Something For The Weekend Sir? Part 2

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Aug 232013
 

Something for the Weekend Sir? Duncan Harley comments on the newspapers you might like to read if you had the time, the money and the inclination. This week he looks at the Sunday Post, the paper many Scots buy but choose to send to the relatives abroad rather than read.

Sunday Post: Image credit: Duncan HarleyI have a confession to make. I had not bought this paper, ever, until today.
My parents, God rest their souls, ordered it from the local newsagent in Hamilton, and as a child I read with relish the adventures of The Broons and that spiky-haired pre-punk manny, “Oor Wullie”. A double entendre indeed, but an awfa’ good one!

In the centre pages “The Doc” advised those bemused haemorrhoids sufferers amongst us how to anoint their nether regions with helpful ointments, while on other pages, “The Vet” suggested how to revive a dead budgie.

I purchased my first copy today from an “Eight Till Late” corner shop in Keith’s Reidhaven Square. It’s a wonderful local shop full of handy things that you might run out of, such as biros, lard and morning rolls. Open from 6am till quite late, it defies its name by some two hours and sells, amongst other Scottish icons, The Sunday Post.

My heart sank when the pound in my pocket was not enough to purchase the paper. The assistant quietly whispered that it went up to £1.30 a few years ago. Her comment somehow reminded me of my dad’s faux pas in 1962 when he asked the conductress on the Number 53 from Hamilton to Bellshill for a tuppeny return ticket, little realising that fares had risen tenfold since his last bus journey all those years previously.

Nothing, however, could prepare me for the new format Sunday Post.

The paper leads on a story about some drug smugglers arrested in Peru’s Lima airport. Now, I have been there a couple of times and it is not a good place to be, if smuggling drugs is your forte. Scanners abound in the departure area and folk with very big guns are all around. Even the traffic cops sport AK47s, plus some very serious attitude.

It seems though that the dad of one of the arrested pair’s flatmate is a murderer, according to the Post’s headline. “Melissa’s flatmate is daughter of Gangster” screams the front page. I for one won’t be hiring the paper as a defence lawyer, ever.

A piece entitled “Banged up abroad” leads on page 5. It seems that around a thousand UK citizens are imprisoned in foreign jails. The Post suggests that drug smugglers might be “coerced” into breaking the law in foreign lands. The paper may be right.

I failed to find Oor Wullie amongst the detritus

Never one to publish naked women in order to boost sales, The Post delivers a Page Three warning about a sharp rise in “attacks by lethal snakes”.

It seems that NHS Direct advise that all snakes can strike, and that all victims should keep still and seek medical help. I guess that’s my pet adder for the chop, then.

“Ambulance Staff in Sick Rate Shock” and “Klinsmann celebration ruined my life” take up pages 8 and 9. Then some centre page articles about “Corrie’s Cast”, and a man holding a Parrot are featured, complete with photos.

I failed to find Oor Wullie amongst the detritus which is “Newspaper of the Year”; and the Broons were thankfully similarly hard to find.

Page 54 of this week’s edition headlines on “The shows rubbish and it could be in a shed”. I have no idea what this may mean, and have no intention of reading the article. Perhaps it is a review of the paper, via insiders who know the full truth but need to express it in metaphorical terms.

A hard hitting read indeed. On a scale of nought to ten The Sunday Post rates a three. It’s a poor advert for Scotland I think, and a major reason why folk all around the globe consider us Scots to be primitive beings that live in caves and eat haggis twice each week with extra helpings on a Sunday.

Next week on “Something for the Weekend Sir?” I will be taking a look at the Express on Sunday or whatever it’s called right now.

“Something for the Weekend Sir” is of course what local barbers used to ask customers in the days before discrete prophylactic services became available via the internet.

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It Was The Best Of Times

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Aug 152013
 

Something for the weekend, sir? Duncan Harley comments on the newspapers you might like to read if you had the time, the money and the inclination. This week he looks at The Times Saturday.

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At a cool £1.50 a pop, The Times Saturday Scotland Edition is quite a heavyweight. My bathroom scales are a bit creaky but I reckon this week’s 70960th edition weighs in at just over 0.62kg, including inserts. That’s a fair weight indeed. If US figures are to be believed, then around 500,000 trees are required just to make the paper to print the Sunday papers in the USA.

The UK weekend papers probably consume proportionally as much timber. However, digital may well be the way to go with offerings from DC Thompson, The Sun and Aberdeen Voice pioneering a tree-free eco-press.

On the moon of course, this week’s Times Saturday would weigh a mere 0.1kg due to reduced gravity, but when I last checked there were no trees on this side of the moon. This might make printing somewhat difficult.

This week’s newspaper leads on two stories. The first is an extended piece about Robert Mugabe’s secret deal to sell uranium to Iran. It seems this ‘secret’ deal may lead to ‘retaliatory action by the international community’, according to correspondent Michael Evans. More sanctions against the ordinary folk of Zimbabwe are on the horizon it seems.

Alongside this front page leader, runs a story about some cute pandas. Apparently Tian Tian, who is one of only a thousand pandas left in the world, may be pregnant.

Edinburgh Zoo spent £250,000 constructing a state-of-the-art panda enclosure and currently pays China fees of £650,000 per year, a fact not many people will know since The Times has not chosen to incorporate this information in the cute panda article.

Times cartoonist Morten Morland has drawn on the affair with a parody on page 23, two adult pandas are pictured lying slumped after a meal of bamboo shoots with a speech bubble reading, ‘Alex Salmond says the birth will be announced on an easel outside the Scottish Parliament’. Not very original perhaps, but certainly very revealing of the editorial stance of the newspaper.

