Woeful Misinterpretation: Mulholland Drive

What ho! A demonic homeless man.

Alas, there is a David Lynch film that is more confusing than Eraserhead! I was feeling smug up to about halfway through the film for managing to grasp the relatively simply plot, but I was soon consumed by woe as it turned out that everything I had witnessed was probably a dream. By the end of the film, the confusion was almost unbearable. Who was the strange creature that haunted the dreams of a minor character who only appeared in one seemingly unrelated scene? Who were the old couple who resulted in the death of Naomi Watts? Was the end of the film a prologue to the start? Did Naomi Watts actually see her own decaying corpse? Was I meant to be this confused?

Betty and Laura attempt to follow the plot of Mulholland Drive

Perhaps there was an antidote to my despair: it transpired that Lynch had released some notes to help gormless viewers like myself wade through his convoluted masterpiece. But this only made it worse! "Notice appearances of the red lampshade". "Where is Aunt Ruth?". Apparently Aunt Ruth is dead. Poor Aunt Ruth. And there is no less than six interpretations of how the dead Aunt Ruth interacts with the film.
In fact the beginning and the end of the film are particularly opaque. Apparently the beginning shows the Jitterbug Contest in which Diane Selwyn rose to fame. But this is only according to the internet, and therefore not true. The internet also posits that the blue haired woman shown at the end is in fact the ghost of Aunt Ruth. Why?
By this point, I had discovered that attempts to unravel the mysteries of Lynch were bordering on hysteria. Perhaps he was just being weird for the sake of it. Why not end the film with a blue haired woman and the protagonist exploding after being pursued by tiny yet demonic old people? Perhaps the laws of reason do not apply to high cinematic art. Maybe the seemingly unconnected array of bizarre images are meant to produce a profound emotional reaction deep in my core. Is it possible that I'm not really communing with my inner being? Or perhaps I'm just a bit thick.
Needless to say, David Lynch has outwitted me.

How Saoirse Ronan Lives Now

One of the eternal truths, that everyone would do well to take heed of, is that Saoirse Ronan is wonderful. Whether it's making an otherwise terrible adaptation of Alice Sebold's Lovely Bones still immensely watchable or being utterly believable as an insular vampire in Byzantium, she rarely disappoints. As the cinematic world (or perhaps just me) waits with bated breath for her to star alongside Matt Smith in Ryan Gosling's directorial debut Lost River, for now we have How I Live Now.

Daisy and Edmund smoulder in a field

I'm not entirely sure what Kevin Macdonald thought he was trying to do. From the start it's crying out to be an average bildungsroman along the lines of It's Kind of a Funny Story, Submarine or The Perks of Being a Wallflower, but not as good as any of them. Troubled teen (in this case Miss Ronan as Daisy) is healed by the awesome power of love. Everyone leaves the cinema beaming ear to ear with a warm and fuzzy feeling inside. But then a nuclear bomb goes off and everyone dies.

Even more disturbingly, I wasn't convinced by Saoirse Ronan's performance, despite liking her new hair-do. It was like she was trying really hard not to be Saoirse Ronan, in order to be American and nasty (which is sort of the point of acting, but stick with me). And every so often, when she wasn't being nasty, a familiar Saoirse Ronan expression would creep out, to remind us that she was indeed a loveable Irish girl at heart rather than a scary American teen. She does do a great variety of characters, but she seems better at the sympathetic ones; I wasn't entirely sold with Hanna either at times. But maybe that's just me.

Anyway, as I was saying, it's all very strange. We go from uber-pastoral idyllic farm where people make love  in hay lofts, and Ronan falls for a swain with floppy hair and an eagle (Edmund). But juxtaposed against this Edenic picture of Britain, the capital is blown to smithereens, and some nasty terrorists do nasty things. Ronan becomes a 21st Century Land Girl, and encouraged by odd visions of her and her paramour running naked through a forest, goes hiking in an attempt to get back to the farmhouse, naively believing that by doing so everything can go back to normal.

What is the film trying to say? To start off with it all seems to be about living a little and disregarding

Daisy hopes the soldiers will let her go by pulling a funny face

reservations and rules. "All those voices in your head," opines Edmund mysteriously, as if he too can hear Daisy's badly managed voice over which attempts to convince the audience that she's a bit OCD. But then when the Government makes the (quite reasonable) request that everyone has to do something for the war effort, they all start kicking and screaming. Is this meant to show that we're all feckless and selfish compared to our 1914 or 1939 counterparts, or are we meant to sympathise? Surely a bit of farming is more productive than going on a long walk. And then all the woes that meet Daisy and her cousin as they try and get home are from unpleasant people taking advantage of the chaos and lack of order to do unpleasant things. So surely rules are a good thing. And what's the take home message about Britain? Is it closer to pastoral idyll or the world one step away from disintegration and anarchy? And is all this confusion or ambiguity?

Either way, I quite enjoyed How I Live Now. By the end of it, Ronan had won me over as Daisy and the ending was nowhere near as twee as I imagined it would be. If the intended audience were younger teenagers, I'm not entirely sure how they would have received the images of massacred children or women being dragged off to be raped. But ho hum. It's cleverly directed too and very well shot, and it's got a new song from Natasha Khan (Bat For Lashes) and a remix of a Daughter B-Side so the music's not half bad. Therefore, if like me you are a Saoirse Ronan lover (and how could you not be), then whilst this is not up there with the lofty heights of Atonement, The Lovely Bones and Byzantium, it's definitely better than Hanna.

Boyhood (or 12 Years a Boy)

Nothing is more annoying in life than getting wind of a critically acclaimed film, before discovering that no cinema was showing Boyhood. The film industry's glib response to Richard Linklater's 12 year long project is to prevent anyone from seeing it. But thankfully, last weekend I outwitted the tyranny of traditional Hollywood film-making and discovered Boyhood playing at The Red Carpet in Burton-upon-Trent, quite possibly the smallest cinema in the world.

Mason has a lie down and ponders existence

cinema is willing to show it (apart from possibly war, famine and death). Such is the case with
The fact that anyone has devoted 12 years of their life to create one film is astonishing in itself. Yet Linklater, along with leads Ellar Coltrane, Patricia Arquette and Ethan Hawke came back every summer for over a decade to produce this gorgeous film. Boyhood communicates the wonder of childhood, the passage of time and the burden of parenthood in a way that could never have been achieved in any other format. Ellar Coltrane (who plays Mason, the eponymous boy) changes from a six year old with his head in the clouds to a philosophical 18 year old photography student. But perhaps just as astonishing is the change in his parents from idealistic twenty-somethings to domesticated adults.

Mason tries not to covet his sister's hair

Linklater, who both wrote and directed, has captured both the joy and pain of an ordinary suburban childhood in the US. Fleeing the home of a drunken and violent step-dad is counterbalanced by a painfully awkward fatherly education on contraception that had the whole cinema in hysterics. The characters are actual people, generally well meaning but deeply flawed, rather than the simplistic stereotypes all too common in traditional cinema. There is no plot, but life has no plot! Different narratives weave in and out of the epic twelve year span. The traditional milestones of first girlfriends, flirtations with alcohol and drugs and deciding upon one's future are all duly ticked off, but it never feels like a run of the mill check-list for the generic childhood.  Boyhood is both highly specific, about one child at a particular period in history, and universal. It is the story of post-9/11 America and the vast changes that took place in the Noughties, but it's also the story of all of our childhoods. Without being overly nostalgic or seeking to idyllicise childhood, the film acknowledges that six to eighteen is a vastly transformative and important period of our lives, and one cannot help smiling when seeing Mason grope through the confusion of puberty and emerge with a definitive idea of who he wants to be.

