Review: Only God Forgives

Pouts, prostitutes and 'pornographic violence' abound in Ryan Gosling's vaguely interesting new film

The Texas Chainsaw Massacre is a favourite of film director Nicolas Winding Refn. In an interview with the Director's Guild of America, he described it as the definitive formative moment of his career, when he decided on his choice of role in the film industry. He describes the film itself as 'not a normal movie.'

As far as the 1970s go, it can be considered the great show-off movie. From the title right through to the brain-splattered ending, there's an almost tangible relish in it's unrelenting attitude, never more visible than in the shocking violence done to other people.

As the director of the Pusher trilogy, Bronson and Valhalla Rising, it's not really surprising to hear Refn's such a fan. In the same interview he describes how he railed against his parents love of French nouvelle vague. It seems he's been railing against that ever since by directing films that are heavy on violence of both the physical and emotional kind.

All those years of Street Fighter 2 were finally justified

Only God Forgives assumes a similarly unambiguous intent. The title calls on big themes: redemption, errors past and present and perhaps some sort of collision between good and evil. Say it out loud - it needs a movie trailer voice behind it. It belongs in the oeuvre of the western or samurai film. It is another example of Refn's very conspicuous sense of style.

And broadly it does trade on those themes, but this is a film heavy on atmosphere but little in the way of story, and even less character. It appears Refn wants to challenge himself first, then his audience, in making a film with no discernible development, only intimated through the above. It also appears there's a funny joke to be had about the rebellious son unconsciously turning into his parents.

Some of it works spectacularly well; the opening, a sweaty, pugilistic scene of intensely violent Muay Thai boxing, is set to thrumming percussion and a swelling bass which brings the heat and pressure to life better than any spoken word. Cliff Martinez, responsible for scoring the superior Drive, deserves lots of credit for an immersive auditory experience.

And Refn's use of colour and place is also exceptional. Ryan Gosling, playing Julian, one half of a drug-smuggling-sibling duo, resides in an apartment saturated in a hellish red with gods carven into grand furniture. Gosling's almost catatonic passivity throughout the majority of the film is amplified by this looming, macho environment.

The fun (my term) starts when Julian's brother Billy rapes and murders a young prostitute and is then murdered himself by the deceased's vengeful father. What follows is a domino-effect tale of revenge as characters are savagely disposed of to get to the film's rock-hard nub of a core.

The film teems with fascinating elements; Kristin Scott Thomas repulses as Crystal, a grief-stricken mother whose relationship with Julian's brother appears Oedipal. In one deeply surreal scene, Crystal infers to his partner that Julian has an inferiority complex based on the size of his brother's penis. Julian's one-man mission to avenge a brother he felt deserved to die suggests a similar Oedipal feeling in the younger brother.

The mainstay of Only God Forgives, and the reason it doesn't completely collapse in a mess of half-explored psychodramas, comes in the form of the 'Angel of Death' Lt Chang, played with insuperable hardness by Vithaya Pansringam. A looming, vaguely atavistic presence, Chang expounds brutal and clinical retribution on those he deems as sinners, regardless of guilt in the eyes of the law, which appears to be a useful enabler for his police officer role.

As is Refn's objective wont, there are no real good and bad guys throughout, only those who have forgotten their morals through violent compromise. Cops are blasted near in half; in one memorably unpleasant scene, an ally of Julian's is staked to his armchair by tongs, then has his eye and ear removed with unflinching efficacy.

And of course Julian himself is nearly pounded into mincemeat by Chang in a scene that, once it gets going, is thrillingly good to watch. Timeliness is a major issue with Only God Forgives; almost 50% of the film is completely silent and no one moves or indeed does anything at all.

As others better qualified have pointed out, there's a good chance that if David Lynch, say, had directed this, we may all be saying something quite different (but this would probably be a radically different film in execution too). And it has prompted some histrionic adjectives; 'sadistic and voyeuristic' from the Mail, 'pornographically violent, neon-dunked nightmare' from the Telegraph. Anything described so loudly is surely worth a look.

But when you can leave a newspaper open to suggesting 'that being a star means you don't have to act anymore, you can just stand there looking moody,' it doesn't really matter what anyone else says. You probably don't have a very good film on your hands. Perhaps they should have brought a chainsaw.

Picture courtesy of  The Daily Telegraph

The Prague Cemetery - Review

Umberto Eco returns to the scene of his crimes to charming (and exhausting) effect

In a typically brief foreword to his critically acclaimed first trio of short stories, the Argentine author Jorge Luis Borges once claimed that 'it is a laborious madness and an impoverishing one, the madness of composing vast books - setting out in five hundred pages an idea that can be perfectly related orally in five minutes.'

