I loved this film so much I have a picture of the poster stuck down my pants RIGHT NOW. Being a poncey twat, I've always held a candle for situationist quasi-anarchic late sixties Paris bollocks, and this not only lit that candle, it also used the Guardian as a shield to prevent it from blowing out.

Michael Pitt, who was pretty damn amazing in Bully, surfaces again here as Matthew, a wet-behind-the-ears American cinephile in l'aforementioned setting. In love with the nouvelle-vague, but unadopted by the cliques of coolsters, Matthew watches the movies of which he is in awe alone. He bumps into Isabelle & Theo (Eva Green & Louis Garrel), a couple of people he recognises as fellow cinephiles, at a student demonstration when battles are erupting with police. Isa & Theo are, it turns out, Siamese twins, and their closeness is kinda freaky, especially to Matthew, who (quite understandably) fancies the arse off of Isabelle. Matthew is invited to stay in the bohemian family home; he gets on strangely, but well with the parents; the poet father of Isa & Theo ends up thinking well of their guest. Eventually, the folks go off somewhere or other and the three plunge into their own, strange world.

Much has been made of the graphic nudity in this film, but I have to say it is absolutely natural and perfectly the point. The whole gravity of the film would be lost without the intensity of some of the scenes; the closeness of the relationships could not be portrayed without the manipulation of the power of sexuality. But Matthew, although he takes a long dip, is merely paddling in what is a dreamworld. The fantastic end to this film, which during its course seems to have romanticised these libertines somewhat, exposes the empitness of an existence based solely on ideals. For such an existence can only be rightly lived in the world of ideas, not in the world of reality.

Intense, with fantastic visuals (oh boy oh boy) and a superb, if slightly cliched in places soundtrack (Hendrix..Vietnam..hmm) featuring the wonderful Francoise Hardy (Tout Les Garcons et Les Filles), with great uses of clips from the films its characters recall with such fondness (A Bout de Souffle has had a couple of watches since I saw this) and a huge, hopeful but ultimately melancholy heart beating throughout, this is a must see. 9/10.

Great acting, especially Naomi Watts, Benicio Del Toro and Sean Penn. First half shite, second half boomshackalacka. Therefore it gets a 7.

Woo, I gotta livejournal! Here I will do day to day diary stuff, so it'll be even more self indulgent. This site will be stuck to opinionated bollocks and err.. movies and music reviews and shit. So that's opinionated bollocks and opinionated bollocks then. Enjoy.

Well, it's been 4 and a half months and finally I've succumbed to the world of Legal Cashiering once more. Only part-time mind, Wednesdays and Friday, and I'm still at Uni, so don't panic Mr Mainwaring. Exam results tomorrow though, so there may be some poopoo in the pants and tears before bedtime. Speaking of which..time for.....bed!

A slightly late arrival, combined with an intense desire for beer meant we were doomed to miss the start of the mighty Franz Ferdinand's set.

Whilst still gobsmacked from the intense beer cost, which brought to mind London prices, we traipsed up the stairs that take you into the Rock City auditorium and heard THAT RIFF and boy, was that a perfectly timed moment. The Ferds seemed full of beans and bounce and popped out a few album tracks after THE single, finishing with a slightly normalised and less-Fall-ish than the single 'Darts Of Pleasure'. I'll admit, I'd been listening to the odd Ferds track ('Van Tango', 'Cheating On You') and been thinking 'hmmm..raucous blur..hmm..not sure', but there was enough in the short set to asuage those doubts and whet my hairy arse for the return to Rock City in April for their headline date.

Second up were the four non-blonde Von Bondies. I've not been a huge fan, apart from 'It Came From Japan' and 'Cmon Cmon'; they're a bit sludgy and predictable, although Jason Stolivanillaandcoke has a belting voice and decent stage presence. The ginner gal has wrists that are slightly too thin, but has eyes that suggest she may have previously thieved apples out of frivolity. All in all, not much to convert non-Bondies muff'raid.