The many faces of Ellar Coltrane

It is a tragedy that films such as Guardians of the Galaxy are played in cinemas simply by virtue of the amount of money invested in them, whilst cinematic masterpieces like Boyhood are destined to be seen by a fraction of the audience it deserves. But I have no doubt that Boyhood will become a cult classic. At two hours and forty minutes there is not a moment that does not contain acute observations, mundane tragedy or vibrant humour. In short, definitely in the running for the best film of 2014.

Roland the Marxist DJ: Best of Bush

Roland is glum. No work has come his way for several months. He suspects this is at least partially due to his decision to end his last gig with the Les Mis epic 'One Day More', not necessarily the ideal number for hordes of drunk, sweaty and probably high ravers. But Roland is soon forced to abandon his self pity as his front door is blown off its hinges. Roland struggles to upright himself from his sprawled position on the shabby sofa as the Music Police come charging into the room. They are deaf to Roland's protestations as he is bundled in the back of their van.
All is revealed at Music HQ.
"Listen up, my young swain." An unhealthy obsession with folk explains the interrogator's tweed three piece and unconventional address. "We can't have you playing musical theatre in those clubs townies go to. It gets noticed."
"How can I redeem myself?" pleads Roland. He is deeply suspicious of any form of law enforcement. After all, Orwell wrote that the policeman is the natural enemy of the proletarian.
"Why, by proving your Musical Credentials of course. All you have to do is answer one simple question. And if we're happy with the answer, well, then everything's tickety boo!" A sense of relief washes over Roland.
"Ask away,"
"What's your favourite Kate Bush song?" An oppressive silence immediately dominates the room. Roland cannot force a word out of his mouth. Who is this songstress? Suddenly he remembers the inclusion of Snowflake on the Marxist playlist and is about to answer when the Angel of Pop telepathically intervenes.
"Don't be a fool Roland!" His voice echoes inside Roland's skull. "You can't just pick the one you got free from Starbucks, they'll be wise to that."
"What do I do then?" replies Roland mentally, "I am not equal to this challenge!"
"Where's your revolutionary fervour?" demands the Angel, "Don't you want to show up these capitalist swines. Focus!"
"OK....ooo Wuthering Heights."
"Are you mad? Far too obvious, and he may well be an Emily Bronte purist. Try again!"
Roland begins to feel the pressure. Beads of sweat drip into his tracksuit as the tweedy man's expectant eyes deaden his brain. "Erm...Babooshka!"
"Better, but nobody knows any of the words apart from 'babooshka'. Be prepared to quote large sections of the verses to prove you are a true connoisseur."
Roland quickly abandons this idea, but soon remembers another: "Running Up That Hill!"
"What's it about?"
"Jogging?"
"Try again!"
"I can't do this! I'm a fake! I'm a fraud! I have no Musical Credentials!"
"Do not despair! Focus your mind! Plunder the esoteric depths of the land of Bush!"
"I need some advice!" Suddenly the Spirit of Pop descends with tongues of fire and possessed Roland, revealing to him the intricacies of pop music's complex history. An answer is instantly forthcoming.
"The Director's Cut version of Moment's of Pleasure, where the chorus is replaced by humming!"
"Really?"
"It adds to the sense of narrative and mournful tone."
"Hmph...Babooshka's much better."
"Really? I think Army Dreamers is the best song from that album."
"Well sounds like you know best..." The tweedy man cheerily stamps an official looking bit of paper. "Your Musical Credentials. Sorry about the hassle me lad, accept our sincere apologies for doubting you." Roland nervously wipes the sweat of his brow and leaves Music HQ in a mood of elation. He is free to orchestrate the revolution in peace.

Dawn of the Planet of the Apes: Symbolic Masterpiece or Monkeys Fighting?

It's the return of the franchise with far too many words in its title! Once more, talking simians will reveal to us our own arrogant sense of superiority over the animal kingdom. And the critics think it's wonderful! An amazing technical achievement. A worthy successor to the ground breaking original film. But I disagree.

Caeser and Malcolm share an intimate moment

Initially, the film has much to recommend it. The decision to have the apes use sign language was a good one, and for the first half the atmosphere is suitably tense as a fragile peace exists between the menacing monkeys and the human survivors of 'simian flu'. It all kicks off when Koba decides to be bad. This seems a natural decision, Koba is an ugly ape, and as we all know, ugliness is synonymous with evil. And then there are Explosions! and Fighting! and Monkeys....With Big Guns! And any sense of intelligence dies.
It is very pretty (you would hope so with how much money they've spent on it!). The apes settlement looks magnificent, and in a way their attack on the humans' residence is rather thrilling. But if I wanted visual spectacle and people fighting in an Epic Style, I'd go and watch a Michael Bay film.
I gradually became very upset, and my gentle weeping may have distracted some of my fellow cinema goers. In the original Planet of the Apes, the apes had Deep Conversations about the ethics of keeping humans as second class citizens. Here they just shoot them. And I began to realise that the entire film was bereft of characters. Malcolm is Decent. Dreyfus is Selfish and Narrow Minded. Carver is Violent. Caeser is Wise. And the plot is fairly predictable. Spoiler alert, but Good triumphs over Evil.

Koba does his gangster pose

Are there any redeeming qualities to Matt Reeve's simian shenanigans? Well, perhaps you could say that Caeser is actually a little too much like his Roman namesake, and he has a totalitarian hold over his fellow apes. But we're encouraged to see him as warm and loveable, and not question his demand for absolute obedience. The whole thing is a deeply pessimistic comment about humanity: different cultures will always feel threatened when they live side by side and peace is impossible; fitting when you consider the current Middle East crisis. But this film is squarely aimed at people who want a feast for the eyes, not the mind.
So I emerged from the cinema with a heavy heart. Contrary to general opinion, Rise of the Planet of the Apes was a lot better. That had Ethical Questions about animal testing. None of the apes were brandishing machine guns then. So, my advice: ignore those that say otherwise, avoid at all costs.

Musings of an Angry Existentialist (at the Cinema): Act 4

Still shaken after the explosive conclusion of the third act, spluttering echoes around the theatre as the Bourgeois Audience choke on the dust that once was the Odeon cinema. A wealthy socialite violently shakes the filth from her inordinately expensive dress, glaring angrily at the husband who took her to this ghastly play. In the row behind, a bulky skinhead weeps pitifully at the death of Hipster Girlfriend, and bemoans the cruelty of a world without her. Before the cacophony of discontent his ended, the curtain begins to raise, signalling the beginning of the penultimate act.
The setting is a dusty psychiatric ward. On a bed with a supernaturally creaky mattress lies an emaciated figure. On the bedside table is a well thumbed copy of Jean Paul Sartre's Nausea. A steady drip of tears can be heard as a sizeable puddle of salt water collects on the floor. The audience begin to feel a strong sense of deja vu. Was this not also the opening of the second act? The more astute theatre goers notice a detail that passed unnoticed before. Angry Existentialist (AE) is staring in horror at the lightbulb in the room. The treacherous Bearded Stranger interrupts AE's sorrow.
"How did you find me?" AE's voice tremors with the depth of his pain.
"I found Mysterious Beginning hospital and drew my own conclusions," responds the bearded stranger with an appropriate level of solemnity. There is a brief pause. "Your Hipster Girlfriend is in grave danger. You must come out of hiding, and re-enter civilisation in order to save her from the clutches of her Jealous Lover."
"But hell is other people!" whines AE.
"Her heart is heavy with longing for you. It is time to shake of your morbid stupor and rise to your role as Initially Underwhelming But Ultimately Heroic Protagonist."
"Well, if you insist...." As the two men leave the ward, a doctor violently protests that AE is not ready to face a world of lightbulbs in which everyone's arm will look like Jared Leto's.
"There are causes higher than Angry Existentialists sanity," responds the Bearded Stranger gravely. "He must make the ultimate sacrifice in order to save his Hipster Girlfriend." AE is about to protest along the lines of the primacy of the individual in existentialist philosophy, but he is silenced by his conscience. Bearded Stranger now grasps AE's arm and storms through the hospital. His eyes show a steely determination which unnerves AE, but currently he is more concerned with all the lightbulbs he is passing underneath, which almost certainly he will have to munch on. AE wails for the Bearded Stranger to slow down, but he is ignored. A tear rolls down the Bearded Stranger's cheek as they near the main doors of the hospital. As the Bearded Stranger flamboyantly flings them open, AE is blinded by the sunlight and is initially unaware of the two police officers advancing towards him.
"Here he is," declares Bearded Stranger in a flat, gruff voice. Before AE is aware of what's happening, he is in handcuffs.
"Angry Existentialist, I am arresting you on suspicion of multiple counts of murder and the destruction of the Odeon cinema in Rundown Town. You do not have to say anything..."
"Bearded Stranger!" wails AE is he is unceremoniously hurled into the police vehicle, "How could you betray me?" As his plan unfolds to perfection, Jealous Lover is watching...

