Venus

I realise there's been quite a lot of stuff going on recently that might have interested people more than my rants about the weather. Like, for example, the pagan wedding I went to recently. If I was any good at taking photos and wasn't technologically inept and thus unable to figure out how to put photos on my blog, I would show you some of the weird and wonderful costumes that were on offer there. Most interesting, though, was not the couple themselves (lovely though they are) but the motley crew of guests, most of whom they had unearthed from a roleplay society at UCL Union. One, who was dressed like Adam Ant but talked in a monotone that reminded me of a Peter Cook character, was especially noteworthy:

Me: "So, what do you do?"

Him: (deadpan) "I make sex toys"

Me: (not quite sure of what to say) "Really? That's interesying. What kind of stuff"

Him: (wary) "I have a line in dungeon furniture"

He looked distinctly unimpressed when I asked him if he'd come as Jack Sparrow from "Pirates of the Caribbean", and suspiciously replied "No."

I think it's the bizarrest wedding I've ever been to: a short ceremony conducted by a part-time druid who's also an actor, whereby ex-girlfriends of the bridge and general roleplay people read poems about fire, water and all the rest of it (ostensibly - really they were all about sex) followed by a heavy metal disco without a DJ, where some home-made CDs were blasted over some loud speakers and the guests (literally) let their hair down.

------------------------------------------------------

I've started to look forward to the week as it feels like a break from the weekend. Decided on Saturday Enough was Enough and spent it in the bath re-reading "1066 and All That" (this, I decided, was a Good Thing) and dragged myself out to see "Venus" in the afternoon.

It's not a bad film, but anything you see in Swiss Cottage Odeon is rather marred by the fact you're seeing it in Swiss Cottage Odeon. You may £9, more than the DVD will cost in Fopp, to sit in a tiny seat in a cinema that hasn't been cleaned since about 1986, and get fed bollocks about how they now run Mother and Baby screenings. Add to this the fact that the reason I'm even there in the first place is that Camden cinema can't be arsed to show anything that might be deemed remotely arty, experimental or foreign (unless of course it's Irish), and the whole thing is frankly Annoying. I could go to the Renoir or Screen on the Hill for the same price, but get lots of legroom, comfy seats and a clientele who don't spend the film flicking popcorn at my head thrown in, but they never seem to show the films I want to see when I want to see them.

But "Venus" redeemed itself firstly by being shot roughly 100 yards down my road. In fact, I walked past the house where Peter O'Toole was meant to live on my way to St M's yesterday. So I spent a happy afternoon trying to spot my flat in the background and feeling like I lived somewhere remotely fashionable for a change. The last time I was able to do this (with the exception of Shaun of the Dead, which was different) was when I went to see "The Full Monty" and exclaimed excitedly when the Asda first appeared, much to my friend's embarrassment, "I've been there!"

It's an odd film with "Taming of the Shrew" overtones but slightly ruder language not to say a certain implausibility, with a fairly decent soundtrack thrown in. It didn't seem to have much of a story, but perhaps that was just me expecting too much for my £9. Basically, Peter O'Toole is Very Old. Then he dies. Jodie Whittaker, on the other hand, is a Complete Cow, then she's Not Any More. Like "The Taming of the Shrew", the transformation from Complete Cow to Not a Complete Cow is unconvincingly immediate - despite his best efforts, she's only shocked into it when her boyfriend assaults the Very Old character and death looms ever closer. The assault takes place after he has apparently walked all the way from Willes Road in Kentish Town down to the Open Air Theatre in Regents Park, had a slightly arty Voices from the Past thing strike him while he's there (that's presumably why it wasn't on in Camden), recited a bit of Shakespeare (as you do) and walked all the way back, all before the two nineteen-year-olds have managed to finish having a shag in his bed. You wonder what went on in what was presumably a good two-hour period.

Well, anyway, it's worth seeing if you get the chance, just not in an Odeon.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

In other film news, Helen Mirren got her Bafta (surprise, surprise) and promptly dedicated it to Ian Richardson. Like she dedicated the last one to the Queen (who I'm sure was thrilled.) Why can't she just say "thanks very much" and smile? To whoever decides the awards, take the hint: she doesn't want them. Give them to Penelope Cruz and anyone involved in "Little Miss Sunshine" instead.