On page 27, Pickles features again

All is not doom and gloom, however. The Secretary of State for Communities and Local Government makes the news in two articles.

On page 13, Eric Pickles is slated for suggesting that UK birth certificates will soon be replaced by an EEC compulsory registration document. It seems this may be complete rubbish, and Karl Turner, Labour MP for Hull East is quoted, ‘This looks very embarrassing for Eric Pickles. He’s been caught red-handed, scaremongering in the desperate search for a headline’.

On page 27, Pickles features again. In a somewhat scathing piece, the paper’s Chief Political Correspondent Michael Savage lives up to his name quoting a peer’s take on the so-called Go Home adverts currently being funded by the Home Office. These have led to more than 60 complaints to the Advertising Standards Authority, and are ‘nasty’ according to Lord Ouseley.

The paper’s France correspondent Adam Sage reports from Paris on Pyrenees farmers threatening to shoot the local population of brown bears after a spate of attacks on sheep. It seems there are around 22 of the rare creatures surviving in the wild. President Holland is seemingly under pressure to ‘bring in another bearbut‘, whatever that may mean.

Not one to disappoint those of a masturbatory disposition, The Times does of course have a Page 3 girl. In this weekend’s edition she is on page 41 hidden in the somewhat discreet World section of the paper. With a headline The Carnival is over, the lovely Luma de Oliveira bares her body for all to view!

the Edinburgh Festival has a new Eric and Ernie act

The Scotland Edition sports section covers cricket. With some quite breathtaking images and comment on cricket in England, the Sport pages headline with England slain by Lyon King. Hollywood perhaps or just the Aussies?

In other parts of the paper we read that Richard Wilson is gay and will only say I don’t believe it for charity, the Edinburgh Festival has a new Eric and Ernie act, and Roger Bushell was working for British Military Intelligence in Prague during 1942.

If you’ve ever seen The Great Escape you will, of course, know that Roger, AKA Big X, was shot dead by the Gestapo following a mass break out from Stalag Luft III during the Second World War. The Times, perhaps in a re-run of the Hitler Diaries fiasco, will be serialising a new book by Simon Pearson about the role Roger Bushell might just have played in the assassination of the acting Reich Protector of Bohemia and Moravia almost 70 years ago.

Damian Whitworth has penned the helpful lines, ‘Pearson writes that it is not possible to say that Bushell was involved in the plot, but establishing that he was among Prague’s resistance fighters at the time places him tantalisingly close’.

The Times Saturday Scotland Edition is a good read. On a scale of one to ten stars I think a score of six might be appropriate. Of course I am, as always, open to suggestions.

Next week in Something for the Weekend Sir? I will be taking a look at one of Scotland’s oldest family newspapers, The Sunday Post, the paper we prefer to send to friends around the globe rather than read.

‘Something for the weekend sir?’ is, of course, what local barbers used to ask customers in the days before discrete prophylactic services became available via the internet.

Sources:

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Cahalen Morrison And Eli West: A Review

 Aberdeenshire, Information  2 Responses »
Apr 182013
 

cahalenandeli
With news that this duo were playing The Salmon Bothy, Portsoy, on 12th April, David Innes willingly raced to his native Banffshire to report for Voice.

On the back of scintillating live shows in the UK in late 2011, including a spellbinding night at Aberdeen’s Blue Lamp, and the unanimous industry approval of the duo’s latest album Our Lady Of the Tall Trees, this twosome have returned to our shores to play a considerable number of dates.

‘Shores’ is apt, for Portsoy’s cosy Salmon Bothy sits almost on the Moray Firth above the town’s rocky east beach and is a wonderfully-intimate, well-run and much-used community venue which we’ll feature in a future Voice  piece.

The setting also coincided with the realisation that the sea is a considerable influence on Cahalen’s writing, evidenced by the opening ‘Stone To Sand’ and continuing through ‘A Lady Does Not Often Falter’, ‘Jealous Seas’ and  ‘Fleeting Like The Days’.

The roots music which the pair deliver so splendidly is country and mountain-based, but their recordings and performances illustrate how traditional music, given the Cahalen and Eli treatment, can sound as old as the Appalachian Mountains, yet be as salty and fresh as the breeze that buffeted Portsoy.

“Cahalen and Eli’s music evokes a brotherhood of the road,” says the sleevenote of their 2010 album The Holy Coming of the Storm and their closeness as friends is as obvious as their instinctive and intuitive musical interplay and vocal harmonies.

Between songs, there is gentle teasing – about Cahalen’s small stature and his impressive moustache and about Eli’s attempts to learn the banjo and its negative effect on his IQ.  The setlist is in their heads, but they consult good-naturedly between songs, decide what feels right to play next and offer introductions laced with spontaneous wit and self-effacement.

When an audience member requests ‘Jealous Sea’, they shrug “OK, we love crowd participation in the setlist,” meet it head on and make a feature of Cahalen momentarily forgetting the words.  “It’s been a while”.

cahalen-morrison-and-eli-west
They also pay special mention to two visitors from Munich who made the trip specially to listen to the pair, last seen being herded post-gig towards The Shore Inn by Comrade Dunn in an effort to prove that between Bavaria and Banffshire there are no barriers when it comes to appreciation of wonderful music.

And beer, no doubt.

But it’s the performance that defines them and endears them to Banffshire hearts.

The songs are strong and the musicianship faultless and superbly honed.  The human voice, however, is the most spirit-affirming instrument available to us.  Both men are blessed with voices that are made to deliver emotion.

