1 March

The sun peeps through clouds over a North London street. In his bed, Kumar is sleeping, his chest, covered by a Darth Vader pyjama top, rising and falling like a bouncy castle pounded by tots. A hand creeps slowly towards his arm, then it’s –

‘Pinch, punch, first of the month – no returns.’

‘Five more minutes,’ moans Kumar.

Otherwise it was a fairly unremarkable day.

 

2 March

The sun lingers over a North London street like it’s on a ‘wait and return’ basis. ‘Come on, love, I ain’t got all day!’ For me, the domestic chores of laundry and shopping and – of course – listening to footie and ‘Saturday Review’ on Radio Four. Ah, the quiet contented lives of the elderly. Kumar and Lady O watched SKYFALL on DVD. ‘It’s a skyfall/wanting crumble/not either or/do these lyrics make any sense?’ sang Adele, who does not look anything like my niece.

Later Lady O watched DJANGO. I give up on it at about the forty minute mark after we have the big reveal. (That is, ‘what’s in the coffin? Blooming heck – aieee!’)

 

3 March

The sun hesitates before releasing a beam of light through the clouds. A sign? Yes, Kumar has risen from his bed and is jolly excited about seeing HANSEL AND GRETEL: WITCH HUNTERS in 3D (3D!) at the globe of cine in Woody Green. Even Lady O went. I remembered the mints. Kumar even let me WASH HIS HAIR. (He ought to do it himself, but teenage boys want the grungy, ‘let’s cultivate a flea circus in my bonce’ look. Lady O and I had words about that.)

I should like to tell you that Tommy Wirkola’s English language debut was a trashy delight, a marvel of modern cinema. But alas, the best bit of the trip was the trailers (in 3D) for OZ: THE GREAT AND POWERFUL (two thumbs up from young Kumar) and GI JOE: RETALIATION (three thumbs up from Kumar - he borrowed one of Lady O’s). H AND G, which sounds like a clothing retailer, had a title in place of a plot. Jeremy Renner and Gemma Arterton capered about as improbable bro and sis slugging haggards. Yes, ‘slugging haggards’, which is not to be confused with the name of a well-known country and western singer! Peter Stormare and Famke Janssen played the nominal baddies. Typecasting in genre crud? Yes, just another day at the orifice.

Afterwards, I tried to lighten the mood by putting Kumar’s hood on his head. Bad mistake! There is one thing that sets Kumar off into a violent rage - putting his hood on his head. He said a bunch of hateful things, but then he is a teenager and does not like his look interfered with. Yet he insists on scuffing my balding pate. What a double standard.

Matters were calmed in H & M when Lady O purchased a jacket for him for his upcoming Model UN conference. Lady O wasn’t happy with it, but Kumar was. A brief glimpse at some shoulder bags in a luggage store and then we headed for the Devonshire House for a late pub lunch of gammon, egg and chips. Kumar had the roast pork. Poor piggy!

Reader, we got a booth.

It was of course the day of the so-called ‘North London Derby’ – Tottenham verses Arsenal at the former’s ‘White Hart Lane’ grounds. If you’re an Arsenal supporter, look away now. The team lost 2-1. I was so depressed I did not even laugh when Tina Fey was on ‘Late Night with Jimmy Fallon’ promoting ADMISSION. But then the clip wasn’t funny.

I talked to my downstairs neighbour about his intention of repairing the communal fence. In theory, I had no objection and would contribute to the cost.

 

4 March

I’m sure that the sun went through its usual diurnal round (that’s Shakespeare I’m quoting, not an oblique reference to a urinal) but this was another day of little remark. Listened to JUST A MINUTE, THE ARCHERS (Chris gets drunk) and FRONT ROW (OZ: THE GREAT AND POWERFUL got a bad review, there’s no movie like the original – say that three times Kumar whilst you click your FAMILY GUY slippers). This was old man’s radio. Manchester City triumphed in a footie match of little importance. They are going to be second in the Premiership table at the end of the season. You read it here first – and in a lot of other places, I am sure.

 

 5 March

Pizza! Pizza for my birthday! Yes, I have added another wrinkle to my bowel. Two cards, but nothing from Kumar and Lady O. We did convene for a screening of IDENTITY THIEF at the Vue of Verdant Wood (don’t bring that to Dunsinane). Before that I took ‘ye old Flip camera’ and photographed the damaged garden fence. Most of it surrounded my neighbour’s garden; it was not for communal benefit at all. I sent him the photos by e-mail with a question – was this really a joint venture?

Kumar bought his new bag. He was a very happy lad (don’t mess with the hoodie). Now he was going to fit in with the in-crowd, even if it didn’t hold both his school books and his PE kit. Lady O wondered, what was the point?

IDENTITY THIEF was, as Lady O pointed out, a carbon copy of FILOFAX, with a touch of TRADING PLACES. Instead of Jim Belushi we have Melissa McCarthy. Lady O laughed a few times, but she like I felt that the subject of identity theft was not very funny and that McCarthy’s character wasn’t sympathetic. We had a bunch of trailers beforehand including FAST AND FURIOUS 6 which is ripe for the Larry and Kumar treatment (FAST AND SPURIOUS).

