Drugs, Alcohol or Lies (A 24 Hour Party People review)

Man seeks to escape himself in myth, and does so by any means at his disposal. Drugs, alcohol, or lies. Unable to withdraw into himself, he disguises himself. Lies and inaccuracy give him a few moments of comfort. 

Jean Cocteau, "On Invisibility", Diary of an Unknown 

You know your trouble, Tony? You don't know what you are. I fucking know what you are, but you don't know who you are.

Well, my curiosity's got the better of me, Rob. Tell me, what am I?

You're a cunt.

Well, you see, I knew that, you see. That was something I did know. 

Anthony Howard Wilson can be viewed as the patron saint of Manchester, or as the biggest prick to ever crawl out of Salford. Often both. A Cambridge-educated journalist working for Granada Television, he had a reputation for being very intelligent and charismatic, but was also pompous and infuriating. Part of this was intentional - Wilson took delight in "wind(ing) up all the people in Manchester who think I'm a flash cunt", and set out to become the flashiest and the cuntiest of them all.

Wilson was growing bored with the music scene of the 70s when he attended a Sex Pistols gig at the Lesser Free Trade Hall in June 1976, organised by future Buzzcocks frontman Howard Devoto. Forty-two people watched Johnny Rotten stamp and sneer on stage amidst a squall of cheap guitar: Bernard Sumner and Peter Hook, then going by the name Stiff Kittens; Martin Hannett, the future architect of the Manchester sound; Jon the Postman, legendary for jumping on stage and treating all and sundry to his bellowed rendition of "Louie Louie"; Steven Morrissey, the poet laureate for angsty teens the world over. For them, the gig was revolutionary. Here was a new type of music, one anyone could do. If it was good enough for the red-haired tit on stage, it was good enough for them.

This lighting of the blue touch paper is captured in 24 Hour Party People - sort of. Tony Wilson, here played by Steve Coogan, points out all the important players (and Mick Hucknall) in the story, talking about their futures, like how Sumner and Hook go on to become Warsaw, later Joy Division, and how Hannett will try to kill him. He describes the gig to his producer as "history", comparing the small turnout at the Free Trade Hall to that of the guest list at Caesar's assassination. Wilson is obsessed with the idea of creating a new mythology. 24 Hour Party People chronicles how successful he was at that.

...Where Somebody Else Has Gone Before (A Star Trek Into Darkness review)

Poster by Matt Ferguson.

I don't go into films looking for problems. Really, I don't. When you go into a cinema, you're making a pact with whatever's on the silver screen - "I will suspend my disbelief, I will give you the time of day, but only if you give me something truly worthwhile". It's only fair. It's like deliberately looking for the moment when the magician slips something up his sleeve - where's the fun in that? It's better to enjoy the show.

So I went into Star Trek Into Darkness prepared to meet it halfway. I was beyond annoyed by the marketing constantly teasing the identity of Benedict Cumberbatch's villain, even though everyone and their mother and their mother's friend Jean knew who it was. But then I remembered how much I liked the previous film from 2009, which managed to soar despite a shoddy script, purely through the strength of its cast and JJ Abrams being a pretty damn fine action director. I wasn't expecting a masterpiece, I just wanted a fun little popcorn movie.

I got that movie only on the most superficial level. Star Trek Into Darkness is a film that just flat out doesn't work anywhere else.

(WARNING: This review will contain spoilers, so if you haven't seen the film, I'm sorry, but turn back now. There's no way of discussing all the bullshit that happens without doing so; it's vacuum-packed bullshit. They're clever like that.)