Hollywood House Party

So, I'm having a dinner party (I'm not, as the house I live in has no communal area, but bear with me), and the one thing I need, more than nibbles, bunting, and an up to date version of Buckaroo, is people. Not just normal people, film people. 'Sexier Than Us Film People'. Imagine 'Come Dine With Me', but with a far richer set of retards. I've only got four other chairs, so who do I invite, and why? 

Considering the first course is probably not going to blow their minds (Big Soup was on a 3for2 in Tesco), I cannot consider inviting anyone who might turn their nose up at my shit venue and entertainment. I should probably invite someone stately, maybe an Anthony Hopkins or Helen Mirren, to keep the whole thing at a certain level. But, to be frank, the place is a shithole and I've heard Hopkins can become a belligerent bastard when there's too much Chianti flying around, so they're a no-go.

It's PARTY TIME

Eventually, just to get the ball rolling, I invite Mila Kunis. She's been on at me for aaaaaages to come round and I've been like 'I'm like, busy" and she's been like "But I wanna like, see you", so in the end this morning I just called her and was like "ok you can come to my dinner party". Like. She is hot but that isn't why she's invited. It's for other reasons. That I currently can't recall. Plus, she was practically married to Macauley Culkin for a while so I should at least have an outside chance.

Home Alone 6 was a bit 'off message'

So, three more. I need a wing man, someone with a bit of wit, someone who can laugh us to the brink of enjoyment. Owen Wilson wanted to come, but I've heard he's still got something of a coke problem and I can't deal with that shit when I've got cheese and pineapple sticks to construct. I look through my contacts. Simon Pegg? Hmmm, funny, but since he hit the big-time he says 'awesome' a lot and plus he refuses to get the 26 bus here after dark. So I settle on Vince Vaughn, I know he's not hilarious, but he always brings plenty of booze and we can rib him about how he 'used to be quite famous. And thinner'.

Shirt and tie would have been sufficient

Now I'm halfway there, need to add some gravitas to this night, someone with a bit of life experience, but who also won't mind playing spin the bottle with some empty Lambrini. Russell Crowe is in town, but he would definitely try and nail Kunis (probably in my room), so that's out of the question. I can't risk inviting De Niro or Pacino as things would inevitably get a bit 'shouty', so I decide to invite Ian McKellen. 

That's right, fucking Gandalf is coming for dinner. Partly because he will command respect and add a bit of high-brow conversation that will leave Vaughn struggling. But mostly because he's gay and so will in no way try to nail Mila. 

Leave some room for the cheeseboard Vince

Now there's only one more seat to fill, and I'm aware of the need to redress the male/female balance here, and I need to aim high if McKellen isn't going to just down the free punch and fuck off to Wetherspoons when it's gone. Michelle Pfeiffer would always be welcome, but is far too classy to walk up Hackney Road without getting hassle so I strike her off the list. Plus I've heard she doesn't like Vienetta so we would probably clash over dessert. I briefly consider offering the place to Jodie Foster, but she seems very serious and would be unlikely to appreciate the moment after dinner when I ask everyone to stick an After Eight on their forehead and try to get in their mouths without touching it.

NOT INVITED! GUTTED!

So, with time running out, and a severe lack of Hollywood A-list actresses in the vicinity of E2, I compromise. Sandra Bullock said she'd be up for it but I think she nicked an ashtray last time she came over so I'm not letting her back in until that situation is resolved. So Meryl Streep gets the nod, her and McKellen will get on like a house on fire I reckon, and she can make jokes that will go way over Vince Vaughn's head to keep us all entertained. 

So there we have it, Vaughn, Kunis, McKellen, Streep, and me. 24 WKD's in the fridge, Um Bungo vodka jellies setting nicely, and 2 packs of Iceland's premium party snack selections in the oven. 

No. You can't come. *

* Epilogue: The night didn't go well. Vince brought Owen Wilson along, Wilson was a bit depressed and so they sat in my room mostly drinking Famous Grouse and playing on my old mega-drive. It also turns out McKellen's whole 'gay thing' is basically a ruse to sleep with women. He had Kunis in the spare room in between the starter and main course. Streep was basically just concerned how I'd got her number. And took home most of the wine she'd brought with her. Rude bitch.

Star Wars, French Women, and Lying.

I've never seen 'Star Wars'. I mean, I've seen bits when it's been on TV, I can do a decent Chewbacca impression (ask me to do it, it's seriously pretty good), and I could probably name 80% of the characters. But................ I haven't seen it. To be honest, it looks shit. I prefer stuff like Lord of The Rings, y'know, a bit of realism.

Hmm. Strong look.