-Part I-

-Monty Python: Live (Mostly)-

Jealous Lover is outraged. Television suits have interrupted his viewing pleasure, as the Penis Song is deemed inappropriate for pre-watershed viewing and completely cut from the live broadcast. His anger soon bubbles over and he hurls an albatross at the screen.

"How could they do this me?" he yells, face the colour of beetroot with beads of sweat dripping from his nose. "I pay my licence fee! Is is my right to listen to the Penis Song. Damn you television executives!" He slams his hand down on his servants bell, and a moustachioed henchman hastily arrives.

"I want the head of the GOLD television network murdered!" he cried.

"It shall be done," responds the characterless servant, who quickly leaves to do Jealous Lover's bidding. By the time the Bearded Stranger arrives, Jealous Lover is in fits of laughter over the Lumberjack Song.

"Angry Existentialist has been delivered into the hands of the police, as you commanded," he says solemnly. An air of sadness and guilt now pervades the Bearded Stranger.

"Good, good," responds Jealous Lover impatiently, eager to return to the Pythons.

"You said you'd take the explosives from my beard..." Jealous Lover's thumb comes hurtling down to thunderously press the pause button. He turns to the Bearded Stranger with a look of pure hated in his eyes.

"And why should I do that?" he snarls. Spittle drenches the Bearded Stranger.

"It was our agreement..."

"Why should I agree to anything? I hold all the cards here. At the push of a button, you would be no more, you would cease to be, you would be an ex-bearded stranger. You are entirely in my power." The Bearded Stranger turns deathly pale and wobbles slightly on his feet. A trembling hand attempts to remove Jealous Lover's spit from his face.

"So I betrayed my friends...for nothing."

"Nonsense! If you hadn't done exactly as I asked then you would not be standing her today. When I require your services again, you shall be called for."

"So I'm your slave!" Bearded Stranger is now shaking violently with fury. Jealous Lover can feel the heat of his anger. The Bearded Stranger's chin is roasting and wisps of smoke begin to escape from within his beard.

"I wouldn't think of it like that. As our existentialist friend would hasten to inform us, we're all slaves to social norms. It's just that the deal is more explicit with you." This is the final straw for the Bearded Stranger. He launches himself at Jealous Lover, who is terrified as one of the reasons Hipster Girlfriend jilted him was because of his lack of biceps. He shudders at the prospect of bruises appearing on his perfectly pampered face.

"Stop!" he roars, "or I'll detonate your beard."

"Then we'll both go down together, my exploding beard will be fatal to you." Jealous Lover's mortality suddenly flashed through his eyes. His heart beats shudderingly, and he begins to nervously hum Always Look on the Bright Side of Life.

"Give me back my beard!" cries the Bearded Stranger. He is holding the puny figure of Jealous Lover by his moustache. But his advantage is brief. Before he can stop him, Jealous Lover's spindly hand is thrust down upon his servants bell and within seconds Bearded Stranger is dragged away and restrained by moustachioed henchmen. He realises that now the game is up. He has played all his cards, and awaits death at the hands of Jealous Lover. He closes his eyes and tries to force an air of serenity upon himself.

"Oh Bearded Stranger," begins Jealous Lover smugly, "you've made some very, very bad decisions. And now it is time that you pay for them. Have you any last requests?"

"Let me send Angry Existentialist a film," whimpers Bearded Stranger as he chokes back tears, "let me send him....

-Part II-

-The Great Escape-

"What a waste my life has been!" AE begins his soliloquy with spirit. "My true love has been murdered by my spineless friend. I sought to make myself, instead I have been undone by the cruelty of a heartless world." AE has been condemned to life imprisonment. The evidence was conclusive. 'Existence precedes essence' was scrawled in graffiti over the ruins of the Odeon, whilst pages from Camus's The Outsider were to be found floating in the breeze when the police arrived on the scene. The prosecution suggested that AE committed the atrocity as an act of existential angst, similar to the shooting of the Arab in The Outsider. The defence felt intimidated by literary references, and were at a loss as to how to respond. It took the jury seventeen seconds to decide on a verdict. But we are interrupting AE soliloquy and he continues by beginning to sing in a monastic recitative.

"Why me? Why did my girlfriend have to have a psychotic former lover? But do I regret meeting her? No!" At this point a DJ enters stage left and begins to lay down some beats. A disco ball descends from the ceiling. The sound of unfastening Velcro can be heard as AE's prison clothes are flung from his now gyrating body. The audience gasps as they behold their protagonist wearing only some sparkling Y-Fronts. Some ladies in the front row faint.

"I lover her!" proclaims AE in a melodramatic musical theatre style. He is suddenly flanked by hordes of backing singers who respond:

"He loves her!" They begin to sway and clap.

"I saw her at a movie/ It really was quite groovy/ She's even more attractive than Ralph Fiennes!"

"Oooh Ralph!" coo the backing singers. Hordes of dancers flock onto the stage, and begin to throw their bodies into all sorts of bizarre contortions. 

"Helena Bonham Carter/ I say my girl is smarter/ Ben Wishaw is a cutie/ But my girl is more fruity/ She's really quite attractive/ She makes my heart quite active/ I'd really like a peerage/ But I prefer her cleavage/ I also like her face/ There's nothing I'd replace/ Yes, I looooooove heeeer!"

"He looovvvvvessss heeeer!" The dancing has become more frantic, and the DJ chooses this moment to drop the bass. A rapper joins AE on stage, and takes over from AE's appalling rhymes.

"He quotes Paul-Sartre like a pro/ He gets quite gloomy, feels quite low/ Heidgger, Husserl, a bit of Nietzsche/ Pain and suffering's his best teacher/ His everyday thoughts are really deep/ He writes poetry before he goes to sleep/ It's a shame that it's all bloody awful/ He'd happily give Aristotle an earful/ For saying there's a common human nature/ Watch out essentialists, he'd berate ya/ He's an angry existentialist/ Yeah he's an angry existentialist!"

"Oooo Angry Existentialist!" coo the backing singers. The dancers have by now at least trebled in number. Outsider AE's now somewhat cramped cell, prison wardens and prisoners alike are grooving to the funky tunes. But suddenly the music stops, as a DVD is pushed through the flap at the bottom of AE's cell. The assorted dancers, backing singers, DJ and rapper peer over AE's shoulder in tense anticipation as he examines the DVD. A smile spreads across AE's face. He lovingly opens the case, dreaming off alleviating the monotony of prison with the highlights of Western film-making. But the contents are even better than he could have imagined. Inside is a small explosive device and a note from the Bearded Stranger. It reads thus: I know you can never forgive me, but use this explosive to escape from prison and have your revenge on Jealous Lover. Love from the Bearded Stranger xxx. 

