This evening I decided to go and see the only performance of the day at Cineworld Bolden of In Bruges. It is a clever, unique, funny, poetic, honestly crude yet brilliantly subtle and dark as the blackest of black films. The film rightly has the severest adult rating because of horrific violence and some recreational drug use although the references to sex more in the mind than visual. One critic, Antagony and Ecstasy, staked a claim that the film is a near masterpiece, impossible to pigeon hole or predict, while Movie Boy stated that the In Bruges is a bravura, genre-twisting gem. The same critics draws attention that the Director achieves a great balance between a pitch black comedy, soul searching drama and riveting suspense without losing sight of the grander design. This is one picture that packs a wallop. The film is counter contemporary Hollywood culture in that it very slow paced in the first half and reminded of the sick joke told at one after dinner speech I attended when the first prize was a week's holiday in Beirut and second prize, two week's holiday.
Bruges is far from Beirut in appearance, a Medieval toy town, especially as Christmas, when the film is set. The key point in the story which is not giving away anything not already publicised, is that two Irish contract killers are told by their employer to lie low in Bruges for two weeks after one, on his first assignment accidentally kills a seven year old boy along with the intended victim, a priest. One, the experienced assassin is a sensitive and otherwise normal, gay man brilliantly played by Colin Farrell, find he is able to rest his soul in the city, while the inexperienced young heterosexual, is played with equal sensitivity and hilarious honesty by Brendan Gleeson, torturing himself to the point of contemplating suicide because he killed a child.
The film is a visual treat with stunning views of the city, backed up by a poetic music which captures the atmosphere of its outward appearance. Usually Belgium is considered a place to drive through having taken one of the sea ferry routes and I did this in 1965 passing through the country in half a day as part of the grand three week camping tour fist stopping in Germany, then to Austria, Italy, Switzerland and back home through France. It was in the eighties that made I made a proper visit to Belgium which included visits to the battlefields and war cemeteries, and on making a passing one passing visit en route to Bruges, decided to return for a full day.
I must confess, sorry the Bruges Tourist Board, but while it may be a base to tour into this part of Europe and if you are into old buildings and museums you could stretch your interest to a week in spend or summer, but two weeks, even as an old man, I think not when a comparative short distance away there is Paris, or if you are still into and capable there is Amsterdam.
Yesterday I commented on the shock of being confronted by a young mother who was addressing her son, and I suspect everyone else in her world, with the prefix f..k..g to every other word, Family man Ralph Fiennes and all three use f..k..g every other word, although my complaint against her was not the language but the verbal abuse and humiliation of her son, about the same age as the child killed in the opening credits of the film. If you cannot bear the use of f….g then stay away from this film, because its constant use by the two assassins, and their boss played for real by Ralph Fiennes is the mildest of verbal shocks as this brilliant script challenges the hypocrisy of every right wing homophobic and left wing politically correct fanatic there has ever been and no doubt will continue to be. Usually I feel guilty if I laugh at a joke by someone like the late Bernard Manning or the rude comic Chubby Brown, but in this film it is alright to belly laugh as much as you like because the jokes are funny, I rarely find that jokes cause me to laugh out loud but I could not and did not want to stop myself, and fortunately I was not alone.
The day began with feeling overwhelmed by choice, torn between on going work, special work, keeping in contact, the good weather and wanting some live cultural experience. I completed as much as I needed to before noon and made my way out deciding I would go back across the river, taking the ferry, and to go to the theatre or cinema on return. I bought a three half pack of prawn sandwiches at Asda. On the ferry I established that the new building on the Shields bank is the new telephone call centre. There are two buildings of red brick with giant loft size windows, almost church like. It is an impressive structure which is likely to become award winning. The only problem is that from the roadway above it peaks over the bank and this I suspect, is the cause of some local complaint by those who want keep everything the same and who obviously feared a similar kind of build on the private house side of the hill when I live.
It was another glorious day with the wind sharp but not unpleasant and as expected I was not feeling as energetic as yesterday so took the bus to North Shields station from the ferry landing and then the Metro to Whitley Bay This time I turned right instead of continuing towards the sea front and saw a barber shop and decided to have a trim. A café beforehand offered O.A.P's a hot meal for lunch for £2.50. I fancied the ham and eggs but decided to wait till after the hair cut. This is the most spacious well designed traditional gentleman's hairdressers I have ever experienced, lounge like with comfortable settees and full of football shirts and framed pictures of football characters and football events. A Sunderland shirt forms the rubbish bin to make its point about allegiance. The mature years barber had a full shaved head and the customer was also being scalped. I enjoyed a relaxed wait and then received exactly the kind of cut I was looking for. I then made my way to the sea front and found covered seating area by the bowling green and tennis courts to eat the sandwiches.