True to form, he never wrote in fiction anything longer than a short story, and some of these were bracingly quick reads - four or five pages. Often I'll read something and think of that quote, which is surely the ultimate litmus test of any serious writer, but it seems an uncanny critique of Umberto Eco's work - ironic, as his style strongly derives from him.

The Prague Cemetery is more than 400 pages, and was hailed as a return to form when it was first released. It quickly sold over a million copies in - guess what - South America and Europe. And I enjoyed it a lot, but probably for precisely the reasons a few have suggested it slightly flabby and supported by its sense of self-importance, rather than anything traditional like character.

Eco is a semiotician, and a world-renowned one at that, so you can expect some gymnastics in vocabulary, some loose unravelling of a thread that dangles pointlessly but prettily. It's a little unfortunate however that this story has already been told - by Eco himself, in a previous novel.

A tale of conspiracies abound in fin-de-siècle Europe, Eco weaves a charming tapestry of real-life characters around the fictional creation of Simone Simonini and his alter ego Abbe Dalla Piccola. Simonini is the grandson of the (real) Italian soldier and captain of the same name who becomes the spider at the centre of a pulsating web of intrigue, a master forger who sells his trade to Italian generals, French spies and Russians who use his gifts for fabrication to influence real life events.

And so we gallivant round Europe with young Simonini as he sinks fleets, helps imprison the elites and kills the innocent. Europe becomes a brothel with everyone screwing everyone, from the Freemasons to the Jesuits to the 19th century's favourite villain, the Jews. There is an exceptionally black mass that may be the high(low)light of the book, depending on your taste.

It's all in a day's work for an antihero but we've been here before. Eco's fascination with the invented influencing the everyday popped up in 1988 under the name Foucault's Pendulum, when a conspiracy theory propagated by three publishers infatuates the wrong sort of people, leading to murder and dizzying levels of mystery.

It's a shame that this isn't quite as good as that book but this is both a clever and educating read. Eco suggested in an interview in 2012 that people were 'bored' and 'wanted to be challenged' in their lives, hence the prevailing popularity of conspiracies.

For the same reasons, you can easily become bored with this book. If you're not a fan of late 19th century European history this will really drag, saturated as it is with both the events and characters of the time. It's occasionally difficult to discern what is relevant to the story and what isn't and some of the recipes propagated by characters like Alexandre Dumas have more flavour than the numerous villains who flit in and out of the shadows. Much like the corkscrew nature of the plot, you might have difficult keeping their names straight.

The Prague Cemetery is a lovely wind-up toy and, depending on your appreciation (I'm a fan) you'll indulge the author to keep winding long after the toy has run down its gears. It would certainly make a fascinating five minute conversation.

Picture courtesy of Non Modern Blog

Frances Ha: Review

Greta Gerwig is wonderful in a film that's tantalising and frustrating in equal measure

There's a great rolling scene in Frances Ha that offers a crystal clear insight into the ethos of both the character and by extension her film. It's the one where Frances, played by Baumbach's wife Greta Gerwig, careens down a New York street ahead of an approaching bus as David Bowie's Modern Love plays over everything.

Frances is smiling and certainly not running; that would imply an exertion that lacks from her existence, but neither is she lazy; rather, like Bowie's lonely, self-sufficient character, her determination to succeed on her own terms makes hers a lonely furrow to plough.

Greta Gerwig gives a standout performances in Frances Ha

The eponymous focal point of this chewy and slightly gooey film, Frances and her spunky backing group of young, hip New Yorkers chatter, eat, drink and are never discontent, despite her stasis in the ballet company she can't get into, her lack of living space and her spiky, loving friendship with publisher Sophie, a performance par excellence by Mickey Sumner.

The film is divided into a series of scenes framed by Frances' living space of choice; she begins by not moving in with her boyfriend and then leaving him, living with Sophie before Sophie moves in with boyf Patch, moving on to Lev and Benji, a charming pair of New York bohos with aspirations they can't quite catch hold of (Benji and Frances are a particularly cute fit as a result) and then, in moves increasingly forced by lack of income, into shared accommodation with a more successful colleague and finally returning to the school she studied at to complete a homecoming of sorts.

That vignette quality never quite goes away and as much as Gerwig creates a wonderfully deep character over the course of the film it's therefore quite difficult to escape from Baumbach's bittersweet concocted world. More so as the whole thing is shot in black and white.

