Tag Archives: Errol Flynn Filmhouse

The First (Maybe) Annual Effie Awards – Errol Flynn Filmhouse, Northampton, 21st June 2014

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Can you believe it’s been a year since the Errol Flynn Filmhouse first opened its sumptuous auditorium to the cinemagoers of Northampton? It certainly changed how Mrs Chrisparkle and I think of cinema. No more those tacky venues that masquerade as candy stores designed to sell you a plastic bucket of coke, a basket of hotdogs and hamburgers, and a suitcase of popcorn, with the occasional cinema ticket thrown in for good measure. No more limiting yourself to American yoof “comedies”, blood ‘n’ guts horror-thrillers, and mainstream Hollywood blockbusters. The Errol Flynn provides us with somewhere in the centre of town that offers a wide range of films from all over the world designed to make you think, make you see life in a different way, and to give you some alternatives to the usual movie titles that monopolise every multiplex across the land.

And they treat you like adults too. Reclining leather seats, first class sound and picture systems, a quality choice of food and drink, with small tables to the side of each seat to place your real glass of wine or beer, or proper cup of tea or coffee. No wonder that the cinema has the honour of being Northamptonshire’s No 1 attraction on Trip Advisor.

To mark its first anniversary, regular customers were asked to vote in the first Effie Awards, to select the favourite films shown over the past twelve months in a number of categories. And on Saturday morning there was a star-studded ceremony (even if all the stars attending were only on screen rather than in person) to celebrate and announce the awards. So whilst we knocked back our Bucks Fizzes and nibbled at our Errol Flynn cupcakes, we were welcomed by our Master of Ceremonies, the Royal and Derngate’s Chief Executive, Martin Sutherland, and in turn he introduced several R&D/EF colleagues, who were holders of exciting-looking golden envelopes, to come forward to reveal the winners in each category.

The first category was Best of the Biggest Selling Films, and this was the category in which I had seen the majority of the nominees. I had voted for Behind the Candelabra, but, perhaps unsurprisingly, the winner was 12 Years A Slave, and it’s hard to deny this was an extraordinary film, albeit not an easy watch. Steve McQueen and the team were sadly unable to be there, but I’m sure they’ll be thrilled with the award to go alongside their Oscars. After each award was presented, we watched the official trailer for the film, as you can do now if you like:

The next category was Best Classic Film, and from a choice of notable black and white favourites, the winner was It’s A Wonderful Life, much to the delight of many in the audience. James Stewart was unable to be there to accept his award, for several reasons. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen this film, but watching the trailer reminded me of why it remains such a favourite.

Moving on to the Best Documentary Film, and again agreeing with this year’s Oscar committee, the Effie went to 20 Feet From Stardom, which I haven’t seen but looked really entertaining in the trailer. It’s a look at those unknown backing singers who have supported the world’s most famous and best-loved music stars, and an understanding of their role in creating definitive performances and recordings.

The next category was Best Live Event. Not only does the Errol Flynn show a wide range of films, but it’s also noted for its NT Live/RSC live relays, where you can see a live theatrical, opera or ballet performance from anywhere in the world, almost as if you were there. We’ve not attended one of these yet, which is a sin of omission on our part – unfortunately they tend to start at 7pm which is just a bit early for us. Still, one day we will. Also considered for this category was the EF’s live Eurovision night, bringing the camp glamour of the Beloved Contest to the big screen and an excuse for a party. But the winner in this category was the NT Live presentation of War Horse, a production we still haven’t seen, but which hopefully will be touring in the near future.

Then there was an award for the Best Film or Documentary Not in the English Language. I hadn’t seen any of the contenders, but the winner was the intriguing looking Stranger By The Lake, a French thriller that had been shown as part of the EF’s regular LGBT film club, Q-Film.

They had a category called Best Under The Radar Film – this category covers all those niche movies that could never commercially sustain a long run in Northampton but which really put the Art into Arthouse. Again, I hadn’t seen the winner – Inside Llewyn Davis – but it looks a complete treat from the trailer. Definitely need to catch this one.

The final category was simply to select the Errol Flynn audiences’ favourite film of the year, and with some fantastic runners-up, the winner was Philomena – which again we haven’t seen although we really wanted to; every time it was shown we always had other commitments! Nevertheless, having seen the trailer again it really whetted our appetite to see it.

So there you have it, this year’s Effie awards, and the winners represent a very wide range of talent and achievement that’s both representative of the film industry as a whole and a credit to the Errol Flynn and the good taste of its audiences. It’s a bit late for New Year’s Resolutions – but a Mid Year Resolution for us should be to see more films! And I can’t think of a better place to see them.

Review – The Grand Budapest Hotel, Errol Flynn Filmhouse, Northampton, 31st March 2014

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To be fair, gentle reader, we probably weren’t sufficiently match-fit to see this film. Mrs Chrisparkle and I have been on our travels again and haven’t really been home long enough to regroup. Thus tiredness, jetlag, and upset tummies are still taking their toll. Nevertheless we went, as I was looking forward to this film as I’d seen the trailer last time we went to the cinema and it looked like it would be dashed funny.

