:00.000-08:00

Guitar prodigy JUSSJEF, interviewed by James Cox

YouTube celebrities are a modern phenomenon, allowing potential artists to reach an audience on their own terms, with just hard work and a camcorder.
Of course, this ease of self publication has left social networking sites saturated with wannabe superstars, each with the necessary self belief, but often lacking the all important “talent” factor.
Some, however, break through the mist of mediocrity with pure, glimmering star quality. They can be identified by their astronomic hit rate and five star endorsements.
A little while ago I stumbled across JussJef, a.k.a. the singing guitar.
Jef is a 23 year old guitarist from L.A. with a precocious talent and a rapidly growing fan base pushing him toward inevitable stardom.
He creates instrumental renditions of RnB, soul, and hip hop classics from artists as varied and prestigious as Etta James, Beyoncé and Kanye West.
His technical ability is shrouded in undeniable soul and feeling, and every video that emerges on his self styled site jussjeff.com is laden with the unpolished potential of a future star.
From his medley tributes to Michael Jackson, his immaculate rendition of Next’s “Too Close” and his musical tour through the works of Kanye West, his ability to showcase his capacity as a guitarist without dampening the heart of the music is both thrilling and impressive.
After months of admiring his work, I managed to catch up, for an exclusive interview, with the man who is making the guitar sing, to ask about his plans and dreams in light of his blossoming popularity.

How would you describe your "sound"? Who are your major influences?

It's hard to say what my sound is like. A lot of music (not just limited to guitarists) have had an influence on my playing. I did follow certain guitarists like Clapton, Hendrix, Santana, George Benson, Prince, Wes Montgomery, Slash, and Brian Setzer. Lately, I've been influenced by gospel/session guitarist like Charlie Bereal, Paul Jackson Jr, Jubu Smith, Tim Stewart, Jairus Mozee, and Eric Walls.
My guitar playing had a lot of influence by Motown, Michael Jackson, Hall and Oates, Chicago, Earth Wind and Fire and a lot of pop music. One thing I try to do with my guitar playing is be "musical" in the sense that I am playing music that pleases the ear and not necessarily is a display of technical ability. That's why I play in a finger style when I cover songs on guitar because I want to recreate that feeling people get when they hear the original song. So I play the vocals along with the backing rhythm and bass so when I play, you know exactly what I am playing without me having to sing out the words. I sing the song through my guitar.

How long have you been playing the guitar? When did it become more than a hobby for you?

Roughly on and off for about 12 years. I played in a jazz band a bit in middle school and early in high school, but I never learned how to read notes. When I got to college, I decided to play some talent shows, and I placed a few times then I just started winning all of them. I then decided to post a video in the summer of '08 just to see how many views I would get. It shot up quickly so I started doing more and more videos and that's how it all started.

So you could say you’ve found your calling?

Absolutely. Whether it be doing solo work or working and composing for other artists, as long as I am able to play guitar and make a good living doing it, I am on board.

What can you tell me about your instruments? (Are you subject to brand loyalty? What made you choose the instruments you have now?

Initially, I really didn't have a preference. As long as it had 6 strings and it stayed in tune, I was good to go. I didn't even know about Martin acoustic guitars until I was surprised on my 22nd birthday by family and friends who used a group gifting site called eDivvy.com to pitch in and get me a new acoustic. So far, Martin is probably my favourite acoustic and it does help that one of my idols (Clapton) uses it too. As far as Electric guitars go, I favour Fender Stratocasters. They are comfortable, versatile in sound, and they look sleek -- Hendrix, Clapton, SRV used them for a reason. However, my preference would probably change though if another guitar company decided to sponsor me.

Are you a fan of effects units, or more natural sounds? Do you work on the particular "sound" of a song as well as the physical melody? I.e., try different effects, instruments?

I wasn't too crazy with effects growing up. I used like two effects (Morley Wah peddle and a generic distortion peddle). Once I started getting serious about playing, I started researching different effects like flangers, chorus, and delay peddles. I found this one boss pedal that had both a delay and a loop function. Now I use it more for looping than anything. Aside from that, I try not to get too distracted with effects or sounds and concentrate on the actual playing. When I cover a song, I do try recreate almost the exact melody and beat throughout the song. To me, that's more important than using effects.

Where have you performed? What are your favourite and least favourite venues? Do you have any upcoming shows?

I did a few local talent shows near my college (California State University, Los Angeles -- CSULA) and I played at a few Gospel gigs. Aside from the Diddy "Making his Band" TV show, the biggest thing I have probably done was the Pan-African Graduation at my college in '08. I had to play "Lift Every Voice" on acoustic guitar in front of 2,000 people at the Pasadena Civic Center. I play a lot at local restaurants and bars in Southern California, like Cozy's in Sherman Oaks or Up n Smoke BBQ in Fontana.

How do you start formulating new tracks? Do you hear something you like then sit obsessively for a week until its right?

It depends. I could initially figure out the basic melody and chords of a song within minutes depending on how many changes there are in the song. The more time I give to listening and playing a song, the more I pick up and improve on it. For example, when I posted my cover of Lil Wayne's "Lollipop" back in '08, I had just learned that song two days prior to recording it. It sounded good despite some flaws but if I was to cover it today, I would kill that version.

Do you ever play any original music, or do any writing?

Yeah. I've composed some original stuff and did some original work in studio for some people. I don't know how to read notes and I never took music theory but I've covered so many songs and listened to so many different types of music that I got an idea on how to put certain chords together to construct a song.

What's your ultimate direction for your act? Are you seeking fame and fortune?

I would like to continue doing acoustic renditions and originals but I also am interested in playing with bands and session work. If fame and fortune comes? Cool. If not, that's ok too. As long as I am making a great living doing something I enjoy doing and I happen to be good at, that is success in my book.

What advice do you have for budding musicians?

