George & Ira Gushing

Once again the Taliesin theare came up trumps last night, with a screening of "An American in Paris". Unfortunately, the print was truly dreadful; scratched to buggery and with jumps galore. The sound was fine, though.

It's a bit embarrassing to admit I'd never seen this. I know most of the songs of course, but somehow the show has eluded me. More fool me. For the first hour-and-a-half, at least, "An American In Paris" is the perfect kind of feelgood flick. The kind that makes you perversely long for it to be over, so that you can get outside with your friends to talk about how great it was. Meanwhile, immerse yourself in the mood, because if you didn't check your cynicism in at the door, it's going to get a good kicking.

Like so many musicals, however, it slightly overstays its welcome. A bedazzling (if not always technically perfect) balletic cutaway at the climax is fine in itself, but unfortunately it entirley replaces the last act of the plot. Thus, instead of the intended romantic payoff, the final scene is left dangling as an unsatisfying non-sequitur. Shame.

A good night out, all the same. Exhilarating, inspiring, and cheering. The walk home across the iced-over park? Hmmm... less so.

Getting Hitched

Ah, the silver screen...

Last night was a rare chance to experience cinema as my grandparents did, and I can only envy them. Hitchcock's Notorious (1946) is a movie I'm quite familiar with, but watching it "full-size" feels like seeing it for the first time. Swansea's Taliesin Theatre was encouragingly full, too, although the age range of attendees was skewed a little too far towards the movie's original release date for comfort!

Ingrid Bergman is sensational in this flick, where she is given a far wider range to explore than in some of her other roles. The love scenes with Grant could strip wallpaper, and some of her close-ups suck at one's soul like blotting paper. Cary Grant is in cruise control here, but then effortlessness is his hallmark; and Claude Rains makes a great baddie, flawed and sympathetic, yet ultimately evil.

One thing I've always loved about Hitchcock movies is his trick for deriving tension from the most unlikely and mundane situations. Notorious contains perhaps the best example of this art; we suffer a full five minutes of knuckle-munching unease on account of.... the champagne slowly running out! The murmurs of delighted apprehension from the audience proved that this simple magic hasn't worn off after 63 years. Stepping out of the theatre, I felt the need to take Hev by the arm, pull up my collar, and could only wish I had brought my hat...

Beige

The weather couldn't spoil this bank holiday weekend, where beige ruled. Despite an inevitable increase in overall beigeness, Indiana Jones proved a calendar-defying proficiency in excavating the mustard, delighting a whole generation with the affirmation that, our own depreciation notwithstanding, we still have a cool dad. I must confess, under normal circumstances the old Von Daniken tropes piss me off royally - but this is, after all, the franchise where I have already accepted Yahweh and Shiva's vengeful pyrotechnics and - albeit with clenched teeth - the Holy Bastard Grail. So, I confess, the goalposts are wider. Indy may have scuffed the shot a little, but it still ended up in the back of the net.

MARS, lest we forget, is also beige. After the actualization of that foreshadowed "Seven Minutes of Terror" for the intrepid übergeeks of Phoenix, we're getting fuzzy pictures of beige rocks again and it feels bloody marvellous. To put my admiration into transatlantic terms, "You guys rock", in any colour. Hurrah for Space!

Talking The Devil Into Going To Church

I've thought of something that needs a new word - the problem is, the only one I can come up with makes a rather shallow incision into the mustard. But it'll have to do for now:

Andiscipation (n). - The apprehension of pleasure experienced when undressing a cellophane-wrapped "keep case" housing a newly-purchased DVD, or other 5" media disc.

I really get off on that. Sometimes I leave the wrapping on, just to enhance the pleasure when I come to watch the disc for the first time. I cut a tragic figure, I know - but if you've not worked that out by now, you aren't paying attention.

The latest item to proffer me this agreeable experience sits on my lap as I type. It is a Region 1 DVD of the 1947 Cary Grant movie "The Batchelor and the Bobby-Soxer", known here in Region 2 - or it would be if it existed as a DVD here, at any rate - as "Bachelor Knight". It has taken me ages to find a copy of this terrific flick, but my resort to Region 1 has rewarded me with extra andiscipatory glee, as of course those careful 1'ers will insist on sealing their keep-cases with labelled tape, necessitating the application of a craft knife or similar implement, with the inevitable ratcheting-up of the concommitant andiscipation.

I haven't seen the movie in a few years, but I really must commend it to all wholeheartedly. The restaurant scene is worth the ticket alone, with Grant on fire with a masterclass in subtle physical comedy. "Happy Birthday, Mr. Rosenheimer!" is a comedy moment more worthy of immortality than... a hundred immortal ones, and "I couldn't help overhearing - I had my ear pressed to the door!" is the seventh-funniest line in a movie, ever. So there. See it. You'll thank me.