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Tarantino’s contribution to Grindhouse has finally arrived in the UK, albeit it without its companion piece, Robert Rodriguez’ Planet Terror. I had the pleasure of seeing it in a half empty cinema last night and after nearly two hours of fast cars, girls and gore, I’m kind of glad the distributors decided to break up the Grindhouse package. Not because I don’t like fast cars, girls and gore but because I don’t have the attention span to sit through four hours plus of plot-lite, reference-heavy cinema.
I’d love to see Tarantino challenge himself, to move out of his post-Pulp Fiction comfort zone and stop recreating his film collection but as far as nostalgia trips go Death Proof is undeniably great fun. The car chase segments in the final third are particularly electrifying, and while the typically verbose dialogue has a tendency to grate on occasion, the film is ultimately an enjoyable ride. I’m tempted to award a bonus mark for Kurt Russell’s performance as Stuntman Mike, too. After twenty six years we finally have proof that Snake Plissken wasn’t a fluke. (8)
Where can an actor/writer turn to after exhausting the possibilities of cult sitcom, zombie horror and twisted cop-themed buddy movies? Romantic comedy, apparently. And middle of the road romantic comedy at that. The almost irritatingly likeable Simon Pegg would do well to remind himself that Will Ferrell was once considered endearing, too. A string of lifeless comedy vehicles soon put an end to that, and if Pegg fails to exercise caution in his future film choices then he may suffer a similar fate (lots of $/£, but dwindling respect from irrelevant critical types like myself).
Run, Fat Boy, Run isn’t a major disaster but I’d be highly surprised to see it emphasised on Pegg’s CV - or David Schwimmer’s for that matter – in five years time. It’s a minor late summer rom-com, with a plot and characters far too slight to life up to its billing as “comedy of the year”. On the plus side, it has in Pegg a versatile lead actor with impeccable comic timing, who’s just as comfortable expressing emotion as he is clowning around with the physical comedy gags. On the downside, well, that’s where the script comes in.
The basic plot. Dennis (Pegg) deserted the pregnant Libby (Thandie Newton) minutes before their wedding and has regretted it ever since. Now she’s got a new guy, the smug, seemingly perfect, marathon running American, Whit (Hank Azaria). Fuelled partly by jealously/hatred, but ultimately through a desire to impress Libby, Dennis – an overweight security guard by day, sedentary slob by night – enters the Nike River Run, a twenty six mile slog along the banks of the Thames. Now comes the funny bit – he only has a few weeks to get in shape. And obviously he’ll need a spanking new pair of Nike trainers. And did I mention there’s a son involved? And a poorly fleshed out best mate (Dylan Moran)? And a landlord/trainer who is not so much a character but a caricature of a middle-aged British Indian (Harish Patel)? No? I wonder why.
The ending is hopelessly predictable, of course, as first time runner Dennis shaves thirty minutes off the marathon world record to reclaim his sweetheart and thwart the evil American. Ok, it’s not that predictable, but you’ll still see it coming from a good twenty six miles off. (In my version, he would have hit the wall after 3 miles, collapsed and been admitted to hospital overnight for intravenous fluids and observation, with all parties agreeing what an irresponsible decision it was to attempt a marathon with such inadequate prepation in the first place.)
So, if you love Simon Pegg and/or David Schwimmer and don’t care about scripts or supporting characters run out and see this film. If you hate Simon Pegg and romantic comedies, avoid it like the plague. And if, like me, you think Pegg’s pretty good in the right setting (usually this involves Nick Frost and Edgar Wright) but aren’t a massive fan of romantic comedies and find British attempts at the genre particularly unsettling then by all means see Run, Fat Boy, Run, but don’t expect a classic. Or even a good film for that matter. (5)
Melodium is the nom de plume of Laurent Girard, a multi-talented French recording enthusiast who’s been entertaining a number of us here at No Ripcord since we stumbled upon his 2005 album La tête qui flotte. Indeed, more observant readers may recall a Melodium track called My Xylophone Loves Me featuring in our February 2007 podcast. If not, why not re-acquaint yourselves here?
