Mad, Bad and Dangerous to know: Mad Men, AMC, 2007/2008

The opening sequence of Mad Men floats across the screen like a slick, successful Everyman executive’s nightmare: the silhouetted man reaches his expansive office, which slowly crumbles as he freefalls, past giant advertising billboards towards what end, we are unsure.  His doom?  Utopia?  Only the final episode will tell.

By referencing indelible images of the past (9/11, Hitchcock’s Vertigo) and soundtracked by David Carbonara’s haunting instrumental theme, the scene is set.  Madison Avenue.  New York.  The 1960s.  Nixon is in power and a young Senator by the name of John F. Kennedy is making his mark.  A time when men are men – and on Madison Avenue, they are the masters of the universe – and rarely seen without a cigarette or a drink in hand.  A time when women are housewives, mothers, daughters, secretaries, mistresses and shopgirls and occasionally, artists or divorcées – but never equals.  When children are seen but rarely heard.  When hippy beatniks and their ‘art’ are irrelevant and peripheral.  The Beatles have yet to hit America, the Summer of Love is almost a decade away and Vietnam was simply an exotic destination in East Asia.

Patti Smith: Dream of Life

“There’s a Patti Smith documentary out,” a colleague told me.  “I think you’d like it.”

“Oh?”  I pricked my ears up in interest.  I vaguely remembered two friends talking about the movie but had dismissed it, because I wasn’t familiar with Smith’s work.  Although I probably had been more concerned with the food I was about to tuck into at the time.  “Is she still around?”

My colleague laughed.  “Yes.  It’s full of poetry.  You should see it.”

And so, this misty, chilly December night, I set out for the West End.  In search of Poetry and its comrades, Truth, Beauty and Love.

Back to School

Ephemeral, mercurial summer. Seemingly here one day and gone the next in a flurry of settling into new abode, gigs, bashes, festivals, weather grumblings, a not-quite-there heat and lazy hazy sundays… Suddenly, the early August chill attained a permanent air, a heads-down vibe permeated the atmosphere and September had arrived.

Film/Literary Bytes; Torture

The London flat hunt. Is there any other business which is so tiresome, so frustrating, so soul-rending? Firstly, you come prolonged contact with the most dreaded of modern day archetypes: the realtor. To be fair, they’ve not all been bad. But trying to make small talk when you’re being shown around dreadful (and expensive!) apartments by some young geezer in an ill-fitting suit, bryled hair and a souped up car… honestly, I’d rather be at home wading through my receipts and invoices and sorting out my accounts.

The heartbeat quickens!

Tony Leung Chiu Wai (all together now: *SIGH*) is to reunite with director John Woo on the $70m production The Battle of the Red Cliff. It’s John Woo’s first Chinese language film since action cracker Hard Boiled (1996), which starred Tony (still lovely despite a flat top) and Chow Yun Fatt.

Paris and Versailles, 15 – 18 September 2006

With knee operation and enforced confinement looming, a jaunt about the arrondissments of Paris and its patisseries, galleries and boutiques seemed like the thing to do. And so off I set, in that most pleasant of European months, September, with a visit to Versailles also in mind. After all, Marie Antoinette would be premiering in the UK on 20 October and seeing the palace up close and personal would make Ms Coppola’s rock and roll rendition of Versailles life all the more illuminating.

Perhaps.

Eros’ Arrows go Awry

Three vignettes from three renowned directors: Wong Kar Wai, Steven Soderbergh and Michelangelo Antonioni. The premise, the arcing force of desire charted by directors who had already made powerful comments on the same (Wong in Happy Together and In The Mood for Love, Steven Soderbergh in Out of Sight and Antonioni in Blow Up) was faultlessly conceived. But as some things in life, the sum is very much less than the parts and the execution fails to deliver.

I found my thrill…

More Wong Kar Wai (slightly outdated) news.

His first English language film will be called My Blueberry Nights. Norah Jones and Broadway actress Adriane Lenox have been cast as waitresses. Apparently, the film concerns a young woman journeying across the United States to find the true meaning of love. While doing so, in a mind-bogglingly obvious plotline, she meets various quirky characters,who will no doubt help her along to her goal. (*barf*)

Gaiman’s Fairy Dust

I’m not sure how I missed this!

Mr Claudia Schiffer, Matthew Vaughn (of Lock Stock and Two Smoking Barrels) is directing a film version of Stardust, in my opinion the best of Neil Gaiman’s novels. And the cast looks impeccable (apart from slight Sienna Miller-related misfortune): Michelle Pfeiffer (is there a classier B-grade actress?), Claire Danes, Peter O’Toole, Robert De Niro, Ricky Gervais (yay!), Rupert Everett… wow!

A Snakey Zeitgeist

Snakes on a plane. It says what it does. And it sounds even better when Samuel L. Jackson lends his inimitable style to the phrase: “I’m sick of these mo********ing snakes on this mo********ing plane!”

A refreshing antidote to the bent for too-clever-by-half post modern (in some cases, post post modern) movie making, the world’s most hyped internet movie charmed even the Guardian’s Peter Bradshaw.

But what particularly tickled my fancy is how the phrase has apparently entered the contemporary lexicon. According to the Urban Dictionary it is equivalent to ‘cest la vie’ or ’sh*t happens’. For example:

A (aghast): “I can’t believe the BBC paid £5m to Graham Norton to host goddawful semi reality tv for another 3 years!’

B (in suitable California surfer drawl): “Snakes on the plane, man, snakes on the plane.”