Stay grounded and stay hungry. Always have the desire to learn and improve. You can't get any better at your craft if you already think you mastered it.

What are your interests outside of music?

I love boxing. That is a sport that evokes almost as much emotion as music. Anything can happen in boxing. If a basketball game has one team ahead of another team by 30 points with 5 seconds remaining, it's a wrap. In boxing, one fighter could have gotten his ass whooped from pillar to post the whole fight and be down on the scorecards and score the KO punch at the very last second of the final round to flip a likely defeat into a dramatic victory. No other sport gets me pumped up like boxing.

How can fans-to-be gain access to your music? Do you have a website with sample songs or a demo CD?

Aside from my website which has the mp3 of the Kanye West Medley, I haven't made any in studio recordings. I am in the process of making an album with covers and some originals. I am just working on the legal issues involved with covering and selling other artists songs.

Any plans to come to the UK or do any travelling?

Hopefully my guitar playing will allow me to travel the world. I would love to visit the UK.

Is there anyone you'd like to acknowledge for offering financial or emotional support?

My cousin, Camille Alcasid, and especially my 3 older sisters, Erika, Reena, and Jill. They all played a role in the development of who I am as a person.

Any last words?

I just want to thank everyone who has been supportive of the work I've done with my guitar.

Become a fan at Jussjef.com
Exclusive interview By James Cox

Where The Wild Things Are. A review by James Cox

2009-12-11T17:17:00.000-08:00

Where The wild Things Are. A review by James Cox.

It has taken five years for Being John Malkovich director, Spike Jonze, to pitch, film and package a feature adaptation of Maurice Sendak’s classic children’s book Where the Wild Things Are.
The book itself evokes murmurs of excitement from a non-specific generation of fans, enthused by the instantly iconic illustrations of mystical beasts encountered by precocious child run away, Max, on a fantastical island.
Film land has been awash with rumours of troubled sets and back room disharmony. Release dates have been chalked and erased, leaving a grubby trail of expectancy in their wake.
Now finally, it’s here, rendered in a beautiful marriage of art direction, CGI and quaint puppetry, painstakingly angled towards fleshing out Sendak’s diminuitive, yet poignant read.
The film starts in chaotic fashion, with young Max tearing down the stairs, in his iconic wolf costume.
Instantly the world of Sendak’s Wild Things, jagged illustration and pastel shades, clashes with an unmistakeable dose of Jonze guerilla realism.
Here is Max, a boy searching for his place in a life riddled with petty disappointments and pragmatic compromises. He is creative and lively, seeking the attention craved by a minor, and as his hard earned igloo fort is destroyed in a boisterous snowball fight with older kids, his big sister refusing to comfort him, and his mother selfish enough to couple her maternal affections with a need for an adult social life, we realise which world this films inhabits. It is one seen through the fractured rationale of a lonely child trying to understand grown-ups.
Shouldering the newly acquired knowledge that the sun is dying out – an unsubtle aside from a science teacher – Max lashes out at his mother, dons the wolf costume and disappears into the night.
Alone, and unrestrained, his imagination offers him a boat, which Max uses to navigate through turbulent waters to the rocky shores of a mystery island.
Max approaches the shaggy inhabitants as he does adults, back in the real world – at first with caution and fear, and then with wreckless abandon, running toward them in a breathless sprawl, legs buckling beneath him.
From here on in the island becomes a plotless mess, which is precisely the point. It skates on the dream logic and fleeting sense of an over excited child. Max and the Wild Things hatch grand plans without agenda, games are made up on the spot, but swelling in the background like an orchestral drone is the old adage: What starts off as fun and laughter, often ends in tears.
The Wild Things seem to embody Max’s disparate emotions: a breathless need for fun and chaos, a confused temper and a scared goat, lost in a world of clumsy giants.
It is within this motley dynamic that the James Gandolfini voiced, Carol, emerges as a dominant, and dangerous companion for Max’s quest for identity. Carol searches for harmony among his friends; vying for unity among the Wild Things, as Max vies for unity within himself.
On the island we see through Max’s eyes, and as a result understand as little about this world as Max does the real one.
The dialogue is surreal and disconnected, and brings to mind Samuel Beckett’s Theatre of The Absurd, as evoked in his classic stage play “Waiting For Godot”. Like Godot, characters are fluid and rather more unimportant than the message they carry. The relationships between the Wild Things are nothing more than decoration to a Jungian parable about the turbulent inner mind of a kid.
As the messy narrative unfolds, it is driven by tone, rather than plot, and the sinister air of the final third will both confuse and unsettle younger viewers as the action switches between Max’s wonderment and horror towards tempestuous nature of the Wild Things
Like a David Lynch directors cut of Sesame Street, Where the Wild Things Are never bows to expectation. To put it crudely, the wildest beast on that island is the storm in Max’s head.
And what a beautiful storm it is too.
Jonze and cinematographer Lance Acord create a naturalistic and patchwork children’s adventure, dispelling the thick key-lined, primary coloured Disneyfication of childhood nostalgia. It is naturally lit, with hazy sunsets and jagged shadows. The beasts themselves, forged by the Jim Henson’s Creature Shop, and layered with CGI expressions, are a spectacle themselves, as they run and jump and laugh and roar.
Max’s muddied wolf costume is evidence enough of the painstaking appreciation for the source material, right down to the wizened whiskers protruding from the hood.
Of the few human performances, Max Records (playing Max) is outstanding both in his precociousness and his naivety and Catherine Keener marries her dual role as doting matriarch and authoritarian with aplomb. This is aided by the economical handling of the ‘real world’ sequences in both the intro and the coda. So much is conveyed in such little time and never failing to be visually impressive.
James Gandolfini gives a subtle, but hearty vocal performance, layering Carol with a childish ethos and turning on the Soprano rage in terrifying flashes of the darker side of the Wild Things.
The visuals will be enough to impress any viewer, although younger audiences will sense the bleakness long before the end credits.
It is a successful exercise in fleshing out the confused psyche and creative mind of a child, and manages to convey the intrinsic fear and irrational train of consciousness driving their seemingly chaotic actions. With all this considered, I was also surprised to find a few genuine laughs and a comedic savvy about the film.
Also successful are the quiet and tender moments, as Max dictates a story to a dewy eyed Keener, as he lays under her desk admiring his mothers feet with the observant wonder only a child can muster.
Whether this piece of cinematic art will be a crowd pleaser, is a big question. It plays out to no particular audience, abandoning any intention of being child friendly and, often, asking too much of a sceptical adult audience who must be willing to leave any desire for coherent narrative, driven dialogue or any discernible plot, outside the movie theatre.
This is a visceral experience, but one laden with ideas and pathos.
If you want to work for it, there’s an unpolished gem of a film in store for you, every bit as beautiful as the early trailers hinted at, with enough ideas to write a three page review (see above).
But it is, perhaps, wise not to expect the frivolous , giddy, banana-boat ride you may have hoped for, but instead embrace a visually stunning think-piece, celebrating the dying embers of innocence in the creative mind of a child.

