No Glorious Embraces

The trailer for Spike Jonze's new film, an adaptation of the children's book 'Where the Wild Things Are', has just been released on the internet. I'd seen news about it around for a while but never gave it much thought, I guess I never made the link. It wasn't until I saw the actual trailer that I recognised the monsters and realised where the title came from. I haven't thought about this book in years but I remember reading it when I was young, as I'm sure a lot of people will since it was written back in the 60s. Clearly, a lot fans of the book must have been terrified as to what how it would turn out, scared that the monsters would all be CGI and that the tone of the book would be lost completely. Thank heavens for Spike Jonze; it's been too long since 'Adaptation'.

From the trailer, Jonze has clearly gone for a look that is wistful and nostalgic (like the warm glow of orange that pervades through most of the film) but that has elements of seriousness about it too (in particular the shot of little Max looking into the sitting room and seeing what I presume is Catherine Keener (his mum, I believe) kissing a man who isn't his dad). It doesn't look like it's been specifically targeted for children, judging from the large amount of handheld shots in the camerawork, giving it a slightly rough-around-the-edges feel that I wouldn't really associate with kids films. What should also be noted is that those are costumes, it's not CGI. As ever, Jonze has gone for something more authentic, monsters that little Max can actually see and feel, which I'm sure will make his performance more genuine as well.

Perhaps these are a lot of assumptions to be making from a 2-minute trailer, but to be honest it doesn't really matter. These 2 minutes alone are so uplifting that for me the trailer's already done it's job and convinced me that it'll be a great film. Plus it's got music from The Arcade Fire that just seems to fit perfectly with the tone of the trailer. What more could you ask for?

The film comes out in October. Keep those eyes peeled.

Concerts with international bands here in Brazil are always troublesome for me, mainly because artists won't come here unless there's an established public demand for them (an event organiser's choice rather than theirs I'm sure). So unlike London where you can see bands such as Hot Chip or the Chemical Brothers or Kaiser Chiefs (if you're so inclined) in a venue like Brixton Academy, big but not huge, or even somewhere smaller like the now defunct London Astoria, the venues here are closer to Wembley Arena and beyond. These London venues may not feel intimate but when compared to the kinds of arenas international bands here play, they feel like your sitting room. Of course this is because aforementioned bands all come from England, so it's only natural that they'll play these small venues there. Looking at the current crop of bands playing in the next few months, we have A-Ha, the B-52s, Motorhead, and Oasis, all bands that can draw big audiences (yes, even A-Ha). And inevitably, these shows are always stupidly expensive so I'd imagine for a lot of fans it means saving all those pennies and eating only rice and beans for a while. So what happens when Radiohead, a band who's been around for over 20 years and who's never played in Brazil, announces a show in São Paulo, with Kraftwerk supporting? Well, there's just no saying no, is there? And I love rice and beans.

The show only sold out a few days before the event itself, even with a recently-reformed famous Brazilian band, Los Hermanos, on the bill as well. But sell out it did, around 40,000 tickets. The day was a beautiful sunny Autumn's eve (Sunday just gone). The venue was the Chácara do Joquei, a large open field that belongs to the São Paulo Jockey Club (I have no idea what they do with it normally, perhaps horses graze there). It felt a bit like Wireless Festival in Hyde Park, except there was only the one huge main stage and it was much bigger. Yet at the same time, the tall trees adjacent to the stage and which surrounded the arena made it feel like you were in some kind of hidden woodland area away from the city, which I liked a lot. One thing to note was the absence of branding. There were no beer commercials during bands, and no logos anywhere onsite. And this isn't a common practice by any means; the organisers had made the decision to have a self-sustaining event that didn't rely on all these companies for money, and in the end it paid off. The stripped down environment meant the focus was entirely on the stage, with nothing to distract you. Clearly, this was a show organised by music-lovers.

I missed the first band and only arrived in time for the last chord of the last song. No matter, I was there to see the other two anyway. And not long after, the four men and their laptops appeared. I'd seen Kraftwerk once before at a festival in 2006 but back then I knew little about electronic music and even less about them. I saw them because they were there and it was Kraftwerk. Back then, I was impressed by the visual show and was intrigued by the music but that's about as far as it went. This time around it was another story; I found I knew a lot more songs than I realised, songs like 'Trans Europe Express', 'Tour de France', 'Autobahn', and 'The Model'. Moreover, their influence on modern electronic music became instantly obvious as drum beats and synthesizer sounds one often hears today were easily recognisable in their songs. Unlike modern electronic acts, however, it wasn't a constant dance-oriented set but offered different phases and moods, ranging from the slow but marching beat of 'Man Machine' to the more fast-paced 'Computer World' to the pop-friendly 'The Model' and beyond.