A take-out pizza from Dominos followed. Manchester United were beaten 2-1 (3-2) on aggregate by Real Madrid. Nani was sent off leaving the Red Devils –more like Red Squirrels from the Julio Medem film – being run off their feet. Wayne Rooney’s rug could not manage a header – for much of the match, it was ‘no Wayne, Jose’ as he was a late sub. Sir Alex dodged the post-match press conference, apparently furious with the Turkish referee; really – in my opinion - he should not have destabilised his side before the match by calling into question Rooney’s future. Ah, the arrogance of old age.

On the film reviewing front, next week, I have been invited to a record five movies, one a day. They are:

11 March: COMPLIANCE

12 March: LOVE IS ALL THAT YOU NEED

13 March: ME AND YOU – or is it YOU AND ME (new Bernardo Bertolucci flick)

14 March: IN THE FOG

15 March: SPRING BREAKERS

This was my real birthday present. By the end of the week, I’ll expect to be knackered.

First day of cricket (England verses New Zealand) rained off.

 

6 March

My neighbour did not agree that the fence around his partitioned part of the garden was his responsibility. Imagine. You are in Country ‘X’. Nationals of country ‘Y’ put up a wall and then take off the cost from the money that they hold on behalf of the ‘country X’. (I hope that doesn’t happen.) That’s what my neighbour was proposing, of a sort. I suggested that when he built his extension last year if he paid for the rebuilding of some of the communal fence (for which he did not charge us), he could offset one cost against the other. I added I had no objection for the repair of the two panels in the communal fence. No response.

Celtic were also removed from the Champions League, losing 2-0, 5-0 on aggregate. ‘Our boys can be proud of their European adventure,’ remarked the manager. Agreed, but not of the last two matches!

A letter arrived from Kumar’s school that he had to stay behind to complete his Media Studies course work (designing a magazine cover). Kumar was late, but this was not the reason. Lady O was vexed.

I was vexed too. England were bowled out for less than 180 on the second day of the first test against New Zealand. Keven Pietersen gave his wicket away so cheaply, I thought he had signed a contract with Poundland. New Zealand began to amass what was to become a commanding lead.

 

7 March

It was the day of Kumar’s GCSE results in Science – Papers A and B. ‘Make sure you phone me when he gets in,’ said Lady O sharply. Kumar was, of course, late. The fence repairers were still taking place when he was due to return, but then he was in fact completing his Media Studies assessment. I switched on the TV and chanced upon KOYAANISQATSI. I was suddenly seduced by the fast motion and repetitive score, the suspicious looks to the camera by passers-by. There was a knock at the door. Kumar appeared. Pause. He opened his bag. Pause. He pulled out an envelope. Pause. He wanted to pause some more. However, I wasn’t getting any younger so I took the envelope from him and perused the results. Pause. Two C’s! 66 out of 100 for the first paper, 68 out of 100 for the second. They were high C’s. (There’s a pirate joke in there somewhere.) I was not displeased. ‘Room for improvement; you can work towards a B,’ I told the young lad. Lady O was not of the same mind. ‘I’m giving up on him. You look after him.’ Cue a speech on how I was too easy on the lad, how we were always seeing and making films, but he rarely knuckled down to his work. Lady O phoned again to say she’d be late. She was indeed late. Kumar watched two episodes of THE BIG BANG THEORY and for that brief moment he could forget the storm to come. I made him his favourite, Penne Bolognaise.

The storm came. Lady O would not acknowledge him, instead settling down in front of the TV to watch a EUROPA LEAGUE match. Cue hysterics for Kumar. ‘No films ever again,’ he cried. ‘She is going to chain me up and put me in a cage.’ I silenced him. ‘Where was the chain? Where was the cage?’ ‘It’s a metaphor!’ I sent him outside to reflect on his position. This resulted in him wanting to stay outside the flat on the steps. I called him in. He complained of having nothing to do. He could not read in the bedroom – the lady downstairs was (apparently) swearing. He could not sit in the living room or the kitchen. Normally Kumar would spend an inordinate amount of time in the bathroom. Even this had no appeal. I went to bed to listen to the cricket (the start of the third day). Kumar eventually reached a rapprochement with Lady O. An academic status report was posted where the marital fifty pence hung – a symbol of our enduring union.

In French, my two classmates and I were asked what we wanted to cover in class. ‘Grammar,’ said one. ‘Tenses,’ said the second. ‘Vocabulary,’ said I. In short, the lot! We were all A1 students, which is not good. We can say our name and a few choice phrases. (‘Merde!’ Je m’excuse.’) Alas not much else.

 

8 March

After yesterday’s hysterics, things were much quieter Chez Oliver, though Kumar had to return home on his way to school to pick up his PE kit. ‘Do you have my PE kit?’ he asked Lady O through the intercom as if she was holding it in a sack ready for him to collect. No, she was in the blooming bathroom. He returned home wet (it was raining – really, he noticed) and without his red socks. This is why he cannot be trusted with keys!