Art House cinemas - embracing the REAL film fanatic. AN interview with the manageress of Southampton's revered Harbour Lights cinema. By James Cox

2009-12-10T13:50:00.000-08:00

Harbour Lights is a quaint, art house cinema. A little known neighbour to the hugely successful and hugely mainstream cinema giants that are Odeon and UGC. Yet somehow it survives, attracting a regular as clockwork, cult clientèle and was awarded the ultimate accolade of Best Loved Independent Cinema by Empire readers in 2000.
Its appeal is instantly understandable on entry to the discreetly placed, but elaborately designed glass structure that house Harbour Lights’ two state-of-the-art screens (each with Dolby SR sound) which show best independent, foreign and low budget movies that are ignored by their profit hungry mainstream rivals.
There is a relaxed atmosphere inside. A bar, more at home in a back street jazz club, where audiences can procrastinate over the freshly witnessed slice of Indie cinema with a bourbon in one hand and a cigarette in the other. This is a movie lovers cinema.
I booked a date with Harbour lights manager Louise Scutts to discuss independent films, how they cope with the mainstream pressure and her disdain for Odeon.

The first thing that is blatantly obvious on meeting Louise, is how different her demeanour is to that of your average Odeon employee.
Instead of the robotic, scripted greeting and attempts at up-sizing your popcorn to the Mega Bucket option, we meet someone who’s bubbly, chaotic and as film crazy as the cinema expects its audience to be. She philosophises over the state of the British film industry and the corporate degradation of the movie market in between chain smoking menthol cigarettes and sipping un-sugared coffee. It is the end of her shift, but it would appear she is as happy staying late to talk to us about her true passion than she would be anywhere else.

What are you trying to achieve in relation to the big cinemas such as UGC and Odeon?
The general vibe of the building, to provide a completely different service from the one they supply . To attract a different clientèle through the different films we show.

What attributes do the movies have to have to be chosen?
We never have anything hugely mainstream - like, say, Spiderman or Hulk. We do touch on the upper end of mainstream. “Bridget Jones” for example has a huge book following and we showed “Lord of the Rings” for the same reason. Plus, we need those occasional big movies to provide a bit of income. The majority of our films are independent, foreign or cult.

Is there a specific audience associated with Harbour Lights?
Its actually more diverse than mainstream cinemas. We’re always accused of being elitist but they’re probably more elitist than we are, aiming their whole publicity campaign at eighteen to twenty-five year olds, where as our members stretch from extremely young up to extremely old. Yes, the majority tend to be over forty but we also have a huge student following…
(Indeed, Harbour Lights is greatly aided by the fact it resides in the vicinity of a college and two universities and even works in conjunction with Southampton Institute to screen young filmmakers work)…
It depends a lot on the film. Things like Ladies in Lavender are a hit with the old dear because its: (sporadic ’old dear’ impression) “such a lovely film, we love Judy Dench.” We also have a big foreign clientèle because of our output of Spanish and French movies.

You occasionally do nostalgic theme nights, what’s the idea behind these?
At the moment we’ve got an American Mavericks theme so we’ve got “Memento” for example. it’s a theme decided by a lecturer from a film course we work in close proximity to. But we also get a lot of the public attending because they’d like to see that film on a bug screen again, or maybe never got a chance the first time around.

Biggest successes?
Well, we had “Raiders of the Lost Ark” four years ago and we were completely sold out. Dads dragged their kids along saying “you’ve got to see this movie at the cinema” and its that kind of movie that people have fond memories of seeing and want to share that with their family or whatever.
You get really daft themes, three Halloweens ago there was a huge mainstream horror movie out that we couldn’t compete with so we thought “lets go really stupid” and we actually played “Carry On Screaming” and two-hundred people turned up to watch it! Mainstream cinemas rarely return to old prints. We’re planning a musical theme now - “Sound of Music” that kind of thing.

Have you ever done any film festivals?
We did one a few years ago called the Popcorn Apocalypse where we showed films like The Terminator and The Predator. Last January we did all three “Lord of the Rings” movies. Twelve hours of Peter Jackson mastery! We’re looking to do that again on the back of the “Return of the King” S.E. Possibly going to do another one next Spring.

What are your views on the state of British cinema?
It could be an awful lot better. There’s a lot of talented people not being given chances and it was maimed badly by FilmFour going down. It’s been a huge, huge blow. It’s a shame because Britain is still renowned for having the best technicians. How many U.S. films are made at Pinewood? The government grants are pitiful! The subject matter are tired, tried and tested. Judy Dench and Maggie Smith, how can they go wrong? Their either very gentile period dramas or gangster movies with nothing outside those two genres.

