I seem to have got a little behind.

It's a whole 5 days since I saw Frost/Nixon, and I haven't got around to posting about it.

It's a very simple thing. This is refreshing, really, in the context of the complex story of Slumdog Millionaire or of the heavy special effects and over-thought concepts that are putting me off wanting to see The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. The whole thing centres around one man's ability to draw out another. It's very static, which is how it made such a successful play (look at the list of award nominations), and that could have been a criticism for some. Indeed, there have been comments on its slowness. The bulk of the screentime is focused on the interviews themselves, two men sitting opposite one another in a room while others sit in other rooms and comment, and on scenes in hotel rooms discussing strategy. The drama of the thing is in the words and the lead up. The interactions between Frost (Michael Sheen) and Nixon (Frank Langella) depict a battle, between a young knight with something to prove and a wily old fighter. Neither man appears particularly likable - Frost is cocky and slimy and lackadaisical in his approach to the work. He regards the exercise purely as a means to ratings, hardly paying any attention to how important these interviews could be for a nation that felt betrayed. Nixon could actually be attractive, if shown as a man who accepted his mistakes and who wanted to make good. It humanises him. This film, like the interviews themselves, must tread a very fine line between intriguing us with this man and reminding us that he has committed quite possibly criminal wrongdoing in an unforgivably selfish and cynical way for a man in his position. It was here that I had the quibble with it, where I felt the otherwise faultless credibility of the film wavered. Nixon makes continual references to money - how much he can earn from this, how much something is worth. Is a man who can become President of America really that focused on money? Power, that I could understand, but if you wanted money, why would you become President? There are jobs paid nearly as highly without the associated risks and exposure. I suppose it's just about believable; you're going to have to be badly adjusted, or become so, in some way in order to reach that kind of position. I mean that, one must know that one is different from everyone else. In some way, the focus on money reminds us that this Nixon is just a man, not different to anyone. I think that was a failing - I just didn't believe it.

The denouement is known from the beginning; everyone knows that the Frost interviews were the trial Nixon never had, and that he succeeded in getting the confession it seems that the world had been craving. I didn't know anything about the Watergate scandal, beyond that it happened and that it resulted in Nixon's near-impeachment and resignation (sorry Americans and historians, I appreciate I probably should know more about it, but I suspect it fell into a hole in which I was too young to remember anything about it and it hadn't yet become old enough to be history taught at school). The film doesn't give you a great deal to go on, rather assuming knowledge, I think, but doesn't do so in such a way that it becomes completely impossible to follow. That was a point in its favour, really - it doesn't patronise its audience at least in this way, even if I feel it does a little in its treatment of Nixon as a person.

In short, I found it riveting. I suspect many people wouldn't; it's atypical of most modern films. To be honest, I'm slightly surprised I enjoyed it as much as I did, usually preferring my films not to be hugely thought-provoking but possessed of an engaging plot (involving car chases, people getting shot, sex scenes and a romantic ending - I'm a boy about these things). I suspect that the reason I usually prefer action films is that they are so formulaic that they almost always fulfil their potential. I am frequently disappointed by cerebral films that have gaping holes in their thinking - that aim high and don't succeed, and seem to feel self-satisfied about that. I find it difficult to forgive someone spending the millions they do on making something that is not great art. I suspect I'm slightly more forgiving of theatre and literature; if it doesn't live up to expectations, well, more resources might have helped. When you have seemingly limitless funds, there seems to be no excuse for making a bad film. I don't know what they spent on this, but in the context of film budgets I suspect it was not huge. And it succeeds.

Worth a look.

These are the days of miracles and wonder.

Music's amazing. How are there people that don't listen to it or play it? I come home, I put something to listen to on. I listen all day at my desk. I put it on in the car. I listen on the train. I listen walking about. And if I haven't got phones in my ears, I'm listening in my head, or singing out loud. I look forward to choir practice, to spending time with a piano (for preference) or failing that nearly anything that is tuned so that I can practice songs I adore. The title of the post comes from a song called 'I know what I know' from the album Graceland by Paul Simon. I did nearly call it 'Thank you for the days', from the song 'Days' by The Kinks. Either sentiment fits what I want to say, but I like the sense of immediacy of the one I chose. Now is the moment. Carpe diem, and all that - you will never get it back. Now is for living in, don't wait. But The Kinks line is necessary, too. It is just as important to realise what you have had, how you have lived - what happened, what it means, what you take from it, how you apply it to the days that will happen in future. That sounds really clinical, when I write it down. It was quite a poetic thought in my head. At least I avoided the use of 'evaluation'. The lyrics of that song are fantastic. Simple, but effective. I can't work out the song's mood though, probably because I can't work out my own. Up and down again.