In the evening I watched Yves Montmayer’s documentary on Michael Haneke (MICHAEL H, PROFESSION: DIRECTOR) that had been sent to me on DVD. Kumar walked out just after it started. Lady O fell asleep. I of course stayed to the end. Every Haneke film was covered except his pointless US remake of FUNNY GAMES. What struck me most was how Haneke didn’t frame shots like other directors but was frequently acting out scenes with the actors or putting his arm around them. Isabelle Huppert described him as a radical. Jean-Louis Trintignant said that only he enjoys making his movies; no one else does.

We also watched an episode of ELEMENTARY guest starring Vinnie Jones as a psychotic Arsenal fan. Arsenal fan? Talk about miscasting. What next, Vinnie Jones as a nuclear physicist.

England got a chance to bat again in the cricket and kept their wicket almost intact. Having scored a century, Cook made a foolish error. Steve Finn, the night watchman, joined Nick Compton and scored runs, much to the chagrin of the New Zealand bowlers.

 

9 March

Laundry and shopping for me; PARKER (the film)at Vue Wood Green for milady (Lady O) and Kumar. It was Milady’s day tomorrow. The Jason Statham film offered modest entertainment. Neither Kumar nor Lady O said much about it.

Wigan and Manchester City qualified for the semi-finals of the FA cup. In the cricket, which I listened to as Lady O watched THE LUCKY ONE on Sky Movies, England lost Compton early but Jonathan Trott reinvigorated the scoring rate. In the small hours of Sunday morning, outside of my hearing, a draw was declared.

During the middle of the afternoon, Lady O watched five episodes of MRS BROWN’S BOYS (series one) back to back. Much laughter! I was in the kitchen peeling potatoes. Also did more shopping and brought in Magnum Whites for the laughter-bolstered duo.

 

10 March

Mother’s Day (UK). I wrote my diary and cooked lunch whilst Lady O watched PAYCHECK. First PAYBACK, then PAYCHECK. I expect the trilogy to be completed with PAYCUT. After lunch, I attempted to upload a movie (‘Larry Oliver does Les Mis’) on Film Annex and went to the library with Kumar who had Maths homework to complete. I also shaved and washed my hair, but this comes under the category: TOO MUCH INFORMATION. Lady O watched the end of a RESIDENT EVIL sequel: RESIDENT EVIL: TIRED.

 

 11 March

Meet with old friend to watch COMPLIANCE at De Lane Lea (a dubbing studio with a preview theatre). He enjoys it – to a degree. We have coffee in the Curzon, West End afterwards. He tells me about the growth of free film festivals (in Peckham and Camberwell) and the Bussey Building. Is this the South London of my humble origins? You can see a film for £4.99 every day at the Peckham Multiplex – a bargain. The experience is not entirely recommended. We agree not to make it eighteen months before we next meet, and probably not at the Peckham Multiplex.

 

12 March

I see LOVE IS ALL YOU NEED at Soho Screening Rooms. It appears to be infected with the spirit of MAMMA MIA, minus the Abba songs. Well, it does have Pierce Brosnan in it as an English importer exporter of fruits and vegetables. His character, Philip started with an orange grove that apparently turned to lemons. I suppose the yellow stardust on screen that covers a building in the opening shot is meant to represent the transformative power of lemons – something that hasn’t happened since Susan Sarandon applied the fruit in ATLANTIC CITY watched by a gob-smacked Burt Lancaster. (Burt: we know how you feel!)  Trine Dyrholm plays Ida, a middle-aged mother of two whose breast cancer is in remission. However, her husband is cheating on her with a woman from accounts. He’s no hunk. She cannot do equations. Ida’s daughter is getting married in Italy. The groom is Philip’s son. The romance is said to be whirlwind – three months from eye contact to ring on finger. Ida and Philip meet in the hotel parking lot. She drives a yellow car that makes a Smart car seem spacious. She scrapes his Mercedes Benz. He is angry. She attempts to crash her vehicle, activating the airbag. As she staggers out of the car, he notices her slipped wig and apologises. This is the best scene and the only one worth describing. The plot developments are predictable and as much as I was bored, the ending did bring a tear to my eye. There you have it. A Larry Oliver recommendation: ‘LOVE IS ALL YOU NEED. I cried.’ Why didn’t I just try acting?

 

13 March

Two years ago today, I had a heart attack. As I explain in my autobiography, THE MEMORY OF DEATH, this was a rather banal event that involved me running for a bus as I was ferrying young Kumar to a screening of FANTASTIC MR. FOX at the Renoir, Russell Square. If I could have my life over I probably would have walked from Stroud Green to Finsbury Park but the combination of light running for three quarters of a mile and then acceleration as the bus was in sight led me to corpse for the first time since I played a moon in a primary school play. On that occasion, I had a fit of giggles as I searched for and found my siblings in the audience. Here, I collapsed twice, smashing my teeth against the safety rail of a bus (a safety rail!) in the process. I did, of course, recover – the show must go on! From that flirtation with non-existence, renewed hope in the form of false teeth. Makes eating flapjacks blooming hard, though!