The visual show was also fantastic; unlike Daft Punk's mind-blowing pyramid light show, it was much more understated but no less impressive because of that. At times, such as during 'Autobahn', still drawings of motorways would appear onscreen, changing only between long intervals. This may seem dull to imagine but it fit perfectly the tone and mood of the song. Many Kraftwerk fans would probably say that it was too short, clocking in at one hour. But with that one hour, they delivered an audiovisual spectacle that many bands couldn't manage in a lifetime.

The four men left the stage and then it was what seemed like an interminable wait before Radiohead came on. And then they did, and oh how it was worth it. The stage was filled with long tube lamps hanging above their head and as Jonny Greenwood struck the first chords of '15 Step', they all lit up bathing the band in sea of blue while 5 screens hanging at the back of the stage focused on each of the band members. The last time I saw them they opened with '2+2=5', the first song off their penultimate album 'Hail to the Thief'. Whilst the fast-paced distorted guitar rock of that song got the show off to a blistering start, all the elements in '15 Step' made for the perfect introduction to the show to come: unconventional rhythms, off-kilter melodies within a traditional framework of chords, touches of electronica, and unusual song structures.

After a rapturous applause, the toms were brought out for guitarists Ed O'Brien and Jonny Greenwood as they launched into 'There, There', which singer Thom Yorke once called it the song he was most proud of (I can't remember where, but I'm sure he said it). The crowd knew the words to practically every song, singing along in their heavily-accented English ('Der, der' instead of 'There, there' for example). One moment in particular was after 'Paranoid Android', when the crowd started singing the bridge part again: "Rain down, rain down...". The collective singular voice was so overpowering, the band could do nothing but play along, with Yorke singing the other vocal part. A spectacular moment indeed, one which which I'm sure even surprised the band, judging by their expressions. Some songs required no audience particpation though, as Yorke's dulcit tones on 'Nude' were all that one wanted to hear. The crowd was so silent, entranced by the music, one could practically hear if someone coughed at the back. 'Exit Music (For a Film)' was much the same, with the clear, starry night adding to the beauty and serenity of the song.

The show lasted around 2 and a quarter hours, possibly even a little more, with 26 songs being played, including 3 encores. Highlights were aplenty, from crowd-pleasers like 'Karma Police' and 'Fake Plastic Trees' to personal favourites of mine such as 'Optimistic' and 'Idioteque'. But I'm sure that everyone there, from the obsessive fans to impartial listeners, will remember the last song the most. As the band returned to the stage for the thrid time, Yorke tells the audience, 'See if you know this one'. Everyone knows what song he's referring to but won't believe it fully yet until O'Brien finger picks that first G Chord. 'Creep' starts and the entire field bursts into ecstastic applause and cheering. It's a well-known fact that Radiohead don't normally like playing 'Creep', perhaps because of popularity that it brought them at the beginning of their career which they weren't quite ready for, thus representing a commercialism that they disdain; or maybe they just don't like the song. Either way, it was a small thing to conceed considering they'd never come to Brazil before. The famous, distorted muted strings Jonny Greenwood hits just before the chorus have always stuck out on the record, translating that angst they (along with every other teenager in 1992) were feeling straight to the listener. If nowadays they are all are grown up and that angst has disappeared, then I'm sure the sheer joy of making such a loud noise with a guitar was the driving force behind making that distorted sound so prominent at the show. On record, it sounds like an amp at full volume with full distortion; at the concert, it sounded like 20 cannons being played through a wall of Marshall stacks, turned all the way up to 11. It was loud. Added to this was the synced up visuals as the whole stage changed from a melancholy blue befitting the verse to a burst of psychedelic colurs, giving Greenwood's distinctive sound its full effect. Eventually they said "boa noite" (good night) for the last time and everyone made their slow way home, some still singing along to their favourite songs, others with a big smile that said they'd had a day to remember.

Brazil had to wait a long time, but as they say, good things come to those who wait. With such a spectacular show and with so many other songs to choose from that are yet to be heard here, I, along with every other Brazilian fan I'm sure, can only hope that this is only one of many visits. Brazil's already shown that amidst all the sunshine and beaches, there will always be a place in its heart for a whiny Oxford bunch to come over and sing about how they're all weirdoes.

I went to an awards ceremony tonight courtesy of an invite from a director I met recently; the 5th Annual FIESP Awards, an award dedicated specifically to films from the state of São Paulo. His intention was that I go there to meet people from the industry that he would introduce to me to, thereby increasing my potential contacts here in São Paulo. He never showed up. But it didn't matter, I got to watch people receive some awards and thank their teams and their family and their dogs, and I also learnt a little about Brazilian films from last year (which I intend to now seek out and watch) plus learn some names and faces in the industry.