Do you think that British people support British film?
Only if the film is good, and not necessarily because it is British. Its not really a patriotism thing. We certainly don’t go out of our way to play British films just because they’re home grown. If it is a good film then of course we get them in. We didn’t show “Sex Lives of the Potato Men” mainly because it’s crap!

How does Harbour Lights support local filmmakers?
We’re very tied in with the Institute and students from the film studies course show their final, big piece here on the big screen so they can bring their parents and their grannies and say “look, that’s me on screen at a proper cinema”. We also work closely with Screen South: young filmmakers and were picked as a awards ceremony venue recently where they showed the winning films. We also run regular Saturday morning Young Filmmakers slots where if you have a film in a format we can show - which is pretty much anything - you can watch it here!

That’s a great confidence boost for a young director, how much does it cost?
It’s free! We screen the film for them but encourage them to bring loads of mates and buy loads of beer. It works really well and we’ve got some very professional work - highlighting the fact that there’s a lot of very talented guys and girls who could work well with better equipment and bigger budgets.

Do you think that Indie and mainstream movies are moving closer and the lines becoming blurred and harder to define what is what?
“Donnie Darko” was made three and a half years ago and only got aired at film festivals. The audience response was massive but they did not know how to market it. It was only from pure pressure it got picked up, now look at it!
The best films are the ones that split an audience down the middle. What totally springs to mind is “Lost in Translation” which was cleverly marketed as a quirky, Bill Murray film, but it’s not that formulaic.
A tiny British film, they never expected to do any business, was “Touching the Void”. We had eighty, ninety, one hundred people in seats for that every night! Then it beat “Love Actually” in the BAFTAs and we were slaughtered that weekend! Sold out every night. Then the multiplexes came in smelling profits. Too many people follow critics opinions. Film like every art form is very subjective. I tell my staff to not lie when they’re asked their opinion, even if they didn’t like it. Sky have a ridiculous policy where they won’t review a subtitled film. The stupidity of it was highlighted when “Crouching Tiger” came out and stole the box office and they didn’t breathe a goddamn word about it!

Do you think your cinema will survive against the competition?
Yes! We will because they thought video and DVD would be the death of cinema, but that was absolute pants! Cinema is going from strength to strength. When multiplexes opened they said it was the death of Independent cinema because you can get all the films in one building. Rhubarb! They don’t do that at all, they just put the same film on billions of screens. Case in point. One cinema has thirteen screens and when “Attack of the Clones” came out they played in eleven of the thirteen! That’s not choice, that’s money making! They don’t fulfilled the promise they mooted to. There will always be room for cinemas with the ball to do things differently. We have eighteen sites across England now. We’re more intimate and we give the customer a sense of ownership and belonging. We don not have that ‘shovel them in, shovel them out mentality unlike multiplexes. They only ever have turnaround in mind. We are a corporation that tries really hard not to be. There is a flash of individuality in each of our cinemas.

Do you ever feel like the last man at the Alamo, refusing to dumb down?
Yes! Ha-ha! We are the last Bastions of tasteful film! We will save you!

The passion has taken her over and I eventually have to force Ms Scutts to stop, ensuring her we have more than enough information.
The bottom line is, this is a cinema that loves cinema, and the staff, from barmen and ticket rippers to the manageress sat in front of me, are all fine examples of that.
It’s exactly this mentality and reluctance to conform that means cinemas such as Harbour Lights will be around for a long time, providing film lovers with a refreshing break from the neon world of the mainstream. And not a Mega-Bucket-Meal deal in sight.

Harbour Lights is situated at Ocean Village, Southampton.
For bookings and more information please phone 023 8033 5533

Dr David Kelly WAS murdered, according to countries leading doctors

2009-12-05T13:06:00.000-08:00

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1233330/Dr-David-Kelly-Six-doctors-demand-inquest-death-weapons-expert-prove-murdered.html?ITO=1490&referrer=yahoo

Ricky Gervais "Science" - A review

2009-12-02T12:12:00.000-08:00

Ricky Gervais' latest stand up owes little to it's title "Science", very little.
By his own admission, any link to the moniker is tenuous, and only the Frankenstein insignia and gloriously elaborate set design makes any more than a nod to it.
If you were to guess at a title, you would probably pip for "religion" or "controversy" as Gervais navigates through subject matter such as Noah's Ark, censorship and Britain's Got Talent, his observations barbed and gasp inspiring.
He sets the tone, emerging on a Segway, a pre-cursor to another main talking point, his comically inflated ego.
"There's a recession on. Apparently. Someone told me".
And, how his ego would have swelled as the packed audience at Sheffield's Irwin Mitchell Oval Hall lapped up his show with rapturous laughter and adoration.
Ever the showman, Gervais shoe horns in a Ken Dodd impression, a joke of such controversial tone I couldn't possibly repeat, and anecdotes that will delight his fans, and undoubtedly cause unrest among the more sensitive observer.
Well into the tour run, the material seems fresh and as funny to him as the moment he conceived it.
Now a fully fledged icon, it is difficult to judge the humour on it's own merits. As he appeared above me in my meticulous, Row A seats, I am instantly impressed by his presence and the show is over and wrapped before you can truly absorb the spectacle.
Side achingly funny are his sections regarding quotations: "I have nothing to declare but my genius" will resonate with anyone who has seen it, as will his trawl through a a Sunday School text book.
Most impressive, however, are the moments when Ricky threatens us with seriousness. His impassioned lecture on censorship and the unapologetic nature of comedy are inspired, and bang on the money. His usual atheist rants are becoming tightly scripted and impressively convincing. Of course, all of these heady sections are punctured by humour, and you're never far away from a belly laugh.
Of the shows few let downs, the structure is perhaps the most glaring. So charismatic and archetypal is Gervais, that an evening bathing in his anecdotes and trademark cackle are a joy, but I wonder how this sense of "event" will transfer to the small screen, with the inevitable DVD release.
Ricky, himself, reminded us that the show evolves throughout the tour:
"Some of this material will be exclusive to you. But as I'd have cut them out before the next show, they will be the shit bits".
I only hope he finds a neater direction than the enjoyably chaotic presentation he enthralled the Sheffield crowd with.
A quick mention must go to support act, Stewart Francis, who was a massive hit in his role as warm up act. His stream of one liners had us laughing and groaning in equal measure. I am particularly fond of his zinger: "I quit my job at the helium factory. Nobody speaks to me in that tone!"
Gervais' latest is a success, albeit one that will divide, possibly alienate the non-diehards, and will almost definitely draw complaints from some quarters.