The thing is; (I'm not sure that should be a semi-colon there, it just felt right)

Anyway, the thing is, I have probably pretended to see 'Star Wars' about 30 times. I could be at a dinner party (shut up, I could) and someone would ask something about C3P0 or some fucking Ewok and I would KNOW what they're talking about. But...............still haven't seen it. 

It reminds me of one night at Uni, there was a film night for us students to 'mingle' and discuss our 'passion'. So I turned up expecting the worst, but it was even worse than that. A room of pretentious twats in berets, wearing long macs and occasionally trotting out phrases like 'mise-en-scene' AS IF IT WAS NOTHING. One particularly twattish beret wearer turned to me at some point and asked my opinion on Godard's 'A Bout De Souffle' (he didn't say 'Godard's', I just know this now know coz I like films 'n' that). When I told aforementioned bearded wanker that I hadn't seen it, the rage just welled up in his head as if I had just touched his grandma under the dining table.

This kind of tosser.

"You do know this is a film course right?! Did you think it was going to be repeat showings of 'Armageddon' at various Odeons for 3 years'?! 

          I searched deep within myself for a witty retort, something to show this bearded, bereted bellend that I was his academic equal, that me not seeing an 'important film' didn't make my love for cinema any less genuine than his. That retort never came, but I did tell him that at least my girlfriend didn't look like the Japanese chick from 'The Ring'. (In his defence, he appreciated the reference). But the point is this (colon/semi colon): Film can be snobby, as can the people who make it and invariably talk about it, and it's hugely unattractive. I do it myself, turning my nose up at people who 'don't do films with subtitles', or sighing deliberately loudly if someone lists 'Bad Boys' as anything other than utter shit. 

"Terrific"/ Not bad

I've seen 'Citizen Kane', still widely regarded as the best film ever made. Seen it twice, just to make sure I hadn't missed the point first time around. But I hadn't. Was it well made? Of course? Technically supreme? I guess for the time, it probably was. But fiercely entertaining? Hmmm......I prefer 'Die Hard' to be honest. 

But still, to this day, if there is a film I think I know enough about to engage in conversation about, I will still sometimes pretend I've seen it. It happened last year when over a drink a girl started talking about 'Babel'. 

She was exactly like this.

She didn't even ask if I'd seen it, she was one of these people (French) who assumed that if you were good enough to be in her company you simply must have seen it. But after 15 minutes of listening to her detonate bombs of boredom all over the place, I could not have given less of a shit. The potential for her to be someone massively interesting and enjoyable to listen to had disappeared, along with the storyline of 'Babel', up it's own arse. There's a lot to be said for loving a subject and knowing a lot about it, but when that love becomes elitist and pretentious, it's time to stick on 'Old School' and sit in your pants eating pizza for once like the rest of us*

LOVEFILM list of Top Ten films people pretend to have seen (2011) and a 'BladeRunner' trailer, to save you the bother.

1. The Godfather (30 per cent)

2. Casablanca (13 per cent)
3. Taxi Driver (11 per cent)
4. 2001: A Space Odyssey (9 per cent)  
5. Reservoir Dogs (8 per cent)
6. This Is Spinal Tap (7 per cent)
7. Apocalypse Now (6 per cent)
8. Goodfellas (5 per cent)
=8. Blade Runner (5 per cent)
10. The Great Escape (4 per cent)

* not me

Cameo-No.

'Django Unchained': For 100 minutes, it's funny, sharp, dramatic, classy, and deeply absorbing as all good flicks are. Then, utterly predictably, comes the inevitable Tarantino cameo. This is fine, he made the thing, can we really begrudge him (and his ego) a brief foray onto the screen to share a slice of the limelight? Ordinarily, no. But on this occasion he emerges towards the climax of the film, and COMPLETELY takes you out of it, because Quentin Tarantino and acting are about as compatible as Chris Brown and women's lib.

As dramatic as his face gets

With his stupid nose, ridiculous accent, and horrific sense of timing, it's the cinematic equivalent of a wedding videographer turning the camera on himself halfway through the best man's speech just to shout 'waaasssssuuuuuuupp'. If you want a cameo, and you clearly do QT, stick yourself at the start as some nondescript nobody, realise the effect you have of rolling in towards the end and reminding people that, for all your talent, you're still an egotistical bellend.

Of course, the big screen cameo is almost as old as the big screen itself, and directors such as Peter Jackson can frequently be glimpsed in their own work. But Jackson's style is 'blink and you'll miss it', non-speaking, and (most importantly) not intrusive. The fact that he's about as photogenic as roadkill probably dictates this, but still. 

Shyamalan - Creepy looking fucker isn't he?

Alfred Hitchcock famously appeared in 37 of his own films, and I doubt there would have been anyone around ballsy enough to try and make him change his mind. But, again, he was mostly peripheral, rarely distracting enough to make you stop and think about what you're watching. 