I see ME AND YOU at Soho Screening Rooms, director Bernardo Bertolucci’s first film for a decade and his first in Italian since TRAGEDY OF A RIDICULOUS MAN in 1981. It has a deceptively simple premise. A pimply fourteen year old boy living with his mother and undergoing therapy decides he does not want to go on a skiing holiday with his school. Instead, he wants to hide out for a week in the basement underneath his building. He buys supplies for seven days – Coca Cola and Nutella. (He also has fruit juice and water.) He goes to a pet store and buys an art farm for company. He makes a copy of the basement key. When his mother drives him to the school bus, he throws a tantrum, a whopping big one. He doesn’t even say goodbye to his mother! Having observed Kumar’s conversations with Lady O, this is the most realistic portrayal of a teenager that I’ve seen in movies for years. (Can you put that on the poster?) So why is it called ME AND YOU? Well, because YOU or the young hero’s older half sister, Olivia, turns up to bug him. Only she’s on cold turkey. Crashing with bro’ is the best way to get off drugs, y’all! The story is slight but relatable. We ask cinema to tell us something we have not heard before. This is one. Highly recommended!

Lady O and Kumar see OZ: THE GREAT AND POWERFUL at Cineworld, Shaftesbury Avenue. Although the escalator to the cinema does not work, there are smiles all round – four thumbs up. I bring the pair some sandwiches from a screening of GI JOE: RETALIATION, screened in the main Soho Screening room.  Arsenal beat Bayern Munich 2-0 but went out of the Champions League 2-3 on aggregate. Better to go out winning, that’s what I say!

 

14 March

See IN THE FOG, a German film with a Russian director (Sergei Loznitsa) set in Belorussia, at the Soho Screening Rooms. It is based on a novel by Vasil Bykov. Loznitsa filmed his 128 minute movie in 72 shots, which is to say, he likes to leave the camera running. Consider the opening shot. We see from behind a group of soldiers lead a group of men through a military base into a sort of community square. People have gathered to watch. The scene is at walking pace. Much of the frame is filled with the shoulders of one of the men being led. Then, from off screen, an old woman throws herself at the group. ‘Let him go!’ she cries, before being hastily repelled. The camera, still moving, then moves to the crowd of semi-interested locals. We hear cries: ‘This is what happens if you help the Partisans.’ We see a German soldier carrying as many eggs as his helmet will allow. The camera swings to reveal a horse and cart and then alights on a dry animal carcass. We hear the snapping of necks. Off screen, three men have been hung.

Two men, Burov (Vlad Abashin) and Voitik (Sergei Kolesov) are on their way to apprehend another, said to be the betrayer of the three men who were hung. They ride on horses. Burov looks almost asleep. He knows the man they are coming to collect (read: execute), Sushenya (Vladimir Svirski). They stop by a stream. Burov tries walking on two logs as he leads his horse through the water. He slips and gets his feet wet. As Voitik rides across, non-plussed, we see Burov take off his boot and wring out the cloth that he has wrapped around his foot in place of a sock. The detail immediately places us in another time, a time of adaptations. (This is what I call an arthouse money shot.)

They see Sushenya’s house. But they won’t approach until nightfall. Cut to night. Burov hands Voitik his rifle. ‘If you hear anything, shoot,’ he says.

Inside Sushenya, a 37 year old bearded man, is carving an animal for his young son. It even has a tail. A tail! Burov appears by the door. They remark how each has changed. ‘You know why I am here?’ Sushenya nods. He is told he has to answer for his betrayal. But Sushenya insists that he is innocent. He did not collaborate with the Germans. Nevertheless he must go. Sushenya accepts his fate. ‘But first a drink?’ Burov refuses. Sushenya has one, then another. His wife, Anelya (Julia Peresild) appears. She offers the men something to eat before they leave, putting potatoes on a plate. Burov does not feel like eating. It is time to leave. Anelya offers the men lard with onions. ‘Have it,’ says Burov to Sushenya, who has similarly lost the urge to eat. ‘Onions make the lard edible.’ They leave and walk deeper into the forest. They arrive at a clearing. But Sushenya does not want to die there, in the swamp, in the sand. Burov shows some compassion. They move on. Before Burov executes his man, there is gunfire. Soldiers have arrived, missed by Voitik, who proves a poor look out. In the ensuing battle, Burov is shot. Sushenya and Voitik flee. Then Sushenya returns to recover Burov. He is dying. Sushenya carries him.

A flashback follows. We learn how Burov becomes capable of violence. He blows up a car. It is a banal act. Further flashbacks reveal Sushenya’s story – a railway worker slugged in the face by his supervisor, who colleagues plot an act of sabotage – and Voitik’s tale. At the climax the fog descends and the three men meet their fate.

The fog of the title refers to the fog of war, clouding men’s judgements. A key dialogue exchange runs as follows. Sushenya explains that he has been a railway worker for 13 years, the same man with the same values. It is not in his nature to collaborate. So how can others think he has changed? Even his wife no longer trusts him. There is the expectation that men crack. Sushenya never did. In spite of this, he is treated as a villain.

You never get the sense that the Germans in Belorussia were some well run outfit. They occupied the country and we see a train with its windows boarded up – the one reminder of the Holocaust. It is also notable that the act of sabotage would derail this train. We want to know what happened to that train but are never told. IN THE FOG is a slightly frustrating film but it has moments of grim beauty and authenticity. Sergei Loznitsa: an arthouse auteur is born.

