Rob, Rambling - A lot of things interest me...

I got round to watching Salt last night, the spy-action film with Angelina Jolie in the title role. It filled a gap, and there’ll definitely be a sequel, but it ain’t anything too special.

I don’t know whether this is damning it with false praise, as I thought the Bourne films were over-rated, but when it finished I was left with the impression that it was essentially “The Bourne She-premacy”. It’s almost identical in tone, style, attempts to make the plot needlessly complicated, and a slight feeling of unease that surrounds the main character’s identity.

I thought that the car-based action sequences were among its strong points, and that Angelina Jolie is better than she was allowed to be in terms of developing her character. Hell, Mrs Smith had more depth!

Definitely a popcorn film, and not even a particularly brilliant one at that. Maybe the sequel (guaranteed!) will be better.

I watched Splice last night, and this morning all I can really think about it is a resounding “meh”.

It had its moments, some particularly shocking and nasty, others pretty touching, but it was awkward in that it didn’t really know what it wanted to be. It was torn between an outright sci-fi horror film, and something entirely different exploring what it means to be a parent and a family.

In particular, the ending seems out of kilter with the rest of the film, as if the director thought it needed some added action and gore, but didn’t know where it could fit in elsewhere. It very much felt tacked on, although earlier in the film I found myself willing something similar to happen.

This is because it plods along a little in the middle section, especially if you’d been expecting something more exciting and scary, as the trailer had led me to believe. In fact, the film is more about moral and ethical dilemmas, which I’ll grant is harder to get across in 60 seconds…

Even those moral issues are relatively quickly glossed over, with a “fuck it, let’s do it anyway” attitude present for most of the time. Adrien Brody is pretty good as the more sceptical of the two scientists, with more questions as to the correctness of what it is they’re trying to achieve.

Not a bad film, all told, but one that is undersold by its trailer. Don’t expect violence and scares aplenty, but do expect to see some good ones when they do turn up.

[EXPLOSION]

[FIRE]

[EXPLOSION]

[RUNNING]

[EXPLOSION]

[GUNFIRE]

[EXPLOSION]

[FIGHTING]

[EXPLOSION]

[CLOSE-UP ON ACTOR’S FACE]

[EXPLOSION]

[EXPLOSION]

[EXPLOSION]

There’s a 10-minute section of The Expendables in which the above is pretty much the entire script, with barely a word uttered shouted during a thoroughly intense action scene. The screen is practically shaking with the amount of explosions and gunfire, and everywhere you look something is either burning or blowing up (or both!).

And it’s not as if I expected anything different. Expendables is an action film in the truest sense of the word. Very few scenes are wasted on such niceties as plot or character development. Why, when you can have another explosion/fight/car chase (delete as necessary)?!

The action is over the top, tongue in cheek, almost comically gory, but pretty bloody amazing to watch. These aren’t the biggest action stars in the world for no reason, and they know how to make things look good on camera.

Whether they’re engaged in hand-to-hand fighting (complete with nasty bone-breaking), or shooting the fuck out of a bunch of soldiers (including heads and bodies literally being blown apart), they’re doing so in style. The physical combat scenes are fantastic, particularly those involving Jet Li and Jason Statham.

Stallone is a half-decent writer/director, and isn’t afraid to tackle some pretty nasty material. The torture scene here is brutally realistic, and you can’t help but remember that these techniques were used on hundreds of prisoners by the CIA. It’s uncomfortable viewing, that’s for sure.

Mickey Rourke’s character comes the closest to expressing some kind of depth, whereas the rest rely on chirpy one-liners to give them the merest hint of being something other than an automaton. It’s all banter between the boys, with plenty of piss-taking and gratuitous swearing.

The subplot with Statham’s character and his ex seemed entirely unnecessary, as if it were planted to give him some more screen time? This is sort of acknowledged with Jet Li’s character talking about a family that he has and everyone else asking when he managed to find the time to find one.

Thanks to the trailer, we all know that Bruce Willis and Arnie have cameo roles, but thankfully the best line of their scene wasn’t spoiled. It’s a genuinely funny tongue-in-cheek moment, and played joyously straight by all three of the action film superstars.