There was no Billy Crystal hosting the ceremony, but there was a troupe of clowns, so it was pretty much the same. The clowns were actually pretty funny and despite having to read out the cheesy jokes that had been written for them, they actually made fun of the jokes themselves (meta-comic clowns, evidently) which made it genuinely funny. There was also a set piece involving a penalty kick situation in which all the clowns only spoke through whistles. I never knew a whistle had a such a range of sounds. They made the point that the circus and cinema aren't that far apart from each other, both of them looking to entertaining audiences and both involving large numbers of people orchestrating everything, which is partly true. On a side note, the circus is actually quite an important tradition here in Brazil and there's a New Circus movement that's been around some time, reintrepreting those circus traditions to bring them to a modern audience. There's even a clown college in my neighbourhood. But I digress.

There were all the usual awards you'd expect, bar make-up oddly enough. I guess that came under art direction. Each award had only three nominees; the 2 main contenders in nearly all the categories were Fernando Meirelles' 'Blindness' and Laís Bodanzky's 'Chega de Saudade' (The Ballroom), with a number of films sharing the third nomination. Evidently, it was a testament to the quality of both productions to the popularity of the 2 films but it seemed a shame that only 2 films could monopolise practically the whole ceremony. Of course this happens elsewhere but at least at other festivals there are normally 5 nominations, meaning there's a little more scope in the potential winners. Still, what can you do?

I saw Meirelles walking around before the ceremony itself, swarmed by photographers, camera crews, friends and admirers. Even a "I like your films" from me was out of the question. In fact I would've asked him about a story that I heard involving him and Steven Spielberg, but I'll come to that later. Surprisingly, Meirelles was 1 of 3 faces that I recognised tonight, and that's 5 more than I expected to; there was also Leonardo Medeiros, a Brazilian actor who was in 'Birdwatchers' (which I wrote about some time ago) and a cult horror B-movie director called José Mojica Marins AKA Zé do Caixão, or Coffin Joe in English. He's a living legend here, and he's somewhat of a character as you can see him in his usual attire.

Those fingernails aren't fake either. His film 'Encarnação do Demônio' (Embodiment of Evil) was nominated for quite a few awards and he ended up winning best actor. They showed some clips and it really was 80s B-movie stuff, despite being made last year. Most of the audience were laughing throughout the clips and I'm sure that was the intention since the acting was atrocious. But if an actor acts badly and that fits the mood of the film, does that merit a best actor award? In any case, the film looks pretty entertaining for what it is, and maybe it was just a conciliatory prize or something.

Someone else I thought I recognised was Steven Spielberg, or rather his South American counterpart. He looked somewhat like this:

That was in fact Cássio Amarante, the art director of 'Encarnação do Demônio' who also won an award. That was probably better deserved since the art direction did look pretty good. But then the other nominee was 'Blindness', in which they had painstakingly applied the '28 Days Later' disaster aftermath look of London to São Paulo. Having lived in the city for 6 months now, it was surprising to show how much I could recognise in even so short a clip, despite all the efforts to make the city unspecific. So another conciliatory award for Coffin Joe? Hmmm...

This brings me nicely to the Spielberg/Meirelles story. I heard that at some awards ceremony, Spielberg asked Meirelles how he had managed to film the chicken scene in 'City of God', specifically when the camera is behind the chicken following it along. In all his time he'd never managed to do something like that because the chicken just went in another direction. Meirelles: "Easy, we just tied a camera to a broom and shooed it along." That's probably one of the best examples of Brazilian ingenuity I've ever heard. To hell with a professional animal trainer, someone get a broomstick and some ducktape. That'll do the trick!

"More bass! More treble! More echo! More return! More everything!"

It was never enough for Tim Maia, self-proclaimed godfather of funk and a larger-than-life character (figuratively and literally) if ever there was one. An aficionado of substances of every kind, his favourite cocktail was one of cocaine, cannabis and whiskey; he then saw the error of his ways and gave it all up when he joined a religious cult; he then saw the error of those ways and went back to his favourite cocktail. He became a national icon, loved by the critics and the public, from 70 year-old grannies to toddlers. He'd also spent time in prison in the USA and had lived on the streets of New York as a teenager. He had endless legal battles with lawyers over rights over musical material, and always took care of the problem by simply ignoring it. He'd fire musicians in his band constantly and then rehire them, reasons for which were unknown to all but him. He once bought a pair of guinea-cows only to discover that they were calves and that he'd been tricked by the vendor; eventually, they grew to be normal-sized cows, grazing in his backyard. And he had an irrational fear of bald waiters.

If this all sounds like a confusing mess of facts about an unhinged musical figure, then that's about right. Tim Maia, for all his out-of-control antics, has to be one of the most interesting characters in the history of modern Brazilian music. I recently finished his biography and it's hard to believe one man managed to go through so much, to have so many ups and downs, to go through so many successes and so many failures, all in one lifetime. His rise to fame is one story of struggle and toiling in the depths of endless despair that you think only someone with infinite will power could succeed like he did; and then his story as a (in)famous singer is like one giant rock tour that makes Slash and his cohorts look like Coldplay. He didn't live life on the edge, he constantly threw himself off and then went back to the top to do it all again.

