Film Club #65 Oh oh oh, it’s Magic

“Only a Rolls man can drive a Rolls.”

We thought we’d like it, but not a lot, but even that was hoping for too much. You think you’d be able to shake something decent out of Tony Hopkins, William Goldman and Dickie Attenborough but, alas, no dice. Just one illogical scene after another, and this from a screenwriting guru of sorts.

The big sticking point was it seemed to be set in an alternate dimension where people loved, adored and were amazed by ventriloquism. I was half expecting it to have been written by Roger De Courcey. Tips of that hat to Burgess Meredith who went to town on a hilarious agent caricature and whoever Hopkins’ knitwear wrangler was. We have a new bottom film, Sean S. Cunningham can breathe easy again.

If you’re ever curious about seeing Magic, consider this knockout line of dialogue first:

“I’d like to say that goin’ to bed with you is maybe one of the best three things that ever happened to me. And I’d love some coffee. And I adore you. And I take it with cream and sugar. And your breasts belong in the Louvre, which is a museum in Paris that I plan on visiting with you once you get wise and decide to leave the old ear-blower.”

A film related treat to finish, different poster interpretations of Bresson films.


Brown trousers & Gherkin lighters


I’ve only got myself to blame. My confusion over entertaiment and film quality led to a miscalculated vote of five and a quarter and now the only chance I had of lifting Deepstar Six from its suitably Marianas Trench depths has disappeared. You could call it risk addiction. But what a ride. Basic Instinct 2, The sequel nobody ever asked for was a rollicking, risible rollercoaster. The star? The increasingly improbable dialogue. So, before we go, here are some of the very best lines from a very bad, naughty film, which David Thewlis admitted this year “It was a piece of shit, wasn’t it?”. Here are some of the people who dodged a bullet by not getting involved.

“I want that cunt in jail!”

“When you think about fucking me, and I know you do, how do you picture it… doctor?”

“You know how some guys are into blondes, and some guys are into killers?”

“Even Oedipus didn’t see his mother coming.”

P.S. Don’t forget the “car chase”.

Joy, Divided

Amidst a sea of exceptionally well-made gravy and some of the nicest banger-potato mash-ups I’ve had the pleasure of being on the right end of, the new incarnation of Film Club reached a new high by having full attendance all up in Wilson Mansions. The film, Control, meh, maybe not so good, opinion varied wildly as you can see below, but I’m with Matt on “Coronation Street does Joy Division”.

In ascending order:

James 4.5

Campbell 4.5

Matt 5

Lou 6.5

Kate 7

Nat 7

Emma 7.5

Making for an average of 6.

No Bubblegum

Film Club 2.0 returned with neither a bang nor a whimper in the capable hands of Robbie Redford in the surprisingly nihilistic “The Candidate”, helmed by Fletch’s own late Michael Ritchie. We kicked off with trailers for Deliverance, The Poseidon Adventure, The Last of the Red Hot Lovers and Blacula, which interrupted James’ newfound obsession with CelebAir.

The feature presentation was summed up neatly by Matt as “The Boris Johnson Story” as it details a blonde floppy haired neophyte getting in way over his head squaring up against an increasingly embittered incumbent. There were also echoes of Phyllis in the sunglasses-wearing skank, and a nod to Marvin and Nancy. Food was hot dogs with beaucoup de condiments, cactus and gherkins, Minstrels, premature mince pies, and microwave popcorn. Some red wine was also drunk, and at one point sieved by me. All in all, textbook Film Club. Welcome back.

Them scores:

Campbell 7

Emma 5

James 7

Kate 6

Matt 7

Nat 6

Giving us a solid 6.3

Only Jules and (W)Hor(e)ses

Well Film Club 50 is but a fading memory, but what japes were had. To recap:

A sighting of none other than Ian Ball, a spectre hanging over Film Club particularly in its Vauxhall/Stockwell heavy phase.

The smooth Howard Moon.

Take away espressos (I was awake all night in the end).

Crayfish in a martini glass. A girl’s starter if ever I saw one.


A disappointing film, particularly after a promising first 20 minutes that somehow made me actually angry. I thought it was going to be a seriousish inspiration to Je T’Aime John Wayne. What we got was milksops, mysogyny and moody mental Moreau. Boo, I say. Boo.

Anyway, I’ll spare you my vitriol and possible spoilers and get right on to them scores.

Campbell 4

Emma 5

James 7

Kate 6

Lou 5

Nat 5

That makes an average of 5.3

Our track record of French movies has definitely taken a dip after this and Trois couleurs: rouge. It’s time to wheel out the big guns if Truffaut can’t get us going.

Mr. Angry

Wherein, keeping a vague Hargreavesian notion going, I remind you all of the inventive vitriol Matt poured all over a competent mid-table showing from the American indie awardwinner Little Miss Sunshine.

“Bored my tits off.”

“Unfunny, and largely stupid.”

“From the start to the finish, I hated it.”

“It bugged the shit out of me.”

A brief reprieve for Steve Carell who was “moderately amusing”.

And then, right back into it with:

“It made me want to puke all over my socks.”

How the scores broke down:

Campbell 7 “It’s a hipster National Lampoon’s Vacation, right?”

Emma 8 “Nicest, charmingest film I’ve seen for a bit.”

Kate 7.5

Matt 4 “It’s just shit.”

Nat 7

Final score: 6.7

Three Colours: Brown

What a load of old bobbins Trois couleurs: Rouge was. A bit of a disappointment all round really. Maybe we would have been better off listening to randomly named Brit punkers 3 Colours Red instead.

We are at odds with the critical community on this one, so maybe these two links will illuminate matters a wee bit. Of course, it could be just that the film was a bit on the shit side.

The New York Times

The Film Journal (opening quote unwittingly nails the problem I reckon…)

Here’s how the votes broke down.

Campbell 3

Emma 4

James 4

Kate 4

Matt 3

Nat 5