I walked out of the film with a massive, massive grin on my face. It was ridiculous, of course it was, but it was entertaining. Sometimes you just need to see 90 minutes of shit getting blown up, of the good guys going after the bad guys with a ridiculous combination of weaponry and fists, of the token inclusion of a female character.

It’s better than any action film I’ve seen for a long time, and it shows that you don’t always need a convoluted plot to be a good film. Or any plot, really.

Disengage your brain, engage your love of explosions, and go see The Expendables.

I finished reading Cocaine Nights by JG Ballard the other day, and whilst it was a good read, I couldn’t help but feel that it was very, very similar to a few of his other books that I’ve read over the years.

Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed it, as I have done all of Ballard’s books. With the exception of Empire of the Sun, which was essentially an autobiography of his childhood in Shanghai, Ballard explores some very interesting themes, usually concerning the potential for society to eat itself. He is very good at finding a dark underbelly to a seemingly innocuous situation, and showing how easily passions can be inflamed to destroy or alter what exists before.

In Cocaine Nights, for example, a journalist travels to the Spanish coast because his brother has been arrested for murdering five people in a house fire in their gated community. As he stays there, trying to prove his brother’s innocence, he gets drawn into a world which is very different from that which he sees at first glance. Essentially, the book boils down to forcing people out of the monotony of their lives and into something more interesting or rewarding. The catalyst for this is crime and violence, naturally.

As I said, this is all good material, and it’s nicely plotted too. Ballard is a very good writer, although his writing of sex is a touch iffy. It’s odd, because he can write eroticism particularly well, but the sex itself comes across as very mechanical. He’s more than capable of granting a character a huge charge of eroticism, or inserting a huge amount of it into a scene, but it then goes a bit dry (so to speak) as soon as they’re actually getting down to it. Odd.

Anyway, what I realised is that the character interactions are somewhat formulaic across a number of his books. In all four that I have read which tackle dystopian themes (Cocaine Nights, Crash, Millennium People, and Kingdom Come), the main character or narrator is taken from his comfort zone into the seedy underbelly of society by a charismatic newcomer to his life. He is cajoled and prodded into exploring the new experiences by someone else, rather than on his own accord.

And it always seems to be male to male as well. The central characters are male (if memory serves), as are the newcomers. I detect a certain air of weakness on the part of the central character every time, and he is always looking for someone to provide him with excitement, rather than seeking it out for himself. The newcomer is always welcoming, and swiftly takes the main character under his wing, making him a protege and imparting his wisdom.

Yes, the methods differ slightly, but essentially it’s the same character journey each time. I hadn’t really noticed it before, but in Cocaine Nights the newcomer’s “charisma” is mentioned so often that it’s just drilled into you. It reminded me massively of the TV spokesmodel in Kingdom Come who is the face of the shopping mall, and also of the driver in Crash who introduces the narrator to the sexual violence of car crashes.

What it also vaguely reminded me of was a theory I came across at university: Max Weber’s charismatic leader. OK, so I remembered the theory if not the philosopher, but it was up there in my head somewhere. University was evidently good for something!

Weber says that charismatic authority is one of the three possible bases for legitimising power in a society (the others being traditional authority, which is patriarchy, monarchy and so on, and rational-legal authority, which is more of a rules-based system), and that it comes about when a leader arises who can command obedience through nothing more than his own personal appearance.

He does not have legitimacy through being elected, nor from being an heir to the throne. His power derives from commanding others and having those orders obeyed because the populace believes him to be better than them, and so are loyal to him. A very simple explanation, and no doubt glossing over some subtleties, but that’s the basics.

In Ballard’s books, these charismatic newcomers fit that mould exactly: Cocaine Nights’ is a tennis coach, for example. It is only through relentless application of their charisma and forcing the other characters to believe in them that they gain their power, and their legitimacy.

For me, the characters which are attracted to these charismatic leaders are all the same: weak, searching for something a little different, and then surprised at just how far down the rabbit hole goes. Too often, they eventually want out, and try to rebel against their new leaders, sometimes too late to avoid the inevitable deaths and destruction.