Superficial it ain't but the film's stylistic qualities ironically make it harder for it to seep into the viewer's conscience - whilst there's an immediately obvious Woody Allen reference in the monochrome style, it does very consciously turn in on itself, with the consequence of judging on a lesser set of characteristics.

I hugely enjoyed the performances, particularly Greta Gerwig who's able to convey a thousand disappointments in one brash defensive gesture. At a post-Christmas meal back in New York when, sat with a group of settled, successful lawyers and bankers, Frances quickly gets drunk and starts making the sort of jokes she enjoyed with her now-absent friend Sophie, you quickly and easily empathise with her gloom. Later Frances tries to capture the group's existence - a group she had not met before that night - with a rambling, woozy yet almost poetic speech. Baumbach conveys the audience's sense of pity and wonder perfectly.

Despite the actor and her husband director's best efforts though, this struggles to shake off the weight of the films it harks to. You'll enjoy it, but you might, as Frances does, want to dawdle and watch, rather than keep on running.

Picture courtesy of Mockingbird.com

Love/Hate: S1 Episode 2 Review

Very late thoughts on Episode 2. They're not all positive.

Undoubtedly an incidental fact but the show's title this week perhaps divided its viewers into the two eponymous camps. Admirably quick in getting down to business and setting up new relationships, including some between old flames, it nevertheless promised a great deal more than it delivered and some of the scenes were downright wonky. This week's episode then:

The Party.
Dear God. There's no way of filming this sort of thing successfully if you ask me. Parsing the embarrassment of watching grown men act like children and watching grown men act like grown men acting like children, is a difficult one at the best of times. This was fully like watching TV in the traditional sense, a non-acting hinterland where gurning people shamble around mock props. The blurred lens shots to reflect the coke usage was naff and although the soundtrack was probably dead on (who am I to say?) the whole thing felt deeply superficial.

The Shipment

Nidge: looks menacing, but he's actually called Nigel. Ooooh.

What promises to be the first of many collabs between John Boy and the younger hoods around him wasn't too badly executed, but the chat and camerawork gleamed with a veneer that the show would do well to shake off quickly. There was a great deal of histrionics - a particularly wince-inducing scene between Nigel and Trish was the epitome of the set piece - and again none of it felt particularly close to the bone. Welcome to soap opera territory.

Darren and Rosie
One of the better moments involved Robert Sheehan (again - he's quite interesting to watch) and his on-off partner Rosie (right), abandoned for his continental jaunt and now back within his doe-eyed orbit. This was probably the standout scene and the resumption of their relationship had that inimitable feel of realism. Stumpy, the sharp point of the triangle (way to ruin my metaphor 'Stumpy'), remains a refreshingly unknown quantity with equal displays of faux-gentlemanly behaviour, paranoid suspicion and, at the end, simmering menace.

The Hypnotherapy Guy
Deeply unfair of me but this was a scene The Sopranos could have done in its sleep, and the principal difference is the age gap. When lovely Darren threatens a famous psychic TV personality with extreme violence it's more difficult to believe he'll actually do anything than not, and I guess this is where the boy-band criticism hits home. Tony Sirico would have nailed this. Maybe Sheehan just needs some shell suits and wings in his hair.

 On A Positive Note...
There were some nicely realised character traits. Darren's violent rage at the mystery bin vandal following phone call was intelligent and reasoned, and the ironic scene of Nigel the drug mule accuse the clown hired for his child's birthday of ripping him off was just right. Aiden Gillen powered through the whole thing like he still had David Simon's words ringing in his ears - please don't kill him off! Proof that in small quantities Love/Hate works - but please, less gangster parties.

Pictures courtesy of Irish Independent and Channel 5

Love/Hate: Series One Episode One

The Wire in Eire. The Woire. OK, I'm all out of Wire gags. First episode of Love/Hate reviewed here.

Channel 5's had a distinctly hit and miss record when it comes to importing drama from other shores - for every Walking Dead there's been two Law and Order knock-offs (a show that's proliferated so quickly it could probably have its own channel). There's a long way to go but in Love/Hate, it looks like the buyers might have hit something big.

Latest and Greatest?
Let's get the hyperbole out of the way. Comparisons to The Wire appear a touch misjudged; Sopranos references are well wide of the mark, if only because the scale of The Sopranos was so huge by comparison to TV peers. The Sopranos could also call on genuine Hollywood names - the likes of Joe Pantoliano, Steve Buscemi and the sadly deceased James Gandolfini will not crop up in Love/Hate any time soon.

