Having let my roots grow out for about six months, I’ve noticed that my natural hair colour has changed since I started dying it. Lightish brown with hints of red has become darkish brown flecked with grey (and it’s not just the odd stray hair, there’s a fair amount of it once you start looking.) Bleaching makes it as porous as the rest, so it won’t notice when I’ve done a re-dye, which is a shame. I’d love to have purple hair with streaks of silver...

Anyhow, I’ve been seeing a lot of films, plays and gigs recently, and haven’t reviewed anything on this blog for ages, so here goes...

The best and worst films of 2008 (well, so far)...

Worst: Lust, Caution

The script seems to suggest that rape leads to passionate love, the director seems to think that this is a pretty thing to watch with mood-lighting, and they combine with the message that women’s political ideology is determined by whoever can give them the best fuck or the biggest diamond. And no, I’m not prepared to give it the benefit of the doubt because it’s Ang Lee, and he’s so great. Ang Lee makes films that are pretty – that’s all. Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon was another one where an initially strong and apparently self-sufficient heroine turns out to be a selfish brat who sells out her friends because she never really understood what she was fighting for.
This doesn’t make it any worse than the rest of the rubbish out there, except that people seem to think that good cinematography and subtitles give the plot an innate hallmark of quality. Let’s stop mistaking aesthetics and pathos for depth of character, and recognise these offensive stereotypes for what they are: just another Hollywood prop to the idea that women are essentially stupid, and need a good man to tell them what to think.


Best: Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street

I’ll be very surprised if I enjoy another film even a slice as much as Sweeney Todd for the rest of the year. Horror, melodrama, tragedy, comedy and farce meet in a Sondheim musical, and the fact that it’s directed by Tim Burton and stars Johnny Depp (butchering more than just a cockney accent), Helena Bonham Carter and Alan Rickman is just the egg-wash on the pie-pastry. The costumes and design are classic Burtonesque theatrical darkness tinged with playful humour, and also a great sense of elegance in the Victorian-styled leather overcoats and Mrs. Lovett’s shabby-chic working clothes (damn you, Burton, you force me to spend time I don’t have making that skirt and bustle).
The concept shouldn’t be a problem for any but the most die-hard of musicalphobes. Even if the idea of Johnny Depp breaking into unexpected song gives you confused feelings of disgust and self-loathing at the part of you that might enjoy it, give it a chance. All the cast have appropriate voices, and the wit in the songs is razor-sharp and immaculately timed. The whole concept subverts the traditional musical by completely sidelining the “hero and heroine”, who have the least interesting songs and are barely bit-parts, while the grotesques who would normally be comic relief villains come to the fore as full-fledged anti-heroes. Ignore Anthony and Joanna’s empty love-songs, and enjoy Todd and Mrs. Lovett singing about the relative merits of priests, judges and admirals as pie-filling.
I’m reliably informed that the continuity editor needed shooting, but in all honesty I was too distracted by the songs, performances and historical costume pr0n to notice the odd blood-spatter out of place.
Consider this advance warning that I will spend most of the next few weeks singing at people who don’t get out the way quick enough.