Our beloved Maurice Moss (from Channel 4’s The IT Crowd) has only gone and made a film. Possibly jealous of Chris O’ Dowd’s (Roy’s) success in Hollywood films, such as Dinner for Schmucks and Katharine Parkinson’s (Jen’s)…um,  Malteasers ads, Richard Ayoade’s directorial debut, the coming-of-age comedy, Submarine, comes out this March. This is Ayoade’s first foray into directing a full-length feature, his previous directing experience seen in television series Garth Marenghi’s Darkplace and in various music videos for the likes of Vampire Weekend (all of which have been rather excellent). The film was recently screened at Toronto International Film Festival as well as the Dublin International Film Festival, with much praise for the first-time film director. So how will Submarine fare? Well, all indications would suggest magnificently.

The film, based on Joe Dunthorne’s novel of the same name (touted as “the greatest coming-of age story since Catcher in the Rye”), deals with the trials and tribulations of misguided, Max Fischer-esque, fifteen year-old Welshman, Oliver Tate. The primary cast is made up of young newcomers: our hero, Oliver Tate is played by Craig Roberts and his first love, Jordana, portrayed by Yasmin Paige. Other more well known faces from the British film scene also star, including Paddy Considine (In America) as a hippy life coach, who tries to seduce our protagonist’s mother (portrayed by An Education’s Sally Hawkins), and Oliver’s dad is played by Noah Taylor, who not-so-long-ago played the father of Charlie Bucket in Tim Burton’s Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

The most well known faces tied to the film are behind the camera, with Ben Stiller acting as executive producer (apparently he’s a big Garth Marenghi’s Darkplace fan) and Alex Turner of the Arctic Monkeys writing a number of songs for the film. Though Stiller is apparently confused as to how he came to read the script of Submarine or, indeed, how he became involved at all, he is highly complimentary of Ayoade’s film, describing him as “annoyingly talented.” Alex Turner and Richard Ayoade were already an established collaborative duo, with Ayoade directing Arctic Monkey’s recent live DVD. Turner’s tracks, which happen to be his first solo effort proper, are quite lovely and tie with the whole ambience of the film well. Turner wrote five original tracks for the film, among them Hiding Tonight and Stuck on the Puzzle, all of which seem to match the leisurely, gentle pace of the film.

Recently released clips and trailers promise a pretty unique viewing experience. The trailer, back-dropped by some ambient French music, clearly introduces the core components of Oliver Tate’s world (as well as the offbeat comic nature of the film): a pyromaniac girlfriend, the ‘storm and stress’ of adolescence, the breakdown of his parents’ relationship, with a little aside reminding us of the dignity of the film industry (“It’s really rude to leave a film before its finished” “To who?” “The film makers” “How are they going to know?” “They just do…” “How?” “They do!”).

From what I have seen, promotion around the film has been limited, but has been greatly hyped nonetheless. Comparisons have been made between Ayoade and greats such as Wes Anderson and Jean- Luc Godard, because of his pace, style and attention to detail. It would seem that an air of delightful creepiness seems to come across from all of the promotional material for the film. Ayoade seems to have captured the awkward, humorous self-consciousness of the protagonist excellently.

All things considered, Submarine promises to be an extremely original piece of cinema. Ayoade is one of the most talented British comic writers and actors working today, so anyone who is familiar with his work is well aware of his capacity for brilliance. With any film hyped by the critics, as this film has been, there is some degree of caution among audiences, but I cannot help but be enthusiastic about this film. Considering it has not even got as far as cinema release, hopefully I’m not being premature in saying  Ayoade’s endearing new take on the coming-of-age tale is real reason for excitement.

Welcome to the final installment of the Ents section as presented by myself & Mssr. Murph – it’s been pretty awesome to run a full 6 (!) issues this academic year and it’s been especially awesome to write Ents. In honour of the occasion, and because I’m pretty cheesy, I thought it’d be pretty fitting to wrap up Motley’s Ents Section 2010/11 by recounting some of our favourite movie endings. Warning – this may get teary. Oh, and spoilers ahoy!