But..?
On first glance, it does look good. There's certainly a few Wire-esque influences; the bottom-up storytelling through low-level players that made the American show so compelling has been restyled for a modern Ireland here. The grimy views, mundane estates and ever-present gloom are all present and correct. It squints at institutions and mines a rich black vein of humour in moments of tragedy. And it does have one or two very good characters. Aiden Gillen, who plays gangster John Boy Power exudes just the right mix of charm and menace and Nidge could be a great comic foil. A bit of an Irvine Welsh character.

Just your friendly local gangster: Aiden Gillen's John Boy Power

Good Boy Gone Bad
There's a certain irony that Gillen, who played Councilman Tommy Carcetti in the American drama, is now on the other side of the law as John Boy Power, and as an aside it does at least show how versatile Gillen is - Idris Elba got most of the plaudits as Stringer Bell so I'm looking forward to seeing the Irishman in this. Assuming he survives the brutal Dublin environment of course...

Marathon Man
The Wire prided itself on ensuring no-one was off-limits - the murder of Stringer Bell in Season Three was shocking for viewers (Simon later cited it as one of his all-time favourite Wire moments precisely because it was so shocking) - it'll be interesting to see who survives Dublin's gangland ruckus. My early thoughts are Power making it through, given he's Aiden Gillen and all that. Not so sure about Tommy.


Techno File

This handsome chap might kill you. Love/Hate's Darren

TV shows that use current technology to deepen plot always run the gauntlet. But given the ubiquity of it anyway, it'd be ridiculous of writers not to. It can also be what makes the show work - witness Series 1 of The Wire, which involved a giant wiretap operation on budget mobile phones around Baltimore by the city police. And Nidge learning how to use a gun via YouTube does make for interesting character development. Surely that website will come back to haunt him though...

Gangsters, by Chanel
A few people have pointed out this is a good looking cast, considering it's about the Dublin
underworld. I agree. But is it Darren's fault he looks like Danny Cipriani? In the quest for realism in TV, should you pursue a certain type of face? Admittedly there's no one in Love/Hate with a mug like a bag of spuds. But being good looking was never a crime. Which is fortunate, because otherwise this show would be over before it got started.

Love/Hate is on Channel 5 on Wednesday nights at 10pm.

Photos courtesy of What's On TV and Tumblr

The Returned: Final Episode Preview

Series One comes to an end on Sunday, but will the writers of The Returned tie everything up - or keep everyone guessing?

A second series is a doubled edged sword at the best of times. Will the quality drop? Will your favourite character make the cut? Will the writers clearly run out of steam well before the end and settle for an infuriatingly mundane conclusion?

These three issues have cropped up in various shows at different points throughout the last decade and the worst news for me last week was the existence of a second series of The Returned, due to begin filming in early 2014.

They're coming, very slowly.

Not (just) because I want answers. God, do I. But also because the show risks grubbing up its opaque narratives through another eight episodes. It's difficult to argue that the show's numerous mysteries will all be successfully resolved by 10.05pm on Sunday 28th July. But it's equally difficult to differentiate which can 'wait' and which need an answer now.


Nonetheless I do think quite a lot will be explained, particularly after last week's sharp veer into the distinctly supernatural. The return of Simon (again) would be frankly tiresome and would spoil the tone, so he should be explained (did he really commit suicide and why does he keep returning to life?)
 
Simon's relationship with Adele, and her descent into depression and attempted suicide surely can't survive the leap from Series One to Two, particularly after Sunday's shocking images. Expect a tying off there. And what to expect of Serge, mysteriously pulled under the water as he and brother Toni attempted to cross the lake? Possibly the last we've seen... until a shock return next season.

Elsewhere, the mystery of Lucy Clarsen and her psychic sex sessions with the men of the village is coming to its natural conclusion (really, no pun intended) and her presence may well be a big key to the story behind the village and her interesting appeal to the opposite sex. And other more natural elements are revealing things; the water, still draining away and flooding the power station, has uncovered the remnants of a deserted town along with hundreds of dead animals. 



Charming, rugged, kills people: Les Revenants' Serge

Some characters feel set up for the long haul. Victor and Pierre, both deeply unusual people, feel as though they are reaching the top of their character arcs - Victor has awakened from near-catatonic silence in recent weeks to discuss his weird new ability to rekindle horrible memories in physical form. Pierre meanwhile is fast becoming a sort of David Koresh-type figure as he leads the confused population towards 'a new beginning... it will be wonderful.' He is definitely sticking around for series two - expect him to get weirder still.

