Happy Birthday to yoooooo...

Guess who's birthday it is today?

I'll give you some clues. (Verbal and Picture)




He turns 36.



He's Scottish.


And, he's a Time-Lord.




Yep, that's right, everyone's favourite Doctor, Casanova, Harry Potter baddie, mental patient and Scotsman is celebrating today.


Aren't we all, aren't we all.

In the spirit of things, here are some choice Tennant YouTube clips:

Here he is, with Catherine Tate being actually funny for once.
The Smiths + weird dancing + David Tennant = random brilliance.
In case you didn't know, he was also in a Boots ad.
And on Posh Nosh!

I've searched for the West Wing quiz that was on More4 last year. It used to be on YouTube but someone apparently took it down. Pity, it was great - David Tennant answering questions on The West Wing. Le sigh.

You thought rock-stars were fussy?

What do writers depend on to do their work? Not inspiration, talent or dedication (although they do help, supposedly) but their cups of coffee, special brand of pencil or favourite view. The Guardian today has a number of authors discussing their requirements which range from the mundane (ear-plugs, hot water, chocolate) to the frankly bizarre ("a blindfolded rhino rescued from floodwaters"? Okay then, Melissa Bank...). Some are a little more grounded when it comes to this approach, here's Michael Faber;

"Me, I need nothing special. I use a computer. Don't ask me what brand it is, I couldn't care less. What time in the morning do I start work? Whenever I wake up. What do I eat? Whatever's around. What are my bare minimum requirements? Solitude, and enough light to see the screen. Any talismans, lucky ornaments, superstitious procedures? Nope."

Still, he likes to listen to Krautrock to get his juices flowing.

Read the article here and then try and determine what your vice would be. A bowl full of blue smarties? A North-Easterly wind gently blowing through the window? Albanian nose-flute music?

You decide.

Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Are Dead (1990) Tom Stoppard

Polonius: What do you read, my lord?
Hamlet: Words, words, words.

- Hamlet, William Shakespeare

There you have the crux of Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Are Dead, a literary romp through Shakespeare in which two supporting characters from Hamlet, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, wander through Elisnore Castle trying to find out what the hell is going on. It’s based on the play by Tom Stoppard, which in turn was based on the Bard, therefore making it almost unpenetratable to those unversed with the story of Hamlet. It’s also one of the most literary films I’ve ever seen, there is no virtually no action, only three main characters and packed with dialogue. If all this sounds a bit dense for a film experience, think again, Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Are Dead is stylish, enjoyable and very, very funny.

I never actually made it the whole way through Hamlet (some day..some day) but I was familiar enough with the story to get the main gist. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are two of the Prince’s old friends. When Hamlet’s father, the King, is killed, his personality changes. He becomes withdrawn, moody, some say insane. In a desperate move, his mother summons Rosencrantz and Guildenstern to Denmark, to see if they can’t figure out what’s up with him. My shaky grasp on Shakespeare is at least better than the title pair, who spend the whole film trying to figure out why they’re there and what is happening. At times they drop in on a key scene from the play, but out of context it makes little sense. Most of the time they wander around the castle, a strangely constructed building which at times resembles an Escher painting. Doorways interlap, huge staircases lead to nowhere, interminably long corridors stretch on forever. There are echoing chambers where the laws of gravity don’t seem to exist. Rooms in which sheets of paper (actually the script of Hamlet) float around aimlessly; instead of reading them, Rosencrantz folds them up into paper airplanes.

If you think a film in which two men walk around a castle talking a lot sounds boring, you’d be wrong. There are jokes, wordplay, beautiful visuals and a very funny and fast-paced game of Questions.