Amadeus

Milos Forman’s 1984 adaptation of Peter Shaffer’s play is probably one of the more beautiful, entertaining and generally good films of all time: it tells the (mostly fictionalised) story of how Mozart (here portrayed by Tom Hulce as childish, vulgar and incredibly talented – with a very annoying laugh) was (indirectly) murdered by a musical rival at the time, the scheming and insanely jealous Salieri (F. Murray Abraham). The final scene opens with the conclusion of Salieri’s story – he is now infirm and confined to an asylum long after Mozart’s death. The young priest to whom he confessed is visibly shaken, disturbed and clinging to his crucifix – as Salieri is wheeled out of the room, he pauses to speak to the priest. Mozart’s Piano Concerto in D Minor creeps into the background. “I will speak for you, Father,” he says. “I speak for all mediocrities in the world. I am their champion. I am their patron saint.” The final shots are of the ancient Salieri, once a great composer, being wheeled down the corridor of the asylum, crying out to the madmen he’s surrounded with – “Mediocrities of the world – I absolve you!” – before leaning back. He closes his eyes, folds his hand, and opens his mouth. Mozart’s laugh emerges. Fade to black. The scene gave me goosebumps the first time I watched it – a disturbing end to an incredible film.

Midnight Cowboy

Midnight Cowboy is an odd one. It’s the story of Joe (Jon Voight), a young Texan who comes to New York to make it as a male prostitute. He meets Ratso (Dustin Hoffman), who initially scams him out of money before the two make friends in the face of extreme poverty, unemployment and a harsh winter. Ratso, while a shady character, is also sick: he wants to make it out of New York and with worsening health, the two attempt to hire Joe out as a stud. Increasingly desperate and after a string of disturbing sexual encounters, Joe beats and robs a customer, and the two depart for Miami on a bus. However, Ratso is incredibly ill, and just as Joe wonders aloud about their new life in Miami, he realises Ratso has died beside him. Joe alerts the bus driver, who replies there is nothing left to do but continue to Miami, and Joe sits beside his dead friend, watching the landscape change outside. Seriously sombre stuff after an hour and a half of gritty drama, but highly recommended.

Being There

“Life is a state of mind” are the last lines of this brilliant film, starring Peter Sellers as Chance the Gardener, a simple-minded middle-aged man who, after years of peaceful isolation tending the garden of a wealthy townhouse in Washington DC, is turned out on the streets when its owner dies. Chance, dressed well but old-fashioned, wanders aimlessly until he is hit by the car of Ben Rand, a wealthy businessman and close aide to the President. Mistaking Chance the Gardener for “Chauncey Gardiner” (a mispronunciation), Rand and his wife (Shirley Maclaine) also mistake Chance’s simple musings about gardening (“As long as the roots are not severed, all is well. And all will be well in the garden”) for sage comments on the economy. He becomes an advisor to the President, appears on television and is offered book deals – all the while oblivious to what occurs around him. Finally, the terminally ill Rand dies: the final scene is his funeral. Chance wanders away once more, tends to a sapling and continues to stroll across the surface of a small lake. A few strides in, he pauses, pushes his umbrella down through the water as if to test its depth, and continues on his way. Is any interpretation sufficient? Roger Ebert says this of Being There: “The movie presents us with an image, and while you may discuss the meaning of the image, it is not permitted to devise explanations for it. Since Ashby does not show a pier, there is no pier – a movie is exactly what it shows us, and nothing more.”

Kids

I don’t like Kids. I’m pretty hard to shock when it comes to movies, but there’s something really ugly about this one – also, the early 90s clothes and jargon make it a hard one to relate to, whatever your socioeconomic status. That said, however, its ending is really something -  it’s the story of Telly, a 17 year old skater from New York who really likes sex but only deflowers virgins on the premise that this will protect him from STDs. Telly’s friends are cinema’s stereotypical teenaged sex, booze and drug addicts: all except Jenny (Chloe Sevigny), who has only ever had sex with Telly and has just discovered that she has HIV. For the rest of the movie, she attempts to find the also-HIV positive Telly, who has since had sex with many young girls, eventually finding him at a house party, having sex with a 13 year old girl. Exhausted and under the influence of party drugs, she passes out only for Telly’s friend Casper (Justin Pierce) to rape her, thus exposing himself to HIV. The final shot opens on a naked Casper, who wakes up, looks around in disbelief and asks the camera, “Jesus Christ, what happened?” It’s shocking and a little viewer-exploitative, but it works.

