Sweeney? Gone for a Burton….

One of the few joys of transatlantic flight are at least catching up on films you’ve missed in the last 12 months. So, for a roll call, here’s my list: 

American Gangster (cracking) 

Juno (utterly brilliant)

Atonement (overblown sentimentalist posho semi-nonsense)

The Kite Runner (good but not great. Maybe I was in the wrong mood, ie. comatose)

I Am Legend (watchable pulp)

We Own The Night (at 4am it was alright)

I’m Not There (wonderful for the 25 mins I grabbed before the video system on Quantas died on its arse grrr)

Which brings me to the final choice. Sweeney Todd. Now, this should be right up my street – Depp, Bonham-Carter, Spall, Rickman, Baron Cohen, and all helmed by the legendary Tim Burton. But it isn’t, you see. Depp’s entertaining Jack Sparrow accent becomes irritating when he’s not a drunk pirate, Bonham-Carter is great, but Mrs Lovett’s no Marla Singer. Rickman’s good, but the character is a bit wafer-thin, Baron-Cohen is pretty good, and Timothy Spall is his slime-covered best. 

But it’s the singing. It grates. And while I know building a set of dark and dingy London isn’t easy, so much CGI just made parts like a cartoon. But it’s just the SINGING. God, I’m not a massive musicals fan, but I’m not a hater of them either, but I wanted to cringe every time someone broke into song. In fact, I wanted all of the songs to end with a stint in the barber’s chair. 

This really is something that seemed a great idea turned into a terrible film. I’m sure it went down a storm in America though. Very ‘quaint’. 

Who needs a kitchen really?

Cuppa, anyone?

 

Ok, so yes, I know that I’m already deep in middle-class urban improvement quagmire having my flat redecorated, and in an ideal world it’d have been done while I was on holiday, but that’s only partly the case. Having endured 24 globe-spanning hours in air-conditioned, pre-packaged and reheated airline drudgery, I arrived home dreaming of shower, food, and collapsing in front of the tv. This all went very well until I glanced dustsheets on my sofa as a gazed down the hall having staggered in clutching my bags. 

Well, let’s start with the positives: my new kitchen is, at least, taking shape. 

That’s it really. 

Not only did I not have a kitchen, insofar as it’s an empty room with a few pipes sticking out of the wall, that’s fine. Even tolerable that the contents of the kitchen is in the lounge, and the contents of the hall were in (well, thrown all over) my bedroom. But not so good that the water was off. So no shower, no drink, no nothing. And this was capped by finding 2 days worth of waterless, workman-filled toilet. Oh the joy. 

Now of course I shouldn’t complain, of course, as in 7 days I should have a spanking new kitchen, but this wasn’t exactly what I planned in my tired homecoming fantasy when I walked through the door on Tuesday. And until the weekend I’m confined to my room, scared of entering the bathroom at all, and until the end of next week, I’m living on sofas and in gyms whilst trying to study for job interviews and longing for a meal that doesn’t come wrapped in plastic. I never thought I’d long for a microwave meal….. 

And while I’m here…. I’ve been back 3 days and not a workman in sight. Hmmmm.