Cahalen’s is soulful, earthy and timeless – as rugged as the Portsoy cliffs yet, when needed, as gentle as the waves which kissed the rocky shore.

Eli’s softer tones and less intense delivery are a welcome foil.  Their enmeshment in harmony is the defining ancient sound of modern American roots music.

The surprise support for the tour is the duo The Kilcawley Family, whose short but entertaining warm-up and friendliness throughout the evening, as both performers and audience members, endeared them to the packed Bothy.

Fine singers both, Louiza’s autoharp and Damon’s guitar and harmonica provide ideal accompaniment to their own narratives and to a breathtaking arrangement of ‘Twelve Gates to the City’.  Now based in Morecambe and about to begin recording, they are worth keeping an eye on.

With thanks to Loudon Temple of Brookfield Knights for arranging Voice’s attendance.

Further information can be found at:

Cahalen and Eli                          – www.cahalenandeli.com
The Kilcawley Family                 – www.kilcawleyfamily.com
The Salmon Bothy, Portsoy      – www.salmonbothy.org.uk
Brookfield Knights                      – http://www.brookfield-knights.com

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Battle Of The Bands At Tunnels Reviewed

 Aberdeen City, Featured, Opinion  No Responses »
Feb 082013
 

My inaugural visit as a gig reviewer to The Tunnels ( Voice article here ) was what could be said as time spent in a shite venue reviewing reasonably good bands. This time was a ‘battle of the bands’ of sorts; so overall quality was much higher, in my opinion. Andrew Watson reviews.

thirstylocusts
Like the first review, I’ll be quoting the words of Dead Hermit Peepshow/Obscenities guitarist Johnny Morrice.  He’d probably want a cut of my pay for this article, were my involvement with Aberdeen Voice anything other than voluntary:
“We’re playing with a few other bands, including Street Pastor Disaster and Gutter Godz, both of whom I’ve seen before.” says Johnny.

“Street Pastor Disaster play sleazy noisy rock.  They’re sound loons, too!  Obscenities played with them at Transition skate park. GutterGodz are a RAWK band like Guns N’ Roses and friends.

“Other bands I’ve not seen include Thirsty Locust.  They have a Britpop sound – major key, walking pace, clean electric guitar, continuous lead melody. Blood Stained Notes are another rock band.  They’ve a neoclassical feel at points.

“We’re also playing with a band called Inversion Theory.  I don’t know what they’re like, but when I search it I end up with millions of hits about maths.  I’m assuming they’re a metal band, because maths is metal.”

Nothing more to say, really.  Peace.

…nah.  I’ll fill you in on the blanks, and more.  Fantastic gig.

First up were Thirsty Locusts ( pictured above ).  Easy to pigeonhole as your typical drab, inconsequential indie band upon initial inspection.  Then I heard the bass player during soundcheck.  Funky bastard.  Honestly, chin jutting out like a boss (I wish I wouldn’t use that word), slapping that shit like a motherfucker.

Though more restrained during the set, he honestly gave what were already finely crafted pieces of music a distinction that’d easily set them apart from their generic peers in the local scene.

Some songs, and I feel bad singling him out all the time, I felt he opted for trundling along on root notes when taking his opportunities to shine would’ve taken them to another level…to Level 42?

Another aspect I enjoyed were the ‘world music’ elements in their set.  Not really knowing what precisely constitutes ‘world music’, I’d simplify it by saying the almost African-esque drums  in their set rightfully demanded attention.  Brilliant.

Seriously, although the bass player himself would maybe draw comparisons to Mani of The Stone Roses , the introduction of those ‘world music’ drums is easily within the realms of Eighties-era Scottish New Wave heroes, Simple Minds. I say this because it would do the latter and Thirsty Locusts a great disservice to describe them as merely pop or indie groups.

The guitarist, tastefully dressed in waistcoat, was equally tasteful in his playing.  Posture somewhat reminiscent of Clapton in The Yardbirds days.  The singer, a spunky individual, was raw and powerful.  He sang with an attitude akin to Tom Clarke of The Enemy.

Dead Hermit Peepshow
Dead Hermit Peepshow were next.  They were an engaging opening act, playing riffs a night crawler would probably use as a backdrop to a totally dastardly, though slightly comical, jewel heist – shifty eyes, and all.

Even just the novelty of hearing headbanging guitar work played out on a semi-acoustic was enough keep punters interested.

The crowd asked Johnny he were indeed a member of The Smiths, rather than an unorthodox guitar hero and puritan punk rocker…

Ironically, they’re best described as melding the lyrical mores of ‘goth’ bands like The Cure, spider-eating-me-for-dinner and all that, and well…the blues!

Certainly one number that stuck out, towards the end of the set, had the rhythm of the blues infused with the subversive, youth corrupting values of films like the The Rocky Horror Show.

Burlesque dancer Magenta D’Lust, joining Johnny on vocals, aptly helped conclude the set with ‘Time Warp’.  A sight to behold, and as curious as their adaption of one of nasal rockers Placebo famous works.

Next up were Inversion Theory.  Forgive this writer if he’s got slightly more insight into this band than the others, for he used to be the bassist.  I tend to review bands I know, or have been in, to gain free entry.  I will try my best to branch out in the coming months, though.

Debuting a new bassist, obviously, they rocked  (I wish I wouldn’t use that word) Zakk Wylde style.  You know, when he was still relevant and played for Ozzy Osbourne?