Vilnius is Girard’s eleventh full-length release in a career that began in earnest with 1999’s Rhythmi 7”. To quote the author, it consists of ten “melodic electronica tunes with classical guitar”. Nine of the ten tracks are named after towns and cities; the other is a cover of Mazzy Star’s I’ve been let down.
Fans of Girard’s more instrumental work will not be disappointed. Both Vilnius and the excellent Bilbao feature the tuneful synth lines and glitchy beats that have become Melodium trademarks, whereas the choppier Minsk benefits from the inclusion of a subtle guitar track which provides a more organic feel. Tseel is more menacing, sounding very much more like a city at night with its prominent percussion and ominous melody.
But while there is plenty to enjoy here, I can’t help but feel that Vilnius lacks the personal touch that made Girard’s last two releases for Autres Directions in Music (La tête qui flotte and 2006’s Music for invisible people) so special. On those records, Girard’s vocals were his unsung secret weapon, acting not so much as a focal point, but simply as another instrument, adding warmth and an additional human element alongside his finger-picked guitar. These vocals are, aside from on the excellent I’ve been let down, sadly absent on Vilnius.
But I really shouldn’t be complaining. Vilnius may not be his greatest work, but there’s more than enough evidence here to suggest that Girard is still way ahead of his rivals. And besides – something tells me this isn’t going to be the last we hear from him. (7)
Album review published on NORIPCORD.COM
To order this release please visit http://melodiumbox.free.fr
Just when you thought 2007 was going well in terms of new music, two of the decade’s defining bands drop new albums and turn the whole year on its head. I’m talking about Animal Collective and Liars. These two experimental rock behemoths have chartered unique and fascinating courses through the 00s and are surely two of the most accomplished bands operating today. Curiously, coincidentally, if the critical consensus is to be trusted, they’ve both just released their big ‘pop’ records within one month of another. We’ve already established that Liars is really, really good. Could Strawberry Jam be even better still? I think so.
Fans of the Collective have already had one record to cherish (Panda Bear’s Person Pitch, which for my money deserved a couple more points than the six we gave it but, hey, this site’s a democracy) and one to be slightly confused by this year (Avey Tare and Kria Brekkan’s Pullhair Rubeye). Strawberry Jam comfortably surpasses both.
The fun begins with Peacebone, the lead single, which sounds something like Feels’ Grass on Ritalin. (At this point in their career, comparing Animal Collective to anyone other than Animal Collective is a futile act.) The melody is equally buoyant, but crisper production allows it to flourish rather than, dare I say, irritate slightly. For Reverend Green is the next major highlight. Its reverberating, delay-drenched guitars lock into a gorgeous drone which provides the backdrop for Avey Tare’s most impressive vocal to date (he sings, he shouts, he screams, he murmurs nonsense…) and the trademark AC harmonies. At around the 4:40 the wheels sound like they’re about the fly off, only for the band to tighten it all up for a thrilling finale.
After this, I’d have settled for filler. Instead the band offers up Fireworks, perhaps its strongest, most fully realised track to date. Featuring inventive percussion, another cracking Avey vocal, more enthusiastic harmonies and an inspired change of pace three minutes in, this classic centrepiece arguably makes for 2007’s most rewarding seven minutes of new music.
Strawberry Jam’s final four tracks are less immediate, but no less impressive. The eerie Cuckoo Cuckoo is the record’s most overtly experimental moment, sounding unlike anything in the AC catalogue with its sombre piano and jarring bursts of noise. Crucially, it works, which is even more impressive. #1 displays a more subtle approach to innovation, a swirling, multilayered soundscape that’s propelled to a higher level by Panda Bear’s soaring vocals. Winter Wonder Land sounds like a traditional indie-rock band put through a blender, where as the whimsical, folky Derek offers a refreshingly different finale, raising an intriguing question: what next for Animal Collective?
But that’s for another day. For now let’s just bask in the glory of Strawberry Jam, 2007’s strongest album so far. (10)
Album review published on NORIPCORD.COM
With its fourth full-length release, Bergen-based quartet Popium aims to become the latest Norwegian band to make a splash on the international stage. Clocking in just shy of thirty five minutes, The Miniature Mile is a relatively brief affair, but Popium’s ability to cover an impressive range of material – and to do so comfortably – ensures value for money throughout.
