This Blog In September 2001: Day Twelve.

Commuter Life The train this morning was almost silent as people read the collected stories of yesterday in their newspapers of choice. Silent except for the chatter of two girls more interested in their lipsticks and shoes, in denial, unable possibly to grasp the enormity of the events we've witnessed.(1)  Eventually, the hush consumed them as well. This is something which has effected everybody. Something changed yesterday.

Journalism Getting the News During the Crisis Yahoo! picture story of people keeping up-to-date with the story via the written world. Like Ian McEwan of The Guardian, I sat with the screen on all of yesterday watching the events unfold live. In the evening I followed the attack through this thread at Mefi. You have to wonder if this tragedy would have happened at the World Trade Centre if we were not living in a information saturated age.

Blog! This page at Blogger has already been posted everywhere, but it would be difficult to select one story. This is something everyone is talking about.

Music In the midst of everything, PJ Harvey won the Mercury Music Prize.

Film At times like these, escapism seems the only release. I almost watched Ferris Bueller's Day Off tonight, then realised how difficult that film will be to watch now. It features ones of my top ten scenes of all time -- the scene set in the Observation Tower at the World Trade Centre as the gang look down through the window to the ground. [Edited 13/09/2001 - Actually that's incorrect. It's the Sears Tower in Chicago.] I just found that that other films are being re-edited -- the forthcoming Spiderman film for example. Oh God -- I just thought -- the twin towers are in the logo for the film Manhattan... Then I heard that Swordfish has been pulled from British cinemas because it features the destruction of a building. I've a feeling now it won't be the last...

(2)  Sorry, yes, I have to step in again and apologise for how asininely sexist this.  Probably thought I was Alistair Cook.  I was not.

This Blog In September 2001: Day Eleven.

Life There are few words. Strangely not in the mood the write, except to offer my condolences to any American readers, and anyone else effected by this. I've sent a circular email to anyone I know may be a regular reader, but to anyone I don't know -- take care of yourself, on today off all days...

This Blog In September 2001: Day Ten.

Film I re-invigorated my love of cinema this afternoon. I wasn't expecting to - it just happened. It happened during the opening moments of Moulin Rouge. Here is a film which had stripped away all of the usual mess at the beginning of a film to do with quietly setting up character and plot and was actually giving away the end, throwing us directly into the place. We visit the cinema for escapism and here it was.

Another attempt to create a hip-musical, Rouge is better than most, possibly because rather than taking it’s cues from the Hollywood of the 1940s, we have the ye olde musical exemplified by the strangely long-running tv series ‘The Good Old Days’. Yes the characters are simplistic, but no less simplistic than the average Lloyd-Webber – and at least here don’t feel like constructs of the script – even if in fact they are. As with ‘Romeo and Juliet’, director Baz Luhrmann takes his cues from music video to the point of using late twentieth century pop over more traditional music. Don’t listen to anyone – this works stunningly well. In a scene reminiscent of the balcony scene from the aforementioned play about star-crossed lovers, instead of Shakespeare, we find song lyrics, everything from ‘The Beatles’ to Bowie – hell they even make the work of Elton John seem half decent.

But can they sing? Yes and they can dance a little – and act.

Nicole Kidman has always seemed a slightly anti-sceptic actress. Her performances have always been at the edge of passion – slightly distanced from the material. Paradoxically she made ‘Far and Away’ – her work there was funny and touching despite the accent. In ‘Moulin Rouge’, that Kidman is back, with her comic timing and luminous sadness.

Ewan McGregor should now be a broken actor. Students from the early nineties look into his eyes and see a heroin addict. Kids of the late nineties watch him move and see a lightsaber in his hand. It’s a testament to his skills at an actor that he carries this baggage, but we are still expecting even more from him. A spent force? Not yet.

Even Jim Broadbent manages to work wonders with what could be a one not part, being angry and soft in the same moment at times.

So the film -- loud? Yes. Brash? Certainly. Worth seeing? Go with an open heart.

