Review: The Magic Numbers, Bristol Academy, 15 Nov 06

Chubby funsters The Magic Numbers came to town last night, touring their new album 'Those the Brokes'. And from the off, the sell-out crowd were clearly up for a good time, cheering and joining in every chance they got.

In keeping with their music, the whole evening was very bright with the lighting up high throughout, and it was a bit like seeing them on Top of the Pops (had they not walked off!)

Things seemed to go a little flatter when they tried songs from the new album (at least near the back where I was standing), which to be fair has only been out little more than a week. But they soon got people swaying and singing again when they came back with a favourite such as 'Forever Lost'.

The only other bum note came from the drumkit, which had either been badly set up or was suffering from drummer Shaun's over-enthusiastic bashing. Meanwhile bassist Michelle was by far the most active of the group, swinging her guitar and hair around like nobody's business. Singer Romeo concentrated on belting out the words (and yes, they can belt), but it was keyboarder Angela that stole things, with huge cheers every time she opened her mouth, and a warm, wonderful sound came out when she did.

The support group were invited back on stage to cover a Bob Dylan classic, and while the jammin' finale seemed to finish three or four times, people left with what they'd come for - a warm glow and huge, broad smiles.

Review: The Departed

There may be bigger films this year, but there isn't going to be one as big as The Departed. From the opening minutes when almost all the main star cast are introduced, you know that there's going to be a lot on screen from Martin Scorcese.

Leonardo DiCaprio gives a tense performance as seconded trainee Boston cop Billy Costigan, sent undercover as a mole in the city's major Irish-American crime gang, led by a crackling Frank Costello (Jack Nicholson) with muscle from Ray Winstone's Mr. French.

Meawhile, brilliant but bent cop Colin Sullivan (Matt Damon) is also playing mole within Martin Sheen and Mark Whalberg's Special Investigations Unit, helping Frank stay one step ahead of plod. So the race is on for each side to uncover the traitor in their midst, whatever it takes.

Scorcese plays the story for all its cinematic worth, with huge performances, acres of eyeball-to-eyeball stand-offs and tense moments, not to mention more than the odd flash of extreme violence and bloodshedding.

If there's any criticism, it's that not all of the complicated plot turns are fully tied up (at least on first watch) and it's a little overlong. It also seems that all villians in Boston study the Penguin Dictionary of Classic Quotations, ever ready to drop in a bit of Freud or Wilde when the occasion demands it- normally before, during or after giving someone a damn good going-over or shooting them in the head.

But you're never not watching, wondering who'll make it to the end and who'll get whacked. Big, brutal and bloody brilliant.

Review: Little Miss Sunshine

After 'Crank' (below), Little Miss Sunshine is exactly that - a warm ray to restore your faith that there is someone up there making positive, life-affirming films.

The blue-collar Hoover family of misfits take their daughter from Alberquerque to California to perform in the Little Miss Sunshine contest, and learn more about themselves and each other on the journey.

Although pitched as an indie film, the cast has a solid A-list of actors, rather than stars. led by frazzled mum Sheryl Toni Collette, who has yet to turn in a bad performance in a film, whether playing Aussies (Muriel's Wedding), Americans (The Sixth Sense) or Brits (About a Boy). Then there's dad Richard (Greg Kinnear), who believes he's struck gold to market his shonky nine-step positive thinking programme. Sulky big brother Dwayne hasn't spoken for nine months, but perfers to communicate through scribbled messages such as 'I HATE EVERYONE'.

Meanwhile Granpa Edwin (Alan Arkin) is quite content to see out his days smoking heroin and cursing like a trooper to anyone who tries to cross his path. That means on-the-brink depressive brother Frank (Steve Farell), who is left under his big sister Sheryl's supervision. And of course the family is completed by Little Miss Sunshine Olive herself.

What follows on their journey is a series of mishaps, disasters and general bottoming out for everyone in the custard yellow VW Camper van they ride in, which is as temperamental as the rest of them. Directors Jonathan Dayton and Valerie Farris frame the whole trip very matter of fact with natural direction and long pauses, showing us Arizonan gas stations, the LA fringes and Californian costal concrete intersections with the same love and affection. In all but a couple of scenes they keep what could have been a nudge-wink farce or engineered tearjerker into a piercing thoughtful image of a very unnormal, normal family learning to rub along together and appreciate the little things in life.