"He turned out all right in the end," sighs AE, before hastily placing the explosive on the wall and instructing everyone to stand back. In less than a minute, AE and his troop of singers and dancers joyfully escape from prison doing the can-can. But he is unaware of...

-Part III-

-The Final Cliffhanger-

Bearded Stranger trembles. He is tied to a chair, which is suspended by a rusty chain over a dark pit. His beard is in disarray, and he is facing the smug figure of Jealous Lover.

"You see I could have been merciful," continues Jealous Lover triumphantly. He has been gloating for the past five hours, and the Bearded Stranger is almost ready to welcome death if it means the end of his speech. "I could have simply detonated your beard, and you would have tumbled off this mortal coil in an instant. But you don't deserve that, and it's much less fun for me. Instead behold..." The pit is illuminated. "...the pit of carnivorous kittens!" Bearded Stranger nervously looks down into the pit. The kittens are staring back up at him. The small bundles of fluff have crazed looks in their eyes, and their leathery tongues provocatively lick their lips. Some of them growl at him, exposing their razor sharp fangs. There is a jolt as the Bearded Stranger's chair begins to descend into the pit. The curtain falls to the Bearded Stranger's ear piercing screams as he prepares to be devoured.

Musings of an Angry Existentialist (at the Cinema): Act 3

Muted conversation can be heard in the audience as they await the commencement of the third act. A Disgruntled Gentleman complains that the plot is entirely unrealistic, and what's more shirks any element of social critique, for him a much greater evil. With a tragic sigh, he flips through some pages of Marx's Capital before the farce can continue. Beside him, a clandestine couple plot murder, whilst the cuckold is buying ice cream:
"It has be done," demands the icy temptress, "otherwise we can never be together". Her face dives forward to kiss her lover violently, but he shows reservations.
"But what if we are caught!" The man has an unnaturally high voice. "They'll send me to prison! They'll force me to wear those stripy prison clothes, when we both know that stripes always add a few pounds." A look of disappointment which words cannot convey can be observed inhabiting the woman's face, but her savage rebukes are silenced as the cuckold returns with the ice creams. Meanwhile, a bohemian hipster in a flowing scarf is conversing avidly with his neighbour.
"Honestly, the Matisse exhibition is simply to die for! The sheer vibrancy of the colours, and the uncommon textures..."
"I did quite enough collages at primary school, and there is no way you can convince me that that's a snail..."
The man's objections to French art are silenced by a heavenly voice reminding the discontented audience to switch of their mobile phones.
"Here's to another hour of utter boredom," moans the Disgruntled Gentleman. The curtain rises and your phone begins to play Call Me Maybe at an embarrassing volume. Ashamed of both your ringtone and your brazen flaunting of the heavenly voice's commands, you struggle to silence it as the Bearded Stranger ambles to the front of the stage to deliver a heartbreaking soliloquy as....

-Part I-

-The Bearded Stranger Struggles with his Conscience-

"What have I done!" comes a voice from within the undergrowth of the Bearded Stranger's beard. "Sacrificed my liberty, betrayed my friend, all for the sake of facial hair. Oh, what a fool I am!" At this point, the Bearded Stranger's Conscience enters stage left. The Beaded Stranger gasps, turns pale and clutches his beard. He has seen what his conscience is brandishing as it walks towards him. It's a razor!

"But no!" he cries, "There is something...necessary in a beard. A beard is a man's very essence! It is unreasonable to deprive him off it." His conscience advances still closer, and its intent is clear. "Now listen you! I cannot forsake my manliness! I will not! I would rather die, damn you!" His conscience is now nearly upon him. The razor is reaching out towards the verdant beard. "No! No! I won't let you do this! I'll....I'll fight you!" And so the Bearded Stranger begins to struggle with his conscience. He aims a sharp punch to his conscience's left cheek, but he soon realises that consciences play dirty. A well aimed kick is aimed at the Bearded Stranger's groin, and he collapses in agony. 

("Good gracious, this is terribly low theatre," mutters a Theatrical Snob. Her husband meanwhile winces in sympathy for the Bearded Strange, who is now being violently pummelled by his conscience)

The Bearded Stranger's screams suggest he never had any manliness in the first place, but in the midst of his agony, he is desperately defending his beard from his conscience's razor, allowing his hands to be slashed instead of endangering his facial growth. The struggle continues. The Bearded Stranger successfully knees his conscience in the stomach, and is now gaining the upper hand.

"I was only trying to help you," wails the Bearded Stranger's conscience, before disappearing in a puff of purple smoke. The Bearded Stranger chokes on the fumes as he continues to breathe heavily. His clothes are in tatters, and blood is pouring from the gashes in his arms. But these battle scars are insignificant to him. He has overcome his conscience.

-Part II-

-Oculus-

"My Hipster Girlfriend's life is in danger, and what do you tell me?" cries the Angry Existentialist (AE) aghast. "You want me to...to review horror films!" The Bearded Stranger now leans in close to AE and speaks in an urgent whisper.

"Listen my friend! Hipster Girlfriend has escaped from her imprisonment, and is currently residing in a safe house, the location of which I cannot disclose to you. Your return to society has been noted, but if you return to your old ways as a cinema critic you will not be perceived as a threat. However, if you attempt to find your Hipster Girlfriend, her cover will be blown and both of you will meet a grisly end at the hands of Jealous Lover."

"But what of the role I must fulfil as Heroic Protagonist?" protests AE.

"There will be time for that later, for now the only reasonable course of action is to lie low until Jealous Lover becomes complacent."

"You counsel wisely," AE sighs, "but why horror films?"

"You must broaden your palate as a film critic. And a horror review is a very simple matter. You just say if it was scary or not."

And so AE did what he swore he would never do again: he walked through the sliding doors of the Odeon cinema. But on second thought, he knew it was never wise to have made such general resolutions, as he could not account for the state of mind of his future self. He trembles a little as he buys a ticket for Oculus, painful memoires cascade over him. Jean Paul Sartre's Being and Nothingness is stowed in his coat pocket for comfort. He wishes he settled on something shorter as there is a noticeable bulge.

AE takes his seat, not knowing what to expect from a film about a haunted mirror with the ginger one from Dr. Who in it. To begin with he is bored beyond belief, and mortified that a boy should be thrown in a mental institution for having the bravery to defy social conventions and shoot his father. But AE begins to grow uncomfortable. The drama intensifies. He wants to turn away, to flee from the cinema, but his eyes are glued to the unfolding action. His heart stops as Karen Gillan accidentally bites into a lightbulb instead of an apple, and his face pulls all kinds of contortions of disgust as she spits out bloodied glass and goes on to thrust a shard of plant pot into her lover's throat. By the time the film meets it's unbearably tense conclusion, AE races from the cinema and rushes towards the toilets, but instead is sick all over a passing punk rocker. Stony eyes glare into the depths of his soul.

"Now," AE begins nervously, "to respond to this dreadful mishap with anger would be to follow social norms...". The punk rocker obviously disagrees. The next thing AE knows he is lying in a hospital bed, severely battered. Social norms are nothing compared to a ruined Sex Pistols T-Shirt. Meanwhile, in another cinema on the other side of town, Hipster Girlfirend is watching...