The film would be nothing without it’s cast, especially Tim Roth and Gary Oldman, who play the title roles. Guildenstern is the sensible one, the thinker, at times stubbornly serious. Rosencrantz is the joker, the messer, a bit of a goof who refuses to sit down and figure out what the hell is going on. They compliment and accent each other, without the other, each would flounder, trapped within the confines of their own personalities. Their interactions with each other are a total delight to witness, conversation bouncing off the walls because there’s not much else to do. One of my favourite exchanges was the following:

Rosencrantz: Did you ever think of yourself as actually dead, lying in a box with a lid on it?
Guildenstern: No.
Rosencrantz:Nor do I, really. It's silly to be depressed by it. I mean, one thinks of it like being alive in a box. One keeps forgetting to take into account the fact that one is dead, which should make all the difference, shouldn't it? I mean, you'd never *know* you were in a box, would you? It would be just like you were asleep in a box. Not that I'd like to sleep in a box, mind you. Not without any air. You'd wake up dead for a start, and then where would you be? In a box. That's the bit I don't like, frankly. That's why I don't think of it. Because you'd be helpless, wouldn't you? Stuffed in a box like that. I mean, you'd be in there forever, even taking into account the fact that you're dead. It isn't a pleasant thought. Especially if you're dead, really. Ask yourself, if I asked you straight off, "I'm going to stuff you in this box. Now, would you rather be alive or dead?" naturally, you'd prefer to be alive. Life in a box is better than no life at all, I expect. You'd have a chance, at least. You could lie there thinking, "Well, at least I'm not dead. In a minute somebody is going to bang on the lid, and tell me to come out."
[bangs on lid]
Rosencrantz: "Hey you! What's your name? Come out of there!"
Guildenstern: [long pause] I think I'm going to kill you.

One of the best things about the film is the knowingness. Hamlet is a play about acting, a play about a play. Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Are Dead is a film based on a play, about a play, featuring actors playing actors, acting out a puppet show, based on a play, for actors. If all that seems a tad confusing, don’t worry. Even if you have no idea what’s going on, there’s comfort to be taken in the fact that the two main characters don’t have any idea either.

Rosencrantz: What are you playing at?
Guildenstern: Words. Words. They're all we have to go on.

My Joanna Newsom concert experience

Joanna Newsom @ The Olympia, 14^th April 2007

And, Emily - I saw you last night by the river
I dreamed you were skipping little stones across the surface of the water
Frowning at the angle where they were lost, and slipped under forever,
In a mud-cloud, mica-spangled, like the sky'd been breathing on a mirror

In twenty years, when music historians try to determine the musical visionarys of our generation, it will be a great shame if Joanna Newsom doesn’t appear at the top of their list. At first glance, she seems impossibly twee, a diminuitive Calafornian harpist who sings like Lisa Simpson with a mouthful of marbles, writes 10 minute songs and uses words like “thee” and “fain” without a hint of irony. Her sophomore album was entitled Ys after a mythical city and the cover art depicted Newsom as a maiden in a renaissance painting. In this age of music downloads and Myspace, Newsom should feel quaint, out-dated, redundant.

Yet, when she takes the stage in the Olympia, almost dwarfed by her harp even with the high-heels she sports, the crowd goes insane, rolls of applause like thunder, wolf-whistles, screams, shouts of joy. How did this folkie garner such appreciation? The answer’s simple – she just writes the best songs of the new millennium. They transcend time, sneak into your head without warning, one moment whispering pledges of love underneath a tinkling harp, the next ambushing you with a full orchestral arrangement, Newsom’s voice sounding like nothing you’ve heard before. In Dublin, she doesn’t have the orchestra with her, it’s just a violinist, banjo/tambura player, drummer and herself. The Olympia is the perfect setting for a Joanna Newsom concert, a small venue, elegantly built, old fashioned.

She opens with Bridges & Balloons, an earlier song that elicts a whoop of joy from the audience before they settle down to listen attentively. It’s the same throughout the whole concert, there are no big singalongs (even those familiar with the music would find it difficult to sing along with her). In the quiet moments you can hear a pin drop, every pluck of the harpstrings ringing out clear, every tremble of the cymbals shivering throughout the auditorium.

When she finishes the first song, she introduces the band by name, giving us time to cheer them all. When this is over, she bends her head to fiddle with the harpstrings and in the silence, a man’s voice calls out “I love you Joanna!”. The audience laugh and wait to see how she will react. She doesn’t seem to have heard him, concentrating on her instrument. Then, “…aw, do you?” she sighs, a hint of a smile on her face. Her comic timing is impeccable.

