Wednesday 24 March 2010

Fatal Attraction: The Magnetic Fields live at the Barbican, 22nd March 2010


If The Magnetic Fields released a ‘Best of’ album, it would almost certainly be called ‘Fatal Attraction’. For in the songs of their main creative force Stephen Merritt, love is never easy. After all, at their Barbican show on Monday night, he introduces the head-swimmingly romantic ‘I Don’t Want to Get Over You’ with a short epithet. ‘It’s a total lie’, he deadpans.

And so it goes. The band’s new album Realism is the final instalment of their ‘no synths trilogy’, a response to the band previously being known for their knob-twiddling, and the Barbican is an ideal venue for the record’s mostly acoustic songs. Sonically, every one of their five pieces (authoharp, an acoustic guitar, a cello and a ukulele and keyboard), are pin sharp. But, together, an overriding impression is harder to pin down; the sound devastates and uplifts in equal measure. It’s beautiful, though.

And, according to the audience’s reaction, the album has already spawned its first classics. ‘Always Already Gone’ is one, leaking melancholy until its punch of an ending. ‘You Must Be Out of Your Mind’, is filled with the withering put-downs of a scorned lover, proclaiming –savagely- ‘I no longer drink enough, to think you’re witty’.

The set covers substantial distance and length. Material by other Merritt projects (The 6ths and The Archies) is featured, as is some plentiful back catalogue 'Fields material. It's sewn together by banter from Merritt and Claudia Gonson, which is, like the band, cute, playful and a little awkward. The show has it all; even an interval in the middle. It's a welcome palette cleanser, and you wonder how you manage to get through other gigs without one.

I admit I'm sad when the show ends. It feels like I've left a friend behind. But you've got to be pragmatic about these things. So, I get my iPod out and listen to Realism on the train home. Two days later, the songs are still in my head.

Sunday 14 March 2010

Micmacs


The accusation of style over substance does funny things to directors. In the case of Jean-Pierre Jeunet- helmer of visual chocolate boxes Amelie and Delicatessen - the response was obvious. He’s made a film about the heaviest of subjects: the arms trade.

We follow Bazil (a dour Dany Boon), in what can only be described as a French vigilante movie. Bazil's rally is against the weapons manufacturers that produced the bullet that put him in hospital and the landmine that killed his father,

But being Jeunet, it's a vigilante movie with a twist (and not least because it features a contortionist). Bazil enlists the help of an odd-bod posse featuring a mathematical genius and a human cannonball. The group’s den is an underground junk heap overseen by a rolling pin wielding matriarch and a wizened artist. It’s almost self-parodically Jeunet.

And this is the fundamental problem. MicMacs is what happens when a good director gets lazy. It's a film full of fun visual invention, but a lack of freshness or surprise. Not even the many crinkles of supporting actor Dominique Pinion's face can give proceedings a much-needed third dimension.

Micmacs is to the arms industry as Amelie was to photo booths. Bear with me. Both do prove important narrative elements to their respective films. But, ultimately, have little to do with what you feel when you leave the cinema. Another difference between the two is that Micmacs is just not very good. And, crucially, it's something we've seen before.