-Part III-

-Episodes-

"How he would have loved this meta-textual comedy!" sobs Hipster Girlfriend as she tosses yet another tear sodden tissue on an ever growing mound. "But then again, he would have thought the focus on Shaun and Beverly's marriage highlighted a common case of mauvaise foi in our society. Perhaps he'd think Matt LeBlanc was a fellow existentialist in this respect." Even as she says the words, Hipster Girlfriend thinks this is unlikely. A letter clatters out of the door and drifts serenely towards the mat. She rushes to examine it, expecting correspondence from AE. She is not disappointed.

"It's him! Requesting a cinema for a rendez-vous, just like the old days! But his choice of film is certainly unusual. Chef sounds bland and light-hearted."

Bearded Stranger retreats from posting this forged message, uneasy in the knowledge that he has just lured Hipster Girlfriend to her death. Meanwhile, the second part of Jealous Lover's plan is unfolding, involving...

-Part IV-

-Requiem for a Dream-

Moustachioed henchmen storm the hospital in which AE is recovering from the vomit induced violence. Ignoring his baffled entreaties, they drag him from his bed and into a van, where he is promptly blindfolded and tied up.

"You may take my liberty," he screams, "but I have a freedom that you will never have. You are trapped by mauvaise foi! I am truly free!" The moustachioed henchmen ignore his incomprehensible ranting until they lead him into Jealous Lover's torture chamber. As his blindfold is removed, he is surrounded by mirrors identical to the one in Oculus. All of them are whispering to him. Around him whirl lightbulbs and apples, so quickly that he does not know which is which. Overcome by all this, AE collapses on the floor and unleashes an ear piercing scream. His sanity begins to rapidly desert him as he is scooped of the floor and strapped to a chair in front of a blank screen. His eyelids are held open by a contraption similar to that seen in A Clockwork Orange.

"Why are you doing this to me?" he asks with what scraps of humanity he has left.

"You crossed Jealous Lover," smirks the most menacing Moustachioed Henchmen, "no one does that lightly."

Without warning, Requiem for a Dream commences on the screen. The subtext and depth of the film initially encourages the little shred of film critic still left inside Angry Existentialist to resurface. But men of a stronger disposition have been unable to finish watching Darren Aronofsky's visceral thriller. By the end of the movie, all of AE's sanity has deserted him, and images of Jared Leto's arm now swim amongst mirrors and lightbulbs. Although AE has now been conditioned to abandon his flirtation with recreational drugs once and for all, the man he once was has ceased to be. AE is dead inside. Meanwhile, Hipster Girlfriend is bored silly in the Odeon, watching....

-Part V-

-Chef-

As Hipster Girlfriend battles her desire to fall asleep, eager not to miss AE's arrival, Jealous Lover walks to the front of the stage to the side of the scene. Realising once again that the audience are in the dark about his latest ingenious and sinister plot, he commences a soliloquy to fill them in:

"My dastardly plan is almost complete! Knowing that Angry Existentialist possessed the sort of weak constitution that is easily overcome by a good horror film, I have driven him mad. He is currently stowed away in a mental hospital, and unable to stop the unfolding of my final scheme. I have bribed the cinema staff, so that when Hipster Girlfriend made her usual request of popcorn sprinkled with fairy dust, the cinema attendant placed explosives amidst this sweet treat. As I well know, she will never finish the popcorn for fear of expanding her waistline, leaving my explosives disguised masterfully. Soon they will wipe her twee little figure off the face of the Earth." Jealous Lover is about to leave, but then returns to the front of stage as he remembers something. "Oh, and as a final punishment for her cruel rejection of me, the final two hours of her life will be spent watching this appallingly bad film. Oh, how evil I am!" He finally leaves the stage, cackling horrendously. 

Meanwhile, Hipster Girlfriend is looking anxiously at her watch. The film is nearly over, and AE still hasn't shown up. Could he have forgotten?

"I thought he loved me," she mutters discontentedly, "why would he make me watch this awful film?"

As the film draws to it's predictable and saccharine close, the man in the seat next to her delivers his verdict to his cinematic companion.

"That was the most dreary two hours of my life," he yawns, "it could only be improved if the entire audience had been obliterated before we endured such trash." Ever eager to please, Jealous Lover does just that, unfortunately after the film though and not before it. A fireball erupts out of the space where Hipster Girlfriend's popcorn once existed, engulfing not only the audience of Chef, but also those people who chose a better film to watch. The Odeon explodes dramatically. Glass shatters and the building crumples in a flaming inferno. A singed piece of popcorn bounces across the car park. Jealous Lover, dressed in a luxurious smoking jacket, smugly picks it up and lovingly slips it between his lips. As he savours the charred taste of popcorn, another taste overpowers it: victory. The curtain falls on Act Three...

Musings of an Angry Existentialist (at the Cinema): Act 2

The second act begins in a gloomy psychiatric ward, as stale dust envelops the Bourgeois Audience. You, Dear Reader, suffer from a cacophonous sneeze which momentarily derails proceedings. On a bed with a supernaturally creaky mattress lies an emaciated figure. On the bedside table is a well thumbed copy of Jean Paul Sartre's Nausea. A steady drip of tears can be heard as a sizeable puddle of salt water collects on the floor. As the Bourgeois Audience has probably guessed, this is Angry Existentialist (AE), having remarkably survived certain death at the climax of Act 1. A bearded stranger interrupts AE's sorrow.
"How did you find me?" AE's voice tremors with the depth of his pain.
"I found Mysterious Beginning hospital and drew my own conclusions," responds the bearded stranger with an appropriate level of solemnity. There is a brief pause. "Your Hipster Girlfriend is in grave danger. You must come out of hiding, and re-enter civilisation in order to save her from the clutches of her Jealous Lover."
"But hell is other people!" whines AE.
"Her heart is heavy with longing for you. It is time to shake of your morbid stupor and rise to your role as Initially Underwhelming But Ultimately Heroic Protagonist."
"Well, if you insist...."
The old friends dramatically walk into the Gimmicky Flashback Ward, taking the audience back to....

-Part I-

-The Resolution of the Cliffhanger-

Jealous Lover is the first to breath after AE tumbled off Possibility of Tragic Death Tower Block. Hipster Girlfriend so stubbornly refuses to breath after the death of her gallant lover that she comes close to fainting.

"Well!" begins Jealous Lover pompously, "It hurts my pride that you would think of replacing me with someone so unschooled in the art of dance..."

"But your idea of dance preceded your existence, and forced you to conform..."

"My God, the rascal has infected you too. Come along now Hipster Girlfriend, come to my dark and foreboding tower where I shall take advantage of your grief and make you mine once more!". Numb with her pain, Hipster Girlfriend acquiesces. With his ex-lover safely imprisoned in the back of his car by the child-lock, Jealous Lover takes a brief walk in order to take an indulgent look at AE's mangled corpse. But ice freezes his vains. There is no bloodied corpse. AE has survived.

Indeed, a series of Remarkable Coincidences have ensured AE's continued existence. An Eccentric Aristocrat had just been left by his Snobbish Wife, and his unbearable grief had found her only gift to him, an extremely sturdy trampoline, as its focal point, The Eccentric Aristocrat's first instinct was to burn this nostalgic gift, but then a sense of Philanthropy stirred within him. Rather than engage in wanton destruction, he decided to give his unwanted trampoline to the proletariat. But then he recoiled from his altruism, realising that he would have to mix with the unwashed masses in order to pass on his gift. Arriving at a happy compromise, the Eccentric Aristocrat made a trip in his private helicopter over the area which most evoked T. S. Eliot's The Wasteland, and tossed the offending trampoline into the abyss, before returning to his mansion fulfilled. By a remarkable stroke of luck, the sturdy trampoline survived the fall and landed directly beneath Possibility of Tragic Death Tower Block, the perfect place to cushion AE's fall. Jealous Lover is less than impressed.