Some Like it Hot

It’s hard not to love Some Like it Hot: if you’ve not seen it, get out and get it, now – even if you don’t like older movies, SLiH is a treat. Mostly because it’s aged extremely well – you’ll get every one of the jokes, all the laughs are still intact and man, Marilyn Monroe is very sexy here. It’s the story of two musicians, Jerry (Jack Lemmon) and Joe (Tony Curtis) who witness a gangster shooting and flee the scene, disguising themselves as Josephine (Curtis) and Daphne (Lemmon) and joining a woman’s touring band. There they meet Sugar Kane (Monroe), whom Curtis falls in love with. He proceeds to disguise himself as a millionaire to win her over, while Daphne is unwillingly romanced by Osgood, another millionaire. It’s very zany, very clever, wonderfully witty – and its final scene is its best. Joe reveals himself to Sugar, who loves him anyway, while Osgood and the still-disguised Jerry escape in a boat. Jerry reveals “herself” to Osgood -

Jerry: Osgood, I’m gonna level with you. We can’t get married at all.

Osgood: Why not?

Jerry: Well, in the first place, I’m not a natural blonde.

Osgood: Doesn’t matter.

Jerry: I smoke! I smoke all the time!

Osgood: I don’t care.

Jerry: Well, I have a terrible past. For three years now, I’ve been living with a saxophone player.

Osgood: I forgive you.

Jerry: [Tragically] I can never have children!

Osgood: We can adopt some.

Jerry: But you don’t understand, Osgood!

[Pulls off wig]

Jerry: I’m a man!

Osgood: Well, nobody’s perfect!

And they ride off into the sunset. End scene. What a perfect close.

The best way to describe the reaction to the truly execrable film that is Inception is to compare it to a self fulfilling prophecy. When the Soviet Army crossed the Vistula in 1945, many ethnic Germans living in areas east of Germany desperately fled their homes in hopes of reaching mainland Germany before the Russians. Their desperate scramble was fuelled by their own fear of actual atrocities committed by the advancing Red Army, but also by their own Nazi government’s propaganda which was actually intended to stiffen these Germans’ resolve to resist the invasion. Alas, the horrific nature of these atrocities used as a propaganda tool merely induced panic and many of these retreating ethnic Germans became subject to these atrocities themselves when the fast moving Red Army units caught up with these refugees.

In this case the atrocity is merely a Hollywood film. The groundwork for this self fulfilling prophecy was laid months before the film’s release, with a trailer that genuinely suggested something intelligent and challenging would be forthcoming from the director of Memento and The Prestige. Instead, we got a monumentally simple and dull film which looked as though it had been directed by Michael Bay. The teaser trailer was specifically designed to echo or evoke the complex and labyrinthine structure of both Memento and The Prestige. This theory was re-enforced by a visit to the film’s official website in search of more information which only showed a constantly spinning top. This provocative and mysterious approach could easily be construed as pretentious or hollow unless the film itself delivered on its rather arch notions.

Another trope employed by the director/film executives was to ‘keep the plot secret’ and reveal as little as possible in the trailer. It would seem film goers’ expectations for summer releases has reached an all time low if they are receptive to equating secrecy with brilliant film-making. Proof that substantiates this theory is steeped in the aforementioned marketing tactics of the film, whereby they convinced most people that showing little amounted to a lot even though the actual film turned out to be the trailer itself; it was an inspired if insidious marketing strategy.

By constantly re-enforcing the idea that this film is special and unlike 90% of movies, which are merely their trailers, the audience believed Inception was a great film before entering the cinema. How else could a film get away with a few cheap looking action set pieces glued together with insipid dialogue such as ‘this is my last job’ or ‘we must stop Cillian Murphy before he or his company becomes an energy super-power’ or some other such drivel?

Above all this trash, above the mind numbingly boring and simple storyline, the laughable dialogue, Ellen Page, and prosaic action set pieces, spins that incessant top – like some over-wound toy ballerina tossed atop the flotsam of some wrecked garbage scow with the goddamn seagulls following close behind in the hope of some sardines.