And indeed it is. The Grand Budapest Hotel itself stands as a monument to faded glory in the heart of fictional Zubrowka, and its owner, Zero Moustafa, invites one of its few guests to have dinner with him in order to explain how he came to possess such an extraordinary building. The majority of the film is one long flashback, as young Zero, the lobby boy, accompanies charismatic concierge Gustave on their quest to prove Gustave’s innocence of the murder of Madame D, whilst securing her valuable painting – his inheritance – “Boy with Apple” – in the process. The plot takes many unlikely and wacky turns and moves at a fast and furious pace, including chases, prison break-outs, handling intimidating military police and a wonderfully ludicrous shoot-out across the landings of the hotel. Think Mel Brooks at his zaniest mixed with a touch of The Pink Panther, a hint of Feydeau Farce and all dressed up in classy art deco style and you have something of the feel of this film.

However, you also need to be fully alert and, above all, consistently awake to appreciate all its finer points. Hence my introduction above; unfortunately Mrs C and I spent the evening nodding off despite the fact that we were really enjoying it. You know that feeling when you just can’t keep your eyes open even though you desperately want to stay awake; so you risk a brief eyelid droop when you think nothing’s going to happen for the next minute or so, and you think you can still keep with the plot – and then you’re awoken by the rest of the audience suddenly laughing and you realise you missed a good bit. Well I had quite a lot of that.

It’s all delightful to look at with terrific attention to detail, capturing the hotel both in its heyday chic and in its latter-day distress. The script is wry, without ever being laugh out loud hilarious. It’s beautifully crafted with its mixture of screen aspect ratios and the music by Alexandre Desplat perfectly matches the story and characters. At the heart of the film is a wonderfully quirky performance by Ralph Fiennes as Gustave, the Clark Gable of concierges, elegant and refined, courteous and charming, but with the ability to burst the bubble of pretentiousness with uproarious coarse language when you’re not expecting it. Following him like a faithful bloodhound is 17 year old Tony Revolori as the young Zero – hilariously impassive while all sorts of ridiculous things happen all around him until he suddenly spurts into action – a bit like the cartoon dog Droopy but not quite so lugubrious. The only time Zero has to face up to his boss is when Gustave slides into flirtatiousness with Zero’s girlfriend, the lovely Agatha, played with gentle humour by Saoirse Ronan. The surrounding cast include such notables as Jeff Goldblum, F Murray Abraham, Jude Law, Harvey Keitel, Tilda Swinton and Tom Wilkinson, all of whom bring their own touches of magic to their roles.

It’s all purely for fun; there’s no great secret message hidden away for us to learn from, or innovative insight into the human condition, just a farcical cavorting around some Ruritanian backwater, and the happy news that the good guys win in the end (at least temporarily). I’m sure it’s even better than I have described – but I was probably asleep through those bits.

Review – 12 Years a Slave, Errol Flynn Filmhouse, Northampton, 5th February 2014

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I’m not sure I’ve ever really seriously thought about slavery before. In an abstract sense, yes of course, one knows that it is a terrible thing and that Wilberforce was a good man, but that merely scratches a tiny part of the surface. If I thought about it all, I would come up with the fact that you have no freedom, you work hard hours every day and probably have little to eat and drink and no real place to live. If I thought of slave traders, I would think of some fictional character like that in Le Corsaire, or 1001 Nights, something out of Kismet, or Up Pompeii. If I thought of their masters, I would probably envisage some mean ogre of a swine towering above a bunch of workers, threatening them with (but maybe not using) a whip. If I thought of the slaves themselves, I’m not sure what I would envisage; probably nothing more horrific than Paul Robeson singing Ol’ Man River. But having now seen 12 Years a Slave, I am ashamed of that ignorance.

This film paints a very different picture. I could not have imagined the sadistic relish with which the slave handlers whip and torture their slaves within an inch of their life – or if they went an inch too far, who cares. I could not have imagined the slave purchasing process, taking the wife and kids out dressed in their smart suits and crinolines, to inspect, prod, slap and humiliate naked men and women in someone’s fancy drawing room. I could not have imagined the sense of fear that meant that when your fellow slaves were being beaten, whipped or hanged you had no choice but simply to look away with no outward emotion. I could not have imagined that a slave would be required to whip another slave whilst their master and mistress ogled the process with glee. I could not have imagined the association of these vile landowner slave-owning families with adherence to their Christian God. I could not have imagined that the women were as happy to abuse their slaves as the men. I could not have imagined that you could buy a slave with a mortgage. I could go on.

This is not an easy film to watch. I underestimated the grit and determination that Mrs Chrisparkle and I would need to see it to the end. We are not used to watching violence, but the violence in this film is shocking, sadistic, visceral, graphic; yet perfectly justified. The personal tragedies that unfold on the screen split husband from wife and family, mother from children; and if these victims show too much emotion, or challenge an injustice, they die; disposed of as a no longer needed commodity, like a worn-out pair of pants; but not just slung away in a bin, ripped to shreds first.