In French we were asked to bring in an article for the next lesson. I wondered whether this might be an article of clothing and shivered at the memory of his Christmas boxer shots. Describe them in French? I would not want to describe them in English.

 

15 March

See SPRING BREAKERS, a Harmony Korine tone poem, at Soho Screening Rooms. I ‘got it’ but did not enjoy it. What I really wanted to see was POPULAIRE , an amusing sounding French film with Romain Duris and Deborah Francois that is screening downstairs. The nice publicist from Momentum offered me a drink and told me about the film, a sort of sports movie set in a typing pool, liked by both men and women. It is apparently the most expensive French feature from a debutante, in this case, Régis Roinsard. She offers me the chance to see it at another screening.

I talk to another critic about our experience at the CHEERFUL WEATHER FOR THE WEDDING screening. He tells me that the seat that he took in the middle of the cinema was actually allocated to the film’s co-writer, a gentleman (apparently uncredited, I checked). After trading unpleasantries, the critic and screenwriter engaged in an amicable conversation about movie reviewing. The screenwriter asked the question: if a reviewer knows a film was difficult to make, strapped for cash, is he lenient on the result? The critic’s answer was yes. I say no, and here’s why. A film can cost £45 or $100 million but it has to justify a £9 cinema ticket and two hours of your time. Your time and the ticket price are your investment and in life you don’t gravitate towards a failed artwork because the makers had a tremendous struggle. You are interested in the result, how it makes you feel. You want to have an experience that justifies your investment. Ultimately, critics could use the box ‘see this because’ to make allowances. However, I never want to apologise for a film. I want it to be good. If it’s a near miss, it will have things in it worth seeing. If it is a total dud, then avoid. I don’t want to know the production history of a god-awful British movie; it may account for why it is a failure. Sometimes I might write ‘see it because the director is a really nice man’ which I will always say of Mike Newell, whom I met at a party many years ago (when I had more hair and in the right place).

COMIC RELIEF raged on the television, a succession of poverty porno films. Beneath it there is a worthy cause and the possibility of making a difference. However, film after film showed COMIC RELIEFs of previous years not making a difference – the same damned stories.

 

16 March

With my neighbour from Flat Two (who did most of the work), helped clear out Flat Five, currently occupied by the ashes of its former living resident. Kumar attended a Model United Nations Conference at his school and returned with a certificate of commendation. Reader, I was proud. No trip to the cinema, yippee!

Looked up my buzz score on FILM ANNEX, now down to three! On the football front, good news: Arsenal beat Swansea away 2-0, with a pair of late goals. Lady O watched THE DARKEST HOUR and some of MISSION: IMPOSSIBLE: GHOST PROTOCOL on the telly.

 

17 March

Happy Saint Patrick’s Day! Saint Patrick drove the snakes out of Ireland. I have to remove the nits from Kumar’s head. It’s a thankless job. Even Kumar himself isn’t grateful. First, I have to comb his hair (‘Argh! You’re hurting me.’) Then I have to apply lotion to his scalp. (‘Argh! Some went on my face!’) Then I have to leave it for ten minutes. (‘Argh! What am I going to do?’) Then I have to comb it out with a metal comb. (‘Argh! One fell on me!’) Then I have to pour water on his head. (‘Argh! Too hot!’) Then I have to put shampoo on his head. (‘Argh! It’s running near my face.’) Then I have to rinse it out. (‘Water temperature’s okay.’) Then I have to dry it vigorously with a towel. Then Kumar combs his own hair. (‘It still looks wet.’) Like I said, thankless!

After lunch (chicken and waffles for Kumar & I, Tuscan steak penne for Lady O), we set off to the Odeon West End to see JACK THE GIANT SLAYER in three dimensions. Alas, this was a film that only existed in two dimensions. It is a love story between a farm boy and a princess. Wait, aren’t they brother and sister? No, that’s STAR WARS. They are obsessed with the same story that involves Erik the Great, who drove giants out of Albion (Britain to you and me) to a kingdom in the sky that has high altitude pigs, sheep, streams and pastry recipes. The giants are all men and have bad dental work. They fight each other for the right to eat humans, whom they regard as tasty (quite good with herbs). You expect them to die out (no women, you see) but they get very old. I suppose they must have a good quality of life and Swiss health care. Anyway, their route back down to Earth would be facilitated by the planting of magical beans and there are a few left – seven I counted. ‘Don’t get them wet,’ a monk tells Jack (Nicholas Hoult) after the farm boy parts with his horse to allow him to escape. (The monk does not get away; he should ask for his beans back.) Jack does accidentally get one bean wet and before he knows it his house, which includes the Princess Isabelle (Eleanor Tomlinson) paying a house call, travels all the way up to the giant hideaway in the sky.