One of the most bizzare phases of his life was from 1975 to 1976, when he gave up the rockstar lifestyle in favour of the clean-living principles of the Rational Culture, a religious ideology that promoted, according to its followers:

"the culture of the development of rationality, of the world that gave birth to the one we live in; for this reason it's not a cult or a doctrine, even less so a science, a philosophy, or spiritualism. And it doesn't need a church, a synagogue, a mosque or a house of prayer. It's a culture that doesn't attack, doesn't offend, doesn't humiliate, it's in favour of all. It should interest all of humabity, for it contains the knowledge of where came from and where we will go, how we came and how we will go, why we came and why we will go."

But they did need money. So all of Maia's efforts were directed to promoting and donating to the causes of the Rational Culture, spreading its gospel wherever he went. All profits from album sales and concerts were given to the cause, and he even released an album entitled "Tim Maia Racional" in which every song is dedicated to spreading the message. Whilst the lyrics were dismissed as nonsense, the music was undoubtedly of very high quality (Maia was massively influenced by 70s from the US at this point). Then in 1976, when he had his second epiphany and realised what he'd been doing with his time, he tore himself away from the Rational movement and ordered all the "Racional" albums to be destroyed. For a long time, this album was nowhere to be found, bar the few copies that had survived. It became a relic in Brazilian music history.

It was only until 2006, 8 years after Maia died tragically and suddenly after suffering a heart attack whilst performing (incidentally, last Sunday marked the 11th anniversary since his death), that "Tim Maia Racional" was released on CD. Having garnered a reputation over such a long period of time, the album's release gave way to a funk-induced fever across the country. Tim Maia's Racional rantings were everywhere. But as always, fads come and go (and Brazil is a very faddish country, especially musically), and soon the obsession passed. What did remain though were cover bands that were dedicated to playing music only from this period of his, and last night I went to see one.

The band last night wasn't a permanent band that only played Tim Maia covers but rather a collective of musicians, each with his own solo material or projects in other bands, that occasionally came together to play. They were called Instituto (Institution), which clearly relates to the structure of the band. Every one of the was an excellent musician in his own right, from the brass section to the keyboardists to the drummer, bassist, etc. etc. The songs, which I knew only one or two before yesterday, were funky as funk (I couldn't think of a way to use the word "funk" without coming off as cheesy or cliché, so I went for the cheesiest option instead). There wasn't a single person wasn't dancing to the rhythm of the bass once they started playing. At one point, they brought on two guest singers: one of them was CéU (means sky but also heaven; the capital "u" is on purpose), a singer-songwriter from São Paulo who is known for her music that fuses various different styles together, ranging from samba to hip hop to electronic; the second was none other than Seu Jorge, famous from "City of God" and "The Life Aquatic". Talk about a surprise. They both sang on various songs, both of them showcasing their amazing voices and showing why they are popular as they are here in Brazil. But in the end, their participations were simply overshadowed by the musicianship of the whole band and by the music itself. I don't know quite what it is about Tim Maia's funk, or all funk for that matter, that just gets your head nodding along, so I won't even try to pinpoint it. I'll just leave you with a song instead. Fortunately he also sang in English, so you'll know exactly what I mean when I say Rational rantings:

I went to the São Paulo Museum of Art last week, better known here as the MASP, a truly impressive structure in itself that sits on the Avenida Paulista, the Oxford Street of São Paulo (at least in length in fame, perhaps not in content so much). It houses a large permanent collection, ranging from renaissance to modern art, and they've got many ever-changing temporary exhibitions, one of which at the moment follows the theme of portraits and self-portraits from a variety of artists such as Goya, Manet, Renoir, Picasso, and Rembrandt to name but a few.

My main interest in going, though, was a video art festival that was (and still is) taking place there. The One Minute World Festival, set up originally in Brazil in 1991 but which eventually spread over to 50 more countries, reunites 1000 films from 80 different countries around the world with the sole criterium of having to be exactly 60 seconds. Content-wise, they can be about absolutely anything, which quickly becomes evident when you see the exhibition. It's set up in a large, rather empty room; on the walls are lots of TV screens, maybe about 40 or so, all of them on a constant loop, all of them playing at the same time. In the middle of the room is a projector pointing down at the floor, showcasing a particular film from the 1000 films taking part. I don't know whether these were highlights or just arbitrarily picked.

Out of the films I saw, certainly a minute percetange (no pun intended), it was intriguing to compare different styles of filmmaking with their countries of origin (films were categorised by country). While styles change, one could see that there would be ideas or themes that appeared to connect films from the same country, even at such a short length. Evidently, there were times when films were based on such singular ideas that it would've been nigh on impossible to guess where they were from. One film that springs to mind was that of a glass of water on a platform that was slowly turned on it side; however, the glass and the camera were both attached to the platform, making it seem that the water was trying to make its own may out of the glass whilst the glass remained perfectly still. This example lends itself to an art installation type of film, as might be expected from a video art festival. But some of them managed to create whole narratives in the space of minute, as simple as they were.