The next song is the first from Ys, Emily, an ode to her astrophysicist sister who teaches her about the stars. It’s one of my favourite songs and when the first “big” moment arrives in “We've seen those mountains kneeling, felten and grey, We thought our very hearts would up and melt away” I felt a shiver. When she reaches the closest thing the song has to a chourus, the almost catchy;

That the meteorite is a source of the light
And the meteor's just what we see
And the meteoroid is a stone that's devoid of the fire that propelled it to thee

you can almost sense the crowd aching to sing along, but nobody does. It’s almost religious, the reverence she recieves.

She continues the show with the next song on Ys, Monkey and Bear. It’s the clearest storyline out of all her songs, but that doesn’t diminish the emotional wallop of the ending, in which the bear dies. Even when she’s singing her most arcane songs, lines that simply don’t make sense when read on paper, somehow her phrasing and accenting give them extra meaning, lacing the words with emotion or respect or humour. At times during the concert her phrasing is exactly like the recording, at others she twists phrases around, placing emphasis on different words. One wonders how she remembers some of these lyrics, the 17 minute Only Skin being one of the most impressive feats of memory, reeling off lines like she’s reciting Shakespeare, uncomprehensible to some, filled with truth and beauty to others.

If some of my words sound overtly respectful or awefilled, I admit that once under the Newsom spell it’s difficult to extract yourself. You can get swept up in the grandoise of the music, the classical allusions of the lyrics, but luckily, Newsom never takes herself too seriously. When she plays, she looks like she’s in a trance, lightening-speeded fingers tapping at her instrument, hollering the melody, but once a song is over she snaps out of her reverie to joke with the audience. She relates a little anecdote about her last trip to Dublin, tells us of her love for Ned Collete, her supporting act. When a mobile phone goes off, she jokes “Is there a doctor in the house?” and then, moments later while playing the introduction to Cosmia, apologies “I bet that person is really embarrassed right now. I’m sorry for laughing at you…”.

The set is a mixture of the old and the new. She plays every song from Ys and a handful of favourites from The Milk-Eyed Mender. The songs from the latter sound better than they do on the album, her voice has matured a lot since she recorded them and so has her sense of musicality.

The band are a delight. Most of the songs on Ys feature intense orchestral arrangements by Van Dyke Parks, but here they are transposed to one woman playing violin and one man playing the tambura and banjo. They do an admirable job and at times the music beautifully swells into something much more powerful than just four people playing music on a stage. Some changes are inspired, the smooth accordian on Cosmia is played as a quick, bluegrass-esque banjo solo, which is the only time during the night that the crowd appluad during a song.

When she announces “I’ve got two songs left”, groans of disapointment ripple through the building and she looks up, surprised, “It’s a long set, you guys! A long set!”. And it was. Even at only about 12 songs, she played for a long time; and every song was an experience. It’s a definite toss-up between this and Radiohead in Marlay Park for my favourite ever concert, but for the time being, Joanna’s still on constant rotation on my cd player.

"Blades of Glory" (2007) Josh Gordon/Will Speck

There's no accounting for taste, especially in matters of the funny. While one person could see an Adam Sandler film and think “Hah, this is hilarious, Adam Sandler is the comedic genius of our age”, another person could see the same film and think “Hah, I’d rather stick my head in a toaster oven than endure another minute of this.”

Comedy is a fickle thing, varying greatly from one person to the next. I was once in a room with a girl I didn’t know very well. The Simpsons were on the television and this girl didn’t laugh once. Never even cracked a smile. This was when I decided I didn’t want to know her any better.

I’m equally picky though, when it comes to comedy films. There’s movies that have me spraining my stomach on every viewing (Mean Girls, Young Frankenstein, Singin’ in the Rain) and others that leave me cold (Borat, every Adam Sandler film, every “goofy” Robin Williams film). When I first heard about Blades of Glory I wasn’t interested in seeing it. Neither the appearance of Will Ferrell or the ice-skating set up were enticing enough to warrant me spending money on a ticket for it. However, when I read that the film also starred Will Arnett, my feelings shifted slightly. Anything will Will Arnett in it can’t be that awful, right?

Quite surprisingly, it wasn’t that awful.