I think one of the things that subtly emphasises the horror of this true story of a free black man in 1840s Saratoga, New York, who was tricked into being drugged and overpowered to be sold as a slave, is the fact that it is a very beautiful film. That irony is clear throughout – stunning cinematography, great acting, great costumes, beautiful sets, and a marvellous soundtrack. Those gorgeous captures of sunsets over the Mississippi are to die for; trouble is, uncountable thousands (millions?) of slaves did just that. It’s so striking that all this beauty is based on such ugliness; the immaculate and expensive Sunday-best clothes of the families, the stately residences and outhouses that the slaves build, are all at an inestimable cost of life and humanity. It made me want to go over to America, find some of those beautiful houses and torch them. Mrs C tried to pacify me by saying that previous generations have probably already done it.

Chiwetel Ejiofor puts in an immense performance as the formerly free Solomon, full of dignity and despair at injustice, perpetually hanging on to some distant hope that life remains worth living. Lupita Nyong’o is incredibly moving as the devastatingly abused Patsey, raped by her master, assaulted by her mistress in return, and almost flayed alive as a punishment for absenteeism to procure a small bar of soap, to which she pathetically hangs on during her torture. Michael Fassbender is very strong (in more ways than one) as the Biblically unstable landowner Epps and Sarah Paulson unnervingly brilliant as the vile Mrs Epps, of whom I could only say at the end, taking the words of Willy Russell’s Rita, “wasn’t his wife a cow”.

If you survive the 134 minutes of unrelenting misery (Mrs C’s description), at the end you feel flat, wasted, despairing of humanity, and guilty about your own freedom; well we did. Never has quaffing a superb Argentinian Malbec during a film, whilst luxuriating in the Errol Flynn’s fantastic leather seats, felt quite so shallow. For me, I accepted the film for what I take it was meant to be – a no-punches-pulled drama about the inhumanity of slavery. But Mrs C’s reaction was far more morose. The violence was just too much for her, and even if the film had decent motives, she couldn’t help think, what’s the point; there is still people-trafficking and slavery, there is still discrimination, prejudice and brutality against our fellow men; as a planet we have learned nothing about how to live as one. I could barely get another word out of her all night. So take note chaps, this is not a good movie for a date.

A very fine film, yes, and no doubt an important one too. But check your tick boxes before committing to it – it can make you feel desperately sad, much more than you would expect; with side effects of high-level anxiety, guilt and worthlessness that take between twelve and twenty-four hours before starting to pass out of your system.

Review – Saving Mr Banks, Errol Flynn Filmhouse, Northampton, 23rd December 2013

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Back in 1982 I was invited to an Honorary Degree Ceremony at the University of London’s Senate House. HRH Princess Anne was there to bestow the honours; among the recipients was Peter Parker, at that time Chairman of British Railways. Why am I telling you this? Because there was a military band present at the reception playing light classics to accompany our glasses of champagne and the song they played that most sticks in my mind as being a brilliant choice for such an occasion, was a wonderful oom-pah version of “A Spoonful of Sugar”.

One of the things I really enjoyed about Saving Mr Banks was the opportunity to get a little more insight into Robert and Richard Sherman, who wrote the music for not only Mary Poppins, but also, inter alia, The Jungle Book, The Happiest Millionaire, and Chitty Chitty Bang Bang – four of the most entertaining film music scores you could imagine. Actually I found it impossible to keep my feet and legs from twitching musically as the film showed some of the songs being put through their paces in the Disney studios’ rehearsal room; sorry to those seated around me. But just to put on record; how much cheer and happiness has been spread around the world due to the Sherman brothers’ partnership – thanks for everything you wrote.

Back to the matter in hand: Saving Mr Banks is a delightful, thoughtful, and emotional film that takes the experiences of Mrs P. L. Travers as she visits Los Angeles to discuss and collaborate with the Disney creative team who hope to get Mary Poppins on celluloid; and contrasts those experiences with her own childhood in Allora, Queensland (which I think counts as back of Bourke) and her close relationship with her father. It could have been just a standard biopic – there’s a lot of humour to be drawn from the prickly Pam Travers resisting the perceived tastelessness of the Disney machine – but by delving deeper into her emotions and unfinished family issues you get a greater understanding of her priorities and motivations. As soon as you see her pelting pears into the Beverly Hills Hotel swimming pool, you know that there’s something not quite right going on. She equates the character of Mr Banks with her father; loving, but stuck in a starchy job that makes him absent and prone to irascibility. We also meet her Aunt Ellie, who suddenly appears at the house to help her mother with the chores whilst the father is languishing in his sickbed. She has a black coat, a carpetbag and an umbrella with a bird’s head as a finial. Yes, it’s the real Mary Poppins.