Clint Eastwood’s Hereafter is an understated film about a delicate topic. In fact, it is so understated that it risks misleading much of the audience as to its intentions and implications, and frustrating the rest of us in the process. The central theme, unsurprisingly, is that of the eponymous afterlife. Eastwood threads a set of stories based around the primal desire for the great beyond and the human longing to communicate with those who have passed away. Everything we see is wholly suggestive and ambiguous, never committing to the reality (or lack thereof) of the characters’ observations, instead assuming that it is enough for us not to know or care whether an underlying truth is to be found in the characters’ shared sufferings and experiences.

Following in the vein of multi-stranded movies such as 2004’s Crash, the disparate subplots in Hereafter are brought together by a combination of chance and necessity (read: destiny?). Marie (Cecile de France) is a French television journalist who suffers a near-death experience as she almost drowns during a devastating tsunami, before being resuscitated; George (Matt Damon) is a middle-aged man who, so far as we can tell, genuinely considers himself able to communicate with the dead; and Marcus (Frankie McLaren) loses his twin brother Jason (George McLaren) to a car accident. Despite what we might expect given the overarching theme, there are hardly any remarkable events depicted for which we would have to lose our preconceptions. Near death experiences commonly result in reports of white light and a sense of peacefulness, and presumably there are at least some psychics who sincerely believe in their claims. We don’t have to accept anything out of the ordinary to buy into this story.

Equally, there is no major plot resolution to which we are led; the characters move slowly and inexorably towards one another without any real drama or event beyond the mundane reality of having to deal with the consequences of human mortality. Nothing is forced upon us, it is enough that the characters have genuine motivations and emotions. Peter Morgan, who wrote the screenplay, has stated that he does not believe in life after death. He didn’t need to in order to pen this story, because it’s irrelevant. The film doesn’t purport to demonstrate the otherworldly; instead impressing the view that the here-and-now is remarkable in its own right. In this sense Eastwood has made a subtly intelligent—if deceiving—picture. But in its lack of definite rhyme or reason, it fails to captivate us by committing itself, and it fails to excite us with a narrative that poses few questions and delivers even fewer answers. There is such a thing as too subtle.

Like every kid of the ’90s, my childhood comprised three things: Pokémon, penny sweets and Disney. While the former two are still decidedly awesome, the latter has declined so far into sheer crappiness that I just have to ask: what the hell happened?

The Lion King (1994) was the first film I ever saw in the cinema. I had just turned 5, and, although I was too much of a youngling to understand what was going on, I still recall being mesmerised by the whole thing. Looking back, all I can really remember are the bright colours and the fact that my sister was bawling. But damn, that movie was amazing.

The Lion King was my first foray into the Disney empire and succeeded in cementing my love for the studio forever more. It had everything Disney is famous for: an epic story, fully realised characters, comedy, horror, and sentiment. Not to mention a killer soundtrack, much of which today resides in my iTunes collection.

The aforementioned film is part of what is now termed The Disney Renaissance, a period of time when Disney could do no wrong. Running from the late 1980s to the late 1990s, releases included classics like Beauty and the Beast (1991), Aladdin (1992), and Pocahontas (1995). Every one of these films are widely regarded as Disney’s finest. In particular, Beauty and the Beast, which many believe to be the best thing Disney has ever done, was the first animated film ever to be nominated the Best Picture at the Oscars.

The Disney Renaissance came to an end in 1999 with the release of Tarzan. This was the moment when Disney began its long-lasting decline; when it turned from sacred to shit. Sure, Tarzan was great, but nothing beyond this has really wowed me since. Well, one has, but we’ll get to that later.

The 2000s, as far as I’m concerned, is when Disney lost the respect it took all those years to instil. Atlantis: The Lost Empire? Crap. Treasure Planet? Crap. Home on the Range? Crap! To add insult to injury, the company tried to save its own ass in 2006 by buying the perpetually awesome Pixar. When I learned of the acquisition I was terrified: how could Pixar, a studio with a perfect track record, allow itself to be tainted by Disney, a studio that hadn’t released anything worth watching since ten years before? Alas, it was ok: while Disney would oversee all projects, creative control would remain in the hands of Pixar.

For the last few years I had entirely forgotten about Disney. An endless string of disappointment had left me with little faith in the company, and I moved on to bigger and better things, namely the studio mentioned five or six times in the previous paragraph.