Music just has a way of underlining existence. Oli Robinson had something when he put together Something about life and music.... I have become addicted to Graceland. I have listened to it at least once, most days, since about the middle of November. I know it by heart. It's part of the experience of my life at the moment. I couldn't tell you why, though. Why THAT album. It's undeniably great. It has pathos and power and melody and harmony and tune and lyrics that intrigue and captivate. It wavers on the border of old fashioned and almost modern pop in places. It carries folk and elements of rock. It's of its time, in the recording quality if nowhere else. (And in its obsession with potted drums - lots of clipped tight noises, which I think sound hopeless...what's wrong with acoustic?! You just stop it sounding real. But that particular sound dates it for me. Not that we don't have that around now, but I don't really think it sounds the same.)

But actually, the lyrics of the songs don't resonate specifically with my life. Well, they do, but I could find more emotive things to hear, I think. The album flicks between moods. It's young, but learning; it's attached to life but sees the pain. I think that's it. It's romantic, even though I don't think it's really about love. During SAL&M, Sarah Lambie said it was something she and her Dad had listened to it while driving around the Peak District, when she was a kid. That's her connection to it. And it IS good driving music - the songs seem to have that movement to them. They don't finish where they started. I can't explain it, you'll have to listen and see if you can hear it, too. It's also enormously American. There's an enormous scope to it that seems silly in England. And I want that scope. Not that I think England CAN'T offer it, but it is different. Here it is slow. There is an immediacy to Graceland that seems odd in this country that can be so ponderous. Too much weight of history. Mostly, I love the history, but sometimes it seems like it might be limiting us. I don't know. I don't know anything really about America. I'm working from a nebulous folk impression of the place, of which Graceland has become inextricably part, now. That, and Stephen Fry's America programmes that were on in October and November and were fantastic. I become more in awe of that guy all the time.

I've talked about music for ages. Which is hopefully a little more interesting than my slightly excited countdown of simple things that have made me hungover happy this week. You get both...

• John and I cooked the pheasants Will shot for dinner on Thursday. It went SO well. I was so pleased. Not that it was complicated, we just covered the things in bacon and butter and roasted them with pears and onions and juniper, and served them with mustard roast potatoes and parsnips, with spicy cabbage and a mushroom and white wine vinegar gravy. It was a bit hotch-potch because too many people had been in charge of shopping and we didn't have quite what we really wanted. Worked out pretty damn well though! I love watching people eat food that I cooked. It's satisfying. Yes, probably even satisfying some maternal instinct. A very old way of showing people you care, but there are reasons for that. This event made me hungover, however. We started with G&Ts mixed by John, then moved on to the wine (there were six of us, and we probably drank 3 bottles of wine...not THAT bad...yet), and then started on the port. We drank 2 bottles of port. And then went on to spirits... Good job work is REALLY dull at the moment and only Jenny was in the office on Friday, really.
• I went to London yesterday, to see Pete McDonald, mostly. We had lunch at Wahaca in Covent Garden, which was fantastic fun, then saw Slumdog Millionaire in Leicester Square. The film is billed as something like 'the feelgood film of the year', which is a load of rubbish...I cried a couple of times, but then I'm soft-hearted. It's fantastic. Cheesy in places and occasionally lacking much sophistication, which is unsurprising given it has Bollywood roots, but still a wonderful thing to have seen. India is a place of extremes. It frightened me because I couldn't get to grips with them. I shouldn't have been trying. But it was brilliant.
• We then wandered over to the National Portrait Gallery, because we had some time to kill and figured it would be warm there (it was -5. I didn't have a hat. I wasn't impressed). They had the Taylor Wessing Photographic Portrait Prize on display. It would have been more powerful if it had been less busy (the whole city was heaving yesterday - I had difficulty finding a seat on my train in), but it was still an experience. At a very simple level, technically brilliant photographs of people that are blown up more than life size are always going to be arresting. Some of them were generic images, in terms of facial expressions or of pose or whatever. Or some were over-worked, trying too hard and falling down - like the iconic picture of the girl with the plastic bag on her head...it's too didactic. I don't feel I have the same lack of comprehension about photographs that I do about paintings. I think I know more about what I like, and more about the process and everything. And so I feel a bit more able to judge, at least against my own measures. I suppose that in photography I HAVE my own measures. I know what I'm trying to achieve when I take pictures for myself. Though if you actually asked me a bit more about what that was I'd find it hard. There were some that spoke, that you wanted to know more about, that drew you in to their eyes or their story.
• I then headed off to meet up with a few other people and catch up with the world over girly dinner. I always go to London feeling the need to make the most of the time (especially since they've put the damn fares up again...not long now before a Young Persons' Travelcard from Cambridge will be over £20...), and I'm always shattered when I come home again. I love the whirlwind experience though. I met up with three sets of people, all of whom come from different areas of my life. I love the interaction of all of that. And meeting up with lots of people almost guarantees too much wine...so when I got back to Cambridge at 1am I was pretty shattered. And THEN there were people online to chat to, to complete the social events of the day. 'Social events' has a derogatory tone to it. My Saturday had nothing derogatory or generic or ordinary about it.