Review: John Legend at the Royal Albert Hall

On Monday night I caught John Legend live at the Royal Albert Hall in London, in a special one-off gig before a bigger tour later in the year to support the new album, 'Once Again'.

Firstly, for me it was a concert of two halves really. The first five or so songs was spent up in the Gallery at the very top of the famous dome. While the view up there was great, the sound was dreadful, echoing and booming around the roof.

So we asked if we could move down into the half-empty main floor, where the orchestra normally sits. And we weren't the only ones- the ticket desk was a steady stream of people asking how to move or even asking for their money back. But they happily swapped our wrist passes and let us in, and- what a difference.

Clear and warm, you could hear every note and what John was singing & saying perfectly. Only a dozen rows from the front, it was great to see and hear him go through songs from the first album and the new one, which sounds just as good.

But the place really erupted during 'Number One' when KanYe West strode on stage to deliver his rap live! John picked it up with him, the two swapping sides of the stage, and he stayed to sing on just one other song.

John spent the rest of the set switching between standing at the mic and sat playing the piano, ending with a croud-silencing rendition of 'Ordinary People', sounding better live than on the album.

The gig was clearly a pre-promotional event as well. It was streamed live on MSN and also looked like it was being filmed for TV or a DVD as there were cameras everywhere. Also, the lighting was much brighter than you'd normally expect for a gig, presumably again for filming, and there was more than a few drunken 'VIPs' out on a corporate freebie to see John SomeoneOrOther.

John name-checked the album and release date very clearly twice (for the kids at home?) and, of course, KanYe West putting in an appearance doens't happen every day!

But with what sounds like another good album on the way, John looks sure to build on his reputation as the man, the Legend. :)

Review: Volver

There's a lot said and written about Pedro Almodovar, with praise heaped on him with every new film, to the extent that he's become a sort of Iberian Woody Allen who can virtually do no wrong.

But with 'Volver', he's really onto something special. Instead of elaborate and flamboyant but often unbelieveable characters , in 'Volver' we have a warm, funny and achingly touching portrayl of real, rounded and caring people.

The story is the 'volver'- return - of the mother of Raimunda (Penelope Cruz) and Sole (Lola Duenas), who had both believed she was dead. Living hidden away in a Castillian village and keeping a family secret, Sole at first believes she is an apparition and hides her in her flat, telling visitors she is a Russian immigrant.

But Volver is the return of much more as well. In the case of Raimunda, it is the return to her childhood village and the discovery of family secrets, but also the return of her passion for life. After her oppressive husband dies, she re-opens the barrio restaurant to great acclaim, and finds again a passion for singing that even she had forgotten about.

As is typical Almodovar, (straight) men play a fleeting, and often negative, role in this film. But in Volver, this allows the female characters to breathe and develop, in such as way that suggests Pedro as a writer director is finding a much more confident, personal and human voice than ever before.

Review: A Scanner Darkly

Director Richard Linklater ('Before Sunrise'/'Sunset', 'School Of Rock', 'Fast Food Nation') has tackled Philip K. Dick's famous novel of substance abuse and paranoia 'A Scanner Darkly' and, from what I can tell, has done a pretty good job.

I say from what I can tell for two reasons: first, I haven't read the book, and second because if his intention was to create the feeling of being drug-induced while watching a film, he's done a pretty good job.

Keanu Reeves plays Bob Arctor, a cop who is so undercover he wears a scramble suit, a cloaking device that constantly changes to disguise his appearance. But when Bob is assigned to investigate a suspected high-level dealer of an addictive drug called Substance 'D', he finds he's spying on himself. So far, so trippy.

But it's the rotscoping animation overlayed on all the actors that really messes with your mind, forever ebbing and shifting. Add to that the petty, confused babblings of the characters Bob lives with- played by Woody Harleson, Winona Ryder, Rory Cochrane and, best of all, Robert Downey Jr.- and you can feel both the film and your head going sideways very quickly.

