Since you’ve probably already forgotten what happened this year, Charlie Brooker’s 2010 Wipe is here to fill in the blanks. From the Chilean miners to the General Election, from Sherlock to The Only Way is Essex, Brooker unhelpfully points a finger and laughs. With contributors including Doug Stanhope, Grace Dent and Nick Davies and poetry from Tim Key you’d be a fool to miss it, which is why you won’t.

Click below pic to launch BBC iPlayer

It’s proving quite a challenge to write about Catfish without completely ruining it for the audience. Bearing that in mind, I’d like to let you know that I’m going to give it 5/5. If you intend on watching the film, and don’t want the experience compromised I would suggest that you stop reading now. Don’t even watch the trailer. Just go the cinema, completely blind, and drink it all in. Don’t even read this review!

Now, I’m going to show you a still from the film and carry on my review underneath. If you’re still here after that, then be warned: there will be some mild spoilers. Not huge ones, but spoilers none the less.

Still here? You fools!

While Catfish is a documentary, it displays all the traits of a sharply written thriller. It was originally set up to document a year in the life of Yaniv “Nev” Schulman, a New York photographer who’s started a platonic online relationship with a child artist named Abby through Facebook. She’s taken to painting pictures recreating Nev’s dance photography stills. While he only communicates with Abby digitally,  he speaks to her mother Angela on the telephone and eventually starts talking to Abby’s older sister Megan. They find they have a lot in common – she’s a dancer, he’s a dance photographer, they both share a love of little sister Abby’s artwork – and, despite not having met each other, a digital romance starts to blossom between them.

That’s all I’m prepared to say regarding the documentary’s “plot”.

The story that Catfish presents is very much of its time.  It’s an exploration of how social media and the internet have completely revolutionised the manner in which people interact with each other and how online identity can be moulded and shaped to suit the users needs. Directors Ariel Schulman and Henry Joost provide a running “online” theme throughout the film, using footage from Google maps and Facebook to set up scenarios and jump from scene to scene.

Nev, his older brother Ariel and their friend, and colleague Henry are very much the lead characters in this documentary, and while it would be easy to write them off as cynical New York hipsters, you find yourself empathising with them and eventually feeling touched by their compassion and understanding.

This documentary is for everyone who has ever been in love or used a Facebook account.

There were parts of Catfish where the story was so intense that I felt I couldn’t breathe, and there were parts that very nearly moved me to tears. I can not recommend it enough.

5/5

In UK Cinemas on 17th December 2010 released via Momentum Pictures.

Directed by Colm McCarthy

Walking away from any film with the impression that James Nesbitt is not only underused, but the best thing in the film, is an unsettling experience.  Though, I did go to see Outcast on the same day that the Large Hadron Collider was successfully switched on for the first time.  Coincidence?  I’ll let you decide.

My main problem with Outcast is that it’s almost a good film.  From the production notes it’s clear the writers have carried out a lot of research on ancient Celtic rituals, and it does show.  Unfortunately, they don’t show enough.

The film starts off well enough, just the right amount of sparse dialogue and moody shots of the shittier side of Edinburgh to fill me with genuine intrigue.  It builds up a decent amount of tension within the first ten minutes, then spectacularly breaks it with a blood sacrifice to the Gods of cinema (aka – the first killing).  Then. . .

Well, then not much.

It tells the story about a mother (Kate Dickie) and her son, Fergal (Niall Bruton), who have been living a solitary life, travelling from town to town, running from a mysterious assailant.  Think Terminator, but in Scotland.  Actually, don’t – it’s far too depressing.

James Nesbitt is the aforementioned assailant, who just happens to be a mystical gypsy/traveller/bad ass warlock.  So, like Warlock in Scotland then?  No – Julian Sands is in Warlock, and he’s the male “Saffron Burrows”. If Warlock or Deep Blue Sea taught us anything, it’s that no matter how bad the film, if it has either of them in it, it’s still going to be addictively watchable.

There is a subplot, involving the son, Fergal and his newly found girlfriend, Petronella (Hanna Stanbridge), and it touches upon sexual awakening, the perils of adolescence and how suppressing sexuality can be detrimental to a teenager’s development.  But it’s slightly cheapened by what can only be described as transcendental sexual assault.  It’s okay, though.  She enjoys it. . .

The characters aren’t so much built upon, as they are slowly inflated, as if by an asthmatic badger, and we’re never really given enough information about the mysterious witchcraft both sides are using to really care.  Nightwatch it ain’t.

Then there’s the acting.

With acting this bad, a film better have a high body count, or be slathered in gore.  This film barely has either, though what gore there is, is quite impressive.

