Why Don't We Do It in the Road? (A Shame review)

Sometimes things go better in pairs. It helped Noah organise the passengers for his Ark, it's mostly prevented us from wearing odd shoes, and it's often the basis of fruitful collaborations: Bert & Ernie, Abbott & Costello, Alcohol & Regret. This extends to art as well; Dalí couldn't have functioned without the aid of his muse Gala. John Lennon and Paul McCartney wrote some of the most renowned pop songs of all time, and neither produced as good work separately.

And, of course, there's the world of film. Given how prevalent the auteur theory is in film criticism, and the importance we place on directors, we can't help but pay special attention to the interplay between them and certain collaborators. Would Werner Herzog be cinema's lovable crazy uncle without Klaus Kinski driving him on? Probably not. Martin Scorsese would never have made Raging Bull were it not for De Niro visiting him in hospital with a copy of Jake La Motta's autobiography. Sometimes a creative partner just brings out the best in a director, and we're seeing something similar in the relationship between Michael Fassbender and Steve McQueen.

No, not that one.

That one.

(Normally I'd put an alternative poster up, but the one I've chosen is pretty NSFW, you'll see why after the jump.)

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.