"Damn you!" he growls, accelerating the slow decay of the tower block by giving the wall a mighty kick. His next deceleration is louder. "Do you think you've outwitted me? Eh, do you? You're gravely mistaken Sir! I will have the last laugh. Ha! You see? Ha, Ha! My Moustachioed Henchmen will ensure that you will never set foot in society again. And what's more you rogue, Hipster Girlfriend will never know you survived the fall!" Jealous Lover makes a dramatic exit whilst cackling horrendously.

And so the years drag on. Hipster Girlfriend remains imprisoned in Jealous Lover's foreboding tower. She considers doing a Rapunzal, but quickly concludes that this is futile, as Jealous Lover visits frequently with scissors. Miles and miles away, unbeknown to her in a faraway land, Angry Existentialist is watching...

-Part II-

-Breaking Bad-

AE grizzles into his larger; he has had to abandon his expensive taste in single malts as his Gothic mansion and all his worldly possessions have since been seized by Jealous Lover's Moustachioed Henchmen.

"Maybe I could be a television critic," he sulks, "I'm certainly not entering a cinema again!". He hasn't seen another human being for several years, or shaved, or washed, or changed his clothes. His suit is now a distinctly less brilliant shade of pink. His attention is once more drawn towards the plights of Walter White and Jesse Pinkman.

"Why seek to prolong your life at all? Especially via the production of a drug which distracts people from their true quest of creating meaning in their lives! Oh this mortal coil!"

There is a knock on the door. AE is mightily shocked. Taking inspiration from the show's protagonists, AE has purchased a squalid camper van with what remaining funds he has left and driven into the depths of the American wilderness. It is an 1000 mile walk to the nearest town. It is absolutely impossible that Jealous Lover could find him here. AE has been on the run from the Moustachioed Henchmen across the globe.

"Nobody's here!" yells AE in a self defeating attempt to deny his presence. The door creaks open, and in strides the bearded stranger. They exchange Meaningful Eye Contact, before AE lets out a primal wail and comes hurtling towards his visitor.

"Where were you when I needed you? Why did you tempt me into those darkened cinemas? Why have you ruined my life?" yells AE. The bearded stranger struggles to breath through torrents of tears, and the stench of the unwashed existentialist makes him want to vomit desperately. Just in time, he hauls AE's deflated body from off of his bohemian clothes and takes a satisfying gulp of fresh air which has not yet been spoiled by AE's odour. 

"You have given up on life Angry Existentialist! How can you create yourself when you're always on the run? You must make a stand, and defeat your antagonist, reclaiming your sweetheart!"

"But I haven't the energy! Since my birth I have been engaged in an unrelenting duel with life, and now finally life has emerged the victor."

"Curse your narcissism! Your Hipster Girlfriend does not even know that you are alive!"

Guilt flashes through AE's eyes. Without further delay he scrambles over to his collection of second hand DVDs, and selects one to post to Hipster Girlfriend. He addresses it thus:

Jealous Lover's Dark and Foreboding Tower

Antiquated Village

Dark (and Haunted) Forest

Albion/Blighty/Land of Strawberries and Cream/Darn Good England

ST6 8HY

The film he chooses is:

-Part 3-

-Barton Fink-

"It must be him!" cries Hipster Girlfriend euphorically. "No one else would spontaneously send me a film about a conceited, esoteric artist falling foul to the brutality of the real world!". Her pet rat listens attentively

She realises she must take action at once. After the failure of her Rapunzal related plan, she has instead made a parachute out of her many, many floral dresses, which she now attaches to herself with blue ribbon. She takes a deep breath, clenches her fists, and without fear launches herself out of the window in a bid for freedom.

Jealous Lover does not hear the sound of smashing glass as he is deeply engrossed in a Menacing Interview with one of his mysterious associates.

"So you found him and convinced him to return to society? Right into my clutches! Oh, you have done well bearded stranger." The bourgeois audience gasps at this unexpected plot twist. You begin to choke as your sip of sauvignon blanc goes down the wrong way.

"I have done as you asked, I hope you will uphold your side of our agreement." Jealous Lover realises that the audience is in the dark about his evil scheming, and so eagerly begins a soliloquy in order to fill them in.

"Knowing that bearded stranger was a close associate of my arch nemesis, it was a natural move to track him down. While he was sleeping, I inserted minuscule explosives into the bushy depths of his beard. When he awoke he had two remaining options. Either to heartlessly betray his friend and co-operate with my repugnant scheme, or shave and thus remove the danger of spontaneously exploding. I knew which choice he would make, such is my cunning!" The bearded stranger's face is now traffic light red as he is reminded of his embarrassing predictability.

"And now," smiles Jealous Lover, "come with me to Hipster Girlfriend's cell and laugh at her helplessness!" And so they both become prithee to Hipster Girlfriend's escape. But Jealous Lover is unperturbed.

"The hunt becomes even more delicious. The situation demands that I break my promise to disarm the explosives in your beard tonight, and instead require a further betrayal from you on my behalf. You are to drive Angry Existentialist to madness, such that he will be incapable of rising to his duties as Heroic Protagonist. And I have the perfect way for you to execute my will!"

The curtain falls to the sound of Jealous Lover's crazed laughter, as the Second Act concludes. 

Quickfire Reviews (Part 8)

As the exam season drones on, the thoughts of this intrepid blogger turn to the highlights of recent British culture.

Music: The Black Keys- Turn Blue

Retro rockers follow up their storming breakthrough album, with added groove

Patrick Carney (left) tries not to look enviously at Auerbach's beard

 After El Camino (whatever that means) spawned the hit singles Lonely Boy and Gold on the Ceiling, things were looking good for Dan Auerbach and Patrick Carney. They enjoyed the high-profile support of Jennifer Lawrence (now being blue once again in yet another X Men film) and scored a moral victory over Jack White after he was shockingly abusive to Auerbach in a leaked email to his ex-wife. Turn Blue represents their more laid back view on life. Opener The Weight of Love strums along happily without a lot happening for an atmospherically protracted introduction, and lasts six minutes all in all, contrary to El Camino which dashed through frantic vintage rock at break neck speeds before ending disappointingly soon. Although there's nothing here which quite matched the hit singles of their previous LP, it is a significantly more enjoyable album, tinged with a hint of indulgent melancholy. The riffs are perhaps more memorable, and the overall feel a little less monotone, especially with the surprisingly summery Gotta Get Away to close the album. All in all, a record where one can imagine oneself sprawled out in a smoky bar, half listening to a heartbroken friend whilst enjoying the effects of recreational drugs.

Rating: 8/10

Film: In Fear

Like Blair Witch, but much less irritating and Irish

Alice Englert reflects gloomily on the prospect of a long drive

The traditional recipe for horror involves either characters gleefully dismembering themselves whilst under constant attack from some distinctly unsubtle fiend (as in the recent misjudged remake of The Evil Dead) or dull as ditch water found footage films (like any of the Paranormal Activity films). In Fear mercifully fits neither of these stereotypes, and one would expect it to be more than your average horror movie. It's produced by the same people as excellent, offbeat comedy-horror Sightseers; it's director has done an episode of the consistently visually inventive Sherlock, whilst its star, Alice Englert was chilling as misled adolescent Rosa in Ginger and Rosa. It's starkly minimalist, heartstoppingly tense and visceral in its depiction of the effect of fear on human beings. Tom and Lucy are a couple of two weeks who get lost trying to find a secluded hotel in Ireland, discovering all is not well as the signs lead them in circles. As darkness falls and petrol runs low, you are in the car with them as they turn on each other and come under attack from an elusive predator, hellbent on messing with their minds. As well as being tremendously scary, the film makes some rather intelligent points about how we act under pressure and how far our 'selfish genes' will take us in order to survive. Definitely worth a watch.

