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Yeah that was me. My uncle to blame, i was more into cricket, couldn't understand what all the fuss was about 're football. Then, he took me to my first game at Loftus Rd; that 75-6 team blew my mind and I got it. Ok, born Hammersmith, so that's partly it, was incarcerated (sic) in Lincolnshire for many years, so that's something. Pining for the fjords etc. Then, always hated Chelsea, Arsenal.etc, for reasons unknown. But there's something about this club that's entwined with my poor soul forever.
Agree. Yeah, I'm in. This is an austere, novelistic, self-consciously important film that unfurls in a measured sprawl over 3 hours, but nonetheless exerts an iron grip throughout. It mulls on some weighty themes of Jewish identity, the immigrant experience, privilege, culture-versus-commerce, the thin lines between inspiration and insanity, ambition and crushing egotism, creativity and compromise, architectural integrity, the arrogant insularity of privilege and the long reach of the past. The result is a very impressive, serious piece about a man of genius who gets to taste the American Dream but also feel the stinging humiliation of a conditional welcome that turns ice-cold.
It begins in 1947, as Hungarian-born Jewish architect László Tóth (Adrien Brody, fabulous throughout, brimming with pain and passion in equal measure) spills from the bowels of a teeming ship to eye Ellis Island’s famous statue. From Tóth’s angle, Lady Liberty appears upside down, and America, land of dreams, will prove a frequently topsy-turvy, nauseating experience for Tóth over the next 30 years. Like Corbet’s provocative first two films, (The Childhood Of A Leader and Vox Lux) 'The Brutalist' charts the rise of an enigmatic figure., about which we first we know little other that he awaits the arrival of his wife, Erzsébet (an excellent Felicity Jones when she appears - her role seems almost marginal at first, but her character steadily grows in stature), and his niece, Zsófia, who remain in Europe after the war. But slowly, brick by brick, the pieces are dropped into place, and we learn that Tóth is a celebrated architect of the Bauhaus school. At once ugly and beautiful, the jutting, concrete blocks of his 'Brutalist' structures seek to shape an aesthetic future.
In silence Tóth speaks volumes; a halting, traumatised figure in the first half, whilst by contrast, post-intermission, Tóth’s words escalate and his emotions amplify, uncorked by the arrival of Erzsébet and Zsófia. There’s also the construction of a prodigious building that will serve as auditorium, chapel, library and gymnasium, and the clashes with domineering patron Harrison Van Buren that come with it. Unnerving even when he’s being charming, Van Buren creates a strange push-pull to his relationship with Tóth, currents of admiration and envy, power and disgust swirling beneath the surface. Corbet, perhaps, sees echoes of his own experience — the visionary artist beholden to the whims of myopic moneymen — and then pours cultural prejudice into the mix. For the Van Burens are revealed to be the quintessence of moral corruption bred by wealth and power; (only Harry’s twin sister Maggie seems to value genuine kindness) the film becoming a scathing critique of the ways in which America’s moneyed and privileged class gains cachet through the labour and creativity of immigrants while never considering them equals; despite Harrison’s big pronouncements on the responsibility of the rich to nurture the great artists of their time, he’s a cultural gatekeeper in an exclusionary club. Despising weakness, he ultimately cuts László down to size with a pitilessness that in hindsight seems preordained from their first encounter.
Editor David Jancso threads the sprawling story with a flow that pulls us along nicely, incorporating archival material for historical context. And Lol Crawley’s cinematography is magnificent, never more so than when prowling the mausoleum-like halls of the unfinished project or the tunnels of Carrera. Together with production designer Judy Becker and costumer Kate Forbes, the DP shows a remarkably attentive eye for detail, conjuring the look of mid-century America with a period verisimilitude that feels truly alive - seldom have we been transported to the past so effectively.
Yeah, it's pretty simple really - Europe and Asia are on the same tectonic plate (there are seven major ones) and share no significant water boundary, making them a single landmass.
Real ale is alive and well. If you're in the London Bridge area, stop by the Royal Oak, Tabard St which does the full range of Harvey's beers from Sussex including seasonals. Something for all tastes.
Another very good Camra pub centrally is the Sutton Arms, near Farringdon, whilst close by is the Dovetail, which specialises in very strong Belgian stuff (for a fee, but worth it).
The new Spoons in Waterloo Station is excellent (another one coming in Fulham Rd apparently), whilst both the one at Putney Bridge and down in Wimbledon are both very good indeed, and always have a good range.
*JCS stays fit *Chair is back * Dembele stays fit / improves etc * Madsen improves * Celar improves * Kelmann is a star * Kolli comes good * The recruiting team find a striker / full back / midfielder etc.
The Who -Won't Get Fooled Again Beatles -Hey Jude Dylan - Desolation Row Neil Young - Down by the river Jimi Hendrix - 1983 Led Zep - Stairway to Heaven Doors - When the music's over Stones - Midnight Rambler
She is indeed. She was born in Alberta (although her original name was Roberta Joan Anderson - the Mitchell comes from her first marriage) before settling in Saskatoon. She also has Scottish and Irish ancestry on her mother's side and Norwegian on her father's, who was a Royal Canadian Air Force flight lieutenant. She later sang about her small-town upbringing in several of her songs, including 'Song for Sharon'.
Went to a pub in Leytonstone yesterday calling itself the Calamity Tank
Strange name for a pub, but as any fule no, most breweries in the past would have a calamity tank. It’s a wastewater tank, normally empty, that can be used for spills, bad beer, and maybe storage. Imagine a scenario where, during pump over, someone left a valve open and an entire brew just went down the drain. No problem, switch a few valves outside and your lift station can put this water in the calamity tank. If this brew were to just go down the drain, this would create a ‘slug load’ at the wastewater treatment plant. These are usually illegal, and can cause a lot of problems at the treatment plant ( whose operators could trace it to your brewery). I started telling someone all of this only to find him making his excuses and doubtless wishing he'd never asked.
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