Dirty Pretty Things: Romance at Short Notice (2008)

The title of DPT’s latest album has been attributed to Saki, who concludes his short story “The Open Window” with the line: “Romance at short notice was her specialty.” 

I, inaccurately, assumed that this was a suitably Edwardian euphemism for a love that charges by the hour. Upon closer inspection, that is to say, actually reading Saki’s story, it appears that ‘romance’ is meant in the literary and not the literal sense. So it is that DPT’s follow-up to Waterloo to Anywhere delivers a dozen impressive adventures with an urgency rightly labelled as romance(s) at short notice.

 

The album opens with Buzzards and Crows whose Sergeant Pepper styling’s suggests a sound that is undeniably English. Barat and co. then grind out Hippy’s Son by blending a coarseness of composition and lyric that it not entirely unexpected from DPT, and respite when it comes is in the form of Carl’s comforting refrain “hush, hush my love”.  Plastic Hearts is a catchy invective on our disconnect, tapping into a mood of Neo-Thatcherism (or is that post-Blair?) with an anti-Britpop pulse.

 

Tired of England, a deserved choice as first single released (at least on Australian airwaves), is a cautionary tale (“don’t drink yourself to a lonely death / in casinos, on crystal meth”) set to a beguiling beat.  The album slides into Romantic territory with Come Closer, and I do mean capital ‘R’ Romantic: Blake, Byron, Shelley, and Keats – those blokes for whom England was their muse suffuses this charming track.  Faultlines, Kicks or Consumption, and Best Face, shift from the lightness of the preceding tracks and are replaced with grimmer, grittier thoughts and sounds. On these tracks the tempo ratchets past the easy beats of earlier and submits to a harder, slightly industrial mood.

 

Truth Begins is bleakly beautiful, it captures the agony of despair (“you lose your will / and I can lend you mine”) in a manner reminiscent of the late Eliot Smith’s Baby Britain: “nothing is going to drag me down / to a death that’s not worth cheating”.  DPT’s desperate pace slows to calmly accuse: “you said the pills would sort me out / embolden me against the manifestations of fear and doubt”.  DPT’s truth, to “just hold on for tomorrow”, is something to believe in.  The last three tracks – Chinese Dogs, The North and Blood on My Shoes – are each products of DPT’s diverse musical influences –  punk, rock, indie – offering pounding drums, floating guitar plucks and soaring strings.

 

The act of writing, composing, creating songs is something of a lost art, or at least the realisation that it is an art appears to be foreign in today’s Top 40 landscape.  Which is why, sadly, it is not redundant to praise DPT for the lyricism of their lyrics.  Aside from the few lines quoted herein, any band that can an open a song by protesting “you can’t mix with drugs with politics” (as DPT do on Plastic Hearts) has a place in my heart.

 

Romance at Short Notice is an album that has been crafted with thought and it would be remiss to mistake its craftsmanship for contrivance, just as the lyrics are clever without being an exercise in cleverness.  If you enjoy your compulsive listening peppered with contemplative musings then DPT won’t disappoint.

 

PM: 8/10

Dirty Pretty Things: Romance at Short Notice (2008)

The Dark Knight

 Last night Myspace hosted previews of The Dark Knight in the Australian capital cities – see, sometimes it does pay off to be an emo Myspace kid! After months of hype and fannish anticipation, the crowd was primed for a night of Bat-tastic action. In that sense, the movie exceeded its predecessor. Eschewing the flashbacks and occasional moments of stillness of Batman Begins (2005 d. Christopher Nolan), this sequel starts with a bank robbery and doesn’t let up, cracking along at frenetic and occasionally exhausting pace.

Mamma Mia!

Mamma Mia will doubtless be much maligned by critics and viewers alike. Its premise is paper thin without any danger of cutting even the most superficial of surfaces. The barely adapted screenplay of the lucrative stage show is almost insulting in its lack of any meaningful storyline.

 

The narrative, for lack of a lesser term, is propelled by Sophie (played with literally wide-eyed enthusiasm by Amanda Seyfried) and her search for her father as prompted by her impending nuptials to Sky (Dominic Cooper, reliably cast once again as the lustful object of others affections, as last seen in The History Boys, Sense & Sensibility, and I can only assume in the upcoming The Duchess).

 

Sophie’s mother, Donna (played with accomplished abandon by Meryl Streep), has hitherto refrained from disclosing the identity of Sophie’s father. The opening number, “Honey, Honey” neatly explains that this may well be because there are three potential genetic donors. As Christine Baranski and Julie Waters as Meryl’s delightful support scold: “Donna, you shady lady!”

 

Enter three blasts from Donna’s shady past: Harry (Colin Firth), Bill (Stellan Skarsgård) and Sam (Pierce Brosnan). As far as mistakes go, a girl could do worse than that trio.

 

The plot, if you will, proceeds toward the inevitable identification of which of these three likely lads is now the proud father of beautiful Sophie.

 

Is it Harry the British Banker?

 

Is it Bill the Swedish adventurer?

 

Or is it Sam, the wretch that first broke Donna’s heart, now a successful architect?

 

Does it matter? Of course not – songs will be sung with gusty mediocrity, dances will be danced without convincing or inspired choreography, and all the named characters will be paired off as assuredly as the best of ABBA Gold will compose the majority of the Mamma Mia soundtrack.

 

The singing is, for the most part, tolerable. Meryl can hold a tune and the lady certainly knows it. Amanda has a sweet, clear voice  - a small mercy given she and Meryl are called upon to carry the cast through most of the numbers. Christine belts out her tunes with Broadway bravado while Julie provides adequate back-up. Dominic has a voice that would serve any boyband in a pinch. There is a hesitancy to Colin’s solo performance that I accredit (perhaps generously) to his character. Stellan’s spoken word contributions are charmingly self-effacing. Which leaves us with Pierce… who is, in all honesty, quite terrible. So bad one wonders how he was cast. Surely a sound test in lieu of the traditional screen test is in order when casting a musical (where one mistakenly assumes there is an emphasis on the music).

 

The only redeeming moment of Pierce’s aural assault is when the camera pans to Stellan during “When All Is Said and Done” and his is a face of unadulterated distaste – no acting required, in fact I don’t think he is acting, it is fair to assume that was Stellan’s unscripted reaction to Pierce’s unfortunate “singing”.

 

Yet for everything this film lacks and the many ways it fails to transcend its theatrical beginnings to forge its own filmic identity – it is great fun. Stellan and Colin are raucously funny, or at least my reaction was that of manic, uncontrollable laughter to one particularly homosocial scene.

 

My very early Oscar prediction (and accordingly Golden Globe) is that Meryl will get a nod for her performance as Donna. A further prediction is that the clip selected come award night will be Meryl singing “Winner Takes It All”. The song is ill suited to the progression of the plot (should you squint your eyes and glimpse one) but showcases just how powerful song can be when wielded by an accomplished actor to convey everything that character is feeling. Thankfully, that song is a solo with Pierce called upon to do nothing more than look handsome in a suit (a quite nice grey suit as it happens) and provide a focus for Meryl’s performance.

 

My enjoyment of this film is quite possibly disproportionate to what it offers – it is unsophisticated in its direction, it lacks any kind of irony or awareness of its preposterous propositions, it is unremarkable in nearly every notable way. But if you find yourself in the mood for something that is simply fun, Mamma Mia! is just the ticket.

 

PM: 6.5/10

 

Mamma Mia! (2008 d. Phyllida Lloyd)