Rating: 9/10

Theatre: King Lear

Bond director delivers modern adaptation of Shakespeare's masterpiece- with Lear as a raging penguin

Regan strokes Lear's luxuriously soft beard

As Sam Mendes points out in the behind the scenes feature for this hotly anticipated play, broadcast three times across UK cinemas, performances of King Lear have settled into a drearily predictable rut. The evil daughters, Regan and Goneril, wear the same clothes and are indistinguishable in terms of personality. The titular king makes a dramatic shift from bad to mad with seemingly no middle ground. Nobody quite understands why Cordelia couldn't think of something nice to say about Lear, and then none of the nasty stuff that follows would have happened. Mendes answers some of these concerns. Goneril and Regan are now distinguishable. Edgar is refreshingly gormless rather than the perfect child, so Edmund's anger is at least somewhat justified. Simon Russell Beale conducted extensive research beforehand, playing Lear suffering from dementia. But this adaptation is far from perfect. At times Beale's Lear turns into a ranting penguin, waddling across the stage before panting like a dog who's run too far. The fool is bludgeoned to death, something which was never dreamt of by Shakespeare, hence why no one refers to it afterwards. The portrayal of Lear as a modern day dictator is somewhat predictable. Yet there are some memorable and electrifying moments. Gloucester's eyes are brutally yanked out with a corkscrew and the climatic battle at Dover seems less like an afterthought than usual. This production's benefits far outweigh its flaws, with its all star cast and visual inventiveness resulting in a top notch night at the theatre, or the cinema for non-Londoners like myself. 

Rating: 8/10

Literature: Marcel Proust- In Search of Lost Time Volume 1: Swann's Way

Deeply irritating child precociously reflects on hawthorns whilst neurotic lover gets worked up about almost everything

Proust arrives at the shocking realisation that the moustache makes him look a bit of an idiot

In Little Miss Sunshine, a suicidal uncle looks deeply into his nihilistic nephew's eyes and extols the virtues of Proust. Indeed, Proust is widely thought to have revolutionised the way memory is tackled in literature, with the famous scene where our narrator recalls his childhood by sniffing some tea. But asides from this, the first volume of Proust's (rather lengthy) five volume saga  is astoundingly easy to mock. It has a deeply poetic tone, which occasionally veers into pretentiousness. This worked really well for Virginia Woolf in The Waves but is frankly silly when the narrator is meant to be recalling the experience of his pre-pubescent self. Unlike The Waves, nothing happens for the majority of the novel. There are some beautifully constructed vignettes, but there are also some drawn out passages which obsess over rather minor details. Once you get into Proust's style it's brilliant, but it's not so great for massaging one's mind after a long day or dipping in and out of. Mercifully there is an oasis amidst the pretentious child's reflections in the middle section: Swann in Love. The eponymous Charles Swann falls in love with the dubious Odette, who doesn't turn out to be the sweet, retiring figure she first appears. A painfully recounted tale of personal obsession and neurosis, the affair is always more about Swann than Odette, and illustrates teh destructive power of memory. Then, unfortunately, we're left with the annoying child again, but a shock twist and a fantastic closing section makes the overall impression positive.

Rating: 7/10

Quickfire Reviews (Part 7)

Despite the "slings and arrows of outrageous fortune" (i.e. the fact that now studying ought to take precedence over the cinema), the appreciation of fine films must continue. Therefore:

A Long Way Down/ High Fidelity

Nick Hornby! Author of such easy going tales as About a Boy, he appears to be perfect fodder for film directors. Unfortunately these adaptations tend to be lightweight and occasionally tedious. High Fidelity seems to be a less good version of Woody Allen's Annie Hall, with our protagonist cheekily breaking the fourth wall with asides to the camera. Unfortunately, while Woody Allen managed to make his neurotic, failure of a human being Alvy Singer faintly likeable, the same cannot be said for John Cusack's Rob Gordon. I also wanted to strangle more or less the entire cast of A Long Way Down, but especially Imogen Poots (who lands firmly on the wrong side of quirky) and Pierce Brosnan (whose attempt at charm is far overshadowed by the character's inherent solipsism). But A Long Way Down at least is more watchable than High Fidelity. Rosamund Pike's character is believable and well handled, and although it's hard to believe that any of the other three would have really jumped off a building and the theme of suicide is systematically avoided, it's inappropriate sense of humour is enough to save the viewer from boredom. High Fidelity is a prolonged experience of unpleasant people doing unpleasant things, although here too are moments of comedy gold, particularly as Gordon imagines pummelling his romantic rival. But inevitably, both result in disappointment.

High Fidelity: 4/10
A Long Way Down: 6/10

Run, Lola, Run

Germans! They're great aren't they. Kant. Bismark. Angela Merkel. And Tom Tykwer. Part of the visionary trio responsible for the sublime Cloud Atlas, he directed the historical segments and composed the astoundingly beautiful music. And unfortunately, Run Lola Run is nothing like Cloud Atlas. It is full on unhinged, following a surprisingly irrelevant prologue a deranged race against time ensues, before being repeated twice over. It's essentially like Groundhog Day but less fun or Source Code but with less special effects. There seems to be some philosophical overtones, but I was marginally confused about what they were trying to convey, and by the look of it so was Tykwer. The whole thing inevitably descends into silliness. Lola's tough-as-nails boyfriend isn't worth saving from certain doom, Lola's ear piercing screams belong in comics and not supposingly groundbreaking cinema, and the self-congratulatory camera work is annoying. And for the composer of the unforgettable Atlas March, the music is really odd and very disappointing.

Rating: 6/10

The Tempest

Shakespeare! The Bard is dragged kicking and screaming into the 21st Century as Julie Taymor decides the sure-fire way to make his epic swansong accessible is to pile on the CGI, with a sprinkling of ominous guitars. And it's awful. Ben Wishaw's fabulous Arial is engulfed by staggeringly pointless special effects, whilst an unbelievably magnificent speech seems abrupt as our protagonists abruptly emerge from a bizarre astrological swirl. And why has Propero become Prospera? Of course, Helen Mirren does a smashing job, but surely it's more interesting if Propero is a single father burdened with the care of Miranda. And speaking of Miranda, the scenes between her and Ferdinand are nauseatingly saccharine. I spent the whole thing wishing that I was watching it at the theatre, where it would have most likely been much less patronising. I imagine Will was turning in his grave.

Rating: 4/10

Transcendence

Wally Pfister! A debut director and fledgling of Christopher Nolan who everyone thought would be a carbon copy of his mentor and then got terribly irked when it turned out he wasn't. Terrible reviews resulted. The dialogue is terrible! The tension is dissipated by a pointless prolepsis at the beginning! Complex themes are defiled because silly Pfister doesn't know what he's doing! Thankfully, these objections are more or less nonsense. The dialogue is not nearly as clumsy as it has been portrayed, nicely playing off a neo-Ludite paranoia with a utopian sense of the possibilities of technology. The cast is nothing short of fantastic: Johnny Depp is predictably charming as Will Caster, carefully balancing menace with humanity when his consciousness is uploaded to a high-tech computer. He is ably supported by an emotional Rebecca Hall, a creepy Cillian Murphy and Paul Bettany as the film's moral compass. The ending is beautifully ambiguous, encouraging us to question who is the real villain of the piece: the power hungry, technologically enhanced Depp or the Machiavellian Murphy and Kate Mara's band of well meaning terrorists?