Third (and for us, last) up were The Rapture. I've always loved 'Out Of The Races And Into The Tracks' (put to great use in 'The Rules Of Attraction', film fans), and the boys buttered my muffins straight off by a rendition of said track. The 'Echoes' stuff I've restrained myself from opinion on. 'Love Is All' is pretty balley lovely, but some tracks make me think 'hmm..technotronic...' in their use of 80/90's dance technology. And Luke Jenner's voice...it can be an acquired taste.

LIVE, however, The Rapture fucking blew me away. His voice is better live than on record; the visceral, scorching 'Heaven', 'The Coming Of Spring', the bouncing 'I Need Your Love', the beautiful 'Love Is All' and euphoric set-closer 'House Of' (di di dur dur) 'Jealous Lovers' (du di di diew) blew the roof off the place and left hapless emocockknockers Funeral For A Friend there for the kiddies. As indeed did we, as we wandered off into the night; slightly sweaty, but highly satisfied with seeing two fantastic and wildly different bands in one night.

I did an exit poll on the way out (dur, obviously).. '..'ere, you not staying for FFAF, mate? ' . The answers; i) 'Well, I'd rather eat my own shit to be honest', and the more diplomatic, and to be frank, unarguable response ii) 'Well, how do you follow The Rapture???'..

A bit late this one, but wtff. The venue was the Nottingham Ice Stadium, and the position was seated. This can hamper any concerto whatsoever, but in a cowshed like the Ice Arena it could have been double bad bollocks. After having queued at a bar which said 'beer only' above it, it was somewhat disappointing to be told that if we went to the bar 10 yards down we could get a pint for a mere £2.40 rather than £4.80. I didn't argue, but I did miss the first two songs, one of which was 'Dead Leaves And The Dirty Ground', which was fuggin' annoying. We were seated back, and to the left. Back, and to the left. Back... . . Anyway, we had a decent view, not too far back, but the luscious Megalino was mildly obscured by some lighting, which sucked. Apart from when she came stage front to bellow out 'In The Cold Cold Night' in a mildly erratic way (bit shouty). She sure is a stone fox though, with legs like velvet and hair like a B52. Meg rox!

It's been said before, and I'll say it once more: for a 2-piece, they make a fair racket, do the Stripeses. I've not a heard a guitar up quite this loud since the 'Second Coming' Stone Roses tour, and boy does Jack do the blues better than Squire. An early set 'Jolene' was a decent treat, as well as a 'Fell In Love With A Girl' that eased down a couple of gears in a nod to the fucking awful remake by that godawful bland waste of space Joss Stone. Any time I worry if I'm getting old, I listen to her, think she's shit and stop worrying. Jeezus. Set highlights, for me, were an amazing 'Death Letter', an AWESOME 'Hardest Button To Button' and the second half couplet of 'You're Pretty Good Looking' and 'Hello Operator' (still one of their best).

My only regret from this fine event was that it seemed to finish early; a storming '7 Nation Army', mind, but still a few 'aww...i wish'-es left unfulfilled. Oh, and due to the seating malarkey and inability to dance, I hand drummed a bit too hard and bruised my legs. Silly billy. Overall, a roister, and another band I want to see in my lifetime finally chalked off.

I cannae believe I havenae posted for yay long rilly. And stuff. In the meantime, I try to hawk one. I try to hawk one, in the meantime..

Hello, good afternoon and love to you all out thar. I'm in a right jolly mood as I've just this morning finished my last modular exam of the semester (wooh!), and asides the small matter of an essay to hand in on Monday (booh!) it's gonna be a roista-doista godshagger (tm!) of a weekend.

Tomorrow night, in the red and white corner, let's get ready to play loud blues and sing funny on skates with THE WHITE STRIPES at the (you're as cold as..) Ice Arena! (wooh! wooh!). We are chillin' and maxin' like a suckatash (whatever that means!). Apologies for the exclamation frenzy but can't you understand!?