And then 2011 came. And with it, a movie so brilliant it has undone much of the irritation brought on in the noughties: Tangled. Based on Rapunzel, Tangled retells the classic tale in a witty and exciting way. But it’s not just that. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but Tangled has succeeded in recapturing the magic classic Disney features boast. That may be down to the fact that the movie cost a staggering $260 million to make, but perhaps the people at Disney have rediscovered something they had for such a long time lost. Maybe, just maybe, the Disney we all know and once loved is back. Hopefully, the studio’s next release doesn’t prove Tangled to be nothing more than a diamond in the roughest of the rough.

Fan of Desperate Housewives? I hate to be the bearer of bad news but here’s some information that could potentially leave millions of fans devastated. It appears that Desperate Housewives was suspiciously excluded when ABC announced in early January that The Middle, Modern Family, Cougar Town, Grey’s Anatomy and Private Practice were all renewed for 2010-11.

So what exactly does this mean for the show? Well, the general hype on the Internet suggests that the show isn’t really in danger of doing a runner from our TV screens this year. I mean, why would it? The demand is certainly there and apparently, the cast is still more than willing to pull another season out of the bag (if I was earning $400,000 an episode, I’d be more than willing too).

The confusion has nothing to do with the show itself; the creator, Marc Cherry, has a contract with ABC until 2013, but the stars do not. Their contracts expire this season.

Cast hottie James Denton, who plays Mike Delfino, said that talks with the producers were “tenuous,” but then reassured us that “I think it’s going to work out. The network really wants us. We all want to be there.”

Denton seems more than happy with the job saying they’d have “to drag me out of there feet first”. The problem doesn’t seem to involve the male cast members. In fact, they haven’t even been approached about their contracts yet because the women of the show are the priority. It is called Desperate Housewives, after all.

The problem seems to revolve around – drum roll – money. It seems $400,000 might not be enough for at least three of the main quartet; Felicity Huffman (Lynette Scavo), Eva Longoria (Gabrielle Solis) and Marcia Cross (Bree Van de Kamp). ABC president Paul Lee hinted that contract talks with the female stars was one of several things holding up the works.

Teri Hatcher (Susan Mayer) and Vanessa Williams (Renee Perry) have both reportedly renewed their contracts and from what I can gather, the biggest dispute seems to involve Eva Longoria, who is pushing for a pay rise.

In January, Longoria was forced to close the doors of her shared restaurant, “Kiss”, because of losses, amounting to $76,000, and because of the failure to pay some of the restaurant’s creditors. Apparently, this cost Longoria just over $5 million, so presumably, she’s trying to avoid feeling the pinch.

Although somehow I doubt that, taking into account that there have been 149 episodes of Desperate Housewives broadcasted, as of February of this year, and at $400,000 an episode… You do the math. It’s a lot of cash so I don’t think $5 million would cause many a sleepless night.

This unprecedented quandary looks unlikely to leave us twiddling our thumbs on Tuesday nights though. At least, that’s what everyone’s hoping, including Marc Cherry; “the actresses are still in hot and heavy negotiations, so as of this moment everyone is hopeful and optimistic that we’ll be returning for an eighth season”. He does add, however, that it all depends on if the women sign their new contracts, or not.

It’s pretty much factual to say that the show will end, for good, in 2013 when the contract with ABC terminates, after 9 years on our screens. Cherry (like the rest of us!) is still waiting for the green light to get the 8th series underway, so here’s hoping! By the sounds of it, Cherry isn’t distressed by the situation and just hopes to have the contracts agreed on by the end of February. Let’s be optimistic that things are as they seem and that we won’t be landed with the terrible ordeal of having to find something to do for an hour on a Tuesday, when we would otherwise be watching our favourite highly-strung housewives. A stressful thought, I know.

It probably won’t come to that however, which is most likely a good thing because I don’t think its (almost) 200 million viewers worldwide are quite ready to say goodbye to the drama (and fashion) on Wisteria Lane. In the meantime, season 7 is kicking off tonight on RTE2. So grab your pyjamas and your Ben & Jerry’s and enjoy your first hour back with the girls!

“We are never really alert to our destinies are we?” asks Andrew Marlow, when recalling his mindset on the eve of what he considers one of his greatest experiences.  “But the next day always comes, unless we actually die, and the next day I met Robert Oliver.”

