Monthly Archives: January 2010

A Week In Film #063: All systems are go!

The French Connection
A damn fine week, and busy with it, so only had a chance to watch one film. Got a spiffy cheap DVD of it (plus the book it was based on) from Zavvi or whatever it’s called in the Galleries – only £2.99!

Anyway, you know the score, Popeye Doyle (Gene Hackman) and Buddy Russo (Roy Scheider) are relentless NYC narcotics cops on the trail of the dope runners. William Friedkin directs with vim.

It’s all very familiar, one of those films you watch countless times, but it really does retain its raw magnificence. This time round I’m particularly enjoying Don Ellis’ often discordant score, which emphasises waiting and routine and boredom with occasional surprises of excitement and energy.

BristolBloggerGate: Craig’s list of libel lawyers who bottled it

By way of a follow up to the recent NewbyGate (né BristolBloggerGate) furore, I notice that former British ambassador-turned-anti-Establishment blogger and all-round troublemaker Craig Murray has posted something which may be of interest to anyone concerned about getting sued for libel

  • Number of letters received from lawyers threatening legal action 47
  • Number of lawyers involved: 11
  • Number of lawyers told to go ahead and sue or prosecute: 11
  • Number of suits/prosecutions brought: Nil
  • Number of apologies and retractions issued: Nil
  • Damages Paid: Nil
  • Number of falsehoods published: Nil

Who says it is not fun running a blog?

[Slightly edited for clarity]

Craig Murray, you might remember, was threatened by big hitter libel lawyers Schillings on behalf of hired killer/mercenary/’private military contractor’ Tim Spicer for writing a book which spilled the beans on all sorts of juicy things that many people would have preferred to have remained hidden from public view. Murray’s publisher was scared off, but he stuck to his guns and published it online himself anyway – and was not sued.

For those who were wondering, The Bristol Blogger has been hidden from public view by its author with a view to finding a more robust host than WordPress.com has proved. In the meantime TBB is acting as a guest blogger on Bristol 24/7.

Meanwhile, a crack team of bloggers and journalists is working hard to discover exactly why University of Liverpool legal eagle Kevan Ryan demanded that WordPress.com censor two-and-a-half year old blog posts about his boss Sir Howard Newby – watch this space!

The last word for now goes to Craig Murray again:

Britain’s notorious libel laws are designed to inculcate fear in those who would publish the truth. But, as with most situations in life, a lack of fear makes things much less fraught.

NHS accountancy: like rearranging deckchairs (harmoniously)

Overheard portion of conversation between various NHS ID-wearing people in the Tesco Express near the BRI:

…So we have to check through and calculate how much we’ve spent on feng shui consultants over the year…

Will try and see if there’s an FoI request out there that matches up to that!

ETA:

Can’t see anything on the What Do They Know? FoI site. Can anybody out there shed some light on this?

A Week In Film #062: A month of solitude

The Black Windmill
Bloody awful spy film adapted from a bloody awful spy book. Don Siegel directs with a certain amount of visual flair, but the edit is flabby, the action scenes are cringeworthy, and there is no structural tension (it reminds me in some respects of Peckinpah’s lamentable late period spook thriller The Killer Elite – little care or interest in evidence anywhere). Similarly the script (by Leigh Vance) is full of irritating flaws which, it seems, no one bothered to address in pre-production. That said, Clive Egleton was a lazy writer in the first place, and the whole thing is cliché stuck to thievery, without even an attempt to pretend it’s ‘homage’. Michael Caine undoes the work he did to reinvent the spy thriller with his Harry Palmer as a third-rate stereotype here.

The Last Valley
Airport doorstep writer James Clavell (also script jockey behind The Great Escape has a decent stab at making the Thirty Years’ War interesting; Michael Caine plays the cynically pragmatic, nihilistic Captain, who rests his mercenary band of cutthroats in a bucolic, unsullied German village over winter whilst Europe burns around them, Omar Sharif is a teacher just trying to survive.

I’d never heard of this until I was idly looking through his filmography on Wikipedia for movies of his I’d not seen, and after reading an interview with him which bigged it up, I thought I’d give it a crack.

It’s not wholly successful – Clavell seems to suffer from the same author-as-director condition as Michael Crichton did with his own The First Great Train Robbery screen adaptation, trying too hard in his editing to gather up narrative steam, and instead trimming too much and forcing scenes against each other with no space to breathe. There’s too much long shot, but without managing to provide spatial overview. Time passes in the story without the film ever succeeding in keeping the audience with the pace. But there are good performances, and thematically it is very interesting.