Debut UK single Anchor Down is an early highlight, a near-perfect three minute pop song that sounds like a sober Guided by Voices or a more pop-orientated Soundtrack of Our Lives. Afterglow offers more of the same, an impossibly summery barrage of melodies with arguably the heaviest guitars on the record. The Comeback Kid is more contemplative and reminds me of 60s psych-pop geniuses The Zombies (sans organ). The Miniature Mile demonstrates Popium’s darker side, where as the more whimsical Sugarcoated (which features an excellent power-pop bridge/chorus) shows that they’re equally happy to play with the distortion turned off.
If songwriter Frank Hammersland’s melodies are The Miniature Mile’s strength then his lyrics – which occasionally flirt with cliché – are perhaps its only identifiable weakness. This is only a very minor criticism, though, and doesn’t really detract from what is an enjoyable and accomplished album of sun-drenched power-pop. (7)
Submitted to Rock ‘n’ Reel Magazine
In the wake of media hysteria over David Beckham’s estimated £128million transfer from arguably the most prestigious club side in the world to MLS outfit Los Angeles Galaxy, it’s easy to forget that this is by no means the first time that the mighty dollar has lured a global football star to the States.
This lively documentary film, originally released last year and now available on DVD, offers a unique insight into the even madder days of the North American Soccer League and the New York Cosmos, who in the late seventies and early eighties invented the whole galactico concept.
The Cosmos was undoubtedly the glamour franchise of the NASL in its hey day and Once In A Lifetime follows the club from its humble beginnings, with a tight knit group of enthusiastic semi-pros, playing on pitches littered with broken glass, to its mid seventies explosion and later, its inevitable decline. This of course makes for a rather neat narrative arc, which the filmmakers follow conveniently.
Few could argue that the big money signing of Pelé in 1975 was the catalyst for the club’s move into the mainstream, and as such a large proportion of the film’s 93 minute running time is dedicated to this. The details and origins of the actual deal are actually quite sketchy, with every living Cosmos associate having a different take on events – and usually one which exaggerates their own role in the saga – however it is fascinating to see how the soccer-sceptical US sports media reacted at the time. This section of the film in particular suffers slightly due to Pelé’s refusal to be interviewed for the film, although the archive footage gives the impression that his motives for the move – large sums of money and the chance to conquer football’s last frontier – are remarkable similar to those offered by Beckham today.
Every custom built dream team has its multi-millionaire financier and the Cosmos was no different. The charismatic CEO of Warner Communications, Steve Ross, had backed the project from the beginning and bankrolled the Pelé transfer. Spurred on no doubt by the overwhelming impact of Pelé’s arrival – the average Cosmos attendance tripled in his first season – Ross was clearly hungry for more, and in 1976 a charismatic yet slightly unhinged Italian by the name of Giorgio Chinaglia arrived in the Big Apple becoming the team’s second major overseas star. At the age of 29, Chinaglia was also in the prime of his career, and he subsequently went on to become the NASL’s all time leading scorer.
Unlike Pelé, Chinaglia does contribute to Once In A Lifetime and is the source of much of the films humour, particularly when talking about his Brazilian team-mate with whom he did clearly not get along with. Indeed, he apparently reduced the great number 10 to tears in one dressing room argument. Chinaglia is involved in a great deal of the mythology behind the Cosmos, and at times resembles a mafia boss when providing ambiguous replies to accusations of corruption.
Of course, New York in the late seventies was not just about football, and the film has all the necessary shots of the players and executives mingling with the likes of Mick Jagger, Dustin Hoffman, Muhammad Ali and Henry Kissinger, hanging out as VIPs at Studio 54, and, as you’d expect, posing with lots of beautiful young ladies. A cracking soundtrack of funk, soul, disco and pop music from the era completes the mood nicely.