The impressive cast is augmented by Ewan McGregor as the Captain of the King’s Guard, Stanley Tucci as the King’s advisor, Roderick, Ewan Bremner as his sidekick, Eddie Marsan as one of the Captain’s men and Joe Strombel, sorry Ian McShane as the King, Bearded the Vain. And I almost forgot Warwick Davis as a thespian, acting out the story of the expulsion of the giants. What you will notice is the absence of women. What is director Bryan Singer telling us? (There were more women in X-MEN, which is funny because it is called X-MEN, not X-PEOPLE, or X-FILME CREATIVE POOL – sorry, could not resist.)

The special effects are super-impressive, the 3D less so. You notice it, but it is never used in a way that makes the spectacle more immediate. It is almost ordinary. Singer is an intelligent director but somehow the retelling of the JACK AND THE BEANSTALK movie is just an excuse for some digital stuff. We were all disappointed, though Kumar did enjoy the bacon flavoured popcorn that was left on his seat (a packet that is, not an odd piece, because that would have been disgusting).

Afterwards, we fought our way through Saint Patrick’s Day revellers in the rain to Leicester Square Tube and back to North London where we had a late afternoon meal in the Devonshire House. True I was diddled out of one onion ring – gourmet burgers promised six rings, not five – but it was tasty. Kumar had the roast pork and some dodgy lemonade which had to be replaced as it had gone flat. He had a chocolate sundae for dessert whilst Lady O had waffle and ice cream. I sipped my Guinness slowly.

 

Monday 18 March

Kumar sleepwalks. The light goes on at 12:25. ‘You told me to wake you up!’ ‘No I didn’t.’ Even Lady O is surprised. I close my eyes. Kumar returns to his basket. Apparently, he has no recollection of this event. Very, very strange!

Later that day, I have a meal at Cabaza, a Brazilian eatery in St Giles High Street. I order the skewered chicken wrapped in bacon accompanied by burnt pineapple. Service is slow. The skewer arrives, a large poker-like object. My food is swept onto my plate. I should have ordered chips but they were an extra £3.95. ‘You can’t take it with you,’ Lady O would say. That’s right because it would pong up my coffin when I go to the incinerator. (I wonder whether fast food restaurants could diversify as crematoriums.) Red wine makes the meal go down easier. I note that I have had alcohol eight days in a row. Not good for the heart. Need to slow down.

On the way home in the rain (very heavy), I visit Fopp in Shaftesbury Avenue, a DVD and music emporium. They have a DVD of KNOCKED UP for £3.00. I must tell Kumar. I do tell Kumar. He is excited and contemplates tickling his piggy bank for money. Kumar is of course a little too old for piggy banks, but has no enthusiasm for using real banks. (‘Do I have to go?’)

 

Tuesday 19 March

I lay off the booze. Hurrah. Kumar goes to his steering group, the FUTURE FILM crowd. I retire in my PJs early after making him dinner (a pepperoni pizza in which he has three quarters and I have the remaining quarter with all the peppers; this gets the Kumar seal of approval). Kumar gets back late for his programme, HOW I ENCOUNTERED YOUR MATERNAL UNIT, with Josh Radnor, Jason Segal and whatnot. He watches it at 9pm instead. Thank goodness for ‘plus one’, though I do not get this very often for movie invitations.

 

Wednesday 20 March

I discover to Kumar’s horror that THE INCREDIBLE BURT WONDERSTONE is disappearing from UK cinemas having, as it were, flopped pretty much everywhere (US opening weekend $10 million – a disaster). So I allow Kumar to see it at Cineworld Shaftesbury Avenue on 241 Wednesday, now sponsored by EE (in the UK). I use my Cineworld Unlimited Card so he does not have to pay a bean – technically I always have to pay, but that is neither hither nor yon. I could see it with him having procured a second ticket but instead mosey to the Soho Screening Rooms where there are screenings of SPRING BREAKERS and THE LOOK OF LOVE. I use the convenience and afterwards approach the publicist to talk my way into the latter. She and her colleague are deep in conversation so I slip into the screening room. It is very crowded. I sit in the third row and have an awkward view behind someone with a rather large head, shoulders and, I dare say, knees and toes, knees and toes. Still, to (mis)quote a line from CLERKS, I wasn’t supposed to be there today. Some of the audience made their way to an overflow screening. There was a free seat in the front row – but I was stuck (grr). I watched the film, a biopic of the impresario of Soho sleaze, Paul Raymond, played, if that is the right word, by Steve Coogan. I was unimpressed, except by the running time – 98 minutes, wahoo! Some of Michael Winterbottom’s films can be bottom-numbers. I get back in time to book a seat for TRANCE for Monday at Cineworld Haymarket – I only want to attend the quiz, mind - and collect young Kumar, who enjoyed Mr Wonderstone. Before the screening he also purchased KNOCKED UP and PINEAPPLE EXPRESS on DVD, expanding his Seth Rogen collection. (I actually think he wants to be Mr Rogen when he grows up, or when Mr Rogen grows up, one of the two. Snaffle laugh.) He goes to bed late after Lady O refuses to let him watch PARKS AND RECREATION, so he does not get it all his own way, lest readers think he is spoilt.