Their guitarist, sharing leads with Chris Brew, Ewan Hill, can solo his arse off and plays with plenty of feel.  It’s in the blues, man.  It would be no lie to say there aren’t many guitarists I’ve played with that excite me as much as this guy.

Don’t disappear into a myriad of booze, heroin, fast girls and fast cars, big man!  I won’t tell anyone you ride the bus home from work.  Their female singer’s got a bit of gravel in her, too, so quite an interesting band all-round.

bloodstainednotes
Blood Stained Notes came on afterwards, and were a heady mix of metal dissonance and punk immediacy.  Their guitarist, and it’s often a bone of contention who plays lead and who plays rhythm, hogging most of the limelight was definitely one of punk’s more visceral proponents.

Think Bonehead of Oasis fame (where’s he nowadays, anyway?), trying to upstage Noel Gallagher; but complete in ‘down-with-Queen-Lizzy’ t-shirt and skinny black jeans with black boots.

Their bassplayer really did upstage someone, namely Thirsty Locusts.  This done by taking his band to another level with his supremely tidy playing, glasses and haircut…instrument strapped tightly and as highly-strung as his Mark King Level 42!

The main support act for the night, Street Pastor Disaster, were a powerful mix of funk and metal.  I honestly recall one of their numbers to be like Inversion Theory on speed; somehow hashing it together with a mathematical mindfuck that seemingly had the fantasm and glory of Faith No More at their finest.

…and with that they became my new favourite local band.  In Andrew Mahoney I’ve got a new unorthodox guitar hero and majestic metalhead to stalk on my way home from venues.

Shove your Johnny Morrices, Johnny Marrs and Uli Jon Roths.  That includes that German guy from local punk heroes, Escape To Victory.  What’s his name…Michael Schenker, or something?

guttergodz
Headliners GutterGodz seemed every bit as dangerous as they looked.  Guns N’ Roses is indeed a correct assertion.  An aspersion, however, would perhaps be to liken their frontman/guitarist to Paul Stanley of Kiss.  Fantastic if slightly feminine range, though.  Girls love vulnerability, and guys like me love it more.  Kiss ROCK!

( I have had to be picked off the floor after the Aberdeen Voice editor told me that he recently caught up with the aforementioned frontman, Jon Davie actually performing as Paul Stanley in a local Kiss tribute. I should not have been surprised, but at the time of writing, I honestly had no idea ).

To get to the heart of it, though, one song in particular was, like all their songs, audacious; yet relied upon dynamics such as drum, bass and sparse guitar.

This is a formula not exploited enough by bands of any stature; though I’m sure they’d do it to death if they stumbled upon it as some new, fandangled way of making shit loads of money.

Thankfully, this GutterGodz didn’t do.  Summing them up would be to say their song, ‘Blood’, I believe, is like listening to card-carrying members of the Bloods (red Gibsons, Converses and, of course, bandanas); with a love for Puerto Rican girls, switch-blade knives and revving up to ‘Wild Child’ by W.A.S.P.

A trying night, given the number of bands playing; but absolutely excellent, nonetheless!

Comedy At The Belmont – A Review

 Aberdeen City, Opinion  No Responses »
Feb 052013
 

By Andrew Watson.

scottish-comedian-of-the-year

I had delved into the world of comedy once before at Korova but was unprepared for the barrel of laughs that awaited me at The Belmont Picturehouse, given that this was meant to be breathing space for amateurs trying out untested material.

…and all for the fat sum of absolutely nothing.  They say you get what you pay for; in this instance I got much more, and got my ‘time’s worth’ too.

Vincent Price, relatively new to comedy, was compere as the ‘Red’ and ‘Green’ teams battled it out for comic supremacy.  Member of the audience were to lift either a Red or Green card depending on which side’s performance they preferred.

A quirky fellow, he declared his love for all things Crystal Maze, as Scott Ironside did The Karate Kid at Korova weeks before.

From Eighties films to Nineties television shows, the distance between the two is as much as that between Korova and The Belmont Picturehouse itself.  It’s a generation thing, man.  At least he wouldn’t be standing in front of as many blank, young faces.

One of the biggest laughs was his discussion of eccentricity; which he inimitably likened to being slightly crazy, yet very wealthy.  In other words, you’re a dirty bastard if you’re a layman distinguishing fires with your own piss; but a duke doing the same would just be a rogue.

Patrick Brusnhan teamed up with Sarah Clark on the red side of the room; and Peter Wood and Robert Starr were green, good to go and ready to kick-off the debate – the only comedy debate in Scotland.

First was the pertinent issue of horse meat in Tesco burgers.  Wood in favour, and tongue in cheek, said he couldn’t be bothered with famous smug vegetarian bastards, namely the brontosaurus.

Price later remarked that he could have said Ghandi or Hitler, though maybe the flippancy of it all was lost on him?

So Wood instantly got everyone on side, and although Brusnhan got laughs comparing the majesty of a horse to that of the rather boring bovine species; he was left standing, dust in face, and last, in this particular horse race.

0-1 (Wood).  Greens ahead in first joust.

Now for poetry.    Starr for its abolition, versus Clark for its retention.

Starr, undoubtedly funny and very clever, said things that were over my head, in the least; though the crowd thought differently.

However, Clark was quick on her feet, and encouraged crowd participation.  Thought to be caught on the hop when urged to rhyme upon the poetic significance of shoes, or rather a shoe, she came up trumps with witty couplet.

Not one for screaming hilarity, but mournful.  Quite sad, the lonely shoe.  The crowd, registering surprise, applauded because it was inappropriate…and very funny.