The film opens in Stockholm, where the male figure skating championships are taking place. The two main contenders are both Americans; Chazz Michael Michaels (Ferrell) is the “sex-god” of the ice-rink, a pompous wannabe cowboy who makes all the ladies go wild with his raunchy free-styling, Jimmy MacElroy (Jon Heder) is the bucktoothed wunderkid, orphaned at a young age who now dazzles with technical precision. Both men are chronic show-offs and great skaters, although their style of skating could not be any different. They’re also mortal enemies, so it’s only natural that when they tie for the gold medal, a fistfight breaks out that results in them both getting banned from competitive skating for life. Aw, shucks.

Fastforward three years and both men are squandering their life and their talents working in deadend jobs. Jimmy is working in a skate-shop, trying to dispense professional advice to bratty kids who just want him to tie their laces and Chazz is getting sloshed as the part of “evil wizard” in a low budget children’s show that resembles “Disney on Ice” on acid. It’s Jimmy who gets out of the slump first, when a loophole uncovered by his obsessive stalker Hector allows him to reenter the world of competitive skating, if he skates as part of a double. In a thrilling plot twist that will shock the audience (or, at least those who haven’t seen any trailers or promo pics for the film), the skater he ends up teaming-up with is none other than Will Ferrell! Or I should say, Chazz Michael Michaels (but then, isn’t every Will Ferrell character just an extension of Will Ferrell?)

Once this premise is set up, the film is allowed to bring on the laughs. There’s a couple of feeble subplots with one involving Ferrell’s character being a sex-addict and a love story for Heder, but everyone knows the main point of this film is to show two men faffing around on the ice together. It’s true, there is something inherantly figure skating and if you don’t find the thought of two men pirouetting around the ice in glittering, skin-tight spandex to the strains of the Flash Gordon theme amusing, you should probably dispense with this review right now.

I’m not a huge Will Ferrell fan, I actually find his constant gurning kind of irritating. But I will admit that he’s a good physical comedy actor and when he’s paired with the skinny nerdtastic moves of Jon Heder, they turn out some hilarious routines. The dance scene of Napoleon Dynamite was the only bit of that film which I enjoyed and there’s echoes of it here, as the two men begin their training for the pair figure-skating championships. With Ferrel’s bulky buffoonery and Heder’s amusing mixture of grace and awkwardness, the routines on the ice are a delight to watch. Their first public performance together, to Aerosmith’s “I Don’t Wanna Miss A Thing” is hilarious and also kind of inspiring, as they slowly win over the audience.

My favourite of the routines, however, was executed by the baddies of the film, a show stealing turn by Will Arnett and his real-life wife Amy Poehler. The duo play Stranz and Fairchild Van Waldenberg, a cartoonishly wicked brother and sister skating pair who are determined to take the top spot over Chazz and Jimmy. The pair dominate every scene they’re in, whether it’s a hilarious J.F.K./Marilyn Monroe ice-skating routine, coaxing their innocent sister Katie into sleeping with Ferrell or just plain ol’ evil stuff. They mightn’t be the most realistic baddies ever created, but they provide the biggest laughs of the film.

At times the flimsy plot feels like it’s skating on thin ice (see what I did there?) and occasionlly the blades of Will Ferrell’s humour start to blunt (and again?), but you don’t go to see a film like this expecting great storylines or interesting character development. Blade of Glory mightn’t be the greatest film ever created, but by the time the wonderfully silly finale routine skates by, complete with sequined TRON outfits, I had thoroughly enjoyed myself.

"The Women" (1939) George Cukor

"There is a name for you, ladies, but it isn't used in high society... outside of a kennel."

In the midst of a slew of Almodóvar films that I've been watching lately (5 since Saturday, and still another dvd to go), I managed to catch the vintage cat-fight that is George Cukor's The Women on TCM today. It's a two and a half hour oestrogen fest, with over 130 female speaking roles and not a single man in sight (unless you count Joan Crawford, of course...).

