Thunderstorms and hail herald promise of spring- weather report yesterday in The Times
This is a mea culpa, a very painful confession.
I have now met two people whom I have instantly and unquestioningly believed to be Australian from their accent, only to talk to them later and realise to my horror that they are in fact undoubtedly English.
A mistake this egregious is only forgivable when committed by Yanks, yet viewed down the edge of a long nose turned up in disdain, the sort of superior sneer that the English excel at.
London | Soho | England | Accents | Australia
"I'm doing the magic door that leads to the Room of Requirements"
Something you don't normally hear on a Monday morning.
London | Soho | Double Negative | Harry Potter | Order Of The Phoenix
[WARNING: CONTAINS SPOILERS]
I went to see 'Notes On A Scandal' at the Clapham Picture House last night. It leaves a greater impression from the strength of its performances, in particular that of Judy Dench's brittle and possibly dangerous Barbara, than as a coherent film. The main problem I had was the film's inconsistent attitude towards its main characters, Dench's Barbara as well as Cate Blanchett's Sheba, painting them alternately as helpless victims or scheming villains. There's a difference between ambiguity, revealing people's complex motives, and indecisiveness on the part of the filmmakers.
The film presents itself as something like a thriller, hammered home by Philip Glass's score, with Barbara the mean manipulator and Sheba the not-quite-innocent victim, but Barbara isn't a monster, she's a woman tragically unable to convey her needs and relate intimately to others. Even the final scene, showing Barbara striking up a conversation with a stranger on a park bench, was unevenly pitched. I couldn't tell if this was similar to the end of Silence Of The Lambs, seeing Hannibal Lecter wandering through a crowd (oh no she's out there, monster on the loose!), or a tragedy (has she learned nothing from her past behaviour?). It's this conflict that I believe ultimately undermines the integrity of film's tone. Worth seeing for the performances, though, all by actors at the very peak of their abilities.
Notes On A Scandal | Clapham Picture House | Judy Dench | Cate Blanchett
Any relationship that this post has to Valentine's Day is purely in the eyes of the reader and is completely unintended.
At lunchtimes in Soho I've enjoyed wandering to the Berwick St market, where I buy a pound of clementines (literally, a Great British Pound's worth, which is about one and a half pieces of fruit... okay, perhaps more). I then proceed to eat my way through that day's supply at my desk, creating a little mountain of orange peelings next to my teacup.
After all that fruit you'd think I'd be wonderfully regular, but it doesn't seem to be the case. The only effect I can perceive is that I have to suppress the strong urge to fart in the crowded Tube train on the way home.
London | Soho | England | Travel | Farting
Apologies for the vast amount of silence on the blog. We have no internet access yet at home, so online time is restricted to our time at work, which right now is spent, erm, working. All long days and Saturdays too, finishing up Harry Potter and The Order of The Phoenix. We're still trying to get a few basic services in place, amidst the bureaucracy of temporary addresses, and the uncomfortable no-man's land of credit-history exile. Spending money is harder than you think.
I tried to use the free wi-fi at the cafe across from our house, I was able to squeeze out a couple emails before the whole thing died and the serviceable staff just stared at me blankly. I'll take rude Parisians or overly friendly American wait staff in exchange for the 'service' we've received in London to date. Donna commented "that's what you get when you don't have to work for tips".
In the meantime, unable to post anything of substance, I hope to post a very brief daily snippet from work, before the few people who do read this abandon it altogether!
[interruption by someone wondering why I'm doing something other than making movie magic...]
The BAFTAs on Monday night had a nice surprise - 'our' first award. Better said, the Visual Effects BAFTA went to Pirates Of The Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest - a film we worked on. See, in the past ten years, my tally stood at 5 BAFTA and 4 Oscar nominations, but no actual awards.
We love our new flat/house/maisonette that we moved into just over a week ago. More than a flat, less than a house. Not having a dryer every possible radiator is covered in socks and jeans and undies, a vivid flashback to my student days. A stone's throw from Abbeville Road in Clapham, next to the Common and close to all the things we need. Still trying to figure out the best Bus/Tube combination to get to work. Just when we think we have it figured out, a butterfly flaps its wings in the Amazon, and the whole Northern Line shuts down, banishing us to the surface in search of an alternative.
One day we squeezed into a train that had me pressed up against my fellow passengers, not an inch to spare with elbows in faces, necks craned against the curved train walls, a solid mass of bodies and held breaths. Unable to hold on to anything, the crowd provided a natural cushion as the train swayed along the tracks. Trying not to crush the not-unattractive girl in front of me, I quipped - "and they say Londoners aren't friendly". She laughed. When the doors opened, the pressure of the people pushed me out of the train. I didn't even get her number. Just joking, Donna!
I know I have many as-yet unreplied to emails waiting for attention, please be patient while we get a little more settled, and once we have more than one day at the weekend free and our evenings back I'll be able to be in more regular contact. If you have IM, my AIM handle is "juanitoelbicho", I'm reliably logged in from 9am to 7pm GMT - that is by far the best way to stay in touch right now.
London | Harry Potter | BAFTA | Oscar | Pirates Of The Caribbean