Once In A Lifetime moves at a swift pace and is a great deal of fun but it is not without its flaws. For starters, there is simply not enough match footage to satisfy the average football fan. I appreciate that NASL matches were only covered by network TV for one season, but it would have been great to see more of Pelé, Beckenbauer, Chinaglia and Carlos Alberto playing together in the same side. I see this as an opportunity missed. Secondly, the film barely skims the surface when recounting the collapse of the Cosmos and the league in general. The narrator cites dilution of talent through ridiculous overexpansion and the obvious overspending as the NASL’s cause of death, but I’d have liked to learn more about this and its impact on the league’s players and fans.
It remains to be seen whether David Beckham’s move to Los Angeles will open the floodgates for an influx of foreign talent – and a subsequent boom in US soccer – but with the relaxation of Major Soccer League’s previously strict salary rules and reports that several US clubs have been inquiring about Zinedine Zidane’s availability, the possibility of history repeating itself is certainly there. Until then, fans of the beautiful game will enjoy basking in the slightly skewed nostalgia of this richly entertaining film. (7)
Film review published on NORIPCORD.COM
The big screen has played host to more than its fair share of hot shot detectives, hard-nosed American cops, and shady undercover agents, but for decades the humble British Bobby has been suspiciously absent, relegated instead to mundane TV shows like The Bill and Heartbeat. In fact the last truly memorable portrayal of a police officer was thirty four years ago, when Edward Woodward shone as the wonderfully naïve Sergeant Howie in 1973’s The Wicker Man.
Enter Edgar Wright and Simon Pegg, the team behind surprise zombie hit Shaun of the Dead and the brilliant cult sitcom Spaced. Taking inspiration – and a few one liners – from 90’s Hollywood action flicks such as Bad Boys, the Lethal Weapon series and Point Break, Wright and Pegg have created that rare beast – a British film that successfully combines two genres, in this case action and comedy.
A brief synopsis. P.C. Nicholas Angel (Pegg) is the Metropolitan Police’s top constable. Concerned that his superb arrest record is making everyone else look bad, Nicholas’s superiors (cameos for Steve Coogan, Bill Nighy and the Office’s Martin Freeman) arrange for his transfer to the sleepy West Country village of Sandford, where he is immediately shocked by the relaxed attitude to policing of Chief Inspector Butterman (Jim Broadbent) and his team of startlingly incompetent officers, which includes Butterman’s son Danny (an excellent Nick Frost).
The workload of missing swans, rogue hedge-cutting (really), and teenage shoplifters initially seems routine to Nicholas, but as he meets Sandford’s less savoury characters, most notably Timothy Dalton’s smarmy supermarket mogul Simon Skinner, he soon begins to suspect that things in the village are not what they seem. And, needless to say, he’s right.
Nicholas goes on to expose the village’s dark secrets and an all-action final third ensues, a relentless torrent of one line gems, film references – a staple of Pegg and Wright’s work dating back to their Spaced days – and enough gun fights, car chases and explosions to satisfy even the most hardened of action movie junkies.
Some have billed Hot Fuzz a spoof – indeed the same label was attached to Shaun of the Dead – but I think this misses the point. While Wright and Pegg clearly recognise the absurdity of big-budget American action movies, they also understand what makes them entertaining, and these elements are lovingly incorporated into Hot Fuzz. The comedy element comes from the juxtaposition of these American action values (e.g. Nicholas and Danny’s relationship) with the church fetes, Neighbourhood Watch meetings and underage drinking that are all so typical of English village life.
At two hours Hot Fuzz is perhaps a touch on the long side and the drawn out ending(s) – another nod to this film’s American action counterparts – are probably unnecessary, but in terms of sheer laughs it’s impossible to argue that Hot Fuzz is anything but another total success for one of British cinema’s most talented film-making teams. Roll on the DVD release. (8)
Film review published on NORIPCORD.COM
The dismal English title of Rachib Bouchareb’s latest film perhaps goes some way to explaining why I found myself watching it in an empty cinema just two days after its national release. Films about World War II are hardly in short supply – Clint Eastwood alone made two last year – and all the major campaigns (and most of the interesting subplots) have already been covered. In fact, prior to this, I hadn’t seen a WWII film that captured (and held) my attention since Oliver Hirschbiegel’s Der Untergang (Downfall).