1-1 (Clark).  Reds back in the game.

Next up was the ultimate comedy bugbear, a profitable one at that.  That of America.  Obesity for Wood, and Mormons for Brushan.

Being a Catholic, Brusnhan was able to lay into them, or rather, Mitt Romney, with a veracity and intelligence that had most in stitches.

Swearing,  stock and trade for many a comic, usually works fantastic for broad Aberdonians like Wood, but the fat jokes took a while to get off the ground, and consequently flagged a bit.

2-1 (Brusnhan). Reds ahead.

The biggest challenge of all, it seemed, was the ‘change’ game.  The participants were given a topic, and, at the behest of compere Price, they had to change their opinion on that topic at the drop of a hat.

The speed at which these mental gymnastics were urged, was at times more apt to that of the flash of a blade.  Consequently, the crowd got some of the biggest laughs out of a mixture of on-target rapid fire, and participants shooting oneself in the foot.

To ‘change’ upon the subject of dancing for Wood was no problem, he having, infamously, once been a member of a Logie-based boy band.

The frenetic manner in which he’d chop between slick choreography, and impassioned hatred of all things ‘feet to the swing of the beat’, was a consistently arresting spectacle; if not always entirely on-point in the humour stakes.

Then came time for Starr to shine.  He had to ‘change’ upon hitting the gym.  This time round, sheer enthusiasm shot him through, with press ups and pull ups to aid his story.  Not one for being upstaged by the dance moves of Wood, he pushed valiantly to get the laughs and succeeded.

For Brusnhan to ‘change’ upon cars was as hard for him as it is to change the tyres on his old banger.  He cursed Price for stealing his thunder.  That being that in the latter’s introduction he revealed to the crowd Brusnhan and his car troubles.

A faltering start, no doubt unaided by the precious seconds Price had stolen, soon gave way to punctuating silences with the names of car parts and other randomly shouted car-related jargon; this time aided by a sympathetic Price.

A bit of a car crash to watch; but at the same time very funny, despite his piece not going to plan.

Even Clark had to admit to herself that the cut and thrust of having to ‘change’ rapidly upon that most Scottish of traditions, the kilt, was most taxing.  She did well, but the biggest laugh came when she had to admit she wasn’t too sure if she were for or against the customs of her homeland.

2-2 (Wood).

Before the tiebreaker, the big guns came on for some proper stand-up.

Robert McKelvie came on to ponder NetFlix, an online television watching phenomenon these past few years.  He was very confident, articulate and commanded the stage quite well.  It was clever how he compared his resultant fixation with Dexter and the prompting of NetFlix to watch that one more episode, to the affliction of chasing the dragon.

The heroin-esque overtones were clever, and enjoyed by many – not so much myself.  It seemed to raise fairly serious, though admittedly skewed for comic purposes, issues of how NetFlix invades privacy with automatic updates on Facebook of how you’ve been watching Dexter at half four in the morning…

Apparently it was his first ever time onstage, so it was fantastic in that respect.

Gregor Wappler came on afterwards with a set similar to that performed at the aforementioned Korova event.

With the final act over, it was time for the anticipated tiebreaker.  Your erstwhile reviewer couldn’t resist, when the crowd were urged to choose the subject matter for winner-takes-all, shouting “Danny Glover”; for his name had been called elsewhere earlier on and had been ignored.

2-3 (Wood) for sheer film references.  Funniest moment that night, easily.

Django Unchained: A Review

 Articles, Featured, Opinion  No Responses »
Feb 022013
 

Vue on Shiprow was packed, as the bumper audience waited with baited breath to watch Quentin Tarantino’s trailblazing Django Unchained. Andrew Watson reviews.

django
I was fairly looking forward to this, despite being amongst what I would consider contemporary cinema snobs.  You know the type. The kind that actually liked Inglourious Basterds!

Django charts the freedom of a black slave (Jamie Foxx) and his bid to save his wife from a similar fate.

He’s freed from a chain gang by unlikely bounty hunter Dr. Schultz (Christoph Waltz), who teaches Django the art of ‘spaghetti western’ gun slinging.

I took awhile to warm to Waltz’s character, and found him rather too smug and politically correct.  However, his unflappability throughout the duration won me over.  This was as such that my lack of vocabulary would call it dastardly, a sort of cunning you’re glad to see in a good guy.

Even towards the end, when he appears outfoxed and nothing more than a sullen loser, you literally see the cogs in his head turning.  Viola!  He’s back on top of his game and anyone in his way, between him and glory.

He’s employed by the government to hunt down their ‘most wanted’, dead or alive.  He agrees not only to, as I’ve said, train up, as he christens him, Mr. Freeman; but to also help Django recover his wife from the evil clutches of plantation owner, Calvin Candie (Leonardo DiCaprio).

Being a Tarantino film, there’s liberal lashings of the corporal kind, as well as derogatory and racist language.  All of the time in question, of course.  Letting dogs loose on a runaway slave was one of the scenes a bit harder on the eyes.

This wasn’t all without scandal, of course.  My pal told me that Quentin had been much criticised for the scene which appears to show an embryonic gathering of Ku Klux Klansman.  Apparently this isn’t historically accurate.

Fair play to the guy, though, he tried to make light of it.  One of the assembled goes off in a huff, due to the lack of appreciation towards his wife’s work, that being the eye holes for the sacks hauled over their heads.