One film I saw, I believe it was a French film, began with a man holding a plate up with his chin against his neck. He then proceeded to let it go and catch it with his hand before it hit the ground. Unfortunately for him, it smashes on the floor. We see him try the whole action again with the same result. This repeats several more times, each time cutting a little bit from the beginning of the action so that we eventually see a short montage of plates just smashing on the floor in front of the man. Finally, we return to the whole action again. He lets it go and manages to catch it. Ecstatic, he lifts up his arms to celebrate only to find the plate smashes on a lamppost next to him. What I like about the film is that it demonstrates that a film can be simple, can have a fully-formed narrative, can be genuinely funny, and all in just a minute. The first action sets up the entire film: we have a character, we see his objective (catching the plate), we see his obstacle (letting it smash). From this point on we know the film will end when he catches it, so the rest of the time is filled with his constant attempts, the repetition of which makes it funnier and funnier (especially due to the public locations he performs the action at). When he catches the plate at the end, we know he's overcome his obstacle and the film has come to an end, and yet the film still manages to add a punchline to finish with a bang. It sums up the basic elements of traditional narrative filmmaking in a nutshell, and does it successfully.

Perhaps because of my admiration for this film, I've forgotten many others that I saw. I remember there was a documentary about a village in Albania where there were only old people apart from a single child (it seemed almost like a fairy tale of sorts) but that's about it really. Fortunately, it's still until the end of the month, and it's easily a place one could spend the afternoon in, which I fully intend to do still. I know the festival has already appeared in Beijing, Florence, Lisbon and Brussels, so I'd be surprised if it didn't make it's way to London at some point this year. Keep your eyes peeled. In the meantime, you can see many of the films on their website.

www.minuteplanet.com

The most anticipated film of the year (some have been waiting twenty years for this film), 'Watchmen' finally reached the screens last week. It's been in production hell for a long time, with various directors attached to it including Terry Gilliam and Paul Greengrass but unfortunately for them their versions fell through for many different reasons. In the end, it was '300'-director Zack Snyder that got the job done, succeeding where others had seemingly failed, offering the world a faithful rendition of the much-loved graphic novel.

For those who don't know, the story is set in an alternate universe where the presence of superheroes has had a dramatic effect on world history as we know it: the Americans won the Vietnam War thanks to the efforts of one superhero, Dr. Manhattan (Billy Crudup), and Nixon won two more terms in office. During the 70s, society was protected by the Watchmen, a collective of superheroes who kept the streets clean, inspired by the work of their 60s predecessors, the Minutemen. But superheroes were becoming unpopular with the public, leading to a legislation outlawing them in 1977. The only ones that remained active were Dr. Manhattan and The Comedian (Jeffrey Dean Morgan), working for the government, while one lone vigilante, Rorschach (Jackie Earle Haley), continued to operate outside of the law. It's now 1985 and the relations between the Americans and the Russians are tense, with the threat of nuclear war ever imminent. One dark night in New York, The Comedian is found dead, leading Rorschach to begin his own investigation that will reunite the Watchmen and reveal unimaginable discoveries about the fate of the world.

It must be said that the above synopsis offers only a short premise of the story since the world of 'Watchmen' offers much more than meets the eye. Unlike your average superhero action film, 'Watchmen' deals with bigger questions of morality, of absolutism over utilitarianism, of the nature of the superhero and what he is supposed to represent, and all the while filled to the brim with cultural references, from Percy Shelley to Egyptology to the dystopian world of 'Blade Runner' to name three. In the graphic novel, the focus isn't restricted only to the superheroes, instead including many of the peripheral characters that appear in the story: we read a comic book that a teenager is seen reading throughout the story together with him (the classic novel-within-a-novel, acting as an allegory for aspects of the Watchmen's story itself), and we see the day-to-day life of a psychiatrist treating Rorschach. Furthermore, the narrative structure of the novel means we constantly flashback to the 60s and the Minutemen, revealing the origins of the Watchmen and the relationships between these two periods of time. It is a dense work of literature, jam-packed with multiple narratives and complex structures. How could ever Snyder's adaptation ever compare to it?

Here I think is where the question of who he made this film for comes into play. Fans of the novel will definitely claim ownership and priority as audience members since they are the devotees that have been waiting for this for so long. And in terms of visual style, Snyder doesn't disappoint. He meticulously captures a large proportion of the emblematic panels from the novel onscreen, with an amount of faithfulness and attention to detail that only a comic book lover could have. Someone made a shot-by-shot comparison of the trailer that demonstraters this perfectionism. Evidently, Snyder is saying that he is a fan just like all those other fans out there. But what he achieves in form, he ends up suffering in content.

