Reviews are one of those magical things that go by the ironic rule: The Worse, The Better. I much prefer AA Gill when he’s lambasting a restaurant for its waiters’ ineptitudes than when he is serenading it with praise.
Back in Aberdeen, a friend of mine’s house was decorated with a life-sized cardboard cut-out of Taylor Lautner as Jake in the Twilight movies. It was disconcerting to say the least. The first time I encountered it, I was drunk and it was very dark. I didn’t get over the shock for about a week.
It would seem, however, that poor Taylor, although much-admired by the female population of Northern Scotland, is faring rather a lot worse in the following review of his new film.
It’s so bad, it’s fantastic. And I thought my friend Vicki would appreciate it, and it’s her birthday so here it goes…
Think of Abduction this way: There’s the Bourne Identity, then way below that is Mark Wahlberg’s Shooter. Then there’s 50,000 feet of crap. Underneath that is Liam Neeson’s Unknown. Dig another 100,000 feet until you hit a liquid-y orange-and-brown ooze and there you will find Abduction, a movie so bad it shouldn’t be allowed to call itself a movie. It should be called bad performance art for troglodytic, subhuman Caucasian bed-wetting females with a predisposition for shirtless, roundhouse-kicking dildos. Comparing Bourne Identity to Abduction is like comparing Beyonce’s ass to Danny Devito’s: Sure, they’re both big, but one you want to tap and the other you want to shave and disinfect before you feed to stray dogs.
Read the rest here.
The following is probably the best summary of current events in Ireland regarding the upcoming Presidential elections. For those of you unfamiliar with recent goings-on, the main point of interest is an ageing senator named David Norris, who couldn’t be more controversial a figure if he tried. He’s an openly gay, Anglo-Irish Protestant whose campaign has encountering no small amount of difficulty, leading him to bow out of the race at the beginning of August, only to re-enter last Friday:
David Norris made late-night television history Friday, appearing on the RTÉ network’s Late Late Show to address the personal allegations that have derailed his Irish presidential campaign. The Irish presidency is a largely ceremonial position, a national spokesman job really, with no legislative or executive power but a good deal of cultural clout. And for months David Norris — the openly gay, avowedly intellectual writer, Trinity College Dublin literature professor and ceremonial Irish senator — has been challenging and reshaping the Irish cultural zeitgeist like no public figure of his time. But is that a good thing?
Read the rest…
Since my new flat doesn’t have internet yet, I’ve been woefully behind-the-times when it comes to the latest internet memes and fads. This would not usually bother me until I realised my parents were more clued-in than I was. Unacceptable.
My mother (I know) sent me this earlier in the week. It’s a great clip and of particular interest to me as the blonde girl, Rebecca Winckworth, is an old friend of mine.
For those of you not hugely into rugby, Josef Schmidt is the current coach of Leinster rugby who brought them to victory at this year’s Heineken Cup.
The good thing about being a young professional in London is that, if you know the right people, you can be end-of-the-month poor half way through the month, yet still find oozing-with-cool events to keep you occupied until the money comes back in and you can start spending again. But you must know the right people.
Like my friend Jake who took me to the Design Gallery’s new exhibition on Kenneth Grange. You’ve probably never heard of him, but he has designed all of the following things:
TX1 London taxi
Venner parking meter
Bendix washing machine
And, probably his most famous creation:
We ate dinner afterwards at the Blueprint Cafe next door and then there was then an open Q&A with the designer himself, hosted by Hugh Pearman, editor of the RIBA Journal.
The night after this, I was sitting behind Emma Thomson at the opening night of No Naughty Bits at Hampstead Theatre. I hadn’t paid for a ticket, indeed I hadn’t known anything about it until just after lunch that afternoon when my friend Betsy rang me to tell me what I was doing that evening. And (marvel of marvels) there was an open bar afterwards. Which goes to show – sometimes it really is all about who you know.
Filed under Art, London, Theatre
This photo, The Falling Man, by AP photographer Richard Drew, is of a man falling from the North Tower on September 11th 2001. To me, it’s probably the most disturbing of all the images from that day. The man has been unofficially identified as Jonathan Briley, who worked in a cafe on the top floor.
Amongst the wreckage of the two towers, 147 wedding rings were found.
Take a look at this interactive map by the New York Times, asking readers where they were on that day, ten years ago.
And this story, published in London’s Evening Standard newspaper on Friday.