Cigarette Burns: War Horse

Disclaimer: Before you think 'Oh god, it's another blog succumbing to film reviews as content' - it's okay. I'm a film student. And so are the two people I went with. They were girls. Hot girls. That's right. Read on.

So - War Horse; a heart-wrenching tale of boy meets horse meets hardship, has over 30 decades taken the less than usual transformation from novel (Michael Morpurgo), to award winning play (Which admittedly I haven't seen but have been backstage at) and then to the greatest pleasure a story can find - being the subject of a film directed by none other than Stephen Spielberg.

So when I heard the unabatedly phenomenal reviews that the film was released to, announcing that crowds stood cheering in the theatres and left screenings to buy towels for their tears, I wanted to see if this was really 'Spielberg at his best'. So, I watched some trailers, and after three minutes of orchestra-laden, uncomfortably emotional clips of horses, crying people and facial hair close-ups, I decided that I was going to need some sort of preparation for this film.

So today, I found myself talking about ex-boyfriends, clothes shopping, and singing along to Taylor Swift - all this in homo-best-friend-o preparation for two hours of sobbing, holding hands and cheering on a horse. You think I'm joking? No. I have dedication to the film industry.


So you can't imagine my shock when I found out that the film wasn't actually 2 hours of what was in the trailer. Yeah, that old trick. Although the film was rather up on the sob factor, Spielberg did a good job of padding it out with emotionally bearable content - albeit with only 2/3 scenes not having orchestral backing. Does John Williams do anything but compose? I mean, seriously, the amount of music in this film, you'd think he had to be fed through a tube as to keep up his working pace.

So despite being not as emotional as the trailer portrayed, and despite me starting every paragraph so far with the word 'So', there were a number of things that the film was filled with. They were:
1) Orchestral Pieces
2) Ridiculous and/or Stereotyped Facial Hair
3) Anthropomorphism. (Look it up)

"Is it just me or do these horses keep making kissy-face?"

I mean, seriously, I know I'm a teenage boy, and facial hair is something I am obsessed with - but this film was full of it. Whether it was the hope-encompassing close ups of Ted Narracott's mutton chops, or the 'I'm such an honorable gent' close ups of Captain Nichols' Kitchener mustache, or the 'Mwahaha I'm such an evil bad person' close ups of Generic German Soldier #1's Kaiser mustache - there just seemed to be an awful lot of it.

Another bone that I had to pick with this film, albeit a minor one, is the level of realism. This is aimed at a younger audience as well as older, and Spielberg has acknowledged this with a drop on the real-factor. Unrealistic horse births, Military continuity errors, and 'I've been to Devon, and that isn't it' backdrops, had me writhing in my seat whilst actors who thought that a German accent consists of speaking English and changing all your w's and f's into v's talked about friendship and ponies and shooting each other. This isn't a genuine critique of the film - but if you're one of those people who will overlook the entire plot-line just because you saw a sticker on the apple that Aragorn throws Pippin in Lord of the Rings, this isn't going to be your cup of tea.

But there's something that, as I was wondering before I went to see it, and no doubt you are as well. Is War Horse Spielberg at his best? The answer, is simple. No. They said this for Schindler's List, and they said this for Jaws, and they said this for E.T, and for pretty much every other Spielberg film that you could name.

Although he has stepped back from World War II into the slightly muddier World War I, and mixed the beautiful natural imagery of horses against the harsh, mechanical background of the Genesis of modern warfare (A change to the Saving Private Ryan-esque 'bang bang explosion I love you man' technique), and realised the success-potential of facial hair and orchestral backing, this is not Spielberg at his best.

This is however, a crowd-pleasing mix of emotion, action, spectacle and continuity errors that will have you saying 'Sh*t yeah, explosions', your girlfriend crying, your little brother gape in awe and your Dad noisily point out every incorrect uniform to everybody sat near you.

Lewis: 7/10
Abi: 8/10
Kirstie: 6/10

Quote of the Film:
"For a German, you speak good English."
"No, I speak English well."
(I know it's World War I but this just made me think - Grammar Nazis, gotta love them)

-Lewis

I Went To a Dictatorship, And Got a Sun Tan

When you spend as much time thinking about glamorous careers in journalism as I do, you start to see countries that are ruled by dictatorships or in times of war or seeing revolutions, and think - man, I could be there before long, writing a column on how bloody miserable everyone is getting and maybe even poking a dictaphone in the faces of armed men and asking them how they feel about 'all this then'.