I often get annoyed when movies try and cram in as much exposition into the dialogue as possible, but Outcast has the opposite problem.  There’s barely ANY exposition, or backstory, shown visually or in the dialogue, until the last 10 minutes, when Fergal’s mum shoehorns in a speech that explains the reason behind everything that’s happened in the last 80 mins.

It feels as if the director may have prioritised the sub-plot over the main plot, but the problem is that neither of them are furnished with characters rounded enough to stand together effectively, let alone apart.

All in all a disappointing film that could have been brilliant.  If only somebody had bothered to give the story and script a bit of a polish.

2/5

Outcast is out now in UK cinemas nationwide.

A self obsessed, self destructive, arrogantly self effacing egoist, solipsist and hedonist;the Westian model of tormented genius is as old and dated and it is consistently refreshing and renewing. The dichotomic lyrical explorations of Twisted Fantasy are gauged with what have already been correctly described as maximalist musical explosions and wide searching, far reaching sound scopes. With this dichotomy though, is a twisted and subverted attempt at monism – that is, West attempts to fuse reflective poetry, reflective religion, gluttonous materialism and a gluttonous lifestyle into a single, coherent philosophy. The incoherence and impossibility of this, does not matter, what matters is the struggle in trying to find it.

The mark of an alcoholic, or at least an obsessive, is marked by the apparent reasoning behind the continued use, or abuse, of a substance or thing. Is drinking done to prolong or intensify the moment, or to avert from it? A person’s answer to the question can be as revealing as it is confusing, “The plan was, to drink until the pain over/ But what’s worse, the pain or the hangover?” - as can be seen through Kanye’s answer. And continuing this self-supporting dualist idea, in that Kanye is reflective enough to mark what it is he is actually doing, but much too self-destructive to in fact not do it, is what he does throughout Twisted Fantasy. On one side we have Kanye the epicurean, pursuing pleasures and luxuries; in lieu of the American model of the pursuit of happiness, ie wealthiness. The best example of this being portrayed is in the maniacal chorus to All Of The Lights – “Cop lights, flash lights, spot lights/ Strobe lights, street lights/ (All of the lights, all of the lights)/ Fast life, drug life/ Thug life, rock life/ Every night/ (All of the lights). ”  - A song which contains contributions and samples from Elton John, Alicia Keys, Fergie, The-Dream, Tony Williams, Rihanna, Kid Cudi, John Legend, Charlie Wilson, Ryan Leslie and Elly Jackson. So often it is the case that artists can litter rather than sprinkle their albums with guest features, Gucci Mane’s and Ludacris’ two most recent albums providing two concrete recent examples.

With this litter, the artists in fact can show artistic illiteracy in letting the album have no core or, no real dictator who takes creative centrality. The same argument though, cannot be said for Kanye’s approach here. Rather, Kanye shows at once his plurality of musical influence and scope, and his ability to transcend the genre-walls which oft separate them. The most obvious example of this is the final two tracks on the album (Lost in the World and Who Will Survive in America?), where a feature/sample from Justin Vernon/Bon Iver is fused with contemporary hip-hop in Kanye, and meshed with a long sample from Gil Scott-Heron’s Comment #1. (It is also important to note, that Kanye neither gives himself the first nor the last word on the album. The opening lyrics being a short lyrical feature from Nicki Minaj.) So, whilst this plurality that I mentioned can in some artists show the blending towards hip-hop memes (what is an album now without a Drake feature?) and a lack of creative industry, in Twisted Fantasy paradoxically, Kanye’s input is so central and so key; that his input is valued above the omnipresent features. What he does in effect, is transcend every and all features, and by refusing to take the obvious centre-stage in all his tracks; he creates an atmosphere of reverence when he does grace us with with it, “No one man should have all that power.” (Not is this to demean the features whatsoever though, the features are so masterfully spread and intricately chosen (it is possibly Nicki Minaj’s best feature, and Jay-Z’s verse on So Appalled is his best in years) that the album’s thrust in this regard is that appears to be an overarching expression of the hip-hop zeitgeist, of which there is no doubt Twisted Fantasy will be a re-defining seed.)

And that is one side. On the other side we have reflection, “Me found bravery in my bravado,” self awareness and (seriously) humility. The starting point for this Westian paradigm in fact stems from the previous point, in that Kanye knows that for him to create the sort of album he is attempting (note that this is the same man who called 808′s & Heartbreaks as the ‘creation’ of the musical genre of ‘Pop Art’) he really cannot do it on his own. 808s was noticeably bereft and avoided real opportunities for more varied features or explorative production. Twisted Fantasy though, is the natural and necessary extension of 808s.