Rating: 7/10

Red Lights

God! Sigourney Weaver, fresh from being got by aliens, leads a band of fellow atheists (Cillian Murphy and Elizabeth Olsen) in an attempt to disprove as many mediums as possible, particularly the villainous Simon Silver (Robert DeNiro). The set-up seems to be your average supernatural thriller, but surprisingly something marginally more high brow ensues. Murphy manages to be downtrodden and paranoid, far away from the cold fish in Transcendence, whilst Robert DeNiro is magnificently menacing. Sigourney Weaver meanwhile wrestles with existential dilemmas, and Elizabeth Olsen's character is tragically underdeveloped, as she really is rather wonderful (if in doubt, watch Silent House or Martha Marcy May Marlene). As in Transcendence, there is a fabulous shock ending, and the whole affair is rather clever. The only sour note is that you feel the film comes down on the wrong side of the theist/atheist divide, but it's hard to pretend that personal prejudices aren't largely responsible for this minor niggle.

Rating: 8/10

Roland: The Marxist DJ

Picture the scene. Roland, a trendy, swagalicious DJ is booked to play a prestigious gathering, where some funky tunes are required to soundtrack the various acts of debauchery set to occur. The night before, Roland chooses an outfit, involving a baseball cap that almost certainly will not be worn the right way round, and a fluorescent green hoodie that ought to be tried for crimes against humanity. But lo and behold, Roland has neglected to prepare any music for the gathering. And what's more, his principles dictate that he can't buy any, as he happens to be a Marxist. Therefore, his funds would find their way into the hands of the greedy bourgeoisie, be it the managing director of HMV or some oily man in a three piece suit at the record company. It doesn't bear thinking about! If only Roland could somehow construct a playlist that didn't involve spending any money. Sadly, he is all too aware that there is no such thing as a free lunch in an advanced capitalist society, or free LP for that matter. At this point, Roland is confronted by a blinding light, from which descended the Angel of Pop.
"Rejoice Roland, for I bring great news," began the Angel in a somewhat pretentious manner, "You have been chosen to preach to the world that some of the greatest singles in pop music can be acquired for no money at all, and perfectly legally too! Take these tablets, and upon them copy down the best playlist in the history of ears!"

Track 1: Too Close- Alex Clare
Source: iTunes Single of the Week

Roland is proud to say that he liked this bombastic opening track before it became a mainstay on Radio 1, to be often played obnoxiously loudly by obnoxious people in obnoxious places. Mr Clare oozes charisma as he recites fairly dubious reasons for breaking up with his girlfriend, before he rather clumsily drops the bass. As he fumbles around on the floor trying to find it again, he blasts out a memorable chorus.

Track 2: No Angels- Bastille
Source: The Darker Regions of the Internet

In a move that defies all commercial sense, synth-pop sensation Bastille released two albums of innovative covers for free on the internet, before promptly deleting all links to them. Fortunately, after many hours of careful searching, Roland managed to recover Other People's Heartache Part II, Part I being seemingly lost forever. Again this song seems to have become exceedingly popular, and neither Roland nor the Angel of Pop have quite worked out where people are getting it from. Nevertheless, this is a funky reworking of The XX's unbelievably dull Angels, and TLC's No Scrubs. Marrying The XX's moody instrumentals with a tune that is not drenched in angsty misery actually makes for an interesting listen. Although the tune will never leave your head. Ever.

Track 3: Homesick (Live)- Catfish and the Bottlemen
Source: Reward for Signing up to their Mailing List

Time for a bit of good old fashioned rock and roll. After a smooth, melodic verse, floppy haired lead singer Van McCann (cruel parents) goes full throttle on his domestic problems. Roland was one of the few people to attend one of their concerts, where they supported the equally esoteric Little Comets. Bizarrely the band T-Shirts are emblazoned with a giant sperm (McCann patiently explains that he was a test tube baby), so now whenever Roland has sex he can hear Catfish and the Bottlemen playing in his head. He has considered taking this to a psychiatrist, but feels a little embarrassed....

Track 4: Snowflake- Kate Bush
Source: Starbucks Download of the Week

After a frantic slice of rock and roll, the pace slows down dramatically as pop royalty takes centre stage. Taken from her 2011 comeback album Fifty Words for Snow, Snowflake is perhaps not the most obvious single. It's hypnotically repetitive, accompanied only by a haunting piano part and it's a bit long. When Roland first heard it, he was ashamed to say that he fell asleep halfway through, before being unceremoniously nudged awake by the Angel of Pop and charged with a lack of respect for musical Gods. Nevertheless, Roland does find the song growing on him, and on repeated listens it's slightly less nauseating that "no, I don't no scrubs, scrub is a guy that can't get no love from me!". Indeed, the Angel of Pop insists that the fascinating metaphor of the unique snowflake about to be consumed by the snowfall in the forest and the characterisation in Bush's voice make this a different standard of pop music. Roland looks confused and nods in a docile fashion.

Track 5: Tremors- SOHN
Source: iTunes Single of the Week

Time for a return to synth pop, but unlike Alex Clare's bombastic bass lines, SOHN's creates an understated and haunting atmosphere. His delicate voice sours over the melodious synths, insisting that "if you're thinking of letting me go then it's time that you do". Moody and beautiful stuff.

Track 6: Laughter Lines- Bastille
Source: iTunes Single of the Week

The Angel of Pop does enjoy a bit of Dan Smith and his reliable indie pop. This track wasn't on the band's debut Bad Blood, but easily stands out as one of their best tracks. Highlights include flamboyant violin flourishes and a splendid moment of a cappella harmony. And it's happy, which is quite something compared to their usual themes of natural disasters (Pompeii), pyromania (Things We Lost in the Fire) and dead teenage girls (Laura Palmer).

Track 7: The Conversation- Texas
Source: Starbucks Download of the Week

The Angel of Pop is acutely aware that Roland's playlist is in danger of suffering a mid-album flop, a fate surely much worse than death. To prevent this happening, some seriously stylish pop is needed, and thankfully Texas is on hand to provide it. The funk is laid down earlier on with a seriously cool guitar intro, before Texas's clipped vocals complete the irresistible soundscape. If you're foot isn't tapping, it needs amputating.

Track 8: Skin- Rae Morris
Source: Her Website

Who? you may ask. Well, a sort of middle ground between the clean cut naivety of Birdy and the swagger of Lorde. Morris's mellow voice sails in above some pristine tinkling sounds, before admitting that "we break the ruuuules and listen to our own skin". Roland also listens to his skin, which occasionally tells him that washing might be a good idea. The Angel of Pop bemoans his simplicity.

Track 9: History Book- Dry the River
Source: iTunes Single of the Week

A louder, and altogether trendier, version of Mumford and Sons, Dry the River have better vocals, less banjos and choruses with more bight. In one of their quieter songs, singer Peter Liddle gets all nostalgic about a past relationship with some bittersweet guitars and reflective lyrics, before going full on pastoral in a euphoric climax: "our sweetness sings in the pasture/ we throw ourselves on the mercy of the Earth"). Bravely second guessing expectations for a simple strophic songs, History Book is one of the surprise hits from an incredibly memorable album, and therefore deserves its place on the Marxist playlist.

Track 10: One Day More- Les Miserables
Source: Starbucks Download of the Week

Like all good things, and fortunately most bad things, the Marxist playlist must come to an end. Having been deprived of anything to dance to pretty much throughout the playlist, the final blow comes in the form of musical theatre. It's the climatic moment of the French epic: Jon Valjean thinks his cover is blow, Marius and Cosette face the prospect of separation, and Javert is planning to brutally crush the coming revolution. What results is a melodramatic sing off. Slightly more manly than West Side Story, but admittedly not by much.

And so Roland the Marxist DJ mounts his skateboard and goes charging towards the venue of the hedonistic party, iPod harboured safely in the pocket of his jeans, which threaten to fall round his ankles. The guests are blissfully unaware of what horrors await them...