In Elizabeth Kostova’s second novel, Swan Thieves, Robert Oliver, celebrated artist, brandishes a knife at a painting in the Impressionists wing of the National Gallery of Art in Washington D.C. Psychiatrist Andrew Marlow is then recruited to oversee Oliver’s mental rehabilitation.  Soon after giving Marlow permission to question the people of his past in order to aid his recovery, Oliver stops speaking altogether.

Marlow’s journey takes him to the various women in Oliver’s life, most prominently his ex-wife, Kate, and girlfriend, Mary.  Their experiences depict Oliver as a man whose passion for art is unrestrained and sometimes destructive, compromising the relationships in his life as he frequently loses himself entirely in his work.  His secretive nature draws people to him, until they get so deeply entrenched in his life they can’t escape.  While he moves forward into artistic frenzy, those left behind must pick up the pieces of fragmented relationships.

Kate and Mary both take over storytelling at points in the book—Kostova marks the name of the current narrator at the top of each chapter, starting from the beginning, even though no one but Marlow narrates until chapter 12.  These shifts in perspective are also broken up by letters, centuries-old correspondences between a woman, Beatrice, and her uncle, Olivier, both artists themselves.  Oliver had the ancient letters, written in French, on his person and obsessively rereads them while under Marlow’s care.  They are dispersed within the text in the order that Marlow reads them, as well as when they were written back in the 19^th century.  As the novel moves on, the past becomes more concrete as specific scenes unfold, that help audiences understand the letters in more depth.

Marlow soon realizes that to solve the puzzle of Robert Oliver, he must first uncover the mystery behind the painting he attacked, “Leda” by Gilbert Thomas. Soon the past and present are reconciled into a single story, as the letters of Beatrice and Olivier, written during the time the painting was produced, help to shed light on the situation.

This painting is a depiction of the mythological story of Zeus coming to Leda in the form of a swan.  Leda would then give birth to Zeus’s daughter Helen, whose abduction by Paris would spark the Trojan War.

Kostova describes the array of artwork in this book so vividly, that I felt compelled to look up the paintings online.   I was disappointed to find that Gilbert Thomas, his self-portrait, and the “Leda” painting didn’t exist (the painting on the cover of the book is an 1832 work by François-Edouard Picot).  This makes Kostova’s exquisitely detailed depiction of the painting even more remarkable.  She describes the form of Leda before moving into her vision of the swan.

“The other figure in the painting was not human, although it was certainly a dominant character—a huge swan, hovering over her as if about to land on water, its wings beating backward to slow the speed of its assault.  The swan’s long wing feathers curved inward like talons, its gray-webbed feet almost touched the delicate skin of her belly, and its black-circled eye was as fierce as the gaze of a stallion.”

But Kostova’s ability to express detail vastly limits the pace of the story.  At first you feel as if the descriptions are characteristic of the mind of the main narrator, Marlow, and that his painter’s eye causes him to always be focusing on the minute details.  As others take turns to tell their stories though, the same painstaking descriptions are present.  I appreciate the author’s efforts to depict a scene, but the slow, leisurely way in which the story moved along contradicted Marlow’s urgent desire to get to the bottom of the mystery.  Audiences will read it quickly, not necessarily because it’s an easy read, but because they are more eager than Marlow to see how it will end.

After Kostova’s bestselling debut novel, “The Historian,” won many fans, her second book was highly anticipated.  And while I found “The Swan Thieves” to be a worthwhile read, it was not what I expected based on her first work.  “The Historian” blends history and horror in a fantastic telling of ancient Dracula and modern mysteries.  By the end of that book you are not only convinced that the vampiric stories are based in fact, but that anyone can uncover this truth by embarking on the right treasure hunt.  Past and present events are each given appropriate coverage, creating a smooth tale that makes transitions easily across time.

On the other hand, the time-jumping, historical fiction aspect of “The Swan Thieves,” seems forced. The dynamic relationship between Oliver and his art, as well as the people in his life, is compelling and beautifully done.  The parallel plotline of 19^th century Beatrice and her uncle doesn’t fit as cleanly into the book.  Though Kostova does make clear why she inserted those characters, if a couple details were modified, they could be cut completely without any detriment to the writing.