Emerging as it did, in the midst of what has been to date Kanye’s most difficult period of life; 808s provided the foundational framework for the artist, who can thoroughly express emotive substance with passion and real content, “Never was much of a romantic, I could take the intimacy/ And I know I did damage, because the look in your eyes is killing me…Baby I got a plan, runaway fast as you can.” Bravado, in the sense which Kanye epitomises it, is most classically interpreted as a means of screening others, and indeed yourself, from weakness and inadequacies that you yourself are all too aware of. Twisted Fantasy though, is so fuelled with an awareness of this destructive side of Kanye, that it becomes the heartbreaking focus of the album,

Now I embody every characteristic, of the egotistic;

He know, he so fuckin’ gifted;

I just needed time alone, with my own thoughts;

Got treasures in my mind but couldn’t open up my own vault;

My childlike creativity, purity and honesty is honestly being prodded by these grown thoughts;

Reality is catchin’ up on me;

Takin’ my inner child, I’m fighting for it: custody.

Furthering this, drawn out tracks such as the final few minutes of Runaway appear to be prolonged expressions of exasperation and frustration at how Kanye himself deals with the world, and its paradoxical in-sustainability and unavoidability.

A longing for, and refusal of, further emotional attachments are the marks of this self-acclaimed 21st Century schizoid man. It seems to me far too easy and arrogant to dismiss Kanye on account of his own twisted arrogance. He has with Twisted Fantasy created the single most ambitious, sprawling, genre-exploding and redefining album in a long time. All of this without even mentioning the hugely impressive mini-movie named Runaway recently released by Kanye: which in itself is an expression of a strand of the album’s message. Kanye has, with My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy created an album which can bear an adjective which can rarely be ascribed to albums of the now: important. It’s importance can only be reviewed as time passes, but as it stands, there is no better word.

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At least thematically, Kid Cudi owes his emergence in part to the advent of the Westian-acclaimed genre of ‘Pop Art’. Rising as he did through the lens of a post 808s & Heartbreaks world, he owes a lot to it and to the exposure he received through Kanye. That being said, the first of the Man on the Moon series was as interesting as it was innovative, creative as it was conventional, as individualist as it was pining for companionship. The truth is though, the follow up appears more as an attempt to extend the momentum and stylistic panache of the debut: but it suffers directly as a result of this. To attempt to replicate a daring album, is in itself a contradiction in terms.

For an artist of this type, wrapped up in a shell of self-pity sustained paradoxically upon a wave of appraisal, consistency conveying a sense of dread or the absurd is essential. To refer again to Kanye West, who is the modern embodiment of such a ‘misunderstood’ character in celebrity culture, Cudi’s relevance is seen in light of how much he can deviate himself from this model. For him to do this though, he need embark on a more experimental and fuller project which can fittingly represent the certain mindset he was in in the period he is endeavouring to express (such as The End of Day appeared to represent). Meaningless mumblings such as, “Pain, hurt, sadness and loneliness,” in the track Don’t Play This Song (with a wasted feature by Mary J Blige) seem shallow when he  complains at the offerings of support and guidance from those close to him, “People think they’re really being helpful, by telling me please be careful?”

But maybe observations like this are in itself the point of The Legend of Mr. Rager; Mescudi’s polarised and chasm-ed personality owe much to the unexpected garnering of wealth, and the even less expected lack of fulfilment sole monetary improvement can bring. Claiming to have relied on drugs to get him through interviews over the recent past for example, shed light on an obsessive and shifting personality, searching as it was, for the reliability of a substance or emotion which can be fulfilled with ease. Fame and money seemed to have failed where cocaine seemed to catch hold, at least periodically. Hedonism rules as it were. Constant reference to drugs surpass the realm of sheer boastfulness or lack of imaginativeness. The track Marijuana is in itself a type of homily to cannabis, spoke of in religious terms as Cudi devotes large sections of his lyricism to expressing his feeling towards the drug, “Pretty green bud, all in my blood, oh, I need it.” The structure of the album owes to the pining to create album 1 but yet deviate away from the realm of unreality which The End of Days epitomised, to a more realistic and gritty look at the artist’s life. He has clearly attempted to add fusions of new-psychedelic with some elements of rock, to give a grounding to this essentially hip-hop album. What fails again and again though, is the lethargic and convoluted lyrical dexterity which Cudi shows, or rather fails to show. Mojo So Dope in itself serves as example of a song which could realistically better the entire album by simply not being there. Its lazy chorus, deviated wordsmithery and unengaging production are a low point in what increasingly becomes a hit and miss album for the listener.  Though what makes this an even bigger tragedy, is the clear huge amount of talent Scott has. Whilst Erase Me is by no means the best song Cudi has wrote or will write, he outshines the ever-growing Kanye West. He makes it a rock song, in a sense, and Kanye’s refreshing verse do add a breath of fresh air to the context; but essentially Kanye doesn’t steal the show as much as he would do on most albums.

