A Thousand Yards (theatre)

Stare and scare

The intimate (and formerly local) setting of Southwark Playhouse presents a fascinating scenario of a newspaper picture editor whose sight is dulled, damaged and dying with the uncensored attrocities wired in from around the globe from brave but horror-numbed photo journalists. Her only hope seems to be the unorthodox therapy from a sight psychiatrist, one of his more deluded and eccentric patients and a former love and photographer... whom she part blames.

It's a fascinating exploration of censorship, personal and professional responsibility and our at times tasteless appetite for instant news of destruction and suffering. It's wordy: the dialogue is never humdrum, it's kinetic and pacy, almost percussive, whether a therapy session, blazing row or artistic appraisal. I even managed to resist hitting the gas lift on the psychiatrist's chair not two feet away from me.

The aftershow discussion kept three quarters of the packed-in audience in their seats. Impressive writing from a real life photo editor had brought the Great War phenomena of the 'thousand yard stare' right up to date with ethical introspection. Interesting that just last week the BBC introduced new guidelines on a similar debate.

Gerard Kearns (of Channel 4 Shameless fame) deserves special mention as that deluded but passionate patient 'Kid A' with a truly magnificent multi-minute monologue on what he sees in the art on the gallery walls. I managed to chat to him afterwards and it was obvious how inspired that sequence was by his own sense of awe having never been to "a National Gallery before. There aren't such things in Oldham".

Dr Who: New Series (tv)

Just a companion?

Once upon a time Saturday night TV was a barren desert with the occasional tumbleweed. Then 14 weeks ago the Beeb regenerated Dr Who bringing a northern oasis and the blossoming Rose to our screens. Last week the series ended and tonight my evening will be significantly emptier.

I don't remember ever really being a fan of the older series although having seen a few of the 'Confidential' programmes I may have to go back and watch a few of the episodes with 'Peri' in them. I do however remember an LP with the theme tune and incidental music which would send shivers up my spine; the TV series was always a bit kooky, slightly naff.

This 'new' series has been scifi drama at it's best: strong, deep & likeable characters all with their fair share of demons and failings coupled with, on the whole, imaginative writing and horror elements that have an impact and shock value on a 28 year old let alone the 8 year olds invevitably watching as part of a 7pm audience.

It's sufficiently harked back to some of the traditional kookiness and built upon Dr Who canon effortlessly with thoughtful and thought-provoking use of old adversaries providing extra levels of narrative depth. Thrilled to see Steven "Press Gang, Coupling, Joking Apart" Moffat on the writing staff and glad to see BBC Wales haven't minded coming to London once or twice. On the other hand I'm genuinely sad to see Christopher Ecclestone's superb Doctor leaving his new and improved sonic screwdriver behind albeit in a fitting, touching and, dare I say, human way.

It's times like these when you remember how good the BBC can be... it seems that Michael Grade and seven million other people agree. Back to Saturday nights with Celebrities on the Toilet and Strictly Come Joyriding.

Rose: if you are an alien how come you sound like you're from the North?
The Doctor: lots of planets have a North...

Wendy Ip (gig)

Just Wendy

Wendy's just concluded her UK tour in the suitably humble 'Acoustic Lounge', otherwise known as the upstairs bar of the Railway in Clapham.

The evening began with a piano-playing singer-songwriter Beverley Craven/Dido crossover who was so pitch perfect and flawless that I actually worried our headlining act might end up being a byline: I'd met Wendy but never heard her perform and only sampled a couple of seconds of a track on iTunes. I needn't have worried, wasn't disappointed; I was truly blown away.

There's so much passion in her songs and boy does that come across with plaintiff cries, guitar riffs and keyboard flourishes. From the titular and powerful Just Wendy to the beautiful Nobody's Fault rock, country and alternative styles are fused into a unique package with profound lyrics and a voice that is so right for the material, perhaps revealing autobiographical origins.

Difficult to describe & hard to compare, hop over to Just Wendy and download a track or two for yourself. When I manage to get to New York later this year her regular Monday night spot will definitely be on the itinerary. Oh and the albums are being added to my wishlist...

Mr & Mrs Smith (cinema)

Hitting the mark?

Everything about this film suggested success (there, I've gone and betrayed my verdict in the first sentence). A flash of Jolie thigh, Pitt looking ultra cool, Vince Vaughn's comic relief and lots of big guns and explosions.

Unfortunately here's a film that doesn't know what it is. It's not comedic enough, stylish enough or explosive enough. It's a bit of everything: not slick but scrappy. It draws heavily on Prizzi's Honor, True Lies and even the War of the Roses but lands unsatisfyingly somewhere between them.

Pitt and Jolie (yet again) are struggling without a script. Vince Vaughn doesn't need it but his comic relief is infrequent and histhe development of his character, that would have been so welcome, is sadly lacking.

There is a glimmer of chemistry between our Mr & Mrs but, I wonder... Neither of them usually has a problem demonstrating sex appeal but there's something muted and masked here: as though they're playing it down. To be honest despite their deliberate on-screen marriage problems bringing in some more of that reputed off-screen chemistry would make their characters that little bit more credible and watchable.