Film No less escapist, yet with even more heart, A Knight's Tale is of all things a Medieval Sports Film. Following roughly the same plot of a hundred baseball films, and as predictable, this is still remarkably entertaining stuff -- more so because it get's by without directly referencing other films (the usual crime). Like Rouge, the contemporary soundtrack does not jar -- although a certain David Bowie track does feel a touch old fashioned in one scene (if such a thing could happen). Apart from the fascinating direction and challenging direction (yes I am saying that with a straight face - for once we have someone who's remembered he's making a film not a video - the general lack of close-ups is invigorating), two things really stand out for me. The scenic effects here are stunning - Medieval London looks the part, and I couldn't help but think of Olivier's 'Henry V' which created a very similar effect so many years ago. And what casting. Heath Ledger is a star in the making, filling his part as though written for him. Mark Addy's surf is again in a role written for him (surely a worthy successor to Roy Kinear in such parts). Paul Bettany also looks set for instant stardom, his Chaucer a potent creation. A potential weak link might have been Shannyn Sossamon, but she fulfils the role of the typical Chaucer ideal of beauty well. Rufus Sewell does his usual. Then in the middle of it all is our Laura Fraser, seemingly set for stardom after 'Small Faces', here again in a supporting role. But she's only 24 - she sparkles as usual here and there's plenty of time. The best Javelin tournament film ever...

Life Still a bit sniffy. I think this will be one of those colds which could go on until Christmas...

Books The Guardian (via Booktrack) lists the most resilient popular fiction in the UK over the past five years. Impressed to see I've only read one of them, Wild Swans by Jung Chang. I've never understood the Terry Pratchett phenomena. Nice chap when I've seen him interviewed, I could never see what so remarkable about the books, overwritten, and a poor man's Douglas Adams, especially the first book which felt like Hitchhiker's in a fantasy setting. Good to see Tolkein in there then. And 'A Brief History of Time' - which seems like one of those books everyone buys but never gets around to reading.

Journalism  Citizen Layne: Want My Story? Help Yourself! There has been some discussion throughout the blogging community about plagarism -- is adding a link on your site without mentioning the source stealing intellectual property or just acknowledging a great find? Ken Layne of the Online Journalism Review encountered an even great example, when the majority of a story he wrote about 'Crikey!' an online journalist, appeared at the Business Week website. It's been a well worn tactic in the national newspapers to work up stories which have originally appeared in locals which are only read by a small number of people. But on the internet there is a level playing field - and as Layne points out: "This is the Internet. Take something from an online journalist and call it your own, and that online journalist will find you."

This Blog In September 2001: Day Nine.

Life I'm coming down with a cold. Hold on while I sneeze....that's better...while I'm away, might I direct everyone to TV Cream? It's an expansive history of 'cult' British television. You'd be amazed how much of an influence Bagpuss and Mr. Benn had on twentysomethings in the UK today... [more]

This Blog In September 2001: Day Eight.

Tv I miss 'Friends'. Or rather the first season of 'Friends'. I miss the 'ugly naked guy'. I miss the deliberately strange Pheobe. I miss the unrelated Chandlerisms. I miss the Monica who was a mature woman living in the city. I miss Joey when he wasn't too stupid. I miss Ross when he was in love with Rachel. I miss the Rachel who was a waitress. I miss the times the characters would just sit around chatting about stuff without an impetuous. I miss the time when even filler episodes were classics. Sitting down to watch an original episode is like greeting an episode of 'Fawlty Towers' - you've seen them so many times, yet you can't help but laugh (even 'The One with the Stoned Guy' makes me titter now, despite Jon Lovitz). Heck, I even miss Marcel - and the fact that this show was kooky enough to have a monkey as a semi-regular character. Over the years as new writers have come, we've moved from character to plot.

Watching the seventh series (still continuing a year behind on Channel 4) is an entirely missable prospect. It's difficult to put your finger on why it isn't as good. Perhaps it's that the details of the characters have been obliterated. Or that any semblance of a guest cast hardly get a look in - or if they do it's because they're stars from other shows. Is it Matthew Perry's now wayward performance? Or the fact we know that Lisa Kudrow is capable of some much more, especially having seen her work in 'The Opposite of Sex'. Or that Joey has become needlessly dumb in the face of looking for easy jokes. Or that Courtney Cox looks unremittingly bored. Or that The Schwimmer seems to be spending more time directing - and is of the opinion that shouting is a good substitute for comic timing. The only suspect to come out of any of this is Jennifer Aniston. I can quote whole lines of the first series:

"Gum would be perfection. Gum - would be perfection. Could've said gum would nice - could've said I'll have a stick. But ... no ... no... no ... for me - gum is perfection. I loath myself...."

Even the second soundtrack is messier and just not as cohesive as the first, 'Hootie' and 'REM' replaced by 'Robbie Williams' and an appalling mix of 'Smelly Cat' (which I also miss - when was the last time we saw Pheobes perform at Central Perk?). Thank God the eighth year will be the last. I'm mad as hell and I can't take it anymore....

(and it seems BBC Manchester feels the same way - next weeks 'I Love 1994' features a segment - anyone taking bets on them talking recent series down?)