 

Thursday 21 March

I remember to listen to THE FILM PROGRAMME on Radio Four, well, the last fifteen minutes. John Boorman spins interesting anecdotes about Lee Marvin, who didn’t talk about the part of Walker in POINT BLANK, which Boorman directed, but just rather didn’t talk full stop. He simply would not verbally acknowledge his wife so she spoke his lines for him, fulfilling the expository nature of their scene. Marvin had just won an Oscar for PAINT YOUR WAGON and could do what he liked. He had script approval which he deferred to Boorman. The film was meant to be like a dream, about a man who returned from the dead. At one point, Boorman was called into a studio executive’s office. A psychiatrist was there. They had seen the rushes and wanted to know if Boorman had gone mad. Boorman had designed the film with one colour per scene. So a green car would feature in a scene with men in green suits. It had a monochromatic effect but the sheen of the developed film gave it a rich tonality within the single colour. Boorman is one of the great raconteurs. I’m not a huge fan of his movies – THE EMERALD FOREST, BEYOND RANGOON – but he can tell ‘em.

 

Friday 22 March

I break my abstention from alcohol with a bottle of Nastro Azurro at a screening of THE LORDS OF SALEM at Soho Screening Rooms. The good publicists of Fetch let me see it so I give them a big shout out! Yo, Fetch! The film, written and directed by Robert Zombie, is, sad to say rather amateurish, not at all scary and entirely gratuitous. It is about a dreadlocked female disk jockey (Sheri Moon Zombie) who receives a record that appears to affect impressionable young women who are not always clothed. It builds from Monday to Saturday and ends with a mass suicide. I wonder if that represented the director’s ambition. Apparently some tentacled child was borne of the DJ – progressive rock? Bruce Davison, Ken Foree, Dee Wallace (no longer Dee Wallace Stone), Judy Geeson and Patricia Quinn co-star.

Kumar and Lady O watch RESIDENT EVIL. I retire early (ten pm).  The cricket is grim, England are over 400 runs behind at the close against New Zealand and two wickets down. (They chose to bowl first, very silly!) Football is slightly better. England beat San Marino 8-0, but then San Marino is a sort of pizza, not a football nation. They also don’t have much of a talent pool, or a stadium; attendance was under 5,000.

 

Saturday 23 March

Snow – well, not much of it, but enough for me to commandeer Kumar’s wellington boots. I launder and shop and bank £50 of Kumar’s savings. We have pizza for lunch – everyone has three slices; mine were smaller than Lady O’s and Kumar’s. Lady O watches FOUR BROTHERS, which is not a sequel to a Francesco Rosi film. (Does anyone remember Francesco Rosi?)

In the evening, Lady O and Kumar watch MRS BROWN’S BOYS. Much laughter! I listen to the cricket. Not much to laugh about, unless you are from New Zealand. Three wickets lost in half an hour – Compton, Bell and Bairstow. At lunch (11:30pm UK time) it is 92 for 5.

Sunday 24 March

Kumar affects his ‘I don’t want to go out. What are we doing today?’ routine. I write a piece on SPRING BREAKERS whilst he and Lady O watch KNOCKED UP. This gets the Kumar seal of approval. After lunch, I manage to score some preview tickets for OLYMPUS HAS FALLEN. Kumar is unimpressed. ‘You want to watch that rubbish?’ I tell him about an opportunity afforded to young and (in my case) ancient filmmakers to contribute to a Robert Rodriguez short entitled TWO SCOOPS. Kumar is excited. For about a minute, I forget that I lost an Arthur et les Minimoys pen whilst binning the recycling. Lady O watches INHERIT THE WIND. I cannot name the film from a clip. (‘JUDGEMENT AT NUREMBURG’, I suggest.) My powers are flagging. 

Monday 25 March

The Cineworld Haymarket film quiz. I form 'Team Oliver' - just me, they would not let Kumar in the bar. Besides, he'd probably have more fun at home with his i-Pod, listening to THE LONELY ISLAND or some such alternative music. The quiz master is a young man, very enthusiastic, eager to throw newbie quizzers a bone. The first round is films from 1998, the noughties and the 1970s. 'A coherent theme', he tells us. I get ten out of ten. It has questions like name the stars of YOU'VE GOT MAIL, what film was directed in 1973 by William Fried-kin (yes, he put his offspring in a frying pan) and which classic film was directed by Francis Copp-ohla in 1972? (He made it rhyme with tombola.) Still, very enthusiastic.

The second round is much harder. 'Dark lords and horror flicks'. The first question had nothing to do with films. Who was the dark lord in THE SILMARILLION? How the bleeding' eck should I know, I haven't read it. I called foul. I could not name the source of the news footage in BATTLESHIP either - the 2011 riots, apparently and could only name five out of ten 'actors' who played Darth Vader - Hayden Christianson, Jake Lloyd, Dave Prowse, Sebastian Shaw, James Earl Jones. I missed out his 'sword double', John Anderson, and the bloke what plays him in THE CLONE WARS.

I am doing my nut in. Still, I get the question about a horror film in which the heroine killed the blokes that attacked her - I SPIT ON YOUR GRAVE.

It all hinges on the final round. This includes a bonus - ARGO was voted best picture at this year's Oscars. Name the other nominees. A shoo-in since Kumar & I parodied them: AMOUR, BEASTS OF THE SOUTHERN WILD, DJANGO UNCHAINED, LIFE OF PI, LINCOLN, SILVER LININGS PLAYBOOK, ZERO DARK THIRTY. But what this final one. I struggle. I scratch my head. It just isn't coming.