The problem with ‘Days of Glory’ is that conjures up images of national flags, Hollywood A-listers, and the kind of historically inaccurate, one-sided tales of patriotism that have so significantly devalued this sub-genre. It almost sounds like an Alistair MacLean story. I can fully understand why someone glancing at a cinema schedule who knew nothing else about this film wouldn’t give it the time of day.
The tragedy is that these people will miss out on one of the most intelligent and thought-provoking war films of the decade.
Indigènes follows a French Army regiment of Algerian volunteers from their recruitment and training in North Africa, through their first taste of battle in Italy, and then for the remainder of the war in France. Each of the men has his own unique reasons for signing up. Brothers Yassir (Samy Naceri) and Larbi (Assaad Bouab) are there for the money; the intelligent corporal Abdelkader (Sami Bouajila) has his eye on a military career; Saïd (Jamel Debbouze), who comes from a background of abject poverty and has been sheltered by his mother, wants to prove himself. Their one common goal is to achieve freedom for the Motherland and to be regarded as equals, although members of the regiment share varying opinions regarding the likelihood of the latter.
Indigènes is successful on three different levels – as a war film, as a film about friendship, and, vitally, as a film about inequality.
The first poignant moment comes in the aftermath of the first battle, as Bouchareb effectively communicates the war’s incredible waste of human life. We see hundreds of brave North African volunteers, idealistic and fresh from their training camp, obediently advancing into a barrage of machine gun fire for the sake of a desolate stony hill. The chief purpose of this advance, we discover, is to determine the German position. With this established, the French artillery bombard the hillside and a victory is claimed. Afterwards when a journalist asks the French colonel about the number of casualties he is simply told, with some enthusiasm, to report a great French victory.
From this point forward we begin to see more transparent signs of discrimination. The victorious men are told that their celebratory dinner will not include tomatoes, as these have been reserved for the French troops. Abdelkader makes an eloquent stand and the troops get their tomatoes, but this is only the beginning of a greater struggle for recognition, which sees all of the main characters affected in one way or another. Despite showing excellent leadership skills, Abdelkader is repeatedly overlooked for promotion, the powers that be showing a clear preference for French natives despite numerous recommendations from the sympathetic yet outwardly stern Sergeant Martinez. Later on, when the French troops are enjoying leave, the Algerians are told that they have to remain at base where they are subjected to an amateurish ballet performance.
The most powerful scenes are reserved for the film’s final third, however, when the troops put earlier disagreements aside to work side by side as a team. The bravery and comradeship of all of the men is obvious, although in the aftermath of the final battle it is once again cruelly overlooked.
The film ends in the present day, with one of the aged Algerian campaigners returning to a military cemetery to pay his respects to his fallen friends. Critics accusing Bouchareb of borrowing this final scene from Saving Private Ryan – a film that ceased to do anything for me emotionally beyond the first twenty minutes – are way off mark. The truly poignant moment is when the elderly man stumbles anonymously – and alone – through the crowded streets to his sparsely decorated, miserable apartment. Onscreen text informs us that the pensions of retired North African servicemen who served France during the war were cut when the countries of their birth gained independence. This climactic scene was presumably the sledgehammer blow that forced Jacques Chirac to amend this atrocious law, which to many, the heroes of Indigènes included, must have been the ultimate in a long line of injustices.
It is to this film’s immense credit that it will make the efforts of these seemingly forgotten men somewhat less easy to disregard. (9)
Film review published on NORIPCORD.COM
If Dead Man’s Shoes forced critics of Shane Meadows to think again, then This Is England will make them wonder why they ever questioned his abilities in the first place. (I’ll give you a clue: Once Upon a Time in the Midlands). This semi-autobiographical piece about growing up in Thatcher’s Britain against the gloomy backdrop of the Falklands War is not only one of the year’s most entertaining works; much more importantly than that, it’s also one of the most relevant.
The action centres around 12 year old Shaun, a prickly little outsider wonderfully brought to life by newcomer Thomas Turgoose. After a particularly eventful day at school which culminates in a visit to the headmaster’s office, Shaun meets a group of amiable skinheads, led by the charismatic Woody, who gradually welcome him into their gang. In a heart-warming first third, we follow Shaun’s transformation from a chubby Keith Chegwin look-alike to bona fide skin with his very own Ben Sherman shirt and grade one all over to match. There’s even room for a little coming of age action, too, as Shaun finds time to fumble around in the garden with a New Romantic called Smell (because it rhymes with Michelle, apparently).