The Monster Club
A bit of an oddity, this. I came across it whilst browsing through IMDb, and it sounded interesting enough that I added it to my ‘Must See’ list, and from there it somehow ended up on my Amazon wishlist, and lo, did my mother give it to me for Christmas this year.

It’s an Amicus portmanteau horror anthology, in the vein of Dr Terror’s House Of Horrors and Tales From The Crypt but with individual episodes similar also to the modern day Hammer House Of Horror TV series. It’s not particularly scary, or convincing, or even funny, but there is definitely a charm at work.

The set-up is fairly laboured; horror writer Chetwynd-Hayes (John Carradine) is bitten by a vampire, Eramus (Vincent Price), who turns out to be a fan. Eramus then invites Chetwynd-Hayes to his private haunt, the eponymous Monster Club, whereupon he regales the author with an insider’s understanding of monster hierarchy, from vampires and werewolves all the way down to lowly shadmocks and humhouls – all whilst pub rock bands of the day perform terrible songs to poorly costumed freaks. This all leads into a series of illustrative inserts about different types of monsters.

Believe it or not, there is an actually rather accurate and useful IMDb user review which deals with the strengths and weaknesses of the film, so I’ll leave it there. But it is worth catching, and it’ll keep you on your toes spotting before-they-were-famous types hamming it up… Look! It’s the creepy whip from State Of Play in too much makeup! Isn’t that Eve Matheson’s replacement from May To December? Crikey, I think that’s Hamish and Hamish’s own son from The Camomile Lawn!

1,000 posts of joy, long live the BunKRS and let it reign a further 1,000 posts!

Hurrah – I’ve managed to bang out one thousand posts on this here blog. Quite literally some of them are about neither shit nor piss, nor even puke either!

HonkWatch #122: R-Point

HonkWatch #122: R-Point

A member of Battalion 53 loses his MRE in the somewhat disappointing South Korean horror/war movie mash-up R-Point.

HonkWatch #121: Meet The Parents

HonkWatch #121: Meet The Parents

Gaylord Focker (Ben Stiller) gets a shoulderful of milky puke in Meet The Parents.

HonkWatch #120: Welcome To Collinwood

HonkWatch #120: Welcome To Collinwood

Leon, the son of incompetent bank robber Riley (William H Macy) does an ickle baby barf in Welcome To Collinwood.

HonkWatch #119: Crank

HonkWatch #119: Crank

I can’t remember why this woman was throwing up in Crank, or who she is, but honking is honking…

Mystery Pic #035

It’s been a while, so here goes… Recognise this? Stick your guess in the comments!

Here’s a clue – it’s a fairly recent film, which deserved wider recognition; it pays homage (firstly, as a whole; secondly, more specifically in this scene) to two other films in which the writers share a connection.

ETA:

Another strike out from you chaps – it’s Steven Soderbergh’s The Third Man-borrowing The Good German (I think the other film I was thinking of was Casablanca…)

A Week In Film #061: Back to the grind

Les Femmes De L’Ombre
A fascinating premise – French SOE agents parachuted back to their motherland to carry out an audacious rescue of a British spy in the run-up to D-Day – but sadly a poor execution.

Fine actors (Sophie Marceau, Julie Depardieu, Marie Gillain, Déborah François) are wasted playing undeveloped characters which are barely functional clichés designed to represent different facets of la résistance (Gaullist, Catholic etc). Moritz Bleibtreu is quite enjoyable as a sadistic SS investigator, but it’s no patch on things like Carve Her Name With Pride, Is Paris Burning?, Atentat or even Charlotte Gray. For some reason it feels tonally similar to Inglourious Basterds, but again it is the inferior piece.

D.C. Sniper: 23 Days Of Fear
A reasonably gripping fast turnaround TV movie about the ‘Beltway Sniper’ duo who killed ten people in under a month back in 2002 (and possibly another eleven beforehand). Charles S Dutton is an effective suburban police chief, but Bobby Hosea is chilling as John Allen Muhammad, whose motive seems to be to create a terrorism-inspired smokescreen so he can kill his ex-wife and regain custody of his kids.