Oh, and I had some luck in my exam on Wednesday. It has been a week of extremes. Bit like the film. Bedtime.

A change in outlook?

Is it bad that I now seem to view theatres as much more fun when the people on the stage are building set or plugging Stuff in than when the auditorium is full and the people on the stage are actors? It's been a very long time since I saw a play that wasn't fringe, of one sort or another. I saw Wicked a few months ago, but that's a musical, and an entirely different proposition, and ENO's Carmen before that. Again different. Actually, I've had a bit of an opera year - I saw Love and Other Demons at Glyndebourne in the summer, which was one of the most amazing experiences I've ever had in a theatre. Stuff at the ADC isn't the same, either - and even then I really can't remember what the last thing I saw was. Into the Woods possibly? Been a while, and still it was a musical. None of the things I've mentioned were my idea, either. This isn't like me. I Organise. Or currently, don't, but that's a whole other story. I do adore fringe theatre, and will make an effort to get to see things of that nature - in Edinburgh, or something local if it catches my eye. But I haven't made the effort to see high drama in AGES. The last time I went to anything like that was probably to see Streetcar at school - a VERY long time ago. It was brilliant, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. But it could have been done on film. Doing it on stage didn't add anything to it. That's part of the love affair with fringe stuff, I suppose. By fringe I think I mean anything that isn't straight narrative drama, but there are crossover things - like Oh What a Lovely War that come into both the mainstream and the fringe cultures. So maybe that's I'm more fussy than I was.

Currently I'm too busy with other things, and the theatre isn't drawing me ENOUGH to make the effort to go and see true classic drama - things I ought to have seen but haven't. I'll go to evensongs, though. Symptomatic of my move towards music over theatre? Who knows. Part of that is to do with the fact that I'm living in the world capital of choral music, and I won't be here forever, and I want to catch it while I can. Maybe if I move to one of theatre's most famous homes (I'm talking about London at this point, though there are a few other places that would qualify), I'll see more theatre? Who knows. I'm hopefully going to go and see the Patrick Stewart and Ian McKellen Waiting for Godot next year. That I AM excited about. Weird, post-modern, usually fringe-type theatre, but on a big stage with two of my heroes. Ah. So maybe I haven't lost my passion for this after all. And seeing that on a stage and not on film has to rectify a large hole in my theatrical knowledge.

Never buy an English graduate books or theatre tickets. And in most cases, films. In my case, it's fine so long as they're action films or the better sort of RomCom. Or trashy sitcoms. The lowness of my taste in films is matched only by the height of my taste in theatre, books, and choral music. Or something. Anyway. My hot chocolate is finished, and I need to go to Tescos before I head out on tonight's dinner date... Also, post is rambly and requires organisation. Maybe I will re-jig later.