There are still many more loose ends to be tied up, not least the tenuous, slowly re-blossoming relationship between Julie and Laure, the fractured family unit of Jerome, Claire, Lena and Camille, and of course the true nature of the large group of returned glimpsed at the end of the penultimate episode.

But these should all survive well into the second series. Assuming of course the town makes it to the second series. Wouldn't that be an interesting ending?

Images courtesy of Den of Geek and Between Screens

Les Revenants, Episode Four (Victor)

My thoughts, 24 hours late. Thanks Blogger.

Mostly a really satisfying episode. It's pretty much about the details now I think. Here's what I'm thinking.

Splashing around
The water. You should never put your eggs in one basket, but hey. I'm going to do just that. Here's what's going on: I think I heard from the two dam boffins that this has happened before. There's another charming French town down there. Maybe a bit like this one. Geddit?

Creep roll call
Creep number one trying to outrun a former life (or not): Pierre. Almost omniscient in how he can control the most mundane of circumstances to lure the risen dead to the Helping Hand. Could be a script defect. Almost definitely isn't...

Creep number two: Thomas, who begins the programme as a nice, sensitive guy, gets odder by the episode. Also kind of a jerk to his subordinates. And what of the revelation that Simon may not have died in an 'accident'? Is he a liar too, desperate to keep a family together through his deceit? 



Victor: sinister kid with predilection for horrible drawings.

Poor Victor (sort of).
His absolute lack of speech is explained. He was trying to be quiet 35 years ago when he was murdered by two burglars, one of whom tries to save his life by suggesting he 'sing a song in his head'...

Which he hears again after being taken to the Helping Hand by police who may or may not be complicit in something much bigger. Plus: I must admit I didn't figure Pierre for a burglar.
Nice touch.

Gore department
Lena's horrible incision down her spine is getting grimmer by the episode. Courtesy of creep number three: Jerome, who appears to be getting his end away with a clairvoyant hooker (see Lucy Clarsen WTF) She also appears to share a telekinetic relationship with Camille, her sister (did I miss something here?). And of course the murder from Episode 3. More suspects than a Cluedo convention for that one.

Where the real men at

As of this week's episode, this image just got a lot creepier

I can't even say Claire is a spectacularly bad judge of character here as both men in her life are straight from an Agatha Christie novel. In fact the majority of men in the town are horrible weirdos. Including Serge, who I didn't even mention here.

Bad religion
I'm beginning to think that priest is exceptionally pious. His patronising putdown of Thomas's inquiry into belief in a second life suggested he's well aware of what's coming and is sort of looking forward to it. Git.

Lucy Clarsen WTF
The story I really want to know more about: Lucy Clarsen, contacting the dead, during sex with men. Whaaaaaaaaaaaaat. Is she the centrepiece to the whole mystery? 

Excited for next week.

Pics from The Guardian and Channel 4.com

This Film Is Brought To You By DHL.

World War Z offers more evidence Hollywood should leave the project managers to Barclays and Coca-Cola

Vanity Fair recently ran a piece on tortured zombie thriller World War Z. Refreshingly free of tabloid metaphor, it shone the light on a movie which had turned out to be spectacularly difficult to create, which resulted in some high up people decided meant that it would arrive at cinemas much like its subject. Cue rewrites, a recut ending and a meeting between actor/backer Brad Pitt and scriptwriter/gun-for-hire Damon Lindelof in a faintly Lynchian sequence.

The main thrust of the article gave precedence to 'budget', 'location' and 'different motivations' as explanatory reasons for the failure of WWZ to successfully coalesce as one piece. A rationale that seems a little out of place for a film and more in keeping with, say, a logistics company, or a multinational media conglomerate.

'Wales? No way am I shooting in Wales!'

Not to be trusted with money by themselves it seems, directors are handed consultant-type figures to refer to in monetary matters. Because of the new 'virgin' talent walking into the industry, often directing films with massive budgets after one or two successful (much smaller) films, their effective handlers keep an eye on times, finances and other such things. One such figures was touted as the man 'who brought Michael Bay in on time and under budget.' You have to wonder what Bay's job is if it isn't splashing enormous sums of cash on special effects (I thought that was his raison d'etre, to be honest) because he's certainly pretty negligent at the directing stuff based on films like Transformers 2.

Why does a film require a project manager? Why do 'budget and logistics' hobble a movie before it has got going? It's pretty much one thing: perception of what its audience wants.