The Spy Who Came In From The Cold
John Le Carré’s first stone-cold classic espionage novel earns its first stone-cold classic film treatment, with leftish Hollywood stalwart Martin Ritt at the helm. Richard Burton is grizzled, burned out agent-runner Alex Leamas, now a pawn between his own bosses and the East German spy chief.

Whilst this adaptation loses much of the nuance of the novel, it retains the essence, and provides a platform for some excellent performances from the likes of Cyril Cusack, Oskar Werner, Peter van Eyck and George Voskovec. I’m not so sure Claire Bloom – Burton’s sparring partner in Look Back In Anger – quite captures the Liz of the book, but she certainly is believable, in a different way, as the screen version.

Bristol’s Big Freeze: The word on the blogosphere

I thought I’d collect together all the local blog posts on the recent cold snap that I can find in one handy spot for your reading pleasure…

Aurea Mediocritas (Tony D)

Bristle’s Blog From The BunKRS

Bristol 24/7

Bristol Blogger

Bristol Traffic

Charlie Bolton’s Southville Blog

The Enemies Of Reason (Anton Vowl)

Eugene Byrne

Green Bristol Blog (Chris Hutt)

People’s Republic Of Stokes Croft

Stockwood Pete

Please let me know if I’ve missed anything out in the comments below, cheers :)

And wrap up warm!

Bristol’s Big Freeze: What would the good people of St. Petersburg do?

When the local authorities fail to get to grips with the snow and ice, it seems that people in St. Petersburg get out onto the streets and clear it themselves, whilst wearing masks mocking their governor Valentina Matviyenko.

Let’s hope conditions in Bristol don’t descend to the level of the Siege of Leningrad, or else we’ll all be chopping up panelling in the council chamber for firewood and going on frenzied flesh hunts through the zoo.

Whether we should be doing this whilst wearing Jan Ormondroyd or Babs Janke masks is up for debate.

Bristol’s Big Freeze: Snow joke in St. Paul’s – council abandons inner city Bristol (again)

I see that Councillor Jon Rogers (Executive Member, Transport & Sustainability) has been getting stuck into tackling ungritted pavements in Bristol. He spent forty minutes last night with local blogger Chris Hutt, gritting footpaths around Queen’s Road.

That’s Queen’s Road. In Clifton.

I look forward to seeing Councillor Jon Rogers (Ashley Ward) doing the same in St. Paul’s in the near future. Because the council he helps lead certainly doesn’t look like getting down to it anytime this side of summer.

Meow! What’s prompted this rather uncharitable assessment of Cllr Rogers’ Blitz-style, everyone-pitch-in-together gesture?

Pull up a chair, and I’ll tell you…

You could be mistaken for thinking that Britain had been visited by the horsemen of the Apocalypse judging by the institutional paralysis that the recent snow visited across our fair isles has caused. The failure of local authorities to adequately prepare for what has been, in all honesty, a fairly mild few days of snow and frost is both sadly expected and wholly needless. The weather was predicted accurately, the UK is a socially advanced state with a multi-layered and complex infrastructure, and the resources to deal with any big freeze are available.

But then the capacity to deal with a problem is no guarantee that the problem will be dealt with, certainly not in Bristol.

The snow began before Christmas, and then eased off. Gritting took place in the mornings, and Bristol rumbled on. Come the 5th January, though, and the people whom we pay to run our city on our behalf failed us. The snow began light, but continued through the day. It then continued through the night, heavier and heavier. We awoke on Wednesday morning to a chocolate box cover, a twinkly cityscape beneath a fluffy white blanket. It looked beautiful; it was not to last. There had been no widespread gritting this time, so roads had quickly become impassable. Bus services across the entire city were cancelled. Schools and workplaces were forced to shut down. Things ground to a halt.

A little personal side: I visited my parents in their small village over Christmas. They told me of similar inertia on the part of their own local council. The whole village had been ignored by gritting lorries, so my father rang up the council. ‘Why hasn’t our village been gritted?’ ‘We’re prioritising main roads, sir,’ came the reply. ‘But there’s a main road through the village!’ ‘I mean bus routes, sir.’ ‘But there are two bus services that use this road!’ ‘Ah, I mean main bus routes, sir.’ Or, to decode the municipal gentility, ‘Fuck you, prole – we’ll grit where the fuck we want.’