I'd wanted to see The Women ever since I rented The Philadelphia Story earlier this year. Included in the meagre special features were trailers for the director George Cukor's other films, and the trailer for The Women was so funny that I knew I had to watch it. Happily, the film lived up to it's campy, bitchy, funny trailer. The plot is slightly incomprehensible. Far from me to attempt to describe it, here's what the IMDB had to say:

Wealthy Mary Haines is unaware her husband is having an affair with shopgirl Crystal Allen. Sylvia Fowler and Edith Potter discover this from a manicurist and arrange for Mary to hear the gossip. On the train taking her to a Reno divorce Mary meets the Countess and Miriam (in an affair with Fowler's husband). While they are at Lucy's dude ranch, Fowler arrives for her own divorce and the Countess meets fifth husband-to-be Buck. Back in New York, Mary's ex is now unhappily married to Crystal who is already in an affair with Buck. When Sylvia lets this story slip at a country club dinner, Crystal brags of her plans for a still wealthier marriage, only to find the Countess is the source of all Buck's money. Crystal must return to the perfume counter and Mary runs back to her husband.

It doesn't really matter that we follow along, though. There's enough barbed tongues, moments of slapstick and fabulous dresses at play to make The Women a tremendously enjoyable society comedy. One could argue the point that it's demeaning, as it portrays women as being vicious gossips who talk of nothing but men. It's fair enough, even though there are no males in the film, they're the subject of almost every conversation and the old Countess DeLave can't open her mouth without cooing "L'amour, l'amour", but the point of The Women isn't to give a complete portrait of the female species. Indeed, the author of the Broadway play the film is based on, Clare Boothe Luce, meant for it to be a satirical attack on society women. Under the masterful direction of George Cukor, however, The Women becomes more sympathetic to it's characters, in all their silly, vapid and cruel ways.

For me, Rosalind Russell is the stand-out star as the scheming Sylvia Fowler. In His Girl Friday she was perfectly cast as the snarkily sweet reporter Hildy Johnson, but here she gets to showcase what an animated nutcase she can be; eyes flashing, hands flailing, pursuing her lips in distain, she prowls around in full-on Bitch Mode,

"Oh, you remember the awful things they said about what's-her-name before she jumped out the window? There. You see? I can't even remember her name, so who cares?"

"You simply must see my hairdresser, I DETEST whoever does yours."

and takes it upon herself to (suureptitiously) alert other women of affairs their husbands may be having.

Her cruel streak doesn't go unnoticed by the others, as is humourously demonstrated in her scenes with an unnamed exercise instructor like the following extract:

Exercise instructress:Arms flat. Crawl slowly up the wall.
Sylvia Fowler:The way you say that makes me feel like vermin.
Exercise instructress: That shouldn't be much effort. I mean, crawling up the wall...

or this one

Exercise instructress: Mrs. Fowler you've hardly moved a muscle.
Sylvia Fowler:Whose carcass is this, yours or mine?
Exercise instructress:It's yours, but I'm paid to exercise it.
Sylvia Fowler:You sound like a horse trainer.
Exercise instructress: No, Mrs. Fowler, but you're getting warm.

Her devotion to the role is evident; in the scene where she is fighting with Paulette Godard, Russell apparently actually bit the actress on the leg for real. IMDB informs me that although this left a lasting scar on Godard's leg, the two remained good friends. Go figure.

So, it's not exactly politically correct (released in 1939, one character advises another to "sprawl out in bed like a swastika") and there's a bizarre fashion show in the middle that switches into technicolour for no apparent reason, but The Women is still fresh, funny and catty enough to warrant an Easter Monday watching. Hopefully rumours of a remake are unfounded, part of it's charm is the sleek, black & white stylish aspect and in today's modern times, a line like Joan Crawford's parting shot at the top of this review would just not work.

I have a weakness for questionnares.

Got this from Cinecism - give her a big hand, please! And read her blog, she's quite funny.

How old were you when you first went to the cinema andwhat did you watch?:
I can remember a couple, but I have a feeling the first one I went to see was Aladdin. Just looking it up on the IMDB, I find that it was released in 1992, which would have made me two years old. I don't know, that seems a bit young, no? Although feasibly I might have been three. I also definititely saw the Lion King when I was four with my dad. Afterwards he asked me, "Wasn't that very sad when the lion died?", which apparently prompted the reply (now family legend), "Yeah. But what I found really sad was that one person can destroy a whole nation and let it go to waste". Precocious, moi?