Towards the end, the film shifts tone and alludes that the private company controlling the public's rehabilitation from Substance D may actually also be the ones making and peddling it. But this feels a little rushed given the rest of the film's stoned tone, like spending 15 minutes discusing how a second-hand bike seems to have had half of its 18 gears "stolen".

But overall, a trip worth taking.

Review: Snakes On A Plane

'Snakes on a Plane' was always going to be a hit because all the online hype, and the following offline hype about the online hype. But is it actually any good?

Well, it's basically it's one melon-farming missed opportunity. Even from the name, fan boys are sat waiting for the barrage of funny quips from Samuel L Jackson, the characters you just know are going to die in inventive ways and perhaps a twist at the end to show it's not all over.

But what you get is a very straight, flat done-on-a-budget disaster movie. Plane takes off, snakes get loose, snakes attack, people fight back, Sam Jackson loses his rag, plane lands, most folk make it.

What is well known about the film is that lots of scenes were added on the suggestions of movie fans on internet message boards. And my God, do they stand out. Look out for any scene where there's extra gore, or one actor is stood against a strangely plain background. Check the close-up of one guy who suddenly starts foaming at the mouth, then in the long shot its all gone; Sam's famous "no more motherfucking snakes on my motherfucking planes" line, and even the pointless surfer ending.

But without these scenes of extra gore, nudity or potty mouthing, you do wonder what sort of film this might have been. Who would have wanted to be basically stuck on a two-hour plane journey with some fairly unpleasant and irritating people, who get cleanly picked off by some polite reptiles? Aside from Sam, ER's Julianna Margulies is the only one who even holds any sympathy from the audience.

This film should have had a life of multiple drunken midnight viewings at the multiplex, followed by cult worship for evermore on DVD. But instead, it will probably spawn a thousand similar lazy copies. Everyone involved should be made to sit and watch 'Tremors' and 'Lake Placid' one hundred times each.

Hello Moto

Stopped at a motorway services today (a Bank Holiday), which was absolutely rammed. Still, what struck me is how different these places are from just a few years ago. And Moto, formerly Granada, have done the most to help change their image.

This services, at Leigh Delamere on the M4, has a big new (to me) Ritazza coffee lounge, a Upper Crust baguette stand, a new WH Smith newsagent and a Marks & Spencer Simply Food shop, which was handy and I did a mini shop.

So more and more High St. names are getting in on the act, or are being mimicked by the operators. For instance, Ritazza is a motorway/airport/ train station only coffee shop in the UK, and was owned until June 2006 by Compass Group, the world's largest food services company with a turnover of £11 billion.

They've all now been sold to spin-off Select Service Partner, which also owns Upper Crust, Millie's Cookies and the franschise to run M&S Simply Food in travel sites in the UK. So basically, stop there and your money's theirs.

Strangely, the place that looked most out-of-date and tired was the Burger King. At another services on the M1 a few weeks ago, I noticed that there was a large queue for KFC, but no-one at the Burger King opposite, probably in a mistaken belief that their chicken is healthier.

What's most interesting about motorway service areas is all the things they have to do as laid down by law. Apparently they have to stay open 24 hours a day, 7 days a week (inc. Christmas Day), provide free toilets and parking, and fuel. And 50% of their profits are taken as tax by the Government. No wonder a cheese and ham toastie is £3.85.

Review: Nacho Libre

Jack Black is back, in the film I've been waiting to see this summer more than any other. After the flaming ginger quirk-fest that was 'Napoleon Dynamite', the idea of Jared Hess directing JB as a Mexican luchador sounds like a guaranteed slice of fried box office gold.

And on many levels, Nacho Libre doesn't disappoint. Hess's flat direction leaves lots of pauses for Jack Black's face to fill, whether it's seducing the new nun at the orphanage or about to get low-kicked in the wrestling ring by a couple of feral werewolf midgets twins.

What falls short - at least on first viewing - is the sense of place that Hess gave to Napoleon Dynamite's high school world. Although set in Mexico, there's hardly any actual Mexicans in the film, apart from fulfilling a few cliche roles like troop of wandering mariachis. It goes no further than the same 'ay ay ay' view of Mexico as Bumblebee Man from 'The Simpsons'.