While jumping between historical facts and present plots worked well for “The Historian” as it referenced true historical figures, the major historical developments and characters in this novel are fictitious, making it more superfluous. More focus could be put on character and relationship development, rather than catching up readers on the necessary history.

While I was disappointed in some aspects, I would still recommend this book, though with that cautionary word for “Historian” lovers.  Possibly if I hadn’t had certain expectations going into this read, I would have been more impressed.  Kostova, a Yale graduate with a MFA degree from the University of Michigan, is still a master at telling a story that is sensational and interesting, without resorting to over-the-top scenarios or cheap dialogue.

“The Swan Thieves” will appeal to your emotions as you relate to the characters and care about their lives, while persuading your intellectual side to delve into art history.  It is one of those novels that will dominate your thoughts until you take the time to complete it—so free up your schedule before losing yourself in this thrilling mystery.

The holiest of Holy Days is upon us once again.  Now I know most of you will be celebrating with a good ole session at mass, but spare a moment this coming St. Patrick’s Day to reflect on some of the cinematic gifts that have bestowed stereotypes upon our nation and countrymen for about a century now.  Hollywood, like Americans in general, loves a good Celt.  Anyone who is anyone craves a bit of Irish ancestry.

The Irish have featured in many a film.  I am not simply speaking of a fellow Paddy who has experienced a breakthrough role in the latest mega blockbuster.  The concern of today is to celebrate the Oirish representations that both engage and plague our screens.

The Good:

Fergus ‘Fergie’ Colm in The Town

For those without sense and have not seen Ben Affleck’s The Town, I can assure you that this character has in no way been modelled on Fergie from the Black Eyed Peas. The late Pete Postlethwaite takes on the fighting Irish persona with a subtle charm rather than reverting to exaggerated pugilism.

Veronica Guerin

As if one needed further proof that Cate Blanchett is one of the great actors of our generation, she not only perfected the accent to boot, but she portrayed the deceased journalist with incredible integrity.

Roux in Chocolat

It is impossible to criticise Depp for lacking versatility.  The one true chameleon acting today, Pirates of the Caribbean endowed him with a lease of creative recognition.  Before Pirates, there was Chocolat.  Any crime against ethnic representation can be forgiven.  Depp plays the affable gypsy Roux who woos Juliette Binoche into his boat even with that struggling lilt of his.

The Bad and the Ugly:

Kitty Kiernan in Michael Collins

Her performance begs me to query; “Why the fuck couldn’t they have just hired a native?”  Considering Julia Roberts was by 1996 the queen of the rom-com genre it was difficult and a little unnerving to see her in a role as a lover of a tragic Irish revolutionary hero.

Sean Connery

Though he is guilty of two offences of slaughtering the Irish accent in both Disney’s Darby O’Gill and the Little People and The Untouchables, Charlie Sheen would probably call him a winner.  Scotland is just over the there.  How on earth did he get it so horrendously wrong?

Matthew Goode – Leap Year

Judging purely from the trailer alone, shame on you Matthew Goode!  Yet another instance of a British neighbour mauling the accent.  As well as that he betrayed us by consigning to a Yankee-tinted Ireland.  In a world where if the potato crop suffered blight, we would see the Famine 2.0 and Amy Adams’ Blackberry short circuits an entire village… Begorrah begosh.

Seamus O’Grady in Charlie’s Angels:  Full Throttle

As if the first Charlie’s Angels failed to produce enough cringe for the world, Full Throttle brought Cameron and co back for more mundane frolics.  This time they were armed with Justin Theroux as Seamus O’Grady, presumably some sort of warped hybrid of a 70s punk-rocker and a ‘RA vigilante.

Jenny Everdeane in Gangs of New York

Cameron Diaz is the most overpaid swindler in Hollywood, just throwing that out there.  Martin Scorsese has a bit of an Irish-infatuation going on this last decade or so.  As an avid enthusiast he should have known better when casting his spunky pickpocket.  Red hair doth not an Irish woman make.

Politician David Norris (Matt Damon) is a front runner in the upcoming election for the United States Senate. Once praised for being one of the youngest ever candidates, Norris’s campaign goes the way of Fianna Fáil when a childish prank of his hits the papers. Norris loses the election, but on the night of his concession speech he happens upon a woman in a bathroom which will change his life for, you guessed it, ever. Norris finds dancer Elise (Emily Blunt) immediately captivating, but what he doesn’t know is that their relationship, if they are to ever have one, is doomed.