Three films about films and/or cinema:
I'm utterly lost by this question. Just name three films? Your favourite ones about film? Huh? I'll just go the easy option and name three great ones. Singin' in the Rain – the pains of the transition from silent movies to “talkies”, All About Eve – okay, it’s theatre, not cinema, but it’s all about acting and the roles people play, and Adaption – the trials and tribulations of screenwriting.

Favourite Actresses:
Old style - Bette Davis and Kate Hepburn. Nowadays...I like Cate Blanchett, Jodie Foster, Penelope Cruz and some others.

A film that changed your life and why:
The Lion King. Because it was the first film I really had an emotional attachment to. I saw it twice in the cinema and had these plastic figures of all the characters that I used to play with. It’s one of my earliest memories, crouching down behind the threadbare couch in the Credit Union, waiting for my granny, playing with Simba and Mufasa. Sadly, I lost the figures when I left my bag on the bus once. A few years later, my parents surprised me with a VHS of the film and I nearly cried with happiness.

Great directors but which film of their's is your favourite? Kubrick, Hitchcock, Powell & Pressburger, Kurosawa, Lang.
This one confuses me also. Favourite film from each? Favourite film in total? Be more clear here, people. I'll just say Hitchcock, because I've seen more Hitch films than anything. Favourite? I'll say...Rear Window.

Charlie Chaplin, Harold Lloyd, Buster Keaton, Laurel And Hardy, who's the best?
Hector Mann. If anyone gets that reference, you can have my adbiding respect.

You're remaking a classic, which one and who's your new stars?
While some questions are confusing and some are boring, this one is blasphemy!

Miscast actors happens quite a bit, what's the worst you've seen?
Juliette Lewis in What's Eating Gilbert Grape?. I loved Johnny Depp and Leo diCaprio in it, I found the slightly-hokey storyline and quaint Americana feel enjoyably escapist, but anytime Ms. Lewis appeared on the screen it was all I could do not to turn off the dvd. Her whiney voice, squint, her habit of stretching out sentences until they lost all meaning - I just cannot stand the woman, and rooted for her death the whole way through.

Most overrated good movie?
The Shawshank Redemption. It’s a well-made piece of storytelling with some good acting, but that’s it really. Greatest film of all time? Hah.

Most overrated bad movie?
Nothing's coming to mind at the moment.

Worst movie ever?
I'm tempted to say Showgirls, but to be honest, it really is quite funny. And I have a soft spot for Kyle McLachlan, big ol' plank of wood that he is. So, I'm going to say either Dumb & Dumberer or Daddy Day Care. Both of which I saw in the cinema. Both of which against my will. Both of which were picked out by the same friend.

Favourite British films:
When I think of the words “British Films” I usually get a shiver of disgust roll down my spine. Images of Hugh Grant grinning foppishly, or Rowan Atkinson gurning away begin to circle nastily around my head. Shaking off these images takes some work, but then Danny Boyle comes to mind with Trainspotting and 28 Days Later.

Best road movies?
Thelma & Louise.

Favourite Actors:
Why are actors and actresses seperate? And isn't "actress" wrong, anyhow? Awh, feck it. I like Jimmy Stewart, Cary Grant, Ian McKellen.

Who Would Play You In A Biopic Of Your Life?
The little girl who played Madeline in the live-action film.

Most Irritating Cinema Advert Ever:
30..29..28..27..THE MOVIE IS ABOUT TO START. BUT THERE'S STILL TIME TO GRAB A COKE. The countdown makes me feel nervous, the annoying wimpy colours, the fact that there actually isn't time to GRAB A COKE and the in-your-face advertising all turn me off. I usually try to shut my eyes during it.


Which Film Magazines/Forums Do You Read?
Empire, every month. It's a nice blend of stupid and intelligent. I've tried others, Total Film, Hot Dog and the rest, but Empire's still my best.

You Have To Swap Your Life With A Movie Plot, Which One Do You Choose?
Singin' in the Rain, because if people spontaneously broke out into tap routines in their day to day lives, I'd be a whole lot happier. And 1920s film sets are one of my favourite film settings.