I really do enjoy reading Ballard’s books, but if I find the next one to be following the same kind of structure, with the same basic characters, I think I’ll have to look elsewhere.

Does anyone have any recommendations for that kind of modern-day sociological dystopian novel?

I read Homicide: A Year On The Killing Streets by David Simon a few weeks ago, and it’s taken me a little while to pull together some thoughts on it. It’s a brilliant piece of writing, and exposes so much that is right and wrong with police work in particular, and American society in general.

Simon’s name will be familiar for anyone who watched The Wire as obsessively as I did, as he’s the creator, executive producer and head writer for that series. If you know The Wire, you’ll also recognise a number of similar storylines and characters from this book. Hell, the guy on the front cover of my copy even looks a bit like McNulty.

That’s not to say that this is The Wire in book form. For a start, it’s only shown from the homicide police’s perspective. Simon spent a year (1988) embedded in the Baltimore homicide department, accompanying the detectives at crime scenes, arresting suspects, in court, and in general just being with them for every waking moment of their shift each day.

And he wrote it all down, painting each person in a good or a bad light based purely on their actions and words. It’s non-fiction, and although he himself (in the afterword) questions whether he got too close to the detectives to truly call it journalism, it’s a stunning portrait of how murder police work.

Structurally, it’s pretty much chronologically ordered, introducing the various members of the squad quite early on, and following them from body to body, investigation to investigation. Occasionally, Simon will pull in other cases from earlier or later in the year because thematically they relate to the case in question, but roughly it’s in order as each body is found and investigated.

There are a couple of big cases which form the main plotlines of the book, including one which ultimately remains unsolved to this day, but it’s surprising how many homicides are solved or cleared relatively easily (“dunkers”, in the parlance).

Worryingly, though, are the number of cases which are “stone cold whodunnits”, most often drug-related shootings where every witness denies seeing anything at all. The detectives must do battle with a culturally ingrained distrust of the police, and it’s incredible how they manage to get any information out of some people at all.

One of the areas which really concerned me as a member of society, and a believer in the justice system as a whole (it comes with having done a law degree. You have to believe!), was all of the back-room deals done as part of the prosecution process. Countless plea bargains were made, with certain 1st-degree murders reduced to 2nd-degree and so heavily reduced jail sentences.

This was usually because the state’s attorneys were unwilling to take a case to court which had any kind of shaky evidence whatsoever, no matter how small. As Simon points out, it was often that a white lawyer would find it difficult to convince a mostly black jury that a black defendant was guilty if any kind of doubt whatsoever (even false doubt) was placed on some evidence. Attorneys just wouldn’t take that risk, and so would agree to a guilty plea of a lesser charge, with the end result of a much shorter period in prison.

Race is a big issue in a city like Baltimore, and was keenly felt within the homicide department. Black detectives inevitably gained a little more co-operation from witnesses and informants, but I don’t remember any glaring instances of racism from the white detectives. It was the same in The Wire, with people like Greggs, Major Colvin and Carver having more success than McNulty on the streets.

It’s very easy to see the heavy influence that this book has had on The Wire, with some scenes lifted almost in their entirety, and in particular the very dark humour prevalent within the homicide office and detectives. But Homicide has a much keener focus on bodies and the investigations, rather than the wider-ranging scope of why these murders were occurring.

I understand that The Corner tells the tale of the war on drugs from the drug dealers’ perspective, and that these two opposing viewpoints are pulled together in The Wire, so I’ll be picking up that book soon enough.

Homicide is a fantastic book, and if you’re at all interested in police work, the justice system, or just a group of highly intelligent men doing their very best to make the world a slightly better place, it’s worth reading.

Almost forgot that I sat through the atrocity that was Starship Troopers 3 the other night, mainly through sheer laziness and a desire to remain so motionless on the sofa that even leaning over to grab the remote was completely out of the question.

I’m a genuine fan of the first film in the series. Yes, it was silly and all a bit overblown, but the level of satire on the military-industrial complex was very well done and hit the spot. The action scenes were impressive, the story was just about believable, and you sort of cared what happened to the characters in the end.