I had previously registered an entirely false impression of what Whitley Bay was like from my previous visits probably over two decades ago. It is much smaller with no traditional seaside atmosphere along the promenade, just private housing, hotels and self catering accommodation. Whereas at Seaburn Sunderland and South Shields there are fish and chip cafes and restaurants in every direction and a host of activities in and outside for children and teenagers, there appeared to be none of these at Whitley Bay, and the long slopes or steps from the coast road down to the beach does not make it an ideal location for the holidaying elderly. Having decided to make into a drink, drug and dancing night spot for the young adult I am not surprised that this culture quickly came into conflict with the responsible family centred residents of the local community. It is one the great hypocrisies of town planners and civic leaders that if you go with the flow of creating these nightlife ghettoes you are licensing drunkenness and drug taking, in the same way that anyone who make weapons needs wars and repressive government to continue to make their profits.
For at least the past decade I had a different image of Whitley Bay in my mind as a much more lively and traditional seaside resort. It also appears that some hotels outside the main street of bars and clubs leading to the front are boarded up through lack of use rather than noise sound proofing although the premises may have used as a late night dance club and then fallen into disuse.
I walked until reaching a point where there is only a footpath between the cliff and attractive private house. The first housing overlooks Whitely Bay and the second Cullercoats Bay which has a more traditional feel, although there is small area of gruesome looking flats and individual houses just before you get tot eh Bay itself. I then took a bus Tynemouth planning to look at the station perhaps taking a train to North Shields, taking a bus or even walking. I got off at the wrong place and kissed the station, and not feeling like walking got the bus first to North shields and then down to the ferry although I had to wait a good 20 minutes at the stop. I bought some grapes on the walk back and enjoyed a cup of tea on return, I decided to defrost the second part of the fish platter and the need for this governed the decision to go to the 9 pm picture show than the 7.30 theatre performance, especially as I could justify taken the car for the former and should have walked to the latter.
On return I watch part of a repeat of the Amy Winehouse programme before a South Bank show repeat from last year of the life of Humphrey Lyttleton, with love, which was a nice touch, although again there was no reference to his private life which is unusual these days. There was one interesting comment that given that he had become a genuine national institution and he greatest non classical trumpet played in UK ever, that he was never offered and award Duke Lyttleton being the obvious one. Perhaps he was and the romantic socialist in him turned it down and he admitted that it had taken him a few years to shed the unique culture and language of Eton and that he regarded it as sad those whose lives were such they needed to make a profession out of being an Old Etonian.
There was then time to watch a BBC eye recording of Politics to Day and Prime Minister's Question Time, attended by London Mayor Boris Johnson who is yet to resign his Parliamentary Seat. I thought the approach of the official Opposite leader was the right one and very effective but I also thought the Prime Minister gave as good as he got and edged a point's victory
Bruges is far from Beirut in appearance, a Medieval toy town, especially as Christmas, when the film is set. The key point in the story which is not giving away anything not already publicised, is that two Irish contract killers are told by their employer to lie low in Bruges for two weeks after one, on his first assignment accidentally kills a seven year old boy along with the intended victim, a priest. One, the experienced assassin is a sensitive and otherwise normal, gay man brilliantly played by Colin Farrell, find he is able to rest his soul in the city, while the inexperienced young heterosexual, is played with equal sensitivity and hilarious honesty by Brendan Gleeson, torturing himself to the point of contemplating suicide because he killed a child.
The film is a visual treat with stunning views of the city, backed up by a poetic music which captures the atmosphere of its outward appearance. Usually Belgium is considered a place to drive through having taken one of the sea ferry routes and I did this in 1965 passing through the country in half a day as part of the grand three week camping tour fist stopping in Germany, then to Austria, Italy, Switzerland and back home through France. It was in the eighties that made I made a proper visit to Belgium which included visits to the battlefields and war cemeteries, and on making a passing one passing visit en route to Bruges, decided to return for a full day.
I must confess, sorry the Bruges Tourist Board, but while it may be a base to tour into this part of Europe and if you are into old buildings and museums you could stretch your interest to a week in spend or summer, but two weeks, even as an old man, I think not when a comparative short distance away there is Paris, or if you are still into and capable there is Amsterdam.
Yesterday I commented on the shock of being confronted by a young mother who was addressing her son, and I suspect everyone else in her world, with the prefix f..k..g to every other word, Family man Ralph Fiennes and all three use f..k..g every other word, although my complaint against her was not the language but the verbal abuse and humiliation of her son, about the same age as the child killed in the opening credits of the film. If you cannot bear the use of f….g then stay away from this film, because its constant use by the two assassins, and their boss played for real by Ralph Fiennes is the mildest of verbal shocks as this brilliant script challenges the hypocrisy of every right wing homophobic and left wing politically correct fanatic there has ever been and no doubt will continue to be. Usually I feel guilty if I laugh at a joke by someone like the late Bernard Manning or the rude comic Chubby Brown, but in this film it is alright to belly laugh as much as you like because the jokes are funny, I rarely find that jokes cause me to laugh out loud but I could not and did not want to stop myself, and fortunately I was not alone.