Attempts to create an Eiffel Tower out of people were going well.

It seems that boredom is the ever-present core of movies like World War Z. You can hear marketing, cinematographers and special effects co-ordinators triangulating in on the oversaturated consciousness of the moviegoer. Bored? Look at this! Still bored? We've got more of it, in a different country. Ah, that's perked you up. How about this?

None of this solves a terrible script, and guess what? World War Z hasn't fared well, critically.
Like the 'Z' of the title, it shambles into areas it has no previous experience of and feels patched up - probably because it was written by at least two different people.

But commercially it's done fine - well done to all you second-line departments who came together when the script turned out to be a turkey. And WWZ won't be the last big-budget film ($210-$250 million according to Slate's sources) to swim on its less artistic merits.

Demand v supply is a chicken and egg argument at its heart, but the effect of thousands of extras running up a hill like ants attacking a dead animal in Malta (above) is not necessarily rabid demand for more of the same. But it does involve some difficult decisions being made about who's really making a movie.

Pictures courtesy of io9.com and justjared.com

Les Revenants/ The Returned Ep 3: Julie.

Subtitles distract me from the fact I'm watching adverts. They add a veneer of class. Plus: what I thought of this week's Les Revenants (oooh, c'est tres mysterieux!)

My first thoughts were 'This is probably going to be better than World War Z.' So far, that's held out. They're not zombies, but they are the living dead. So the comparison's fair, in my eyes.

Everyone in the world knows Batman's not a real superhero, it seems. Good work scriptwriters.

Creepy children will be creepy. It doesn't seem to matter how many you see of them, and I saw a lot of J-horror between 2002-2005. Like them, Victor also seems to possess vaguely supernatural powers, but no one is really sure. He does like biscuits, and drawing.

What's that thing on Lena's back?

Sisters Lena and Camille. One of them is dead. It's the one on the right.

Even commonplace devices in supernatural dramas like mirrors are used sparingly here, and in a very matter-of-fact way. Not to say the thing isn't stylish, but it's not explicitly a TV programme you're watching, which is nice considering the faintly baffling subject matter.

How the hell does Thomas have access to all those security cameras? Shouldn't he have a reason for watching this stuff, rather than just snooping on his wife?

There's an implicit sexuality in voyeurism.

Simon is quite a boring dead guy. I preferred the goofy bassist. How come he doesn't have any scars, like Julie? Wasn't he hit by a car?

That priest is a bit too chipper for my liking. Always smiling, even at funerals.

Stop doing that Batman. You're still not a superhero.

This was the episode that became momentarily cinematic, albeit ever-so-subtly. The scene in the hallway of the flats where Julie lives was wonderfully creepy. I even said 'not again' when the hooded guy appeared. Incidentally will the others suffer similar post-trauma flashbacks? That would be interesting.

The final scene: bravo. Camera slowly peeking round corner at the deceased neighbour was horrible yet delicately handled and a clever, sour contrast to the previous three scenes of punchy emotion. Question marks over the perpetrator.

The cockroach. Filed this one alongside the lake's receding waters under 'weird abstract motif'. Don't get it yet, but these snippets are one of the main reasons I keep coming back.

Pictures courtesy of The Daily Telegraph and... erm, The Daily Telegraph.

Deeply Personal.

Some thoughts I had whilst away in Portugal:

1. A holiday is a great way to fish through the waste disposal unit of your personality. I found myself staring into it a few times. There was some junk in there, I won't lie.
2. Categorizing things isn't always the most amenable option to your consciousness (got that joke out of the way early. Does poor timing, explicitly stated, = good timing?)
3. Random Access Memories IS a good record. But not as good as it ought to have been.
4. Expanding a little, the shuffle facility works best when walking through a place you've been many times. For a different atmosphere, select an album prior to every new experience.
5. If Teju Cole thinks cooking is good for the spirit (my term), I'm really happy with that. And I'll be cooking more, better stuff very soon. I might even blog about it.
6. Reading everything is better than reading nothing. My two reads last week: Orhan Pamuk's The New Life and Nancy Jo Sales' The Bling Ring. I enjoyed both enormously, for different reasons.
7. Make a point of turning on yourself regularly. Thoughts get crazy without you there.
8. When holidays make you think of more holidays you know you're in a good place. I made a list. San Francisco, India, Florence and Sydney (again) are on my list. Plus many more.
9. Mexican food is absolutely incredible.
10. Writing less is both good for the spirit - you always finish ahead of time - and forces you (me) to think harder to get what you want out of you. That's rewarding.