Guitar tab

2009-11-26T14:59:00.000-08:00

All you guitarists out there, I spent hours working out "Do Angels Cry" by Lynden David Hall from scratch. It wasn't, and still isn't, to my knowledge, anywhere else on the internet...sacrilege.

Here's the link : go try and learn it, message me for any questions.
Also, do me a favour and even if you decide against learning it, go there and rate it. A meaningless, yet fitting reward for my finger picking skills.

http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/tabs/l/lynden_david_hall/do_angels_cry_tab.htm

Book Club: The Quiet American

2009-11-26T13:48:00.000-08:00

James Cox reviews “The Quiet American” By Graham Greene

Greene's work is a master-class in how to write morality and his 1955 novel “The Quiet American” is a perfect example of this.
His characters display a sense of ethical realism and ambivalent character traits that help to destroy the readers’ sense of good and evil and display both an intimate observation of human interaction and a macro-cosmic epic on a geopolitical scale.
The story takes place in Saigon in the early 1950’s towards the end of the first Indo-China dispute that would escalate into the Vietnam War until 1973.
Protagonist Thomas Fowler is a veteran, English journalist who reports events devoid of opinion or political persuasion. He is Green’s vision of Englishness: logical, calculated, and cynically realistic. Fowler inhabits the kind of purgatory in which Greene thrives. He is at the end of life, and just as he refuses to side with either faction in the war, he too has found a level of comfort in his job and his personal life.
His Vietnamese lover, Phuong, is a purveyor of balance and harmony. She is portrayed sympathetically by Greene as a free spirit who exists unencumbered by any symbolic weight outside of Fowler’s journalistic, narrative ego. She prepares his opium pipes and is an object of desire, but rather than be demoted to a two-dimensional plot device devoid of any personal, or intelligible thought, she emerges as a mystery, a foreign body immersed in a culture neither Fowler, nor Greene, wishes to divulge.

“Sometimes she seemed invisible like peace.”

The equilibrium is destroyed when Fowler becomes acquainted with the eponymous “Quiet American” Alden Pyle who is in the country on an Economic Aid mission, and whose boyish naivety and democratic righteousness represent Greene's own observations of Americans during his time serving in Saigon. Pyle is a fervent advocator of imperialist writer York Harding and his steadfast loyalty to Harding’s writing paints him as a fundamentalist whose idea of establishing Americas democratic structure in Vietnam appear higher on his agenda than establishing peace.
Pyle’s allegiance to Harding’s literature arouses suspicion in Fowler that he may be involved in a mysterious “Third Force” operation through which the U.S. are promoting rebel leader Minh Thé as a potential ruler of Vietnam by initiating devastating bombings which are then used as anti Communist propaganda.
It is this subplot of political deviancy that has earned Greene's novel the label: “prophetic”. By the time “The Quiet American” was published in 1955 Americas “Third Force” had actually installed a puppet dictator in Saigon in the form of brutal leader Ngo Dinh Diem. Indeed, Green had met an enthusiastic member of the Economic Aid mission whilst serving in Saigon who had sermonized the benefits of a Third Force democracy – a character template for Alden Pyle.
In a fantastic example of Greene’s ability to digress between the ‘big picture’ and a much more intimate study of the human condition, Pyle’s political dissidence soon becomes personal when he announces to Fowler that he is in love with Phuong.
This can be seen as Greene’s way of drawing parallels between Pyle’s conduct and America’s overall policies in Vietnam, but I also believe the honest and touching depiction of love, and its different interpretations, are a main narrative focus for Greene, who handles the subject matter sensitively and artistically.
On one hand we have Pyle who has a projected image of Phuong as the ‘Eastern beauty’, his love encapsulated in a romanticised memory of her dancing in a white gown. He sees her through the naïve eyes of a man who has spent very little time in her home nation. He has the money to marry her and satisfy her desire to see America, and this meets to great approval with her over controlling sister.
Fowler, however, loves Phuong as a man at the end of life. Despite living in a time of seemingly endless war, they have found each other and he is reluctant to let her go. His fear of loneliness and Pyle’s colonial intentions highlight “The Quiet American’s” Jungian subtext – that of personal desires and motivations that drive the plot.
Fowler displays a desire to protect Phuong from Pyle’s “idea” of her, realising that with him she will no longer be able to function as a free spirit, but as an American’s trophy.

“The hurt is in the act of possession: we are too small in mind and body to possess another person without pride, or to be possessed without humiliation.”

Fowler is unable to marry Phuong as he is still married, and in one heart stopping section, receives a letter in answer to his request for divorce, proving again, that Greene can create suspense on a very personal level, as well as the political and theological issues for which he is usually credited.
Greene converted to Catholicism in 1926 in order to marry, earning him the self-rejected title of “the Catholic novelist”.
By the time of “The Quiet American” the thick ethical boundaries imposed by his Catholic discipline had faded to a grey area of personal motivation, and his struggle with his faith spills onto the page. In Greene we have an adulterer, a man who played Russian roulette as a youth, yet who has earned a legacy as a Catholic thinker. Just as Fowler gravely miscasts Alden Pyle as a Quiet American, the irony of Greene himself screams out here in theological debate:

“If I believed in any God at all, I should still hate the idea of confession. Kneeling in one of your boxes. Exposing myself to another man. You must excuse me, Father, but to me it seems morbid – unmanly even.”

