EIFF Last
Death Defying Acts: Scotch mist. Did Harry Houdini really talk like Johnny Depp?
Sleep Dealer: Leonor Varela. That is all.
Transsiberian: Deeply odd to see Emily Mortimer carry the gun, but it works. Deeply annoying to see Woody Harrelson play the idiot, but presumeably the money kept him in hemp for a while.
Somers Town: Shane Meadows is a great guy, but after the impact and dread of Dead Mans Shoes, lightness of touch just doesn’t feel like the right course for him any more.
Philippe Petit: what a remarkable guy.
Ray Harryhausen: what a nice guy.
Klaus Kinski: what the hell was that?
EIFF 2
The Kreutzer Sonata, in which director Bernard Rose incises deeply into a rich man’s jealousy, and I fall madly in love with Elizabeth Rohm after stepping on her train on the way out.
Red: an unspeakably taut neo-noir modern western whose success is almost ridiculous when you find out that it was made in two halves by two directors at two different times.
Understatement of the week: “I don’t think I do something special. I’m just lucky to get the right light.” Roger Deakins, humble to a fault.
Dreams With Sharp Teeth. “You are not entitled to an opinion; you are entitled to an informed opinion. The rest is just babble and noise and farts in the wind.” Harlan Ellison, more quotable than any ten other madmen. Big fan of Naomi Campbell.
EIFF 1
Mum and Dad: That I have lived so long as to see Perry Benson jerking off into some bastard’s disembowled viscera. I can only conlcude that a) the actor I remember from Scum and Going Out still has the fire in him, and b) there is no God.
Patti Smith, Dream of Life: By aging gracefully into a slim, modest, poised lady of a certain age, Patti Smith has ensured that when you look at her you see the past - as opposed to say the Stones, where it’s impossible to look past their crumbling present. But when she goes on stage and starts singing she could burn paint off a door if she wanted.
Mancora: Beautiful Peruvians suffer beautifully on their beautiful beaches stuffing coke up their beautiful noses. I found it hard to sympathise somehow.
Blood Car: The internet has ruined this kind of thing. If you’re going to do cheapo horror comedies starring your granny and produced by the bank manager, you’d better make sure that they’re short, snappy and that the comedy beats are on schedule. This does none of these. However: Anna Chlumpsky. Who knew?