Here’s the good news: director George Nolfi must be a trained carpenter, because when it comes to Damon and Blunt, he pretty much hit the nail on the head. The chemistry between these two is so good it could only have happened by mistake. That, or first timer Nolfi is more talented than I gave him credit for.

The bad comprises pretty much everything else. The Adjustment Bureau is made up of a group of radicals who go around ensuring things go according to ‘The Plan’. In the case of David and Elise, The Plan is to keep them apart. If the two become an item, David will never succeed in politics and Elise’s destiny of becoming a world-renowned dancer will never be fulfilled. David, however, decides to ignore all of this and fight off the group at every turn, all in the name of new found love. Aww.

I wasn’t surprised to learn that The Adjustment Bureau is based on a short story. The idea, while admittedly fun, isn’t meaty enough to handle the conversion to screen. The result isn’t a proper sci-fi movie, but rather a “light” version that everyday cinema-goers can enjoy.

Not only is the idea too sparse to handle the full 98 minutes of run time, but many elements of the plot are simply too ridiculous to believe. Now, I know sci-fi isn’t believable by its intent, but when you give top hats the power to open teleporting doorways you’re going to invite some questions about the reasoning behind it, which of course leads way to the plot holes.

If these hats give The Bureau the power to chase Norris through these doorways, why doesn’t Norris find some way to steal them? More importantly, if The Adjustment Bureau has the power to do all they say they can, how come they can’t get Norris to spill a cup of coffee on himself? How come they fail time and time again to keep him and Elise apart, despite their apparent brilliance?

It’s a shame to see such good actors put to such bad use. David and Elise are immediately and forever fathomable. Their relationship is so intriguing that it saves the movie, turning it from a downright silly excuse for a piece of cinematography to an enjoyable – and sometimes exciting – thrill ride. I am adamant that if the producers hadn’t scored them for the parts, there is no way this movie would be getting the critical acclaim it is currently enjoying. Many members of the Bureau – Harry (Anthony Mackie, Night Catches Us) and Thompson (Terence Stamp, Smallville) – are also spectacular in their role which adds further insult to injury.

Ultimately, you’ll enjoy The Adjustment Bureau if firstly, you don’t watch many sci-fi movies or secondly, you’re a big fan of Matt Damon or Emily Blunt. If neither of these are the case, you’ll be haunted from start to finish by the nagging feeling that this is trying to be something it isn’t. It tries to be as intelligent as Inception but what we end up with is a good thriller-come-romance with a bit of sci-fi tacked on here and there.

Oh, and one more thing: why the hell did they give the main character the same name as that jolly gay senator from the Seanad?

• Liverpool FC’s poodle-haired Dutch international Dirk Kuyt has credited American bands Kings of Leon and the Killers with sparking the Reds’ resurgence in form. So there you have it – eating right, working hard and living well has nothing to do with it. The secret to being a successful professional footballer is some dodgy American rock & roll before kick-off.

• Gig news ahoy – guess what’s going to be happening in May when you’ve your head tucked into the books? Take your pick from: Queens of the Stone Age, Sufjan Stevens, Drive-By Truckers, John Grant, Noah & the Whale, Warpaint, Suede and Roger Waters… How desperate are you to pass the year..?

• Also, if you missed it, Mumford & Sons announced an Irish tour for this coming March including a stop in the Savoy in Cork. But it’s already sold out so it’s quite cruel me telling you this if it’s the first time you’re reading it.

• But, what you might think is even more cruel, is that I can break to you that it is almost guaranteed that Coldplay will be the final headliner for this year’s Oxegen festival. Debating whether or not to go? That should settle it for you…

• Better news, though, if you want to keep things a little closer to home this summer. Live at the Marquee has a pretty interesting mix announced so far – Fleet Foxes were recently added to the likes of the Frames, Grinderman and Imelda May. Rumours are persisting that the National may too play in Cork this summer – surely the Marquee is the only feasible option? Patti Smith has been confirmed as one of the headline acts for this year’s relaunched Cork X South West festival in Skibbereen. See – it’s not all bad.