Just as This Is England is starting to become comfortable, however, the film takes a decidedly dark turn as the sinister Combo (a chilling Stephen Graham) usurps the likeable Woody and splits the gang with his far-right politics, thinly veiled racism and manipulative rants. Combo preys on the fact that Shaun’s dad was killed in the Falklands War and uses this to lure him away from the safety of Woody. With the chaotic, unhinged Combo in charge, events begin to spiral out of control and while Shaun initially finds the action enthralling he will soon learn a difficult lesson or two as things turn really nasty.
As well as providing a snapshot into 80’s Britain and right-wing politics, This Is England is an intensely personal film about the role of the family and in particular the father. In Shaun’s case it is about bereavement and the paths that a boy follows after his father’s untimely death. Increasingly withdrawn from his home life and particularly his mother, he finds comfort in the almost familial atmosphere of the gang, and both Woody and later Combo temporarily occupy at least a part of the void left by his father’s death. But, intriguingly, the relationship between Combo and Shaun also tells us a great deal about Combo’s own childhood, and without really fleshing out the details, Meadows provides a few clues as to how he has ended up an intensely bitter and remorseless adult. Indeed, much of the latter part of the film sees Combo clumsily attempting to deal with his own father’s shortcomings and his inability to do so ultimately fuels his downfall.
If you look beyond the dubious trends of the decade and the laughably dated uniforms of the opposing tribes in 80’s teenage society, This Is England provides a chilling reminder that very little has actually changed. Nearly twenty-five years on the same racial tensions exist on British streets. The country is involved in another controversial war overseas and at home the British National Party is far more successful than the National Front could ever have dreamed of being. And just because the far-right politicians wear suits and sport respectable haircuts nowadays it doesn’t mean they’ve tempered their manifesto. The skinheads may have all but disappeared from England’s streets but the streets themselves aren’t quite as different as we’d like to think. (9)
Film review published on NORIPCORD.COM
No Ripcord: A Lesson In Logos
September 27, 2007 in Comment | Leave a comment
When I launched No Ripcord in April 1999 website design wasn’t even an issue. Most websites looked rubbish in the late nineties and NR was no different. I don’t even think it was coded as such – I think I just tapped a few preferences into the user friendly Angelfire (remember them?) interface and I had to accept what I was given. The only bit of creative design was the logo, which utilised the most rudimentary of technology, pre-MS paint even. It was, of course, truly horrendous.
The site progressed to its own .co.uk domain in 2000 I believe and acquired a new minimalistic logo (and a swanky, frames based website to match). The domain has now been hijacked by some unscrupulous address pinching extortionist but I’ve rescued the logo using the Wayback machine and posted it below. Nice huh? I still do not know why the word ‘fanzine’ ended up in there. We obviously weren’t quite as self important back then.
Things got a bit sexier in 2003 when we moved over to our current dot com home. Someone said this looked like the Parental Advisory sticker that you get on albums with lots of swearing. That kind of ruined it for me. Perhaps as a consequence of that thoughtless comment, this was the last NR logo that I designed myself.
The launch of our fancy new Drupal-based website in October 2006 called for something new and sophisticated. A very nice chap called Peter Houghton (a fellow Blackburn Rovers fan nonetheless) created the following logo, which I am still very proud of to this day. Such a step forward.
Which brings us up to date, right? Well, I hesitate to say you’re wrong but technically… well, you are. The reason? Another nice design orientated chap called Sean Hodge is in the process of creating a new look No Ripcord with, you guessed it, a new look logo. I’m tempted to share all of the design template images with you but I don’t want to spoil the surprise. The lucky few who have seen these have been blown away; Sean has done a tremendous job so far and I’m just hoping all of the coding etc. (the boring, expensive and quite important bit) runs to schedule so we can it up and running as soon as possible. In the mean time, however, here’s the new logo.