Deep and minimalistic tracks such as The Mood appear all too little. They express the darkness found in the previous album, but with a maturer sensibility and a greater appreciation of not trying to push all the sounds into the listener’s ear at once. As is usually the case though, there is a stand-out track which garners opposing emotions for the listener. GHOST! as a song, could easily contain all the quotables needed for the album, “Gotta, get it, through my thick head. I was so close to being dead.” “See things do, come, around. And make sense eventually.” The productions is squeaking but is permeating, and totally engaging. Almost triumphantly, CuDi proclaims his acceptance of himself, “The people I met and the places i’ve been, all will make me the man I so proudly am.” But even at this acceptance, CuDi appears unsure if the world will take him as he is, questioning when he became a ‘ghost’, pining at the end, “I hope they understand that I really understand, that they don’t understand.”

It’s a mature conclusion in a sense, but a wasteful one at that. For CuDi to really connect with the listenership he is aiming for, then it seems to me that he needs to more fully express himself in the sense he was with the first Man on the Moon. He has mentally and maturely took at least one step forward here, but at least lyrically he has taken one step back. In the current market, it’s one of the most listenable albums; but for the artist himself, much more is to be expected as he develops.

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When bracketed, our recent history has witnessed a huge resurgence of folk music in the popular scene. Now this is neither a good nor a bad thing. Folk never died; quite to the contrary. And indeed, artists such as Duke Special, Iron & Wine, Foy Vance, Lightspeed Champion and Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy have kept the genre both dynamic, and firmly within the lens of those interested enough to follow it. Out of the above listed, across the board there is critical acclaim and cult like fan base – but no extreme popularisation(to the point that is, where we grow lethargic by the mention of the artist). Depending on the person, this has varying responses. The intimacy of folk music is such that should it become too well known, it loses its immediacy and its ability to connect. With Mumford & Sons, and Bon Iver – we have two examples of how this can be the case. Many fans of the previous two are caught in a flux, between an appreciation that bands of this sort can indeed still make it very big, but a worrying streak will tell them that such commercialisation could very well stunt future creativity. This is the hipster, indie position in many respects; that their favourite artists won’t feel the need to continue creating the kind of music they have in the past. It is a facile position, but such a worry cannot be laid towards The Tallest Man On Earth(TTOE, for brevity’s sake).

This is TTOE’s fourth release – encompassing two LPs and now, two EPs. Easily dismissed as a Bob Dylan wannabe by many (how much control can he have over his singing voice?) – this Swedish born man of average height in fact has a lot of weight on the contemporary folk scene. Bourgeoning by, well known and well noticed, but with a low profile; Kristian Matsson has a growing catalogue of evolving and relevant folk – strung with variations between simple pop love songs, to intricate fingerpicking melodies reminiscent of Nick Drake.

His first album, Shallow Grave, fully introduced TTOE to the scene, infused as it was with a grip on the banjo. The Wild Hunt, the second LP, saw him reach more exclusively for his acoustic guitar. And here, with Sometimes the Blues is Just a Passing Bird – he plugs it in and increases his own dynamism and songwriting ability. His evolution is slow, but that’s the type that both works lasts.

The actual structure of the EP is fairly common, five tracks and about seventeen minutes in length; making it not just easy to listen to, but easy to listen to several times on repeat. Discussing regular issues with a poetic tongue – tracking as he does the destructive qualities(?) of relationships, and the deterioration that can befall many of them in the EP’s opener – Little River. ‘You said, “All the time it needs to take.” And all the while, there’s a shiver from some fallen tear.’

Such destructiveness though, manifests itself in different ways in different people. For Kristian, it seems, he identifies himself as in part the root of such issues, both also relating to the demanding-ness of his suitors, ‘And I’m just a shadow of your thoughts in me, but sun is setting, shadow’s growing’.

Whether such a position is tenable is one issue, but it isn’t an issue that the lyrics dwell on. Simple escapism is offered by Kristian, as it also his objective, ‘And I said, “Oh my Lord, why am I not strong?” / Like the wheel that keeps travellers travelling on,/ Like the wheel, that will take you home.’ And when this fails, he recants youth with a simple allure, twisting it with an appreciation for the aesthetic with is hopeful and innocent, ‘You call up your owner, say your heart will be there, / You’ll build a collection of scars on your knees, / To learn how to count the impossible trees. / You grew up by climbing the birches so high, / And that’s why, / You’re so beautiful now.”

It is in this EP where TTOE has reached his own lyrical peak, maturing and developing as he has in the past three-to-four years. His musings on relationships, their inevitability, their fall, and the continuing striving for them is distinctive and captures the restless human condition he is attempting to convey.

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