Then I remembered two things - firstly, that no news service in their right minds (Apart from Vice maybe, but that's a given) would send me out into a warzone in the fear that my daring witticisms might spark a new and even more violent conflict - and secondly, that I've actually already been to one of these ravaged dictatorships. Two, in fact.

When you think of dictators - and I'm going to totally read your mind here - you tend to think of beatings, unhappiness, guns, and men who give otherwise epic moustaches bad names. But the thing about dictatorships is that, along with rules of the Geneva convention, they tend to break expectations.

When I was five (Admittedly bright eyed and searching for danger) I went on a package holiday to a little African country known as Tunisia. I swam in a big swimming pool, got a decent amount of sunburn, and have fading memories of stealing the hat of a confused concierge who was delivering a carpet. But never, did I a) Know that it was a dictatorship b) Expect a violent revolution a few years later (Then again, when I was five I was probably too busy plotting world destruction and abusing concierges to worry about current affairs).

But the more poignant of my dictatorship visits was the second one, when (If you recall) I visited the AIDS ravaged Kingdom of Swaziland to 'build schools n sh*t'.

Yeah. That place.


I wasn't actually aware of it at the time, but it turns out that Swaziland is in fact a dictatorship. This comes with news that activists are boycotting the presence of a Coca-Cola factory in Swaziland, due to the fact that through tax the sugary brown water company are in fact contributing 40% of King Mswati III's £64 million treasury.

£64 million treasury. This is in the only country in the world in which more people are dying than being born.


But despite the huge injustice, I can't help but think that maybe the activists have got it wrong somewhere along the line - indeed Mswati is a bit of a greedy bugger in the worst of circumstances, but is getting rid of the basis of a failing countries economy really going to help much? Indeed it's a good way of inciting a revolution, but you're forgetting that a hell of a lot of people probably have (Admittedly low paid) jobs in that factory.

But in a startling return to point, whilst I was in Swaziland I didn't see much of the corruption and violence that dictatorships are ever so stigmatised with. Instead I met amazing people, in an amazing town - which I think is a lot better way of helping Swaziland than destroying jobs and deposing rich dictators.

That place was called Bulembu, and with a devilishly cunning wink I can yet again inform you that my new project The Thought Report Project is selling a book, written by amazing bloggers from around the world, to raise money for the Bulembu foundation. Buy a copy, it's only a fiver!

-Lewis
Yeah, that was the end. But I got twitter now, so I can afford to have blunt endings. @Luciano_Shaw

It's Beginning To Smell A Lot Like Christmas

I'm not going to tell you it's Christmas. I don't want to ruin the surprise that the world is so amazingly hiding from you.

I'mma keep it short today - a little observation for all you people should do it, because you're all probably getting excited about bearded philanthropists flying through the sky and ceremonially stuffing dead birds into heated metal boxes and generally not caring what I have to say.

Don't worry, we all do. The birds I mean, not apathetic attitude towards me.

Now I don't know whether you've heard about this thing called television, but when it comes to the Holiday period, a time of being together and giving and socialising, it's a bit of a growing hobby to tell everybody to shut up and watch the flickering metal box in the corner, convinced that we're all going to be thoroughly entertained whilst the bird continues to burn and your Grandmother rots in the corner.

Over the past years of my sentience however, it seems that around this time of year I've been phenomenally unobservant, as its only this year that I noticed two rather curious things:
1) Why is the baby Jesus in my nativity set born with a full head of John Lennon-esque locks?
2) What the f*ck is up with all these perfume adverts?

Christmas is of course, a time of being together and giving gifts, and so obviously products that are almost completely shunned for the rest of the year are going to want to advertise like hell, reminding you that the woman in your life wants to smell pretty as well, even if it costs you a fortune. 

All that bit makes sense - it's the perfume adverts themselves that confuse me. The dilemma of how to advertise a smell is obviously a tricky one, and one that media moguls have had a pretty good go at - but some of the ideas they're running to nowadays are getting a bit absurd.

It's seemingly getting further and further away from describing a smell as possible - do you want to smell like a runaway Italian sweetheart? Or maybe you're after a beige-obsessed Natalie Portman? No, you're definitely a race-car driving prostitute.

Do you know what any of those smell like? I certainly don't.

Surely selling perfumes should be about how nice they smell, as opposed to how well-lit your models are. How about a bloke in a suit, on a chair, in a white room, describing a scent? Or am I just going crazy?

However insane the advertising techniques will get, the sentiment of buying perfume for your lady friend is still a beautiful thing. What do you get a girl who has everything? How about the one sense still uncaptured by technology, the one thing you can't fathomably make, a smell, captured, in a bottle.