The day began with feeling overwhelmed by choice, torn between on going work, special work, keeping in contact, the good weather and wanting some live cultural experience. I completed as much as I needed to before noon and made my way out deciding I would go back across the river, taking the ferry, and to go to the theatre or cinema on return. I bought a three half pack of prawn sandwiches at Asda. On the ferry I established that the new building on the Shields bank is the new telephone call centre. There are two buildings of red brick with giant loft size windows, almost church like. It is an impressive structure which is likely to become award winning. The only problem is that from the roadway above it peaks over the bank and this I suspect, is the cause of some local complaint by those who want keep everything the same and who obviously feared a similar kind of build on the private house side of the hill when I live.
It was another glorious day with the wind sharp but not unpleasant and as expected I was not feeling as energetic as yesterday so took the bus to North Shields station from the ferry landing and then the Metro to Whitley Bay This time I turned right instead of continuing towards the sea front and saw a barber shop and decided to have a trim. A café beforehand offered O.A.P's a hot meal for lunch for £2.50. I fancied the ham and eggs but decided to wait till after the hair cut. This is the most spacious well designed traditional gentleman's hairdressers I have ever experienced, lounge like with comfortable settees and full of football shirts and framed pictures of football characters and football events. A Sunderland shirt forms the rubbish bin to make its point about allegiance. The mature years barber had a full shaved head and the customer was also being scalped. I enjoyed a relaxed wait and then received exactly the kind of cut I was looking for. I then made my way to the sea front and found covered seating area by the bowling green and tennis courts to eat the sandwiches.
I had previously registered an entirely false impression of what Whitley Bay was like from my previous visits probably over two decades ago. It is much smaller with no traditional seaside atmosphere along the promenade, just private housing, hotels and self catering accommodation. Whereas at Seaburn Sunderland and South Shields there are fish and chip cafes and restaurants in every direction and a host of activities in and outside for children and teenagers, there appeared to be none of these at Whitley Bay, and the long slopes or steps from the coast road down to the beach does not make it an ideal location for the holidaying elderly. Having decided to make into a drink, drug and dancing night spot for the young adult I am not surprised that this culture quickly came into conflict with the responsible family centred residents of the local community. It is one the great hypocrisies of town planners and civic leaders that if you go with the flow of creating these nightlife ghettoes you are licensing drunkenness and drug taking, in the same way that anyone who make weapons needs wars and repressive government to continue to make their profits.
For at least the past decade I had a different image of Whitley Bay in my mind as a much more lively and traditional seaside resort. It also appears that some hotels outside the main street of bars and clubs leading to the front are boarded up through lack of use rather than noise sound proofing although the premises may have used as a late night dance club and then fallen into disuse.
I walked until reaching a point where there is only a footpath between the cliff and attractive private house. The first housing overlooks Whitely Bay and the second Cullercoats Bay which has a more traditional feel, although there is small area of gruesome looking flats and individual houses just before you get tot eh Bay itself. I then took a bus Tynemouth planning to look at the station perhaps taking a train to North Shields, taking a bus or even walking. I got off at the wrong place and kissed the station, and not feeling like walking got the bus first to North shields and then down to the ferry although I had to wait a good 20 minutes at the stop. I bought some grapes on the walk back and enjoyed a cup of tea on return, I decided to defrost the second part of the fish platter and the need for this governed the decision to go to the 9 pm picture show than the 7.30 theatre performance, especially as I could justify taken the car for the former and should have walked to the latter.
On return I watch part of a repeat of the Amy Winehouse programme before a South Bank show repeat from last year of the life of Humphrey Lyttleton, with love, which was a nice touch, although again there was no reference to his private life which is unusual these days. There was one interesting comment that given that he had become a genuine national institution and he greatest non classical trumpet played in UK ever, that he was never offered and award Duke Lyttleton being the obvious one. Perhaps he was and the romantic socialist in him turned it down and he admitted that it had taken him a few years to shed the unique culture and language of Eton and that he regarded it as sad those whose lives were such they needed to make a profession out of being an Old Etonian.
There was then time to watch a BBC eye recording of Politics to Day and Prime Minister's Question Time, attended by London Mayor Boris Johnson who is yet to resign his Parliamentary Seat. I thought the approach of the official Opposite leader was the right one and very effective but I also thought the Prime Minister gave as good as he got and edged a point's victory
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