Then on Saturday it's off to Sunny Leicester (tm) to meet up with the MIGHTY SISTER OF TED (wooh! wooh!). Then, cosmopolitan bastard that I am, it's back to Nottingham in the evening, hopefully to RIP SHIT UP and persuade some mofos to CUT SOME GODDAMN RUG and go out somewhere and do summat. If I'm not dead tired like.

Jolly Jolly Jolly. Rah Rah Rah! Keep the faith.

Lars von Trier talks about Dogville in the Guardian today. The bloke's a genius, the film's amazing.

Kilroy gets his dukes up.

Kilroy HAS GOT FREEDOM OF SPEECH. He COULD SAY WHAT HE WANTED TO SAY. In fact, he said it twice. The whole point of freedom, the whole problem of freedom maybe, is that comes in a BOGOF package with a free helping of RESPONSIBILITY. If you can't deal with the response, don't say the bollocks, mate. He didn't say 'Arab Regimes' he said "Arabs". If he had said 'regimes', I'd be knawing on his tanned johnson in agreement. The Saudis are our allies? Geddafuckoutahere! But he didn't. And he should have.

When you talk about issues such as these, ambiguity is the mother of twatfestery.

You say what you say. If you say it that way, we take it as being what you mean. If you say something and say 'well, I meant regimes', well, it seems like you're pissing on the coals to take the heat off your feet, doesn't it?

I'm selling shit on eBay. Buy it, now!

Wahey! Back from froz Italia, into moderately not too bad almost mild Nottingham. Back to exams, unfortunately, but that won't stop me tearing shit up in Leicester over the evening of Saturday to celebrate tomorrow's event - HAPPY BIRTHDAY PABLO!. A mumslut revival is alledgedly (?) on the way as well pop kids, although file that with world peace on the 'will happen in 2004' pile.

But let's not forget the even further away, because today, it's time to say HAPPY BIRTHDAY TED'S SISTER!

In other news, Kilroy in tanned and twatty shocker. Yes, the slimey arse has managed to defame 200 million people in one go. He's gone and had a go at 'Arabs' in the facking Sunday Express.

"What do they think we feel about them? That we adore them for the way they murdered more than 3000 civilians on September 11 and then danced in the hot, dusty streets to celebrate the murders? That we admire them for being suicide bombers, limb amputators, women repressors?"

Kilroy. Listen. I hate fucking logic as much as the next man but look:

1. Some Arabs Are Bad People
therefore, 2. All Arabs Are Bad People.

compare:

1. Some Tories Are Bigoted Twats
therefore, 2. All Tories Are Bigoted Twats.

The good old inductive fallacy. Bless him. However, it's fair to say that Kilroy's twattery may well cost him somehow, hopefully the Beeb'll finally get the arsebiscuit off the screen.

Well, my first term as a fresher (aged 28) is so, like, over and stuff. I sort of get the feeling I've taken it a bit too seriously so far, but maybe with justification as quite a few people seem to have fucked up reasonably badly. Going to the first couple of lectures of a core module and then only to the tests? Sheesh, you must be a genius mate, but I ain't. Still, I'm averaging a decent level, although I gotta lot of work to do. S'good stuff though.

I'm back later for 'Leicester Xmas' for the weekend, before trying to get work for next week and then jetting off to Italia at the end of next week, to return at the end of the first week of January. Gaw blimey, s'all go intit? Hope to see all the Leicester lovelies over the weekend for card action and wet snogs.

We outta here.

You're Avante Garde Indie. You listen to abstract
music like free-jazz and Krautrock. You drink
too much coffee and you scare the fuck out of
the rest of us. We're afraid to call you
pretentious because we know that we all just
don't get it. There are few of you out there,
and most of you will probably die soon.

You Know Yer Indie. Let's Sub-Categorize.
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