The film does capture the essence of the graphic novel, but so many of the subtleties are lost. It was obvious that much of the original material would have to be sacrificed simply because of time-constraints, so many of the secondary narratives in the novel are only referenced or in some cases completely stripped away. This was inevitable and one can't blame Snyder for this. But the relationships between the superheroes, particularly between the old and new generation could have been developed more since it's these relationships that lead to such a significant discovery and a pivotal turning point in the story but which is completely lost in the film. Perhaps the acting is a little to blame for this too; whilst all the actors do a pretty good job in capturing the characters (especially Haley who shines as Rorschach), at times it seems as if their humanity, an aspect of their character that is imperative to the novel, is lost amid all the talk of superheroes. Lines are delivered in a way that becomes overly dramatic and lose the human touch, scenes become focused on their abilities as superheroes. In fact, Dr. Manhattan is the only character who is truly superhuman, the rest of them have no special powers to speak of.

The specific scenes I'm talking about are the action sequences in the film, specifically the ones of Nite Owl (Patrick Wilson) and Silk Spectre (Malik Akerman) in the alleyway against the some street thugs, Nite Owl and Silk Spectre in the prison, and then the fight at the end. Snyder went for such a glossy action look, complete with punches that sound like cannons being shot and his obsession with slow-/fast-motion, that betrays the gritty, noirish look that we see through much of the film. Undoubtedly, this was a decision to please a wider audience but it seems an unnecessary one; Christopher Nolan didn't go down this route for 'The Dark Knight' and he produced some excellent fights scenes.

On a different note, Snyder's use of music leaves much to be desired. He takes his cues from the many musical references that appear in the novel, giving the film a pop-culture laden soundtrack. But many of the song choices seem miscalculated: Nena's '99 Red Balloons over a restaurant scene with Nite Owl and Silk Spectre; KC and the Sunshine Band's 'I'm Your Boogie Man' when The Comedian is exercising some "crowd control" against some hippies; and worst of all, Leonard Cohen's 'Hallelujah' doing a sex scene that lasts much longer than it needs to. They simply don't fit in with their respective scenes at all and come across as just lazy pop-culture references. In two instances, the songs actually do fit the scene, but they're two songs that already carry so much cultural significance making their inclusion feel forced. The first is Simon and Garfunkel's 'The Sounds of Silence' at The Comedian's funeral, first used iconically in the last scene of 'The Graduate'. It's practically impossible to use this song and not associate it with that film and particularly that scene, which Snyder is clearly not doing here. I'm not saying no one can ever use it again, but one has to be mindful of what it's come to represent and make that relevant to whatever it's being included in. The second instance is just plain lazy signposting: a scene of Dr. Manhattan killing soldiers in Vietnam with Wagner's 'Ride of the Valkyries' playing over the top. They might as well have had someone screaming "Vietnam! Apocalypse Now!" over the top and it would've had the same effect.

Musical mishaps aside, 'Watchmen' is an enjoyable film that offers thrills, visual flair, and gives you something to ponder on at the end of it all. Yet one can't help but leave the cinema with a bit of bad taste in your mouth; in an age where comic book films have become such a standard that the traditional mould of the infallible superhero is already being broken (again, I'm looking towards Nolan's 'Dark Knight') it seems a shame that a film that questions the very nature of the superhero head on ends up falling back on the same traditional visual style of the conservative comic book film, e.g. 'Fantastic Four' to name one. If graphic novel fans want these stories to be taken seriously as works of literature among the general public, then surely the adaptations that will open these works up to that wider audience have to cater more for what the fans hope to promote rather than what public wants to be entertained by. 'Watchmen', which could've been a great film for fans to prove the worth of their favourite novel, simply didn't reach those heights.

I just came back from a week's holiday with my friend Oli from London. Having not taken advantage of the small town beaches here in Brazil up until now (these last five months the only place I've been to is Rio, which although has spectacular beaches, can hardly be called serene), this was the perfect opportunity to show my friend the world away from the big cities and to enjoy some relaxation myself.

First up we went to Ilha Grande, an island just off the coast off Brazil, slightly south of Rio. It boasts some magnificent beaches with crystalline water and sand as white as snow. Most of them have to be reached by long trails, sometimes up to 3 hours (you can take a boat there too, but that's not really soaking up the spirit of adventure in my book). On the first day we went to a beach called Lopes Mendes, which took us about 2.5 hours to get to, walking up and down hills and through thick forest. On the very last stretch before you reach it, you go through a short, windy path with trees full of monkeys swinging from the branches, and finally the path opens up to the beach, a 3-kilometre tropical paradise. Last time I was there, it was low season and there was absolutely no one there. This time there were quite a few people, which diminished that feeling of the beach being untouched and undiscovered that I got the first time, but it made little difference really. It's still a breathtaking sight to behold.