In Allora, the young P. L. (or Ginty as she was known then) witnesses the slow decline of her father’s health, caused or at least exacerbated by his dependence on alcohol. She sees him lose control at work in the bank and get fired (subsequently to get reinstated by his begrudging boss); she sees him passionately advocating bank accounts for children as a way of introducing them to a mature way of life; she sees him fall off the stage at a fair where he is awarding the prizes; and she sees the devastating effect of his alcoholism on her mother. The scene where her mother has finally come to the end of her tether and walks out on Ginty really had me watery round the eyeballs, soft old thing that I am. Hence the older P. L. prefers to take tea rather than alcohol in bars, has an aversion to that particular fruit, prefers children to be treated as adults and has the need to protect the reputation of Mr Banks as not a monster but as a kind man who likes to play. It takes the Sherman Brothers’ “Let’s Go Fly a Kite” to turn P. L. around and give at least some form of consent to the film being made, as it finally affirms to her all the good qualities she remembers of her father.

Mind you, P. L. (don’t call me Pamela) isn’t the only one to have issues. Although it’s never directly stated, you definitely get the feeling that Uncle Walt also wants Mr Banks to represent Disney-the-man in some way. P. L. doesn’t want him to have moustaches – flashback to a conversation Ginty has with her clean shaven father; whereas Walt insists on the moustaches, proudly massaging his own set back into place. Moustaches win – and David Tomlinson gets to play the iconic Mr Banks. The chief strength of the film is in the development of the characters – not only the way P. L. comes out of her shell and starts coming to terms with her past, but also how Walt also learns how not everybody responds to Disneyfication in the same way.

At the heart of the film is a stunning performance by Emma Thompson as P. L. Travers. She absolutely conveys the tight-lipped disdain of anything American and open-hearted, and bitterness of someone who can’t quite allow others to enjoy themselves; and it’s consequently beautiful when she finally lifts some of her own veils, playing in the grass with her driver Ralph (very thoughtfully and kindly played by Paul Giamatti) and even adding a drop of whisky to her tea. It’s a really convincing and masterful performance. Tom Hanks is exactly how I would imagine Walt Disney to be on a good day, when he’s trying to get what he wants by being nice – totally convincing. He even managed to make the only really sloppy/sentimental speech in the entire film (when Walt is delivering his final syrupy salvo to make P. L. see sense) sound bearable.

Jason Schwartzman and B. J. Novak make very credible Sherman brothers, spending day and night pounding at the piano, changing something good into something perfect, trying to charm their esteemed guest into accepting their work. There’s a very funny scene where Mr Novak, tired and fed up, challenges P. L. on one of her quibbles, and she just dismisses him from the room like a naughty schoolboy, and he slumps off, speechless. The shared facial expressions between the brothers speak volumes throughout the film – an excellent pairing. There are also very moving performances by Colin Farrell as the father, pathetically inadequate without the boost of alcohol yet with a heart full of love and kindness, Ruth Wilson as her exhausted and frayed mother and Annie Rose Buckley as young Ginty, wide eyes taking in all the happiness and sadness that constantly besets her; even if in her first few scenes her happy face expresses not so much an unquestioning love for her daddy but more “I can’t believe I’m actually acting with Colin Farrell!”

This is a really affecting and thoughtful film. If you like Mary Poppins then you will find this a fascinating background accompaniment to an old favourite. Even if you don’t, it’s still a great insight into how a creative writer can look upon their fictitious creations as part of the family, to be protected at all costs. And Emma Thompson’s performance is one of the best I’ve seen for years. Terrific!

Review – Gravity (3D), Errol Flynn Filmhouse, Northampton, 3rd December 2013

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Cancel that application to join NASA – I’ve changed my mind about wanting to be a spaceman. If you’ve ever wondered what it would be like to be floating around a Space Station somewhere in the vasty void out there, this has got to be as good an insight as you would get from the safety of Planet Earth. Jolly badinage abounds out there between the Space Operatives as they go about day-to-day maintenance in the great unknown, but when debris from a missile strike on a defunct satellite by those pesky Ruskies starts heading their way, things get seriously problematic. That’s when you discover the “gravity” of the situation (geddit?) and Dr Ryan Stone, played with great conviction by Sandra Bullock, ends up having the most unlucky day at work imaginable.

There’s no doubt that this is an absolutely extraordinary film. The sense of outer space is vivid, scary, and beautiful, and I haven’t seen such exciting 3D effects since enjoying the John Barrowman Birmingham panto a few years ago. The music and sound effects are also really stirring and exciting – a build-up of rowdy noise will accompany a tense, suspenseful scene, and then will instantly change to silence as our heroes (briefly) escape one calamitous situation before awaiting the next. There’s a terrific juxtaposition between the hugeness of space and the tininess of the spacecraft and the fragility of the human body. I have to say, I had my heart in my mouth for at least half the film.

Fortunately I managed to overcome the sentimentality of much of the dialogue as I really wanted to enjoy this film; however its schmaltziness was over-the-top for Mrs Chrisparkle, who found it just too drippy. I guess realistically if you were in their shoes, hanging on a thread in the great beyond, you probably would talk about all those personal issues and have a photo of your family attached to your spacesuit; however, I could sense Mrs C going “oh purrlease” and “oh forchrissake” everytime another clichéd syrupy sentence hit the cosmic vacuum. There is also the pleasure – if that is the right word – of witnessing George Clooney running the gamut of wisecrack from A to Z even when he is at the end of his tether (literally). Is his character’s vain light-heartedness believable under such circumstances? That’s hard to answer.