Music Currently listening to Poe, whose standard female vocalism is interspersed with Portishead wierdness and tape recordings of her dead father. Worryingly mainstream in places - perhaps trying to tread just the wrong line. Bet she watched Teletubbies and wondered if the world was laughing at her...

Club One of my top five favourite places on Earth (and I don't make that claim lightly) has a web site. The Krazy House was for a long time the only Rock Club in the centre of Liverpool. The first time I visited was on my birthday getting on for five years ago - and there was a Halloween ball (yes - my birthday is the 31st October - and I've heard any jokes you may have). This was pre-Buffy - so the room was filled with girl with red horns and forks and old-style vampires. Oh and a curious looking Darth Vader. I fell for the place - stepping into there from Liverpool City Centre was literally like entering a new world.

Time and behaviour in this club is strangely at right-angles with the rest of reality. One night, one of the last times I went with a friend, my drink addled mind had been in conversation with one of the regulars. From nowhere I asked her if she'd ever had her palm read. She says no - and that she has always wanted to see her future. So I take her hand...

[I should step out of this story for a moment and say I don't know anything about palm reading - nothing could be spookier could it]

...and realising my predicament, and realising I'll have to say something, the improvisational actor in me began to talk about the lines of the hand signifying this and that. I didn't actually say anything she might not have thought and now and then she'd ask me whether 'things would improve' and I just told, generally upbeat, positive things. Her usually sullen goth face for five minutes after was so cheerful I thought I'd ruined her.

Time passes. It's the following week. I'm there again, fighting at the bar for a drink and suddenly a hand is thrust in front of me. This time I'm not drunk and I'm in an episode of the old game 'Scruples' - do I tell the truth? Well no. So I told this second girl (friend of the first) the exact same things - she too goes away happy. Ten minutes later another hand (friend of the second). Then give it twenty and another. And this goes on all night. Each time I tell the same upbeat tale of a possible future - and at no point do they call me on it.

This tells me two things - there are some things girls don't talk to each other about, and that if you're going to do something like this at least have a reason. Believe me when I say that my inability to monopolise the situation I've makes me unremittingly nice, or unbelievably stupid. Or both. *

* What a creep.

This Blog In September 2001: Day Seven.

Life Talking to a commuter buddy today about her siblings, it occurred to me I've never really faced up to being an only child. She was talking so candidly about her problems and all I could say was 'I don't really understand the dynamic' - which is true, no matter how artificial it sounds. When you're an only child you assume that your brothers and sisters would be your best friends - there when you need them, always someone to talk to. But over the years I've realised that actually there can be a lot of pain and heartache involved. You'd end up loving and hating them for the same reasons. It's easy perhaps to say that such and such a friend is like a brother or sister to me, but I've found that no one can be that close - once the family front door is closed there isn't much you can say or do. This essay seems to have grasped most of the main points. I do feel like I have had to make more of an effort in social situations - I can be introverted and a bit of a loner if I need to be (and lately, well...) - and I have met only children who find social interactivity really difficult. But for me it's a default setting - I much prefer the company of others - you can learn more about the world from talking to someone than reading a book at times - which is exactly what happened today when I spoke to that commuter buddy. QED.

Music Leona Naess 'Comatised' feels like an album you've heard a hundred times. We have hints of Beth Orton, Pal Shazar and Bjork. No Alanis histrionics here, though. This album feels like a letter to and describing some nebulous lover: "He fills the room like champagne / into an empty glass / as they slighter to him like snakes / through the grass / his stance is quiet with grace/ before they throw him / into the rat race / and he turns to me to say / I'm a lonely buy / Even with the life, I asked for." This isn't a great album - only one or two tracks ('Lazy Days', 'Northern Star') stand out. But then I'm sitting still as I listen. I've a feeling as I squat behind that plastic table on the train to work tomorrow it's calming influence will make me positive for the day ahead. What is it with that title?

Food Just a quick link to Jill's Gradely Scran - the most addictive food site I've ever visited. This works so well because the receipes are easy to follow yet far from simplistic. Mr. Hyperbole has now left the building...

This Blog In September 2001: Day Six.

Wish list So yes, I've done it. A wishlist. It seems no weblog should be without one - so as you glance to your left you'll see it nesting. Creating the list was strange feeling - as though even more than the weblog we have a straight to the point description of my interests. I'm not sure if this is 'a good thing'. Since every list seems to have a 'star prize' in there is 'The Stanley Kubrick Collection' if only because he looked a bit like my Dad.

Quote "What if you were in the queue and there was no one else there? [spoken by a work colleague]