More recently, 'The Sixth Sense' director M. Night Shyamalan consistently popped up his pictures (drug dealer in 'Unbreakable', doctor in 'The Sixth Sense'). Shyamalan is equally as shit an actor as QT, but seems to realise this, and take himself back behind the lens before too much damage is done. (He also gives himself the glory of revealing the twist in 'The Village'. Smarmy little shit). 

During the late Eighties Spike Lee who took the cameo to new lengths, almost playing a supporting role in films such as 'Jungle Fever' and 'Do The Right Thing'. Lee isn't the greatest screen actor around, but compared to the likes of Shyamalan and Tarantino, he's positively Brando-esque.

Mean Streets. Like Tottenham, but with better hair

But perhaps the most dramatic cameo impact comes from the old master Martin Scorcese in 1973's 'Mean Streets'. Appearing right at the end as an uncredited hitman, he then proceeds to blow the film's two major characters away. (If you haven't seen it, and I've just ruined the ending for you, then you probably shouldn't wait 40 years after it's release to watch it. Also, at the end of The Sixth Sense, turns out he's a ghost. Soz.) Scorcese also shows he can really act by confidently sharing the screen with De Niro, playing a neurotic cab passenger in 'Taxi Driver'.

But cameos should be brief, funny, and do we actually know what the director looks like half the time anyway? 2003's 'Old School' this perfectly, director Todd Phillips turning up at Owen Wilson's door and simply stating: "I'm here for the gang bang". Brief, concise, and then gone. But let's end this how we started, by criticizing decent people. The worst cameo in history (and it is the worst) doesn't come from a director, but from Matt Damon. In 2004 he was pretty much at the top of his game, a true A-lister, respected, rich, and could choose his projects. So fuck knows why he did this:

Sex. Cinema. Rules.

So I'm having a drink with a friend who I haven't seen for a couple of months. After about 20 minutes covering work, where we live, how having no money is depressing, and what a cock the bloke by the bar wearing wristbands is, she tells me she's going on a date the next night with someone from a dating website.

"Cool, where you gonna go? We live in London, dates can get pretty creative".

"Yeah.........that's true. But The Great Gatsby is on and he really wants to see it, plus I love Leo and he knows a cool place to eat nearby" 

WHOAH THERE A FUCKING MINUTE.

This is the problem with society. Ok, apart from class divides, crime, poverty, etc, this is the problem with society. Cinema is not for dates. Let me attempt to tell you why:

Wood Green. Dreadful.

1) I've been in a cinema whilst an obvious 'date' has been going on behind me. I remember it well. I went to see 'Blue Valentine' in Wood Green (don't judge). They talked through the ads (fine, we all do), then chuntered on about their mutual friend well into the trailers (pushing it), but then had the AUDACITY to talk like giggling little shits a good 5 minutes into the picture. Sorry folks, but just because there are credits on the screen doesn't mean the film hasn't started. This isn't fucking EastEnders. 

Disgusting behaviour

2) There's one thing arguably worse than the chatters. There are those (my mate Phil is one) who just see the cinema as a kind of dark, short stay hotel, a place where it's ok to touch the inside of your dates thigh whilst watching 'Avatar'. Obviously the Na'avi were a bigger turn on than I'd realised. This has only happened to me once, at a midnight showing of Public Enemies, with a guy and a girl so obviously not there for the film it was untrue. It was possibly more uncomfortable because I had taken a seat on the back row, blocking their first choice. So they resorted to Row H, which was great as my view of the left half of the screen, Johnny Depp, and Marion Cotillard were obscured for about 20 minutes by this girl's bobbing head.

3) Because the first two points might seem a bit bitter, let me redress the balance. A few years ago I was going out with a girl and we decided to go and watch Iron Man. Being a bit of a romantic, I went the extra mile and paid an additional £2.50 so we could watch it somewhere with a slightly bigger screen. And with less pikeys. So we are in there about 15 minutes, she'd had a drink (twelve drinks), and whispers 'come on let's just go back to mine'. I realise now that maybe I should have gone, maybe she was The One. But...............

I'VE PAID £28 FOR THESE TICKETS SO YOU WILL SIT THERE AND YOU WILL FUCKING LOVE IRON MAN UNTIL I SAY YOU CAN STOP.

Iron Man. Not a sex film.

But even though these points are slightly stupid, the fact remains that cinema is a different social medium compared to, for example, being at a gig, or a football match. Cinema often relies on detail, a momentary glance, a background movement, or a telling mise-en-scene. Film regularly demands attention to be fully appreciated. Cinema as a social experience is, at it's best, sublime. But it's also something that can be equally enjoyed in isolation, and lose nothing for it. The idea of a cinema 'date' is flawed until you are (minimum) 4 months in.