Jack Black's accent can be quote offputting, which wanders through Mexican, Spanish, English and even a sort of 'mama mia' Italian at several points. I'm sure this is intentional, but does snap you out of the mood of the film when he breaks from his friar character into his snarling 'School of Rock' face and voice now and then.

But really - what's not to love about Jack Black in stretchy pants? He really does take to the role, and the limited supporting cast do too. The wrestling scenes are great fun and much more full-on that you might expect. And while Jess's direction could leave you not connected with the characters, there's real warmth in the ending.

Jack's next up in the Tenacious D movie - rock on.

Kermode on FiveLive

Still continuing to enjoy (the good Dr.) Mark Kermode's weekly movie review podcast from BBC Radio FiveLive.

One of the few reviewers I regularly agree with, particularly about just how long, tedious and overblown Pirates of the Caribbean II was and, oh, the death of narrative cinema as we know it.

Find it via iTunes or here.

Diana Monday!

If it's Monday, it means there's an exclusive Princess Diana revelation in the Daily Express!

Yes, after her untimely death a mere 9 years ago, she is still making the front cover of the poor man's Daily Mail routunely. The editor, Peter Hill, even freely admits Diana is slapped on the cover because pictures of her still sell papers and Monday is a quiet news day.

Back in May, The Guardian even useful compiled a list of the Express's Diana headlines since the start of 2006. It's long.

See how many you can spot, kids.

Fopp

Paid my second visit to Bristol's newest Fopp on Whiteladies Road, the magic music, DVD and book peddler.

Ever since I first wandered into a tiny record shop called Fopp in Leamington Spa years ago, I've been hypnotised (and made not a little poorer) by their great prices, canny choice and obvious love of music and other stuff.

It was pretty empty for a Saturday, which is good as you can take your time browsing to come up with that 50 quid stack of CDs everyone seems to carry round. This one also has a cafe, which again is good and reasonably priced, doing coffee, toasties and cake (click image to see the menu).

Apparently, they're now the fourth largest record retailer in the country. They see to get it right so easily, which begs the question- what it is it that HMV, which is struggling, could get so wrong? Don't know, just know that they do. Typically, I'm sure their (or someone's else's) way out of the hole will be to try and buy Fopp before too long, and ruin what everybody likes about them along the way.

Unless of course, it happens the other way round- which judging by their new flagship branch on Tottenham Court Road in London that I visited the other week- it could well do.

Review: Miami Vice

Even though I'm a child of the 80's , I never really caught the original TV series of 'Miami Vice', so all I know about is all the usual references about neon, rolled up jacket sleeves and slip-on white Espadrilles.

But that fashion disaster is nothing compared with Michael Mann's latest, in which he finally gets to over-indulge his career-long fetish for blue lighting, sunsets and beachfront homes.

Jamie Foxxoxxoxx and Colin Feral play Crockett and Tubbs, going deep undercover (man) to bust a Columbian drug baron or something.

There's just so. Much. Male posturing. Foxxoxxooxx and Feral look less like partners, and more like semi-finalists facing each other off in the town brooding contest. They barely speak to each other, or anyone else - in fact, the whole script must have looked like an itemised supermarket till reciept.

And Colin, Colin, Colin... when he wasn't stroking his hillbilly 'tash/goatee non-combo, or trying out a new Trans-Atlantic-American-Southern-Irish accent, he was dancing- which drew more than a few giggles from people in the cinema. Foxx at least carries his part, and his love scene, with some credibility.

And this is very much a male film, in the worst sense. The two main women characters - one Foxx's professional and personal partner, and Feral's Asian drug baron squeeze - are there purely to get in the way and put our besuited male leads in harm's way.

There are some great open cinematic shots- of both personal jets and powerboats in flight- but the hazy night-time city feel that worked so well for 'Collateral' just becomes like permanent insomnia here. Almost everything seems to take place at night, spot lit by arc lights, in the same way Bruckenheimer/Bay action pics seem stuck on permanent sunset.

Miami Vice is unashamedly all about the visuals, and obviously a pet project for Michael Mann- let's just hope he's got it out of his system and gets back to making movies with stories.