The opening credits are as minimalist as you could ever expect to see, directing the audience’s attention straight to the opening scenario and the uneasily prosaic nature of the standard maintenance work performed against such an unprosaic background. This is basically a two-hander, and it’s not often you see one of those as a film – in fact, I can’t think of another. There are a few other characters who you just hear rather than see, but it’s mainly just Miss Bullock and Mr Clooney versus the universe. As Miss Bullock hops from space station to space station, I was impressed with her ability to operate the machinery when all the instructions are in Cyrillic, but surprised that she wasn’t able to crack the Chinese alphabet. You would have thought that would have been part of the training, just in case. Suffice to say she makes it back, even if not quite on dry land, and boy will she deserve that evening gin-and-tonic.

Visually stunning, an assault on the senses, plenty of suspense and a celebration of indomitable spirit; let down a bit by the sticky sweet script, but pacily packed into a thrilling 90 minutes. I’d definitely recommend it, and go for a 3D screening as the effects work brilliantly.

Review – Le Week-End, Errol Flynn Filmhouse, Northampton, 28th October 2013

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Well it was all rather a strange evening really. When we arrived at the Errol Flynn Filmhouse (still the best ever place you could possibly wish to see a film) the foyer was packed with noisy boozers. We couldn’t believe it – normally there’s a small queue of people wishing to take advantage of the innovative food and drink provision before taking it into the cinema, but this was like a party. When I eventually got to the counter to order our Argentinian Malbecs (delish as always) I asked the chap serving if the place had suddenly got extremely popular. Apparently it was a birthday party group who had seen the earlier film and had decided they didn’t want to leave! Anyway we got our drinks and fought our way into the auditorium.

The announced time on the tickets is for when the film is due to start. 8.30pm. There’s always 15 minutes or so of adverts and trailers beforehand – you know the score. Anyway, 8.27, 8.28, 8.29 came round and the auditorium was in silence. No trailers, no nothing. We predicted a problem. Mrs Chrisparkle expected to finish her Malbec, reclining in her plush leather chair, and then go home. But no, at 8.32 a little voice popped in to say there were technical problems but it would be starting very shortly. And indeed, so it did – lots of adverts. By about 8.50 another usher emerged and said they would stop all the adverts now and go straight into the film.

No criticism of the cinema intended, but it was already turning into a Long Week-End. However, once the film had finished it felt like a very long Week-End indeed. Actually the film is relatively short but it felt like an eternity. Looking at the reviews, this is definitely a Marmite film; I read a five star review of it that absolutely loved all the aspects of it that we absolutely hated. It all goes to prove that reviews are simply personal reflections of the artistic experience, and we’re all different.

The problem with this film starts with the trailer. If ever a promotional item gave you the wrong idea about the content of the main product, this is the one. Is there an Advertising Standards Agency watchdog for film trailers? Ofmovie, perhaps? This would be an excellent topic for their scrutineers. You would think it was going to be a Rom Com for sixty-somethings; a couple going to Paris for the weekend to celebrate an anniversary and rekindle their flagging relationship. We’d seen the trailer a few weeks ago, where Lindsay Duncan and Jim Broadbent traipse from restaurant to restaurant saying “no, too touristy”, “no, not enough people”, “no, too many people” etc, etc, and that’s precisely what we do in a foreign city. We knew instinctively that we would identify with these people, and get a feelgood throb from seeing them grow back together.

But instincts can sometimes be wrong. For a Rom Com, there was precious little to laugh at, and when it ended, everyone left feeling as flat as a pancake. The cinema was full of middle-aged couples who obviously all expected to identify with the characters in the same way; and if you have the remotest amount of self-respect you couldn’t possibly. Actually, the film is about a couple who have been married for forty years and have become desperately cruel to each other, despite occasional highlights of mutual understanding. It’s not really a comedy because there’s not a lot funny in it; it’s hardly a tragedy (at least in the classical sense) because you have no sense of anyone being particularly heroic. I’m not really sure what it is. Not so much a Rom Com, more an Argu Tede.

On paper it looks like a winning combination. Lindsay Duncan and Jim Broadbent are always brilliant in everything they do. They’re in Paris; that glorious city of dreams. A couple in a flagging relationship take a weekend away to regroup. It’s got to be a winner, no? What they don’t take into account is the fact that, for the most part, it’s quite boring – there’s an excellent climactic dinner party scene, but it’s incredibly slow to get there; it’s self-indulgent, self-pitying, feels totally inconsequential and above all, it’s thoroughly amoral. The only thing that seems to unite this couple is a desire to go to expensive restaurants and do a runner. They stay at a very posh hotel and ruin the walls. They run up bills they cannot pay. Basically this film celebrates illegality and irresponsibility, and the kind of behaviour most middle-class middle-aged people would despise in younger people.