“The Quiet American” is a success on all levels, portraying a touching and astute observation of interpersonal turmoil and love (and the loss of) as well as being chillingly poignant prophecy of America’s imperialistic intentions in Vietnam which will leave potent images of the recent, chaotic events in Afghanistan and Iraq firmly in the readers’ awareness.

Best Man

2009-11-26T13:21:00.000-08:00

Being a best man is a bit like being called up for the army.
A great honour, but scary as hell.
I was chuffed to bits by being asked to join my good friend Samir, and his wife-to-be, Frances, at the alter, but almost instantly the fear of the dreaded speech set in. I had well in advance of a year to write the thing, but suddenly, it seemed like the most oppressive deadline I had ever encountered.

I must admit, I fell short in arranging his stag. Mercifully, Samir picked up the pieces himself, and I vowed to make the speech memorable, romantic, funny and poignant. 10 seconds after this claim, I realised I had set myself up for a catastrophe.

The night came and I was shaking like the proverbial leaf.
Then the most amazing thing happened. I delivered the speech. People laughed. Some even cried. I got rapturous applause and my usually unforgiving mates gave me plaudits enough to make a porn star blush.
I'm sure wedding audiences are kind, and sure also that my memory is providing a Hollywood sheen to a semi successful piece of public oration, but it is a moment I am extremely proud of, and one that seemed to genuinely add to the couples day.
Even if, a year later, I did forget their 1st anniversary...whoops!

Below is my speech in full (minus a few ad lib embellishments). Feel free to plagiarise:

Thank you that was overwhelming…
Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen, my name is James and I’m deeply honoured to stand here as the best man this afternoon.
Let me first say how beautiful the bridesmaids look today, only rightly outshone by our bride, Frances. And, I'm sure you'll agree with me fellas, today is a sad day for single men everywhere as another beauty leaves the available list. And ladies, I’m sure you’ll agree…that today's passing by without much of a ripple.
I’m very flattered to be best man but I’m finding this speech very difficult. It involves public speaking and saying nice things about Samir and I’m really not used to doing either, so please do bear with me.
And also because like all good friendships, the majority of our stories aren’t really suitable for public functions.

Up until now, there hasn’t been much I’ve envied Samir for. After all a beer belly and a camp run are not high on my wish list. But standing here today on this beautiful occasion, surrounded by family and friends and the way these two look at each other, it is hard not to be a little bit jealous. Also, I wanted to hold the cane! But no…
When Samir started talking about this girl called Frances who he had this amazing affinity with I thought “How will he muck it up this time?”
Thankfully he didn’t and has convinced Frances to marry him in what can only be described as a ‘shock victory’.
Previously our friendship was forged through our love of music, our passion for terrible action movies, but most importantly…our failure with women. Of course, our conversations on this subject have suffered since Samir met his lovely wife and I‘ve had to feign an interest in motorbikes to dispell the awkward silences. Frances has genuinely changed his life for the better, and managed to convert a hopeless bachelor into a hopeless husband. She has not only managed to cure his distrust of women but also instil an interest in curtains. There’s nothing more tragic than a grown man in Habitat!

I’ve been best friends with Samir since we met on a job induction weekend for Reebok. I sat in front of him on the coach for a three hour slog to Bolton whilst he played air guitar to the Stereophonics the entire trip. I thought “this guys an idiot.”
Over time he proved me right, many times. But we also realised we were as useless as each other when it came to the ladies and after many years he has become my wingman. The Apollo Creed to my Rocky, the Turk to my J.D. He’s always the first one there to celebrate our good times and to offer advice and pull me through the low times and if I’m totally honest, he is the real ‘best man’ here today.
That said, he IS all too willing to dress in women’s clothing. There was his stag where he looked liked a middle Eastern Norman Bates. But there was also a party we attended a few years back where, after a few drinks, he swapped clothes with a gay American drag queen called Michael. I’m not sure what gave Michael the wrong impression, but as Samir slipped out of his pleated mini skirt and handed him back his sequinned boob tube, Michael, convinced he was on to a winner turned to him and said “Do you like to play with boys?” Samir insists nothing happened but I still say it doesn’t take half an hour to put some jeans on.
With his patchwork heritage consisting of Arabic roots, his Scottish birthplace, and his Catholic upbringing, Samir has should have the culture, the education, the civility of three men. Instead he has the appetite of three men.
He is the only person I’ve ever met who views eat all you can buffets as a competitive sport. And if Frances wants to make it through this fraught, financial winter she might consider investing in locks for cupboards.
About 70% of Samir’s personality has been formed by Sylvester Stallone movies and
we once met the man himself. Baring in mind this is his all time hero, Samir did not handle himself with grace and poise. He opted instead to dress as Rocky and refer to Sylvester AS Rocky. I will never forget Sylvester staring back in a mixture of confusion and sheer disappointment.
But despite the macho exterior, he does have a softer side. Most of which we were exposed to over the stag weekend.
But he is, also the proud father of two…two house rabbits, of course named Rocky and Rambo.
27 and bunny whipped! What a shame.
It can’t be easy for Frances constantly clearing up after hairy beasts who soil their bedding and munch through everything….you can insert your own joke there.
I have noticed that the rabbits are fast taking on attributes of their master.
They get crabby around meal times, they smell bad and they’re rubbish on the guitar.
Samir has so far written a handful of songs, mostly about bodily fluids.
We can only pray he hasn't chosen "PMT" for his first dance.