The next day we took a trail that would lead us to the waterfalls in the middle of the island and then onto another beach named Saco do Céu (Heaven's Sack). The waterfalls themselves were superb, cascading down over the mountain, offering you the chance to sit back and enjoy a natural massage as the tonnes of water fell onto you from above, or just laze around in the natural pool it created. There was an instructor offering the chance to abseil down but neither of us bothered, more interested as we were in the lazing around. After that we moved onto Saco do Céu but somewhere along the trail got lost and ended up at a tiny beach called Praia da Feiticeira (Fairy's Beach, photo above), which turned out to be a great detour. The shore was so shallow that you could walk quite far out into the sea and it would still only reach your waist; the water was clear as crystal, meaning you could see all the little fish swimming around by your feet. Once we got there, we knew we weren't going anywhere else that day, and stayed until one of the locals took us back in a fishing boat.

After Ilha Grande, we headed back to mainland and down the coast to Paraty, a small town that's managed to retain a lot of its colonial look, now called the Historic Centre. This comprises of lots of little streets with old-fashioned façades which in the past were probably homes and little shops; nowadays, they've all become restaurants and shops owned by local artisans, selling all kinds of stuff. Outside of the centre there's a main high street which is like any small-town high street and also two small beaches, both of which are nice but incomparable to what we'd already seen. We stayed at a little hostel just facing the beach, at the north end of the town. A friend of mine has been working there for some months and so managed to get us a cheeky discount and gave us lots of tips about what to do. I was hoping that getting info from someone local would mean that we'd get to see a different side of Paraty, perhaps something slightly off the beaten track. But Paraty is so small that there aren't many places to go to veer off really; there's one street in the historic centre with all the main bars, around one corner is one of the two only clubs in town, and down another street nearby is the other. This is by no means a bad thing, I just had the impression it was a slightly bigger town. On our walks around the town, we did come across one restaurant that seemed a little hidden, offering live music and a lovely rustic style of decoration, so maybe there are still some little gems hidden in there somewhere.

Over the weekend we were there, we only did one of the tourist trips, to the slide waterfalls in the small town of Penha, a half-hour's drive away. The main attraction there is sliding this huge rock face that the water trickles down, making it a natural slide. Who needs aquatic theme parks when you've got this? Everyone there went on their bums, like schoolchildren, which was a funny sight in itself. More impressive (and more scary) were the locals, who went sliding down on their feet, occasionally doing pirouettes in the air too. After spending a good few hours sliding down, we went to the little bar tucked away above the waterfall in the jungle, across an Indiana Jones-style bridge. They even had a pool table, which we took full advantage of; I don't think the novelty of playing pool in the jungle could ever wear off really.

The next day we had planned to take a boat trip round the small islands near the coast of Paraty, but through our sheer laziness and love of sleeping, we missed the boat on that one (figuratively and literally). So we spent more of the day walking around the town, trying to cover all the little streets. One thing I noticed there was the number of street performers (though the mostly came out at night). One guy was dressed as a harlequin, just walking round town casually; another was dressed as the witch from Snow White and was eerily asking people for money by reaching out with an extendable hand; there were also lots of street musicians and the occasional juggler and what not. Of course these kinds of street performers are anywhere that there's a large concentration of tourists, but there's was something quite carnivalesque about them. One wonder whether they were there for carnival, spent a bit too much and were now looking for a bit of money to get home. Poor harlequin, he just wanted to get back to his Colombina.

Now I'm back in São Paulo with a few days before my friend leaves back to England, so it's up to me to show him that São Paulo is a great city, contrary to what most travellers seem to say about the place. With free live music shows, a food festival happening this week, countless bars and clubs to go to, and a range of art exhibitions to go to, who said there's nothing to do in São Paulo?

It was the Oscars last week (didn't you hear?), a time we where can all bask in the dulcit tones of Billy Crystal for several hours while award after award is handed out to all the marionettes of Hollywood. I'm kidding, of course, Billy Crystal didn't host it this year. This year we were treated to a Hugh Jackman performance, together with his trusty adamantium claws. I didn't actually see any of the Oscars, or the highlights for that matter (I was working at the time) but I heard that opinions were mixed upon his ability as a host. The most balanced I found was from the New York Times: "a shrewd, even thrifty choice for a recession-era Oscar night - the hosting equivalent of a value meal". Maccy D's, anyone?

I'm not actually that opposed to the Oscars, it's clearly a mark of acheivement in the field of filmmaking. But it's always seemed like an award that depends much more on how much sway and presence you have in Hollywood than about acknowledging the films that have truly stood out in the year. And inevitably, once the winners are announced, these are the films that become the hot topics at the watercooler, with 'Slumdog Millionaire' leading the charge this year. Surprisingly, the film hasn't been publicised much here at all, at the other end of the spectrum to what I imagine the hype levels are in the UK right now, with kids saying stuff like:

"its made by that guy who made 'Trainspotting' + '28 Days Later' + its got Anwar from 'Skins' on it I luv 'Skins' its so real my life iz just lyk it."