There were things I liked; I liked the structure of the film, in that it started with the beginning of the weekend, with them on the train to London, and ended with the end of the weekend, with them abnegating their responsibilities by dancing in a café when by rights they should be doing the washing up. There was no faffing around with unnecessary introduction. I liked Paris – it was certainly the most enjoyable thing on screen and makes a superb setting for any film. We thought Jim Broadbent gave a very good performance as the desperately sad Nick; however, Mrs C’s observation about Lindsay Duncan’s performance as Meg is that she has turned into a kind of female Bill Nighy, all throw-away lines, self-conscious posturing and “look at me” glances to camera. Jeff Goldblum was also very good as Nick’s old college friend, and I felt very sorry for him when Nick and Meg just walk out on his party without saying goodbye. But then, that’s just the kind of people they are.

What progress is made in their relationship over the course of the weekend? All I could detect was that on the first evening Nick has a phone conversation with their son who is obviously having domestic difficulties, and Nick would like him and his family to return home whilst Meg is dead against it; by the end of the weekend, Nick too is putting him off from returning home – not in a decent way, mind; he said no and then whilst the son was remonstrating, he just pretended that the phone line had cut out. Coward. Apart from that, I didn’t get a sense of an increased understanding between the two characters; but then, so what, I really didn’t care either.

When we did finally emerge into the open air, Mrs C was amazed that it was only twenty past ten; that 93 minutes was amongst the longest we’ve endured. Our energy and enthusiasm had been completely sapped by the film and its unpleasant characters. We did briefly wonder on the way home how they will get themselves out of their unresolved pickle at the end of the film, but then came to our senses as we asked, “who cares?”

Review – About Time, Errol Flynn Filmhouse, Northampton, 25th September 2013

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Writers love to mess about with the concept of time, don’t they? J B Priestley was never happier than when he was plotting a Dangerous Corner or having a mystical Inspector Call; he even wrote a play called “I Have Been Here Before”. Ayckbourn is fascinated by time and has set different plays all performing at the same time in different parts of the same house; or with alternative endings depending on the toss of a coin; or indeed playing around with Communicating Doors, entering and exiting into time itself. And then there’s Doctor Who of course; and a whole raft of science fiction.

Now it’s Richard Curtis’ turn to dabble with this concept, in his latest rom com, About Time. It’s an elegantly written, mischievous tale about a family where the males have a secret gift – they can go back in time. All they have to do is go into a cupboard, clench their fists and whoosh, they return to a moment they had previously indexed to amend, rectify, and generally tinker with the past. Young Tim is of course highly suspicious of his newly discovered gift, and does what any young man would do under such circumstances – goes back and attempts to enhance his love life.

But that’s not quite as easy as it sounds, as women have a mind of their own too. If the course of true love never did run smooth that’s even more the case when you have the ability to rewind and erase. Nevertheless, by a devious trick of time he snatches his newly found beloved away within seconds of her otherwise falling for a jerk at a party and they all live happily ever after.

That’s just a small part of the plot. Richard Curtis is unbeatable at creating hapless but kindly men who need a damn good love affair but who go about it in the most awkward way possible. Tim is a natural successor to Charles in Four Weddings and Will in Notting Hill, just more ginger. His characters give hope to hapless, hopeless men all over the world – on behalf of all such chaps, Mr Curtis has done us a great service – and, as always, the hopeless man succeeds (against all odds) with a beautiful woman. Tim is a very believable, likeable chap and you really want his blossoming romance to come to fruition. This element of the film is extremely heart-warming; and the comedy that ensues from it, as it does from the whole time travel story, is top notch. Indeed, some sequences in this film had me in complete stitches.

There is another side to it though – a rather sentimental side. Can you turn back time in order to avoid a horrific car crash, or a terminal disease? The former – not without other disastrous consequences; the latter – not at all. Does the sentimental side work? Well it certainly pings on your heartstrings and ends up boiling over with emotions, albeit in a terribly British, reserved sort of way. At least two ladies in the audience were moved to tears, and one actually had to leave the auditorium for a few minutes to compose herself. Whilst the plot never became unbelievable (apart from its central theme), I did feel that it dipped into mawkishness just a little to much. I won’t say anymore – I’ve probably already told you too much of the plot anyway. You’ll just have to go and see it to decide for yourself.

It’s crammed full of excellent performances, both in the leads and in the smaller parts too. I’ve not seen Domhnall Gleeson before and he’s absolutely brilliant as Tim, his hopeless haplessness gently developing into confidence and maturity. Rachel McAdams (also new to us) is Mary, the object of Tim’s desire, and she’s superb at conveying the sexiness of the start of a new relationship. It’s a great comic performance throughout. It goes without saying that Bill Nighy and Lindsay Duncan as Tim’s parents, are completely fantastic and steal virtually every scene they are in. Lydia Wilson is both feral and innocent as Kit Kat, Tim’s sister, and there’s great support too from Tom Hollander as the self-obsessed playwright friend of Tim’s father, Vanessa Kirby as Mary’s unreliably wild friend Joanna, Margot Robbie as Kit Kat’s glamorous pal Charlotte and Joshua McGuire as Tim’s nice-but-thoroughly-useless colleague Rory. It’s a very enjoyable and engrossing story and well worth seeing – just remember to take tissues for when it overdoses in schmaltz!

