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November rain
Nov. 3rd, 2009 11:01 amAnyone else been on the new Overground trains yet? Nice and spacious and all, but what's with the weird handles on the windows? I spent a minute trying various methods of opening them before being told by another passenger that they didn't open - and I remain unsure whether she knew this from another source, or had just been defeated by them herself. If she was right, then why do they look like they open when they don't? Must we be taunted so?
Anyway, I was aboard for my second trip (this year/ever) to Kew Gardens, which has the advantage not only of being so massive that you'll never cover it all in one visit, but of changing with the seasons so that even the bits you did see and love in summer are beautiful in entirely different ways come autumn.
Up is, as everyone has said, heartbreakingly beautiful. The effect of the ascending house works on a primal level, and the first twenty minutes is not only terribly, terribly sad - it explains to children how old people happen, something which always puzzled me at that age. Plus, the moral in so far as there is one is pretty much terrifying - not only that 'life is what happens while you're making other plans' but that, even if you do complete those plans, the result won't satisfy you because humanity doesn't do satisfaction. So it's perhaps appropriate to note that this is not the perfect film I keep seeing it hailed as. In particular, there's an odd moment-by-moment indecision as to whether it operates by cartoon physics or real world (or at least, adventure film) physics, meaning I didn't always know what consequence to expect from an action, how seriously to take any given jeopardy.
Back in the day, Doctor Who had a bit of a tendency to spoiler itself with the episode titles; it's difficult to be excited by the end-of-episode-one reveal of the villain behind events when the story is called Attack of the Cybermen or Revelation of the Daleks. The Sarah Jane Adventures has now managed to get itself into a similar situation more obliquely, in that if the story title includes Sarah Jane Smith's full name, it always seems to indicate the same adversary. Still great to see him facing up to the Doctor last week, though.
Still recovering slightly from a nightlife-heavy weekend. Poptimism was down to core personnel, on top of which strangers came - and not ones who wanted to dance which would have been grand, but ones who just sat there looking like disgruntled darts players. Nonetheless, an enjoyable night. Prom Night, on the other hand, was swarming with people who were very much on the right wavelength - Jareth from Labyrinth and the disembowelled nerd were particularly impressive, but at ever turn there was another great costume. I felt almost underdressed, particularly since a year without practice meant it was midnight before I really remembered how to wear my cloak to best effect, but I still danced until my feet hurt, and then some.
Out on the streets, though, Hallowe'en falling on a Saturday seemed to mean amateur hour - I saw a few zombie/vampire/witch hybrids who seemed to have been taking tips from Alan Partridge, and some inexplicable blackface (but orc black not black person black, so far as one could tell. Are chimney sweeps spooky?). Also, a puzzling preponderance of Beetlejuices.
And on Sunday, the PopArt Bowie special. Nightbeast aka The Sex Tourists aka White Witches and Jonny Cola both did fine Bowie covers, Mr Solo didn't bother but hey, he's Mr Solo, he can do what the Hell he likes, even bring along an alter-Devant band with aliases of the Detective, the Czar and the Inquisition. The night ended with the PopArt Allstars doing a whole set of Bowie covers for which, on balance, you had to be there.
Anyway, I was aboard for my second trip (this year/ever) to Kew Gardens, which has the advantage not only of being so massive that you'll never cover it all in one visit, but of changing with the seasons so that even the bits you did see and love in summer are beautiful in entirely different ways come autumn.
Up is, as everyone has said, heartbreakingly beautiful. The effect of the ascending house works on a primal level, and the first twenty minutes is not only terribly, terribly sad - it explains to children how old people happen, something which always puzzled me at that age. Plus, the moral in so far as there is one is pretty much terrifying - not only that 'life is what happens while you're making other plans' but that, even if you do complete those plans, the result won't satisfy you because humanity doesn't do satisfaction. So it's perhaps appropriate to note that this is not the perfect film I keep seeing it hailed as. In particular, there's an odd moment-by-moment indecision as to whether it operates by cartoon physics or real world (or at least, adventure film) physics, meaning I didn't always know what consequence to expect from an action, how seriously to take any given jeopardy.
Back in the day, Doctor Who had a bit of a tendency to spoiler itself with the episode titles; it's difficult to be excited by the end-of-episode-one reveal of the villain behind events when the story is called Attack of the Cybermen or Revelation of the Daleks. The Sarah Jane Adventures has now managed to get itself into a similar situation more obliquely, in that if the story title includes Sarah Jane Smith's full name, it always seems to indicate the same adversary. Still great to see him facing up to the Doctor last week, though.
Still recovering slightly from a nightlife-heavy weekend. Poptimism was down to core personnel, on top of which strangers came - and not ones who wanted to dance which would have been grand, but ones who just sat there looking like disgruntled darts players. Nonetheless, an enjoyable night. Prom Night, on the other hand, was swarming with people who were very much on the right wavelength - Jareth from Labyrinth and the disembowelled nerd were particularly impressive, but at ever turn there was another great costume. I felt almost underdressed, particularly since a year without practice meant it was midnight before I really remembered how to wear my cloak to best effect, but I still danced until my feet hurt, and then some.
Out on the streets, though, Hallowe'en falling on a Saturday seemed to mean amateur hour - I saw a few zombie/vampire/witch hybrids who seemed to have been taking tips from Alan Partridge, and some inexplicable blackface (but orc black not black person black, so far as one could tell. Are chimney sweeps spooky?). Also, a puzzling preponderance of Beetlejuices.
And on Sunday, the PopArt Bowie special. Nightbeast aka The Sex Tourists aka White Witches and Jonny Cola both did fine Bowie covers, Mr Solo didn't bother but hey, he's Mr Solo, he can do what the Hell he likes, even bring along an alter-Devant band with aliases of the Detective, the Czar and the Inquisition. The night ended with the PopArt Allstars doing a whole set of Bowie covers for which, on balance, you had to be there.
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