They say that the best mans speech is the worst 5 minutes of the grooms day, but fortunately for you Samir it's almost over. Unfortunately, Frances, your worst five minutes will probably come later on.
On a more serious note I am so privileged to be up here along side my best friend as he marries someone who I love just as much. I think Samir and Frances are the type of friends who will always be there when you need them. And together they’re worth more than anything I could put in words.
I’d like to thank the brides family and Mr and Mrs Katcherian for making today possible.
Samir, I’d like to thank you for affording me this privilege, for trusting me with a speech and not sacking me when I lost us the go-karting.
It’s going to be difficult to share your affections with Frances but we’ll pull through.
Frances, good luck! Look after him for me, and maybe loan me him back so we can play squash every now and then. He’s a better man for you being around him and I’m happy you have both found the kind of real love that makes an event like this as beautiful and important as it should be.

So please, can everyone be upstanding and raise your glass to the newly-weds.
Samir and Frances.

BAND review: Smoke Fairies – Chichester duo ‘wing’ it in style.

2009-11-26T12:15:00.000-08:00

Smoke Fairies – Chichester duo ‘wing’ it in style.
James Cox

Half way into their signature tune “Catching leaves” you start to get a hint of deep-South bluegrass about the Smoke Fairies.
This is bizarre considering the smoky vocals, atmospheric harmonies and steam train guitar rhythms, that would lend them selves to anything written by Mark Twain, contrast uncomfortably with their creators, two porcelain faced nymphets from humble Chichester, West Sussex.

It could be the time out the Fairies took whilst at University, where they performed around New Orleans, eventually hopping the greyhound to New York, but the Fairies’ sound defies their origins and their age (both Katherine and Jessica are 22 years old).

Their style lingers somewhere, mysteriously between Nickel Creek and Beth Orton, from the skiffle enduced “I’m so lonely” to the melancholic “I’ll move on”, the sounds are so refreshing and new (yet so old). Close your eyes and listen to “Smoke filled room”, you could be riding a tug down the Mississippi.

But these girls are not a cliché. Mixing mysticism with brooding sentimentality for another place, you’ll be so captivated the pure ambition of the vocal arrangements and the hypnotic melodies that when you stumble from your bar stool onto a damp London high street you’ll question whether you’ve just stepped through the looking glass.

Highly original and hauntingly delicate, Smoke Fairies web site is at: www.smokefairies.com and future gigs include:

British Muslims battle for identity, with little help from the Media. A feature...

2009-11-26T12:07:00.001-08:00

Young British Muslims face an identity crisis. Somewhere between the Amir Kahn’s and the Abu Hamza’s lies the slim definition of moderate Islam. We investigate what it means to be a 20-something Muslim in modern Britain, and why many of them are stuck between Iraq and a hard place! By James Cox.

It’s difficult not to feel overwhelmed by the temperate hot-potato that is modern Islam, a faith attracting the kind of publicity that can define a generation.
Even our language has adapted to the climate: Terror, Guantanamo, Shari-ah, Jihad.
A tabloid goldmine of slogans keeping the middle-Brits awake at night, and with one eye on their neighbour.
From the controversial war in Iraq to the terrorist attacks and hate peddling preachers on our own doorstep, we all take a different look at Islam, and we have a new pin-up for ‘evil’.

But, from the ashes of the media hoopla, emerges a generation of people for whom the rules aren’t so clear. For British Muslims in their teens and early twenties, it’s difficult to know how to please everyone.
Here in the West: home of the disassociated youth, birthplace of the teenager, the dynamic of youth is very different from the moralistic ideals involved in a religious upbringing. For a teenager in Britain, the liberal expression of sexuality and the lure of alcohol seem to be as ingrained in our culture as the importance of abstinence in Islam.
Strangely, British boxing champ Amir Kahn, a twenty-something Muslim in the throes of a glittering career has had no problems winning over the public. Khan said he won his world title for Britain, the Pakistani community, and all Muslims. His public persona and his allegiance to his culture are inseparable, tethered together by his public allusions to it. Khan then was Britain's sole representative in boxing at the 2004 Athens Olympics, winning a silver medal at the age of 17 in the lightweight boxing category. He lost in the final to Mario Kindelan, the Cuban who, in 2005, he avenged the two losses by beating the 34 year old Kindelan in his last amateur fight.
Away from boxing he was involved in a TV programme for Channel 4, Amir Khan's Angry Young Men. The programme centred around troubled angry men and aimed to use the disciplines of boxing, coupled with faith and family values, to help re-focus their lives and steer them away from trouble in the future. He is a rare beacon of positivity in the muddied view of modern Islamic Britons, and even a spell of high profile driving offences, and defeat in the ring, have failed to dampen his popularity.
But even with his clean cut regime and success as a role model, Khan has received criticism from extreme Islamic quarters.
In 2008 Radical cleric Omar Bakri Mohammad was quoted in the Daily Mail saying: 'Amir Khan is not a good example for Muslims. He wears shorts with the Union Jack. That is a sin...He should not be wearing the flag because sovereignty is for God. His only allegiance should be to the Prophet Mohammed.'
But even this theological criticism was denounced by Inayat Bunglawala, the assistant secretary general to the Muslim Council of Britain, who pronounced Khan a proud role model.
Whilst Amir Kahn’s own self restraint may be aided (or even initiated) by the necessity for him to be in peak physical condition, does the average person in his demographic make choices on the back of their beliefs or upbringing?
Dee, a 24 year-old student born in Kuwait but raised in London is living proof of the identity crisis.
She is, all at once, a Muslim, a Briton, an Arab and a twenty-something – a colourful heritage made all the more troubling by the current climate.
“I feel incredibly pressured by these two opposing ideals,” says Dee, visibly troubled by her core dilemma. She is dressed in high street fashions, far from the robed extremists and scripture spouting images our media is saturated with.
“I have been raised in a Muslim family, but it is rooted in modern Britain. My parents have never threatened my education, or shielded me from other cultures. I was even educated at a Catholic school. Choices in life come from an individual. You learn things as you grow and interpret teachings in different ways. The choices should come from the individual not a misinterpreted scripture, or societies version of you. It’s a shame the way the media misrepresents modern Muslims. It makes my position even more difficult.”
Indeed, the cultural void imposed upon young Muslims seems married to the way in which we perceive them, and this seems to be the crux of the matter.
The majority of British Muslims come from Indian families, lending a specific weight to how we define what a “Muslim” is. This definition seems flawed when you consider the spectrum of cultures and degrees of belief within the faith.
There is considerable diversity, for example, between Sudanese and Kuwaiti practices.
The faith itself has become co-joined with a culture that exists only as a stereotype.
A faceless foreigner, an alien invader whose ways and customs do not appear to as unilaterally European as we would like.
Dee seems exasperated by this idea that we can define her as a Muslim.
As in any religion around the world some beliefs and practices are shared by all Muslims. Beyond these core elements however, the variations become immense.
“Some Muslims drink, some see pray, some don’t, some enter relationships with non-Muslims, some accept parts of the Qur’an and discard others. Just as some Christians accept homosexuality and the more extreme don’t. How can it not be viewed the same for Islam?
“It is essentially the same as saying you can’t be a Christian if you have had sex before marriage to suggest you can’t be a Muslim and drink.”
In fact it was Arab chemists who discovered alcohol in the middle ages (‘alcohol’ itself is an Arabic word). Islam DOES prohibit consumption, but the Qur’an does this gradually, even attributing, in some verses its beneficial effects. The majority of Muslim countries DO NOT outlaw the sale of alcohol and never have. Only in the more extreme countries such as Saudi Arabia, Afghanistan and Sudan do these restrictions apply.
“It’s a personal choice, that can only be made by someone who is well educated, and confident in their faith” Says Dee.
“It is not for us to judge anyone who decides to drink, or to abstain from drinking.
It’s more complicated than that. And the social pressures to enjoy yourself when you’re out seem linked to alcohol consumption. It’s confusing for anyone who’s been educated to not drink. You’re left feeling, Am I British? Am I Islamic, Am I Arabic...what am I? Perhaps I’m all of these things.”