Personally, I found this scene to be milked far beyond its comic worth.  There are scenes in the film infinitely funnier than this, namely the introduction of Samuel L. Jackson’s character, Mr. Candice’s head butler.

djangofeat
The comedic chemistry between Foxx, DiCaprio and Jackson, when freeman and servant meet for the first time, is priceless.  The latter is outrageously funny, a boundless man despite his fragile frame leaning heavily upon a walking stick.  You struggle to see how such an opinionated man could be servant to anyone, let alone a plantation owner.

It’s actually only later on you discover his loyalty to his master.  I suppose this is testament to the complex characters on show, in this violent romp.

Furthermore, he’s actually instrumental in blowing the cover of the two, aforementioned renegades, who come to Candice’s with supposedly unrelated business to avoid arousing suspicion.

Prior to this prelude to a seemingly unhappy ending, though, laughs can be found in the strangest of places.  In fact, it comes right at the start when Freeman is still a slave, his freedom bought by the blast of Schultz’ gun.  A cannon, more like it.

Seriously, seeing is believing and the way this gun despatches with half a horse and its rider is side splitting…and although there are no ‘fountains’ of blood, as it were, the embellishment of guts and gore is hyperbole in the extreme.

Also look out for the impossible angle of trajectory in which a certain woman falls upon herself, cue gun blast.  That definitely got one of the biggest laughs of the night.

Having said that, the one criticism I would make about this film is its length.  It seems, as I try my hardest not to give too much away, that the film was extended in order that it reach its logical conclusion.

Albeit, Foxx’s character upside down with his dick chopped off would’ve been an absolutely horrible note to end on, but I, in all seriousness, turned to my mate and said there’d either be a sequel or, at this rate, the film would end up being about four hours long!

All in all, other highlights included the standoff prior to Django’s capture and his subsequent return to the plantation to save his wife.  The common denominator in both, of course, is the reason why most people should’ve been coming to see this.  Guns and guts!

Tarantino’s no fool, though.  A keen observer will have noticed that gore isn’t all he’s got eyes for.  Notice the unyoked horse, as Foxx frees his fellow slaves.  Maybe this is just coincidental, maybe Freeman doesn’t like saddles.

Doubt it, though.  Excellent film.

 

Jack Reacher: A Review

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Jan 242013
 

This was my first visit to Cineworld at the Beach in a long time, and it was to sit beside my sleeping father, an avid Lee Child reader, and watch Jack Reacher. Andrew Watson writes.

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To be fair, my dad didn’t even need to be rudely awakened by special effects to maintain a steady gaze upon this Tom Cruise adaption of Child’s novel, One Shot.
I’m used to his sleeping antics by now, but felt inclined to lie about this particular outing because of how aggrieved I’ve been by his past behaviour!

Anyway, though he claims he wasn’t too impressed, Dad’s wakefulness is testament to the quality of the film, no matter his misgivings.

Foremost of these is the selection of the pint-sized Cruise for the leading role: Dad tells me that Reacher’s at least 6’6” in the books.

Having said that, there were also some gripes that I had early on in this blockbuster. What’s with the conspiratorial whispering between Reacher and Helen Rodin (Rosamund Pike)?

I know that there are scandals at play here, as Helen and Reacher tussle with her powerful father (Richard Jenkins) to prove the innocence of supposed murderer, James Barr.  Despite this, it all seemed overtly theatrical and, frankly, irritating.

Barr stands accused of randomly laying waste to passers-by for sick kicks, and his track record as a sniper in the army screams his guilt. However, being based on the thrilling storytelling deployed by Child, it’s safe to say that it’s not necessarily a simple open and shut case.

Not for Reacher, anyhow, who, I’ve read, can be readily compared to Sherlock Holmes in his powers of deduction. I’d agree with that.

Initially dismissed as paranoid and unaccustomed to the largely non-ulterior motives of civilian life, being an ex-military policeman, Reacher nevertheless convinces Helen to look at potential corruption within her father’s department.

Even the viewer, impressed as they may be by Reacher’s unbeatable fighting chops, doesn’t know what’s going in his head, given the man’s mysterious and recalcitrant nature throughout.

What he keeps to himself, he keeps from his enemies, as he tries to stay two steps ahead of the game.

He then overcomes a third man holding a gun to his head, as his back is turned.

Not until he’s ganged up on by a horde of young men who insist that Reacher disrespected their sister, and the suspiciously quick police response, did my Dad and I really think there was a deeper conspiracy at play.

All very serious stuff.  Though there are lighter moments, too.

Take for instance the fight scene in the bathroom.  Reacher’s proven to be beatable, with an unsuspected blow to the head with a baseball bat.  He falls into the bath, disorientated.  Cue comical rush by the two henchman to beat the crap out of him, only to foil themselves squeezing through the doorway at the same time.

It doesn’t stop there, either.  They then unsuccessfully play ball with him, hitting the rim of the bath as Reacher somehow remains out of reach.  This buys a now seemingly human Jack time to recover and prevail.

He then overcomes a third man holding a gun to his head, as his back is turned.

Wait a minute!

So Reacher can triumph over certain death, despite a pistol at point blank range, but he can’t handle or anticipate an unwieldy lump of wood?

Never mind, Robert Duvall’s at hand to help the viewer quickly forget inconsistencies within seemingly faultless characters like Reacher. After all, the latter’s youth, set against the aged, grizzled toughness of former army man Cash (Duvall) shows many things.

First and foremost, the obvious. Would it not be incorrect to assume the invincibility of relative youth is consistent, alternately, with elderly endeavour proving an altogether different kind of survival instinct?

I digress, I suppose. Any such debate can be illustrated with this: by the final fight scene, Reacher is hurting badly, while Cash has only a grazed eye.