But do you know what the laydeez do like? Clothes. So whether you are a man with a crush, a woman with a wardrobe, or a man who is sick of wearing jeans and a shirt, the beautiful people at www.risingtaste.com and myself are giving you a 5% discount on ANYTHING you order from them. Yeah, anything. Just enter in the coupon "blogspot2011" at the checkout and say goodbye to a portion of the price.

You don't even have to get me anything. Well you could. These are nice. I'm a size 8.5. Just saying.

Merry Christmas chaps,

-Lewis

Three Tips: A Tourist's Guide to Landaan

Over the past month and a bit, I've been to London and back four times, for various reasons - theatre performances, KFC, museums, Comic-Con, and most recently a nerd gathering.

Yesterday I went all the way to Hyde Park, with a hangover and the flu, having not eaten anything for twelve hours, to socialise with other nerds, who are - by definition - terrible at socialising. Amongst the singing acoustic Rebecca Black/Nyan Cat medleys, lime gifting (Including giving a lime to ex-Big Brother contestant Sam Pepper) and getting featured in as many YouTube videos as humanly possible, I also managed to make friends with a tiny asian girl who, due to her lack of conversational skills, introduced herself by stroking faces and announcing:

'I have come to socialise'.

So after attending the capital city so many times in such a short period (I mean, Jesus, why hasn't Boris Johnson ceremonially gifted me with an Oyster Card yet?) I thought that I would be a generous soul and pass along some of my well-found knowledge, what with London being both a tourist destination and impossible place to understand.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I present you with my:
Three Tips: A Tourist's Guide to Landaan

1. Fit in - as it is such a worldwide tourist trap, London is full of rapists, muggers, and street performers who lay in wait for those who look like they have no idea what they're doing.

Asians in waterproof jackets with digital cameras, I am talking directly to you here.

Obviously then, the most important thing to make sure of whilst you're in London is to fit in. There are three main ways you can do this; firstly, pronounce it 'Landaan' (Draw out the second vowel as long as possible) in a loud screeching Cockney accent, secondly, try and fit in as much Cockney rhyming slang as possible (Apples and Pears: Stairs, Barney Rubble: Trouble, Laugh: Giraffe) even if it doesn't make sense, and finally, ask strangers to take photos of you and your friends in front of iconic monuments - this is a common past-time of all Londoners.

2. Get around - famed for it's nightmarish and insanely complicated public transport systems, you probably won't be in London long enough to come to terms with using them (Most people tend to get lost in the Underground for at least three months on their first go) so here are two very valuable slices of information pie.

Firstly, air travel - despite it's carbon heavy reputation, air travel is a very popular option. As well as the popular, quick and cheap option of negating  between London's five airports, you can easily buy an umbrella from a street vendor for a reasonable price and fly around upon a whimsical gust of wind, not unlike the method portrayed in Mary Poppins, but with far more Cockneys and dance routines.

My second tip for public transport in London is a well known secret to Londoners - bus jumping. To enforce order, the government has spent years spreading the myth that you have to be at a Bus Stop to get on one of London's famous red double deckers. This is, obviously, a myth - to get on a bus you can simply jump in front of one and it will stop - just give it about 20 yards, the brakes are surprisingly powerful.

3. Pay up - in these hard economic times, the faithful and strong-willed people and government of London have taken it upon themselves to make you pay for everything you would normally perceive to be a human right. Toilets in Waterloo station cost 30p in exact change (A fiver to the attendant if you don't want firecrackers thrown into your cubicle), buskers, upon discovering copyright law, can now press charges if you look at them or hear their music and not tip them at least a pound, even muggers are now charging fuel surcharges and expecting tips, so make sure you bring plenty of pocket money with you.

On the bright side, it is London, so you can always break into any highstreet shop and loot them if you feel out of pocket - the people of London will be happy to clear up after you, and the recession has triggered a neighbourly sense of 'It's okay, just steal my hard earned possessions, you're a friend' (Just make sure you fit in, see point 1).

So there you have it - three indispensable tips for surviving in the world's safest city. Part of the fun of London is working it all out for yourself without any help from others whatsoever, so make sure to try out things that maybe aren't on my list. If you'd like more helpful information about the world around you, and for more hilariously written bits and bobs from the talented bloggers of the Interwebz, you can buy my book at - www.thethoughtreportofficial.blogspot.com - it's for charity!

Happy Travels!
-Lewis