A film that scared you at the cinema/home?
Is "everything" an okay answer? No? Okay, at a sleepover in 2001 I saw Scream, I Know What You Did Last Summer, An Interview With The Vampire and some others. That night haunted me for months, there was literally no free moment that I didn't start to reply some of those images back in my head. On the more positive side of the scale, my family watched Wait Until Dark with Audrey Hepburn one Christmas and there was one scene where everyone simultaneously jumped in fright, but it was a fun fright.

Your favourite silent movie?
I watched The Wizard Of Oz with some friends back in September. It was that special edition dvd, the one that sings. Afterwards, we put on the special features and watched two silent versions of the film. I don’t think I’ve ever laughed so hard in my life.

A crap film that you know is crap but you love?
I know that Mean Girls isn’t Shakespeare, but in my mind it’s the best teen comedy since the days of John Hughes. I wouldn't say it was crap, per se, but people seem surprised when I mention how much I love it.

Favourite Directors: Hitchcock, Billy Wilder, Pedro Almodóvar.

Recommend three films that will change the way you view film:
All About My Mother, for those who hate Foreign Film. Sunset Boulevard, for almost breaking the fourth wall. Toy Story, for those who complain technology will overshadow good storytelling.

On Screen Love Stories:
Moulin Rouge! is the simplest of simple stories, but it’s beautifully executed, Casablanca for love and sacrifice and High Fidelity for honesty and good tunes.

Met Any Movie Stars?
Nope. Although Colin Farrell was in my local Superquinn last week (I was in Prague at the time) but he’s just manky anyway.

What's your favourite period of cinema? e.g. 20s German expressionism, French New Wave etc:
I haven’t gotten deep enough into period genres to give a comprehensive answer, but I’m fond of the Classic Era (1920s-1940s)

Favourite Soundtracks: All About My Mother, The Hours, Lost in Translation and Moulin Rouge.

What Films Need A Sequel:
None, because if they're really good then it'll just wreck their legacy and if they're really bad, why would you want more?

The film you’ve seen the most times: I’d say The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring. I’ve seen all three LOTR a number of times, but for ages the first one was the only one I had on dvd and I used to just watch it on days with nothing else to do. Hasn’t diminished the power it has on me, though. I've also seen Mean Girls about 11 times. Somehow I've ended up seeing Ms. Congeniality about 6 times, but that's because for a while, every party/sleepover I was at had it playing.

The films you can quote ad infinitum
All About Eve, the first Toy Story, Mean Girls and the LOTR trilogy. Out of them all, I'd say Mean Girls is the one I can quote the best. I can even reel off some lines from the commentary, which is kinda sad.

Who’s your favourite cult film hero?
Ducky from Pretty in Pink. If a guy ever came into the record shop in which I worked and did a total wig-out dance to Try A Little Tenderness, I'd fall in love with him on the instant.

Pick one genre and give us five of your favourites from it e.g. Comedy, film noir, romance, musical etc:
Musical: Singin’ in the Rain, Moulin Rouge!, Guys & Dolls, The Lion King and The Wizard of Oz.

Two scenes that flood your tear ducts:
Hahahahahahaha. Two? Hahahahaha. *wipes eyes*….okay. In recent times, the end of Bobby (well, the whole way though actually, but the tears got more intense in the last 20 minutes or so) which wasn’t a great film, but really pulled out the emotional stops. And the scene in Toy Story where Buzz realises that he’s not an astronaut.

You're an interviewer, who do you interview and about which film?
I’d talk to (a resurrected) Donald O’Connor about filming Singin’ in the Rain. About whether Gene Kelly is really a bastard, how on earth he did those backflips, what Debbie Reynolds was like. And I’d shake his hand and say, “Sir, you did the best dance routine ever.”

Three great acting performances:
Because this question is almost exclusively male, I'll pick three girls for a change.Katherine Hepburn in Bringing up Baby (just hilarious, pairing her with Cary Grant is a match made in comedy heaven). Penelope Cruz in Volver (she was robbed! she was robbed! she was robbed!) Cecilia Roth in All About My Mother (for some of the best onscreen crying I've ever seen, among other reasons).

Who is your sex god/goddess? Young Robert deNiro, circa Taxi Driver.

Now you go!