Please don’t be negatively influenced regarding Senna the movie - as it’s fascinating for modern Formula 1 fans - by my perspective of Senna the racing driver. The cornerstone of his driving legacy is seen every time a car puts its front tyre up the inside of another’s rear axle, then claims this as a legitimate overtaking manoeuvre. Except in Senna’s era, the subsequent collision if the forward driver didn’t back off was potentially fatal.

Like Schumacher currently, I cannot see him adapting to today’s higher racing standards. Even in his final years, I recall reading of him being resolutely trounced - and blubbing about it [sound familiar, @LewisHamilton ?] - by Prost, Mansell, & Schumi. What the documentary does do is make clear that Senna was dedicated to personal victory, but remains obscure - almost to the point of silence - over his minimalist approach to good sportsmanship.

More willfully propogandist is its claim that this driver cared for the safety of his fellows, with an insight proven correct thereafter. Whereas, if you watch closely, you will only see that Senna only pursued such with a view that his personal performance should not be repetitively compromised.

For example, observe how having been previously censured for dangerous driving and also having crashed into a tyre wall, he successfully agitates for similar to be removed; then promptly forces a rival straight off the track at a corner that would have otherwise have resulted in a duplicate accident & punishment.

Sport should mean more than simply winning.

In visualising speed, 3D has finally found a use beyond being a lo-lumen gimmick. It’s closer to the edge of actual visceral reality than Formula 1 high definition television, for example.

Regarding this one-off documentary specifically, a commercial professionalism does appear to be encroaching on the Isle Of Man’s week-long Tourist Trophy races. Yet the tradition of amateur daring-do appears to be surviving also, as exemplified by Guy Martin, who left us in stitches [fortunately of a kind that didn’t require hospital treatment] & with a thirst for a giant mug of tea.

As a matter of curiosity, there were no motorcycles in the carpark after the showing last night, which I assume to mean that the only racing the audience does is from the comfort of their armchairs [but that may be just me]. Whether we had all simply been breathing during the film, but failing to live, is open to speculation. I do know that I was happy to leave the theatre with the seat of my pants intact & no 170mph friction burns on my backside [but then again, I’m always happy in such circumstance]  !

[courtesy cinemax]

I found the cheque stub when searching for the contract’s paperwork.

The date doesn’t just precede my credit history, it’s virtually pre- internet, and definitely pre- email & sms services [which I only began to use a year later].

On that last subject, I fondly recall the http://www.uboot.com/eng of 2001, who gave free unlimited sms-ing from the web to any mobile. Even @O2 allowed 600 web sms per month to UK mobiles. A decade on, and @O2 gives 10 sms as standard; which rather says much for how telecom pricing has evolved.

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To great relief, Rachel McAdams managed to supply my viewed Morning Glory with a happy ending. Sure, it got a little flaccid three quarters of the way in, but the pace & friction of the earlier experience managed to squeeze out a reasonable climax -  mainly through the affection generated whilst snug in the folds of the warm narrative. It was a slick ride worth paying for.

Think of it as the gentler, more good-natured, child of Working Girl; in which the challenge is the job - not the job system; and with Harrison Ford as the narrow-minded ogre, not the broad-minded romantic hero, in a woman’s battle for fulfilment.

Natalie Portman, Natalie Portman, Natalie Portman. On her narrow shoulders rests Black Swan, in very much the same way as Taxi Driver fell in Robert De Niro’s; except the physical committment to her role has been more extensive than missing out on a few burgers & staring at just her own reflection in one mirror.

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On further reflection, what she has achieved is more analogous to Christian Bale’s performance of physical anorexia & psychological disintegration in The Machinist, but further stretched with the assumption of a completely different artistic discipline - namely that of prima ballerina. For these reasons, Black Swan is a painful film to watch, but one which one cannot help but admire; and not only for its acting, as Darren Aronofsky has created a microcosm which seems entirely capable of generating the populace & sequence of events narrated.

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Whilst the most obvious link to this director’s earlier work is with the physicality portrayed in The Wrestler, there are subtle asides to the coloured originality in which he washed The Fountain, and un-ignorable references to the chaotic shards of obsessiveness & mental fracture examined in Pi.

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Until the morning after the film, I was slightly disappointed that the progression of Portman’s character from Nina Sayers to The Swan Queen was not more linear [or even geometric], so that the triggers to her unbalancing could be more easily discerned. In hindsight [one that may require a second viewing to fully attain] it can be seen that she was actually written as unhinged from before the very first scene - by the restraint of her upbringing, the perfectionist service of her talent, & the stifled drives of an unacknowledged adulthood.

In reality, the meltdown of the talented is more ugly than seen here, if one recalls how those of - for example - Tiger Woods or Britney Spears were documented. Yet, as with Swan Lake itself, beauty is indeed found in the fictional depiction of a dramatic tragedy such as Black Swan - rather than the sad cases seen in real life.

Incidentally, wouldn’t it be amiss not to make a point of doffing one’s cap to the aforementioned famously captivating backdrop to this tale - along the film’s musical arranger Clint Mansell: that source material of the original Swan Lake.

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[courtesy foxsearchlight]

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If only this movie had been as concise as its title, instead of the sprawled torture that was it’s reality.

Ostensibly I was watching a heist movie, but the only theft was of my sense of credulity. Picture Ocean’s 11 played by the cast of your local church group’s pantomine of Mother Goose, and then know that Tees Maar Khan was worse.

In fact, let me spare you the horror of the remaining two hours of this misshapen filmic foetus, and instead present the “high”-lights in the form of the promotional trailer.

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The sole portion that I didn’t view through the hand covering my eyes [and I only risked one eye, peering between opened fingers] was through being tempted out for two minutes, by some harem pants that were slung as low as my brow - as unnotably noted below.

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Whilst said event did elevate me to the rank of monarch of that cinema audience, I’d rather have my full eyesight returned. Don’t risk your’s !

[courtesy hariom utv]

… “A literary or dramatic work that ridicules a subject either by presenting a solemn subject in an undignified style or an inconsequential subject in a dignified style”; which - frankly - is the kindest comment that could be made of Cher & Christina Aguilera here.

Burlesque is not a movie suited for analysis, as it’s so bad, it’s BAD! Still, it’s not as cringe-worthy as Britney’s Crossroads; and the musical numbers are fine - if like one never-ending Pussycat Doll video.

There were a couple of transient lady visuals that *hrrh* perked one’s interest [mainly involving Kristin Bell in a body stocking]; but therwise it was mostly, “Oi, Christina - NO! Stop yelling, have a wash, and put some clothes on. Plus, Cher - step away from the surgeon!”.

[courtesy sony]

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in 2D here, as is apparent.

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[courtesy disney]

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