Review – Alan Partridge: Alpha Papa, Errol Flynn Filmhouse, Northampton, 1st September 2013

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Knowing me, Mr Chrisparkle, knowing you, gentle reader, A-HA! Sorry, couldn’t resist that. If you don’t know what that refers to, then obviously you’re not a fan of the early Alan Partridge, in which case I am slightly wondering why you are interested in an opinion about his latest and indeed only film, “Alan Partridge: Alpha Papa”. If Alan Partridge is a new comic creation to you, then you ought to know that he’s a narcissistic knob who was once a sports reporter on Radio Norwich, then promoted beyond his capabilities to host his own dire chat show, but who today is propping up the airwaves on some backwater station called North Norfolk Digital with the show “Mid Morning Matters”. If you have loved all Mr Partridge’s TV and radio appearances over the last twenty years you will know that, depending on the script, this would be either 0% or 100% hilarious.

100% it is. North Norfolk Digital is being bought out by a media conglomerate with no feeling for its slightly more middle-aged audience, and is only interested in yoof breakfast shows fronted by a smarmy young git who deplores anything aged over 23. Alan is confident that the new regime will respect his broadcasting gifts and keep him on the payroll, but aging DJ colleague Pat Farrell, played by Colm Meaney, fears it’s the end for him and his night-time radio snoozathon. Realising that it’s either Pat or Alan who has to go, Alan betrays Pat to the radio board, Pat gets sacked and Alan keeps his job. However, Pat doesn’t take this lying down and holds half the radio station staff hostage in a bizarre shotgun siege, and Alan is sent in to negotiate. Enough plot summary – you’ll have to watch the film to see how it works out.

As you might have guessed it’s a double spoof – not only the whole Alan Partridge/North Norfolk Digital thing (alas I have to break it to you that neither really exist) but also of the Hollywood hostage siege genre with Alan as a kind of East Anglian Bruce Willis. In many respects it’s quite a moral story – a criticism of big business barging its way into the everyday lives of ordinary people whom it is happy to destroy without any consideration for the personal fallout. However, with Alan Partridge at the helm, any moral turpitude is likely to stem from him. You’ll be delighted to know that his character is still as full of questionable taste, supreme arrogance, woeful ineptitude, pathetic cowardice, absurd prejudice, schoolboy smut and utter hypocrisy as ever he was.

It’s stacked full of LOL moments, many of them surprisingly subtle and under-egged so that it has a great lightness of touch and you never feel that one joke is being milked beyond its capacity. Whether it’s his escaping through a window only for his trousers and pants to get caught on the latch, or his hiding (literally) in a toilet there’s lots of physical comedy as well as that created from his character flaws and interactions with everyone else. There are some great performances from the supporting cast – Felicity Montagu is terrific as his long-suffering PA Lynn, all dolled up when she has to front the media, and there’s the unexpected pleasure of seeing Anna Maxwell Martin as the no-nonsense officer in charge of the police operation, visibly stretching Alan’s distrust of women in power.

A quick mention also to the great use of music in the film; regrettably Alan’s and my tastes in music coincide quite a lot, and seeing his totally uninhibited singalong to the radio in the car with full use of steering wheel bongos reminded me just how stupid I must look sometimes. The use of John Farnham’s “You’re The Voice” was brilliant and I bopped in my cinema seat something dreadful. So if you’re a Partridge fan, you’re going to love this film. I could easily imagine it being severely embarrassing if it had been dogged with a poor script, but instead it’s very well written, beautifully put together and extremely funny.

Review – Trap For Cinderella, Errol Flynn Filmhouse, Northampton, 23rd July 2013

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I think it’s fair to say we were a select little crowd that attended Tuesday night’s showing of Trap For Cinderella – I’m not sure we quite made it to double figures. Maybe the rather lame reviews it has received were to blame; and indeed I wasn’t expecting an awful lot from the film as a result. But both Mrs Chrisparkle and I were pleasantly surprised. We found it a very engrossing, well-told psychological thriller, with many a winding plot turn before the final reel.

To reveal too much of the story would spoil it for you, so I’ll be careful. Micky and Do (who are both girls, you wouldn’t know that from just seeing their names written down) were childhood friends who used to play together on holiday in France. Many years later they meet up in London where they both are now working. But Micky can’t remember anything of their old friendship, as she suffered terrible injuries from a gas explosion accident in the interim period, which resulted in considerable plastic surgery and 100% memory loss. All she can do is piece together her life up until the accident by discovering diaries and other documentation. Do, whose affection for Micky borders heavily on the creepy side, moves in with her and their close friendship seems to be secure until it all starts to unravel. And anything more I say will ruin it!

Micky is played by Tuppence Middleton, and she gives a great performance. She’s charismatic, enigmatic and very believable as both the girl who has completely lost her identity due to her accident, and as the lively outgoing arty girl with whom everyone wants to be friends. Alexandra Roach is superb as the rather unhinged Do, ebullient in the satisfaction of being best friends with Micky, and seemingly capable of any retribution when thwarted. Their on-screen partnership is really effective and the occasional hint of their relationship getting a little steamy is tastefully and subtly done. There’s also a very strong and slightly spooky performance by Kerry Fox as Julia, Micky’s aunt’s PA who has acted in loco parentis, but might not be as trustworthy as she seems. There’s classy support from Frances de la Tour and Alex Jennings too.