I rule out THE MASTER and CLOUD ATLAS.

There is agitation from another table. The quiz master is ready to re-read all the questions.

Then it hits me - LES MISERABLES.

Reader, I won the quiz - 38 out of 45.

I collect my prize of two bottles of white wine and head for the screening of TRANCE. It is very enjoyable (review to follow).

On the way home. I listen to the cricket until half past eleven. It is very tense. New Zealand get the new ball and bowl Joe Root out.

90 for 5. Just under 400 behind. They can't win, but if they stay at the crease against a competent New Zealand attack, they'll draw.

The tension, reader, is unbearable.

Tuesday 26 March

Somehow or other England managed to battle to a draw. At close of play on the fifth day of the third Test, they were 315-9. Well done, lads. Of course, if New Zealand had half an hour longer they could have bowled England out, but they didn’t.

RESULT!

In the grand scheme of things, it feels like a loss, New Zealand were over  150 in front and our only victory is not being bowled out, playing balls defensively.

Playing balls defensively – isn’t that the English national sport. Discuss.

I did not see OLYMPUS HAS FALLEN. I was fallen, well falling asleep anyway. Kumar went off to his steering group of Film Futurists and I went to bed.

To sleep, perchance to wait for the buzzer at 20:00!

Larry, out!

 

Wednesday 27 March

Kumar gave Lady O a bit of attitude. Well, he is a surly young chap - a bath dodger, I call him. So, no EE 241 Wednesday for him.  (Other two-for-one offers are available.)

Kumar continues to make slow work of the novel ENDURING LOVE. No films for me. Kumar does watch his ninth favourite show PARKS AND RECREATION which makes his laugh an acceptable number of times.

 

Thursday 28 March

Maundy Thursday. Kumar & I come to an accord. He pops off to see TRANCE at the Cineworld Haymarket. I take Lady O to a preview screening of THERESE DESQUEYROUX at the Screening Rooms in Soho.

I am late for pizza – not good.

I forget to use my Cineworld card to get 25% off the bill – also not good.

Kumar likes TRANCE – good!

Lady O and I enjoy THERESE DESQUEYROUX – also good.

We get the 19 bus to Finsbury Park – slow but good.

In the final French lesson of the current term – winter... spring... what is it? – we revise all the stuff I don’t remember being taught in the first place. Arretez le monde...

 

Friday 29 March

Lady O and Kumar stayed put. I was in domestic servant mode. Wrote a review of THERESE DESQUEYROUX – it was more like telling the story, really. Kumar and Lady O watched telly, including his DVD of GI JOE: THE RISE OF COBRA or, as I remember, CUPPA JOE: BEGONE YE COBWEBS!

 

 

Saturday 30 March

DOCTOR WHO returns to BBC One. Break out the honey-flavoured peanuts. Actually, it wasn’t that good. Souls get sucked up into some sort of data cloud that feeds Richard E. Grant, who has gone from WAH WAH to nada as a director. Now he’s reduced to these high-profile but insubstantial cameos – he must have more booze, sorry, better roles. Arsenal triumphed against Reading 4-1, but Tottenham also won. Only Chelsea suffered a defeat at the feet of mighty Southampton.

Mighty Southampton? Does that make sense?

Meanwhile North Korea makes discouraging noises about being at war with South Korea - not good. I look for signs of panic buying at Tesco's. Nothing yet.

 

Sunday 31 March

Easter Day.

For those who do not believe in miracles I say this.

Lady O finally travelled to the Hackney Picturehouse.

She boards a 106 bus from Finsbury Park. She grumbles, but not to excess. An Indian man taps of the window, waving at strangers. Some welcome this, most don’t.

Lady O walks from the bus stop to the cinema – 10 yards. I claim two tickets to a preview of A LATE QUARTET.

Lady O climbs several steps to Screen 3. We are not allowed to take the lift. Not good.

We arrive just before it starts. Most of the ‘good’ seats are taken – we sit down in the third row behind some loud Americans.

Lady O moans, slightly: ‘It’s not worth it.’

The film commences. Lady O enjoys it. She even weeps.

Christopher Walken pulls the strings to our tear ducts, but Catherine Keener, Mark Ivanek and Philip Seymour Hoffman give good support. Imogen Poots co-stars.

A three star film, not excellent, but a story well told. But never mind string quartets, the Fugue or whatever. Check out Christopher Walken’s blue shirt and red tank top combo.

I want that look.

Maybe I want to have the sing-song register of Mr Walken: ‘let’s tango, toots!’

Anyway, a scene stealer, notably when his character tells an anecdote about meeting a maestro.

We get a 106 bus back to Finsbury Park. Roadworks, or more accurately many men not working, hold us up.

Kumar sees GI JOE: RETALIATION at Wood Green Cineworld. He cannot decide whether he likes it. It has zingers, but no whammos. Bummer!

Lunch at the Devonshire House – the Tennessee Burger – Lady O cannot get enough of the sauce.

A good day!