I live in St. Paul’s, which is in Ashley Ward. We’re not important enough to be gritted. I mean, sure, Stokes Croft has been gritted, leading up to Cheltenham Road and the Gloucester Road – a main artery into and out of the city. But what about the Frontline – Grosvenor Road and Wilder Street – which links the Easton end of the neighborhood with the city centre end? Nada. The same with Portland and Brunswick Squares, which are our interfaces with Cabot Circus and Broadmead. And you can definitely forget any of the side roads, the residential streets zigzagging across our densely packed ends.

Now, fair enough, priorities have to be made. I can understand that there are primary routes which need to be kept open before other roads can be dealt with. But the whole of St. Paul’s has – again – been ignored, and regardless of the potential for catastrophic accidents.

For example, the corner of Cave Street and Wilder Street. Cave Street leads off Portland Square, and gives way to Wilder Street. It inclines down onto Wilder Street, and visibility is restricted by Balloon Court to the north and Cave Court to the south. The junction has (obviously) not been gritted, and is now a dangerously slippery ice rink. All day long since Wednesday cars, vans and trucks have been caught out by the conditions on that junction, many sliding right across the road, some spinning out completely, often only narrowly avoiding other vehicles or – even more frighteningly – pedestrians. At least one car has slid across the entire width of Wilder Street and crashed into the fence enclosing the car park opposite. And let’s not even get onto the subject of pavements – because the council certainly hasn’t. I’ve lost count of how many people have fallen flat on their arses on the corners of Wilder Street and Brunswick and Cave Streets.

It seems that it is only going to be a matter of time before someone is seriously injured in St. Paul’s – or worse. Much worse.

So, because it seems unlikely that Bristol City Council will get round to protecting local people by gritting in St. Paul’s, I’ve been getting on with it myself. This afternoon after work I made a start, taking two hours to drag back four bin loads of salt from the grit store opposite McDonald’s, which seems to be the nearest to us (obviously, there are no grit bins actually in St. Paul’s*). There is now a rudimentary path on the eastern pavement of Wilder Street between Cave Street and the entrance to Cave Court flats, a well-gritted corner on Brunswick Street, as well as other patches through the ice across the mouth of Brunswick Street, at the entrance to the cemetery and on the path between Bond Street and Brunswick Square.

Passersby were keen to pass on their opinions of the council and its policy (or lack thereof) on gritting as I was doing this. One particularly angry local man walking back into St. Paul’s with his family talked of big public meetings, liability for preventable accidents, putting politicians out of office and those kinds of thing. He was particularly unimpressed that our local councillor was out gritting in Clifton whilst St. Paul’s people slipped on untreated pavements and roads. As we were talking his son slipped flat on his back trying to negotiate a particularly icy corner of Brunswick Square.

With an absentee, race jibe councillor on the one hand, and another, Clifton-preferring councillor on the other, one wonders what it would take for St. Paul’s to get noticed by its own representatives. I suspect that Jon Rogers’ new Facebook page will not be what local residents are looking for.

* Don’t believe me? Then check out this map of grit bins in relationship to St. Paul’s. It’s based on the Bristol City Council’s own map of grit bins across the city, and St. Paul’s Unlimited Partnership’s map of St. Paul’s.

BristolBloggerGate: Why was Liverpool University so reticent in releasing details of Sir Howard Newby’s appointment?

The University of Liverpool might regret kicking off BristolBloggerGate, seeing how now every internet sleuth and their aunt is out looking for clues as to what is really going on.

For example, a search for Sir Howard Newby on What Do They Know? throws up an April 2009 request for the “report by the [Liverpool University] Joint Committee relating to the appointment of Professor Sir Howard Newby”.

The University’s ‘Freedom of Information Co-ordinator’ Lesley Jackson initially stonewalled, citing exemptions on the grounds of ‘prejudice to the effective conduct of public affairs’ and commercial interest, but Julian Todd, who made the application, stood his ground and argued effectively that these exemptions did not apply. Two months after the initial request, Kevan Ryan – the director of legal services at Liverpool who appears to have been the one calling on WordPress.com to silence critical bloggers – finally responded by giving Mr Todd the document reproduced above.

Of course, this one page document does seem to fall short of what one might imagine a report on the selection of a vice-chancellor of a major university would look like.

Perhaps the pending WDTK request to the University of Liverpool asking for “information regarding all the legal advice and/or legal work the university has purchased from any provider between 1 January 2008 – date” might shed some light on this, and on the reasons behind BristolBloggerGate.