Is this because he’s tougher, or because he knows his limits? He’s doing his ‘damage’ to the enemy on the perimeter of the fight scene.  All the while, Reacher’s the fool taking the hits, in the centre of all the action.

Old are canny, young are reckless!

My enjoyment of this film was largely unqualified, yet my Dad had reservations.

Go figure, I enjoyed it!

Comedy At Korova: A Review

 Aberdeen City, Opinion  No Responses »
Dec 272012
 

By Andrew Watson.

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Not only was this my debut inside what is regarded as hipster central, Korova, but it was also my first taste of stand up comedy.  I’d never seen a live comedian in my life, and I ended up seeing eight of them – for £3!
Compere and all-round angry New Deer resident Scott Ironside introduced each of them with a mixture of hollering and urging audience members onto the stage to make noises of animals in various levels of distress.

Take for example the unfortunate giraffe with his shoe laces tied together, falling upon a tinfoil Ford Fiesta.

Before all that, though, he warmed up proceedings with his own set, only to be infuriated by the lack of knowledge within his relatively young audience regarding Eighties silver screen staples like The Karate Kid.

It was to be a night whereby the participants got just as many laughs for jokes that fell flat on their proverbial  as they did for their comic genius.  Thankfully they were self-deprecating enough to have a laugh at their own expense when unsuccessfully plumping for the latter.

First up was Peter Wood, who endeared himself to the audience declaring his diagnosis of Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD).  It made things a tad awkward, but mercifully much of his material was pinned upon this without seeking sympathy.

The biggest laugh came when recounting his stint in a boy band, based in – his words! – “minky” Logie, which he told the audience was like Torry, but worse.

Having put together a masterful first verse for their Northsound demo tape, they clubbed together their poetic ingenuity for a second.  They perfected a dance routine, complete with a question mark drawn through the air in adage to unrequited love, and headed off to Northsound studios only to be told to piss off by security.  And leave vehicles in the car park alone.

Next was Wray Thomson, who sought kinship with fellow men and women of Fraserburgh and found none.  Nevertheless, the Brocher ploughed on with a hilarious anecdote on the dangers of solitary exercise.  What he meant, of course, was the frenzy a man works up within himself when he doesn’t masturbate for a week.

Anyway, in a bid to avoid his mother catching a glimpse of the semen in his eyes, he turned over only to expose the screwdriver lodged up his backside.

Carrying on in the same vein, he nearly brought the house down with a smutty one-liner

A representative from a far off land called Milton Keynes stepped on the staged afterwards, a man by the name of Jason Murphy.  There were some laughs, but most of the routine was unremarkable and largely fell on deaf ears.  I suppose it didn’t help that his final act was thwarted by an out of tune guitar.

Then when I saw Neil Skene being motioned towards the stage by a helper, I thought that perhaps he was nervous.  Turns out he’s blind, though this vulnerability belied a wicked, often caustic sense of humour.

Not one to be patronised, he set off by beseeching the audience regarding widespread attitudes to blind people, yet to have a little sympathy when the girls are in skimpy clothes during summertime and he can’t see a damned thing.

Carrying on in the same vein, he nearly brought the house down with a smutty one-liner.

When his wife, whispering sweet nothings into his ear and describing, sensuously, herself from top to bottom, spoke of her “shaven haven” he had only one thing to say.

‘So that’s the plug blocked again, then?’

A tough act to follow, Gregor Wappler did his best.  He was a bit of a bastard, really!  His routine concerned one night stands and all things non-committal.

The best bit was when he recounted an argument with an ex-long-term girlfriend regarding kitchen condiments.  This raged on for days, and, likening the two of them to a ‘real’ couple, they didn’t even talk when shopping for groceries.

Sick of the tension, he combated it the best way he could.  Disarming the hostility, he thought, would only require a simple question.

‘Is this about the vinegar?’

Silly man.  Cue instantaneous dropping of baskets and dead eye stares not only from the missus, but from other henpeckers in solidarity against chauvinist pigs.

Grabbing the main support slot was Robin Valo, a strange chino-wearing chap whose own appearance was the butt of his own jokes.  A good chunk of the audience enjoyed his stand-up, though I found it – to be particular! – only mildly funny.  Some of it was very clever, though, so it was humorous in that respect.

Finally came Andrew Learmonth.  This guy simultaneously brought half the house down, whilst leaving the others cringing with their heads in their hands.  Was he for real?  Was it calculated, or, like the ‘screwdriver incident’, was it true?

His hatred of all things Kilmarnock (bad gig, you see) and his fervent desire for his best mate’s wife combined in a set that was as much funny as it was the masterstroke of an accomplished actor.

Perhaps he was a parody of himself, one partly based on reality?  The best actors share a likeness to their roles.

Verdict: A brilliant night, and excellent value.

The Hobbit: Reviewed At Vue

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Dec 212012
 

Peter Jackson’s The Hobbit arrived in cinemas recently; could it live up to Jackson’s Lord of the Rings epic work?  Aberdeen Voice’s Andrew Watson shares his thoughts.

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It was my first visit to Vue on Shiprow in a while, and it was to see what many regard as the blockbuster of the year, The Hobbit.

Although it was excellent on the whole, in the realms of fantasy and science fiction it doesn’t quite surpass the mastery of this year’s earlier blockbuster, Prometheus.

Without being patronising, veteran director Ridley Scott has a few more Hollywood years under his belt than Peter Jackson.  It’s inevitable in my eyes, therefore, that, as supremely talented as the latter is, his capacity to create new worlds doesn’t quite excel that of Scott –  Yet.

