Seeing as I am off work, no reason at all to avoid an afternoon (and free) showing of Some Like It Hot at the Picture House — one of my favourite movies, and surely everyone likes that one. Unexciting photography of a very familiar place, but as the week develops, these things should change.
Well, I got five out of these six. But we didn’t win the quiz. Lost on a tiebreaker. Goddamit.
More inaccurate replication of some animal or other — koalas are just not this big, or this colour, though nevertheless, that is what it is supposed to be. 4th prize in the Christmas raffle of the Hebden Bridge Picture House (£1/ticket, if you’re interested). This was very early in the evening: the place filled up by the start of the movie, which was Conclave: very good (another unsolicited advertisement).
You’ve gotta like this movie. Not all the jokes work any more, by any means, but Young Frankenstein must be the finest parody-homage of any genre, ever. And at a completely decadent time of day, too, thanks to the Hebden Bridge Picture House’s Thursday morning “Elevenses” deal.
I have several times tried to capture a version of this shot, but it’s never really worked before. I’m quite happy with this one, though. Most of the thirty or so people who were watching have already departed and yet still the credits roll, down to the stage where only the assistant catering key grip’s mother is still watching them. The movie? Trap — which, I suppose, was OK, at least for a while.
In the mid-1970s the esteemed, and very good, photographer Martin Parr (see this page) moved to Hebden Bridge aged 23 and started capturing scenes from local life. These were published as the exhibition and photo-book The Nonconformists. The picture seen here, of the policeman walking in front of the cinema snack bar, was taken in exactly the same spot that this print now hangs, nearly 50 years later. It doesn’t really look a great deal different, on the whole.
These things are not necessarily unusual sights in Hebden Bridge, but perhaps their juxtaposition is rare.
Clare’s birthday was yesterday but it passed without comment on here. We took each other out tonight though, including to the movies to see The Creator. Verdict? Well, it’s a damn fine-looking movie, that’s undeniable but a) it doesn’t always make a great deal of sense and b) in true Hollywood style, it takes some complex philosophical and ethical issues and treats them as mere trivia. As I followed C up the aisle on the way out, and the other two guys went through the box of old posters, I was none the wiser as to the point of it all.
OK, maybe you’ve see The Jungle Book like 38 times or whatever, but until this afternoon, I had never seen it all the way through. Bits of it — the songs, mainly — on Disney Time that we used to get on TV when it was a public holiday in the 1970s (“I’m the king of the swingers…. a jungle VIP”, that stuff) but never all the way through. And it might be a little archaic in its depictions of this or that but it is a pretty good movie, don’t you think? It’s certainly the only thing that happened to me today.
Clare, on the right, has her membership card ready for action. The movie, as the title of the post indicates, was Oppenheimer: which is a decent movie, I’ll acknowledge that, but I’ve stopped thinking that any film needs to be three hours long. (Though these three hours were definitely better than the three hours of my life that Beau is Afraid is never giving back.)
Being 42 