Damn kids. In all seriousness, I've been curious to see what all the fuss is about but instead I went to see one of the other winners today, Gus Van Sant's 'Milk', starring Sean Penn in his Oscar-winning role as the eponymous Harvey Milk, political activist and first gay man to be elected to public office in the USA. The film follows the last 8 years of Milk's life, an insurance salesman in New York who decides that he needs a change. He meets Scott Smith (James Franco) and the two move to San Francisco to begin a new life together. But seeing the injustices that homosexuals face even in San Francisco, Milk decides to take an interest in strengthening the gay community of Castro. As the community grows, so does his interest and even his reputation, and soon he begins to set his sights on position of City Supervisor, moving his focus to municipal matters, to regional matters, and eventually to state matters. Unfortunately for Milk, his life is tragically cut short but the mark he made on America will never be rubbed out. (By the way, the film opens with his death so there's need for spoiler complaints.)

First up - Penn: superb. To say he completely embodies the character might be presumptuous of me since I knew nothing of Harvey Milk before the film, but his performance is magnificent. Penn is that kind of actor that, despite being world-renowned and instantly recognisable, dives so deep into the psyche of his character that he leaves nothing but that person for us to see, in this case Harvey Milk. Unlike Tom Cruise, who will never be anyone but Tom Cruise, or more recently Tom Cruise with an eye-patch. It's a full-rounded performance as the empowered activist delivering his speeches to his devotees juxtaposed with the down-to-earth man looking for all the things that everyone wants: equality, companionship and love. Luckily for Penn, his counterparts don't leave all the work up to him. James Franco and Emile Hirsch as the bright young spark Cleve Jones give stellar yet nuanced performances; Franco's range of ability impresses me more and more with every film he appears in, he's certainly an actor to look out for in the coming years, if not right now; and Emile Hirsch surprised me here, having only recognised him from 'The Girl Next Door' and 'Speed Racer'. He's already proved here that he play an unusual character and play it well (even if it was a small part). And of course there's Josh Brolin as Dan White, the gruff tradicional conservative who you're never too sure about throughout the whole film. At one point, Milk questions White's sexuality whilst talking with his colleagues, a suspicion that sticks in your head for the rest of the film but which Brolin maintains tantalisingly ambiguous, open enough for interpretation.

Structurally and stylistically, the film is somewhat of a departure from typical Van Sant vehicles of late, taking a more traditional approach to narrative and photography (this is, after all a Hollywood biopic, one can't expect the observational cinema of 'Last Days' to sit comfortably here). Many of his trademarks do appear, just not as abundantly as has been seen in the past. The most prevalent use of stylised imagery in the film would be the recurring use of mirrors and reflections, the most striking being a scene of Milk talking to a police officer about the murder of a gay teenager with the victim dead at their feet, all from the point of view of the reflecion on a metal whistle. It's a mesmerising shot, especialy on a big screen. But ultimately Van Sant lets Penn take the reins here, letting the characters and not the images do the talking.

My only real quarrel with the film was Danny Elfman's score. Usually a composer I enjoy, the soundtrack here seemed to be all over the place. It began quite modern-sounding, which I thought suited the subject matter and the director's (usual) cinematic language. But then it soon veered into typical Elfman-esque areas with gothic choirs and lots of glockenspiels (like in 'Edward Scissorhands') which didn't seem to work well with the images onscreen, not even in an ironic sense. Most frustratingly, however, is that the moments of triumph and achievement were accompanied by the oh-so-cheesy John Williams-style crescendo of strings. You know which one I mean, it's that music you hear when someone has just said an important speech and there's utter silence. Then someone starts the slow clap and by the end everyone's clapping and cheering and the music is so rousing everyone starts crying, even if they can't actually hear it. It makes me think whenever a scene like this appears in a film, the composers just put on the preset everyone uses and take the day off. Is there really no other way to score these kinds of scenes?

I've read that a biopic about Harvey Milk has been a long time coming. I'm glad we were made to wait until Van Sant and Penn came along, there really isn't any other director that could be more apt to make this film, specifically for reasons of subject matter and visual style. And Penn, while not only encapsulating the character, looks like the spitting image of Milk himself, as the credits reveal. It's surprising that this didn't pick up more Oscars since Hollywood tends to love biopics and this was a tremendous effort in all aspects (bar old Danny). But then again, it's a film about a gay activist and it's Hollywood (not America, mind you). Then how did Sean Penn win Best Actor, I hear you ask. Well of course he was going to win, Penn's an important member of the Film Actors Guild...

KAPLA!!!