This second sequel, however, was atrocious. Yes, it did include more of the themes and details from the original novel (which I enjoyed, to be honest), but the film was just awful. The plot was pretty poor, and with it being a smaller budget the action sequences were less impressive. I lost count of how many times any bug/human direct interaction (i.e. a bug killing a soldier) happened off-screen. It was all just shadows and screams, which sucked for entertainment value.

The use of government propaganda/news programmes was similar to that in the first film, but a lot less subtle, as were the parallels drawn to fascism and militarism.

Oh, and the nudity was utterly, utterly gratuitous. Yes, I can see that it was an homage to the shower scene in the first film, but was there any need for such lingering, lecherous camera shots of boobs? I have no problem with boobs in films, believe me, but this was just silly.

The acting was awful, although Casper van Dien hammed it up nicely. Jolene Blalock was far too earnest and shouty, and the sheer size of her lips distracted me throughout. The various supporting actors were out of their depth, either shouting every line too much or trying umpteen convoluted facial expressions to convey any emotion whatsoever.

Jeez, the more I think back to this film, it really does show itself up to be one of the worst films I’ve seen in many years. Truly, truly terrible stuff, and I post this as a warning to anyone who stumbles across it late night when there’s nothing on: do yourself a favour and switch the TV off.

I walked out of Inception last night with a sudden urge to watch eXistenZ again, which is about as high a compliment that I can pay to the new release. eXistenz is an exquisitely crafted, gorgeously visualised, and well acted headfuck of a film, and I can say the exact same things about Inception.

Both are films whose plots almost defy description, or at least require some dexterity in terms of making sound coherent, but they make perfect sense whilst you’re watching. There are so many layers and sub-layers of reality in both that you end up questioning exactly where and how each film is taking place.

Of course, there are differences: eXistenZ uses a virtual reality setting, whereas Inception takes place in people’s dreams, their subconscious. But there are similarities too: both require the participants to be plugged in and networked, and even the “go” button on the Inception device is squishy and reminiscent of the glowing blobs that eXistenZ uses to jack into the other world.

The basic plot of Inception, as much as I can describe it, concerns surreptitiously entering into another person’s head to either steal information (relatively easy), or to insert an idea and make that person believe that they came up with the idea themselves. The latter is the Inception of the title, and makes up the majority of the plot, with the protagonists having to delve ever deeper into the subconscious to plant the idea.

There are going to be obvious comparisons made with The Matrix, as well as eXistenZ, with regards to the question of what is real, but also for the special effects. We all saw that brief shot in the trailer the city of Paris folding in on itself, which looked fucking awesome (and in the longer sequence that actually features in the film it looks even better), as well as a brief shot of some flying martial arts (again, truly stunning in the film itself).

For me, there isn’t much of a comparison to be made to The Matrix in terms of the plot and settings. Yes, there’s some philosophical undertones in there, but Inception is more about a person coming to terms with their own mind and their own consciousness than fighting against any great evil. It’s very much internal, whilst The Matrix externalises the threat somewhat.

I have to say a quick word of praise for Joseph Gordon-Levitt, who is probably the best thing in the film. Well, that and whoever did his wardrobe, because the man looks fucking sharp. His action sequences are brilliant, especially the zero-gravity stuff, and he carries off his role with a gravitas beyond his years.

Di Caprio continues a good recent run of character exploration and internal combustion, and Marion Cotillard sizzles as a malevolent ghost in the machine. I’m also a big fan of Cillian Murphy, and felt he was a little under-used. It was still a pretty stellar performance all round from the cast, though.

The visuals, as you would expect from a Christopher Nolan film, were nothing short of spectacular, with worlds collapsing in on themselves and the people within them. There was plenty of action too, including the obligatory car chase. For me, some of this went on a touch too long, and could’ve been trimmed without too much detriment to the film as a whole.

One minor criticism is the sheer inability of any of the extraction protectors to be able to shoot straight. They were almost Bond-villain’s henchmen in their accuracy. And yes, I suppose this could be put down to an inexpert training strategy being implemented within the subconscious, but it was almost comical at times that so many bullets were being expended without hitting a target.

I’ve tried my damnedest to avoid spoilers here, because it genuinely is a film that is going to leave every viewer with a different take on it as they walk out of the cinema, and I don’t want to give anything away or influence anyone before they see it.