The Hobbit takes quite a long time setting the scene, though mercifully most of the backstory on show is quite intriguing:  particularly that of the Dwarves, cast from their homeland by a fire-breathing dragon.

I couldn’t help but draw comparisons of the Dwarves’ story to that recounted of the Israelites during the time of Moses, that of a nomadic race with no place to call their home.  This is in fact a central plot to the film, contrasting their instability with the home comforts of Bilbo Baggins (played by Martin Freeman), before setting out on his Unexpected Journey.

The sedate country life of Bilbo is very twee, and as I found in the first Lord of the Rings film, rather irritating and sickly in its happiness.  Thankfully this quickly comes to a close when wizard Gandalf (Ian McKellen) invites the Dwarves over, in the hope that Baggins will join them in their quest to reclaim their home.

This conclusion of Bilbo’s sanctuary from conflict is done with a touch of humour, too.  Most of the Dwarves sport Scottish or Irish accents, marauding Bilbo’s food store then greedily slurping his beer before setting out on their adventure.

In fact The Hobbit consistently goes out its way to amuse the viewers, though sometimes you find yourself amused out of politeness.  Key moments, however, include the rather amusing Cockney-sounding Trolls who eat snot and belligerently assail anyone, friend or foe.

The key moment, though, is also probably one of the most anticipated parts of the film, the introduction of Gollum: one of the principal characters, despite the relatively small part he plays throughout the duration of the film.  The role, played by superbly versatile Andrew Serkis must not only be demanding; but is an absolute joy to watch.

He’s already won many plaudits for his acting in this film, and it’s easy to see why.  Battling a split personality, his character verges from the menace of Gollum and his wretched, demonic teeth to the arresting innocence of Sméagol and his big, blue eyes.

His game of ‘riddles’ with Bilbo isn’t only integral to the development of the plot and, therefore, Baggins’ survival, it’s also supremely humorous.  The battle of wills inside Gollum/Sméagol’s head is as volatile as it is side-splitting, and he still manages mental gymnastics in his battle of minds with Baggins.

Finally, comes a spoiler alert of sorts.  Or, rather, myself trying my utmost to prevent my blabbing.  Anyway, and this little detail might be rather insignificant for most, the end of the film is heralded with a scene evocative of  the omnipotent ‘eye’ which features throughout the Lord of the Rings trilogy.  I won’t tell you how or why it comes about though.

I genuinely look forward to parts two and three of this new trilogy, although I hope the plans to release all a year apart won’t affect the quality of output.  The thinking being, I suppose that you keep the audience waiting too long and they’ll lose interest.

Personally, I think if you make a film as well as you can, taking your time and deliberating over every detail, anticipation will be palpable and interest will soar!

¡No Pasaran! (They Shall Not Pass) – CD Review

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Dec 212012
 

Aberdeen Voice’s David Innes reviews ¡No Pasaran! (They Shall Not Pass) – Scots In The Spanish Civil War (Greentrax Recordings)

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Alas, there are few, if any heroes left of the International Brigade who fought for democracy in Spain in the 1930s. They were in the vanguard in fighting the inevitable battle against Fascism which would result in the slaughter and waste of a second World War in less than a quarter of a century.

Those who left the UK, and Scotland in particular, are enduring heroes of the left, and of freedom fighters everywhere.

There are memorials and books and commemorative gatherings for these brave socialists, but their dogged idealistic commitment and shared suffering led to great folk art.

Greentrax Recordings are to be commended for compiling the best of the Scottish Civil War songs and poems on a terrific and moving collection.

When the idea for the album was suggested, the compilers were staggered by the wealth of songs and poems available. They were heartened too, by the offers of new material on the theme. Editing the selection down to fifteen songs and a poem must have been a difficult task. Might we expect a second volume?

The collection veers between stirring anthems, none better than the joyous singalong Jarama Valley/Bandiera Rosa, the tender – Jamie Foyers and Si Me Quieres Escribir and simple stories of working class idealists who saw beyond the romantic adventure of the fight for freedom, yet still regarded it as a calling and their duty to enlist. Hasta Luego, a moving tale of a football fan leaving his younger brother at the turnstile to travel to Paris there and then, en route to Spain, is among the best of these.

A highlight for Aberdonians, though, will be local Brigadeer Bob Cooney’s Hasta La Vista, Madrid. Some of us were privileged enough to hear Comrade Cooney read this himself at meetings in the 1970s. This version, impeccably inhabited by Radio Scotland’s Iain Anderson, gives wonderful and moving expression to a rich, celebratory poem full of defiance and hope, scarce currency these days.

It is a fitting coda to a heart-stirring and emotional tribute to the immortal International Brigade.

Tracks: The Peatbog Soldiers (The McCalmans); Jamie Foyers (Dick Gaughan); Jarama Valley/Bandiera Rosa (The Laggan); Another Valley (Geordie McIntyre); Si Me Quieres Escribir (If You Want To Write); (Christine Kydd); These Hands (The Wakes); Owt For Nowt (John Watt); Viva La 15th Brigada/Viva Nicaragua (Carlos Arredondo); Picasso Paints Guernica (Robin Laing); Graves In Spain (Eileen Penman); When The Call Comes (George Archibald & Ian McCalman); Salud International Brigade (Jim Brown); Viva Los Brigadistas (Alison McMorland & Geordie McIntyre); Hasta Luego (Frank Rae); ¡No Pasaran! (Gallo Rojo); Hasta La Vista, Madrid (Iain Anderson)

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