Tuesday, November 22, 2011

I'm sorry to see that Senna didn't make the Academy Awards shortlist. I might powerfully use this blog to campaign for its reinstatement. (Or 'instatement' possibly as I'm not sure it was ever on the (short)list to fall off.)

I slyly slipped off to the movies for another cinematic treat tonight. BEB. (Behind Everyone's Back.)

It was a last minute notion (your honour) based on a happy collision of several factors:

- a nigh on miraculous trip from one side of Manchester to another on / in a combination of legs / vehicle including a bag stop to reclaim my luggage, shed this morning at the obliging hotel, in approx 12 minutes which meant that I caught a train I had no right to catch

- a disbanding of my Spanish class on account of the absence of one and the sickness of another which left me footloose and fancy free

- a jilting by a recently returned from Caribbean luxury friend who shunned sushi and me for silence and solace (incredible!)

And so thanks to these collected circumstances, I slipped along to my trusty not-local and was roundly entertained by The Rum Diary.

Let's be clear. I don't think B S Neill would like it. It was a pretty silly story. Though grounded in some sort of quasi-truth if Jonny Depp (and his miraculous manuscript discovery) can be believed. Though with enough of a sprinkling of vaguely political overtones to keep me happy.

It rambled a little and sometimes, in its self-indulgence, it lost its way a little. But hey, it featured Jonny Depp looking hot. It featured a very pretty girl also looking hot, should this be more where your interest lies. It featured some great actors. Some great lines. ("How can someone drink 161 miniatures?" "I thought they were complimentary.")

And it made me think of my summer holiday. Which for two hours, in the middle of a brisk and frisky November, is no mean feat.

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