It made me think, made me question a lot of things that I take for granted, and I can guarantee that it’s going to stick in my head for a long, long time. A truly memorable film, and well worth seeing.

Last night’s Chemical Brothers gig was immense, and I’m still buzzing this morning. It was hot, sweaty, loud, fun, and everything else you want from going to see live music.

I realised after it had finished that neither of the two guys had said a single word during the entire gig, instead just concentrating on pounding out the music and keeping everyone bouncing. It was an odd juxtaposition to the Flight of the Conchords on Tuesday, where everything was based around words and lyrics.

Nevertheless, the music spoke for itself, and the whole place was jumping. The first half of the show seemed to be all material from their new album, Further, which isn’t out yet here. According to Wikipedia, Further is a collaboration with visual artists, which probably explains the almost story-esque videos that accompanied that half of the show.

For me, the new songs seemed to blend into each other somewhat, but this is probably because they are so new to my ears. The crowd seemed to be really into it when the beats became a bit more pounding and quicker, but in all I think the new stuff was well received.

There was a very brief pause, and then the music came storming back with a run-through of some of their biggest songs from previous albums.

Hey Boy Hey Girl was an obvious crowd-pleaser, but I really enjoyed the mix from Out of Control into Setting Sun. In fact, a good chunk of the second half of the set was almost a medley, with brief snippets of tracking blending into and out of one another. Off the top of my head, the only songs which got a pretty much full play were Hey Boy, Believe and one other track whose name escapes me right now (Exit Planet Dust, maybe?).

As a sidenote, last night reminded me that Believe is an absolutely immense tune. It’s aggressive, relentless, and you can’t help but jump up and down. What a song.

Just reading through the Chemical Brothers’ discography, it’s amazing how many tracks they didn’t play. There was no room for Galvanize, It Began in Afrika, Let Forever Be, Star Guitar, nor The Test and Do It Again. Instead, the choices seemed to be centred around the biggest beats and aggressive noise, getting everyone pumped and keeping them at that level.

As you can see in this photo, the stage set is pretty much just an enclave of gadgetry and decks, with a huge screen behind them. To be honest, it’s not about the stage presence of the two guys (arrowed); it’s about the music that they’re putting out, and in that they excel.

The Chemical Brothers are doing three more nights in London this weekend, and I’d highly recommend trying to get hold of a ticket if you can.

Owing to an unhealthy burrito addiction, I probably eat at least one per week, sometimes more. There’s a great place near my office called Daddy Donkey which does fantastic food, and it’s got to the point where a couple of staff are beginning to recognise me and know my usual order. Yep, I’m a regular.

But I’d heard that another place, Chilango had opened on Fleet Street, and was pretty good, so gave it a go last week.

Rather than being a van on the street, a la Daddy Donkey, Chilango has an actual fixed abode on Fleet St, with a sit-down area inside. It’s still a case of ordering at the counter though, and the seating area was pretty busy when I got there. I can see a queue there being out the door quite quickly at busy times.

The menu seemed a touch longer than Daddy Donkey in terms of different products, but I think that the fillings for each item were the same. Oh, and Chilango had a choice of beans, whereas Daddy Donkey just has one.

I went for my usual chicken burrito, so as to be able to compare/contrast here. For starters, it was smaller, noticeably. Not massively, but enough to make me realise the difference. It also seemed more loosely packed/filled, which is never a good sign with a burrito. It needs to be groaning at the sides, really.

The chicken was nicely grilled, a little more of a charcoal taste than Daddy Donkey, and the rice/beans were as good as can be expected. The hot sauce wasn’t as hot as it could be, and I didn’t notice whether they had another level to go to. I like my Mexican food spicy as hell, and usually finish a burrito with some serious burny in my mouth.

It was a good burrito, don’t get me wrong, but the combination of the slightly smaller size and the relative lack of heat means that Daddy Donkey still reigns supreme for anyone in the Farringdon/Fleet St area.

Now, a Chipotle has just opened in London, so it may be time to see if the flavour and portion sizes have translated across the Atlantic…