National Treasure (dvd)

Watch it or I'll hit you with my poster tube

Oh dear. If you're a fan of (or just simply enjoyed) The Da Vinci Code then you may feel this is a cheap rip off with none of the twists, turns, drama and character of the Dan Brown novel. You'd be right: this is The Da Vinci Code for the American patriot, taking the genre to the lowest Hollywood denominator.

The fact this is a Bruckheimer doesn't help: the story simply doesn't fit the style. Just hearing the Bruckheimer music sends me into fits of laughter these days thanks to Team America: World Police which parodied his films brilliantly.

Another problem is Nicolas Cage can't seem to work out who is character actually is. Sometimes he's a bumbling history buff, occasionally a swashbuckling Indiana Jones, other times a gawping 'well, darn', err, Nicolas Cage. Unfortunately his range extends to only one of those three; guess which?

Da Vinci fans feel the rollercoaster being pulled to the top of the hill as they read the book because of the prize, the treasure being sought, is so exciting and epoch-shattering. Here the treasure is just treasure and we don't really care a less if they manage to find it. There's no heart, urgency or intrigue: just a join-the-dots of clues and the occasional sticky situation.

If you must see a treasure hunt movie and have OD'd on the Indiana Jones trilogy I give you two recommendations over this steaming pile of Bruckheimer: either wait for The Da Vinci Code next year with Tom Hanks and the enchanting Audrey Tatou or I hear The Goonies has just been re-released on DVD.

Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow (dvd)

The divine Angelina

When released in cinemas this is one of those films that was to usher in a new era of filmmaking, breaking new ground, freeing the imagination. The dawn of CGI and green screen saw an end to wooden sets replaced instead by wooden acting (or Gwyneth Paltrow as she's also known).

Those green screens are transformed into a visual smorgasbord of comic book homage and B-movie kitsch. The B movie feel doesn't stop there however: the actors, now miming with invisible robots and against still-to-be-painted backdrops, might as well be interacting with stop motion dinosaurs or aliens. While the scenery is top notch, direction of performance falls a little short.

Jude Law supplies a slightly too understated swashbuckle, Mrs Coldplay just whines her way from beginning to end while Ms Jolie doesn't get enough opportunity to smoulder. Her Tomb Raider-practised British accent is still OTT but so sumptuous you could wrap yourself up in it.

Green screen so often leaves me cold; the Matrix sequels, while technically accomplished, just felt like a computer game. Sky Captain, as with the recently released Sin City, use this new-found visual freedom for artistic effect and dramatic purpose. Despite its faults, this is a really fun film with magnificent production design and concluding with a great line to a running gag.

Wimbledon (dvd)

30 - Love

My initial hopes that this film would do for my house price was Notting Hill did for Hugh Grant's were sadly shattered by the realisation that Wimbledon was was about tennis. I mean, what's that all about?

Criticisms levelled when it came out in cinemas included the accolade of "the best tennis film ever" (i.e. not difficult) and that it was the poor relation to other Working Title rom-coms.

I may be biased given I'm a little partial to SW19, tennis and Kirsten Dunst (not necessarily in that order) but I thought this was a pretty good effort. I've been bored off the sofa by much more popular and acclaimed films of the genre, Bridget Jones & Four Weddings included.

For most people, myself included, tennis is good background TV so making a compelling match sequence was always going to be difficult. A nice variety of camera effects, good direction, believable actor-players and CGI balls (discussed in the comprehensive special features) keeps your attention even if it doesn't manage to really build much tension.

Star Wars: Episode III (cinema)

The final chapter

There's only one place to see a film of the epic scale and sumptuous majesty as Episode III and that's the Odeon Leicester Square. It feels like an event from the roomy leopard print seats to the be-drizzled balcony over the square and £10+ tickets.

It's the film Star Wars fans have waited for to set up the original trilogy (which I became a fan of a few years ago - thanks, Matt) and to make amends for George's wayward episodes I & II.

While it's impressively technically stunning; it's depressingly soullessly empty. It answers the minutiae of Star Wars universe gaps but oh so mechanically, especially in the last 20 minutes. Worst of all though it fails to convince on the crucial point of Skywalker's transition to the Dark Side: it's the whole point of Episode III, if not the I, II and III story arc. Despite a better performance from Hayden Christensen it's just not a compelling downfall: it's contrived.

Natalie Portman sleepwalks, Ian McDiarmid camps it up to the point of the ridiculous but they're saved by Ewan McGregor and Samuel L Jackson impressively trying to fight their way free of Lucas's plodding, pedestrian material and unimaginative direction.

It's not a bad film: it's worse than I'd hoped, better than I'd feared. Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate: hate leads to me buying episodes IV, V & IX on DVD and leaving the recent prequel trilogy on the shelf. Disappointed I am.

Trailer

A new month, a new blog. This one's an excuse to blow off steam or rave!rave!rave! about a recent film, play, concert or other event I've had the fortune (or misfortune) to see.

I'm not auditioning for a staff writer job on Empire, they won't be proper reviews: just thoughts, reflections and no doubt a fair bit of going off at tangents.