It’s adapted from a 1963 French novel by Sébastien Japrisot and is directed by Iain Softley. It’s a very atmospheric and stylish film, with a tight script, strong performances, and some moments of great suspense. It’s also a very attractive picture to watch, with wide sweeping views and a nice attention to detail with its French locations. The story resolves itself in a very satisfactory way – sufficiently intriguing to keep your attention all the way through, all loose ends are tied up and you even get a sense of justice at the end. There may be a question mark over some of the motivation for what happens, but in a sense that only serves to keep you guessing and talking about it on the way home. I don’t think it deserves its poor reviews, and you should give it a try!

Review – Behind the Candelabra, Errol Flynn Filmhouse, Northampton, 4th July 2013

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I remember when it was first mooted that the Royal and Derngate would give birth to a little arts cinema on its side patch of grass. We thought it sounded a very exciting prospect; at the same time we were a little sad that we thought it meant sacrificing a piece of green in the centre of town. X months later, and the Errol Flynn Filmhouse opened on 21st June and I’m delighted to say it’s thoroughly amazing. Particularly on a rare summery evening like yesterday, when the path to the cinema is graced with tables and chairs, with cinemagoers enjoying a refreshing glass of wine or a sensible coffee before the screening. And there was no need to worry about the loss of open space – the area outside has been landscaped beautifully and looks much greener than it did before.

The cinema itself was constructed as its own separate pod, sited at a slightly jaunty angle to the side of the theatre, but with a separate entrance to the box office and bar, and an integrated door to access the main building for other facilities. There are new happy welcoming staff, a range of different and rather classy eats and drinks, with the ability to take elegant wine glasses (made of glass – gosh!) and bottles even (incredible gosh!) into the cinema, which you can place on the nifty little tables that separate the seats. Ah yes, the seats!! They are of sumptuous black leather, they recline (useful for nodding off during a boring film no doubt), the seat numbers are discreetly obvious, if that isn’t an oxymoron, and they are fabulously comfortable. The auditorium is stylish, with a crystal clear unobstructed view of the screen and top quality sound. On the way home Mrs Chrisparkle said it was simply the best cinema she’s ever visited. I predict a rekindling of my interest in the art of film as a result of this terrific new venue for Northampton.

So our first choice of film at this cinema was Behind the Candelabra, the story of the relationship between Liberace and Scott Thorson, based on Thorson’s book of the same name. I had presumed this would be something of a “kiss and tell” account, which I would normally think was a somewhat scurrilous and unworthy practice. However, if Liberace did actually treat Scott Thorson in the way that the film depicts, then I’d say he was entirely justified in spilling the beans. The film cleverly shows how the 17 year old Thorson was one of a line of younger men that Liberace met, fancied, bedded, and kept as a luxury captive for a while; then got bored of and moved on when the next suitable young studlet came into sight.

It’s a really interesting, enjoyable and engrossing film, with a well-written and witty screenplay, bringing a lot of subtle and not so subtle humour to the first part of the story and making you very sympathetic to Thorson’s rather sad plight in the second half. Swayed by Liberace’s style and showmanship, and flattered by his attention, he quickly loses his independence and even his identity as he gets wrapped up in the star’s world. One aspect of this was Scott’s undergoing facial surgery at Liberace’s insistence so that he looked more like him; you can only imagine how much of a mental torture that would become when the relationship started to go sour. Following the surgery he ended up on a disastrous cocktail of drugs, from which, by the sound of it, he has never really recovered.

It’s a great cast and they work together brilliantly. Michael Douglas is an unnervingly realistic Liberace, brash and charismatic at his glittery piano, creepily predatory in his private relationships, pathetic and broken in his final days. Matt Damon is also superb as Scott, moving convincingly through a ten year timeline as he develops from young animal trainer to kept plaything, then as a discarded drug addict and finally undertaking a calm reconciliation with Liberace at the end of the star’s life. Dan Aykroyd plays Liberace’s agent Seymour with no-nonsense bullish determination, and there is a fantastically funny performance by Rob Lowe as the plastic surgery guru Dr Startz. Other excellent support is provided by Debbie Reynolds as Liberace’s mother, a dab hand on the poker machines, and Bruce Ramsay as Liberace’s bitchy houseboy Carlucci. Liberace’s music is given a new lease of life by the late Marvin Hamlisch, who arranged the score in what would be his final film.

Steven Soderbergh, the director, had difficulty raising the funding for this film as many studios said it was “too gay”, whatever that means. Congratulations to the Errol Flynn Filmhouse for showing the film anyway – when Lady Duncansby enquired at the local Vue if they would be showing it, they said no because they considered it “unsuitable for Northampton”. Yes, the main characters in the film are gay but the issues of relationships, dependence, manipulation, loyalty, charisma, and so on are universal themes that have applied to everyone regardless of sexuality over the centuries. The film has had a very successful run here, and I believe they are bringing it back for at least one extra date. Very enjoyable and definitely worth seeing!