Islam originated in 7th Century Arabia and after the prophet Muhammad’s death in 632AD, it split into two factions: Shi’ite – who believe the leadership should have passed to Ali Ibn Talib (Muhammad’s closest male relative) and the Sunni – who make up 90% of today’s Muslims and revere the caliphs chosen to succeed the him.
It is a common misconception that either group is more extreme than the other. After all, the fundamentalist leaders in Iran and Shi’ite but the Taliban in Afghanistan are Sunni.
By the 17th Century Islam had been and gone from Spain and Portugal, and was practised as far as India and Indonesia and as wide as Central Europe.
Today the rainbow of traditions and interpretations reflect the colourful past of the religion, a far cry from the image we have branded in our cultural consciousness.

I suggest you get your finger out !

2009-11-26T10:06:00.001-08:00

The beginning is as good a place to start at, than any.
It may not be the most original or ornate structure to kick off this blog, but it's traditional. It satisfies the ancient lineage of written narrative and bows to convention with all the courteous nature of a Victorian gent.
"Good day Sirs! Madam! Welcome...may I help you into your carriage? How frightfully delightful it is for you to join me in my humble abode"
I had envisaged a more elaborate, multi-layered, escher-esque introduction; maybe on my death bed, or in the womb, like Tristam Shandy. A relative poioumenon of dream logic and sideways glances at the mundane.
Maybe it'll elevate this blog above all others, I thought. Maybe it'll herald in a new genre bridging the murky waters of art and journalism?

I wanted to deliver 'fact' in the frivolous conventions usually reserved for fiction, like a town cryer who graduated from RADA. I wanted to be a poetry spouting Jeremy Vine, pirouetting through the days events with the grace of Wayne Sleep and the integrity of Martha Stewart.
Only, in practice, I have to be interesting, informative, relate to as wide an a audience as possible. And I can't imagine anyone wanting to decipher a pretentious stream of rhyming couplets in an attempt to retrieve the lottery results.
And so, I leave the fractured rationale, so akin to the world of art and surrealistic vision, to Kauffman, Tarantino and the French.
This I have decided will be a blog, straight as an arrow; as direct as a Roman road.

My mission statement, if I have one, is this: I intend to research, methodically and journalistically, events from my local area, and subsequent areas of interest.
There will be discussions, essays, reviews, news items, features - and all safely below a seven out of ten in the "fun" charts.

It won't be mirthless, but I WILL omit any deliberate belly laughs.

So, I will start here. At the beginning.

Hello,

My name is James.
I am a qualified NCTJ journalist with experience writing for print, on-line facilities and as a reprographic proof reader.

I have set my sights on a career in the local print industry, at a time when jobs are as unstable as spinning plates. Vacancies seem as baron and sparse as frog spawn in the dead sea, and speculative letters are met with oppressive silence and casual disregard.

Finally today I got a response. From a local newspaper, for whom I have worked previously, during a brief tenure as a work experience kid. I enjoyed this period, and impressed enough to get an interview. However, my lack of driving licence was a stumbling block and I was back to the drawing board.

Now, as I sat in that familiar editors office, the walls strewn with front page exclusives and high profile scoops, the only things different were the licence in my wallet and the editor.
A professional, stern looking fellow who looked my CV up and down and then immediately dispensed with the niceties.

"I'm not going to beat around the bush" he said "you need to Pull Your Finger Out!" TM.

So here I am. Pulling my finger out.
And so here are you. At the beginning.

My finger may be muddied... but it is out. And I'm determined for it to stay out.