By this point, you should know enough about each other that, if you have another question or something you want to talk about, you should be comfortable enough to shut the fuck up with each other for two hours. Conversely, I often look around cinemas and see the couples so far gone who have given on up creative dates, for whom cinema is a chance to say 'yeah we went out for the night together' without actually having to look at each other for an extended period of time.

In the end my friend didn't really enjoy the date. Apparently he turned up twenty minutes into the film and then tried ordering for her at Masala Zone afterwards. 

I love being right.

Sport/Life/Etc

Sport is, with some admittedly colossal differences, life. Rules exist, and are invariably broken, despair often outweighs triumph, and you generally need to be a Sky subscriber to enjoy either. It's because of this alignment that sport is perpetually such a fertile subject matter for film. The drama, the heroes, the villains, the glory, elements equally suited to describing 'The Dark Knight Rises' or the latest Champions League Final.

He's not exactly Nadal.

        Unfortunately, a lot of films purporting to be about sport (and for the purpose of this blog I'm not counting the likes of Happy Gilmore, Dodgeball, or anything with Will Ferrell clowning as a film rooted in sport) are...............well, shit. Anyone who has sat through Paul Bettany and Kirsten Dunst in 'Wimbledon' will know the film has about as much to do with sport as Sepp Blatter's advice to female footballers to 'wear shorter skirts'.



Perhaps the lack of truly great sports films has to do with the compromise needed. To elicit real drama, inevitably dramatic license with the sport in question is taken. Simultaneously, the show a sport as it truly is will frequently mean losing something cinematic in the process.
       But sometimes, just sometimes, like your favourite club who lose eight on the bounce then win 3-0 away at the league leaders to 'keep you believing', cinema gets it right. Spectacularly right. One of the most recent example of this is Clint Eastwood's 'Million Dollar Baby'.
       A-Listers such as Will Smith and Denzel Washington both tried their hands at boxing flicks, but neither got close to delivering the kind of punch/knockout blow/other cliche that 'MDB' does. And when the easiest, most dramatically viable option in a sports film is usually to have the protagonist finally overcoming struggle and achieving victory before the credits roll, 'MDB' destroys it's own premise, confounds expectations, and emerges as something pretty special.

      In the same vein, the criminally underwatched 'Friday Night Lights' takes a small Texan high school football team and creates the best American Football film ever made. It was so good that NBC picked up the story and converted it to a series still smashing viewing figures on US TV. As much about a town's obsession with their team and the responsibility placed on young men as it is about football, it captures machismo and heartbreak in a way Adam Sandler could only dream of.

Even the poster is offensive.

    With the subject matter being a US sport, maybe UK audiences don't quite connect with the likes of 'Friday Night Lights' and 'Moneyball' as much as their American counterparts, but, as with all great sports films, the drama and spectacle are far more important than the sport in question.
But for every 'Any Given Sunday' there has to be a 'Mr Baseball'. If you haven't seen this, please don't. It's basically Tom Selleck as a superstar ball player who goes off to Japan and spends 90 minutes being horrifically racist to Japanese people whilst twiddling his 'tache and then finally deciding 'oh actually Japanese people are ok' and then tries to bang one.
           In the UK we've been pretty starved of decent sports films over the years. 'Fever Pitch' and 'Match Point' may pass the time, but then again, so does sleeping. 'When Saturday Comes' had Sean Bean in it. That's literally all I remember about the film so I'm doubting it was brilliant. 'Bend It Like Beckham' passed the time, but then so did 'Fever Pitch'. 'The Damned United' did show that we have the capacity to produce a powerful, authentic sports biopic, but was very much an exception as opposed to a rule
   So, for great cinematic sporting fare, we have to look to the States. Boxing and fight sports feature heavily, and whilst the first 'Rocky' was actually pretty damn good, the likes of 'The Fighter', 'The Wrestler' and particularly 'Warrior' blow it out of the water.
Gritty to the point of watching with gravel in your eyes, the template for this type of film is now set for years to come. But it's 'Raging Bull' that still sets the bar for the genre, and maybe sports films on the whole. Brutal violence (in and out of the ring), one of the world's best actors delivering one of cinema's most memorable performances, and a mesmeric tale of riches to rags, it hasn't been bettered since.
    But not many films got as close as 2010's 'Senna'. It has everything. Drama, obsession, danger, rivalry, heartbreak, and, ultimately, sickening tragedy. It's a real life story that defines sport better than any script. This was a film so good that I nearly came to blows with two different people to have the cheek to say they wouldn't watch it because they 'didn't like documentaries' and 'thought Formula 1 was crap'. I haven't spoken to them since. The best sports films don't rely on an inherent love for baseball, basketball, or American Football. They rely only on your capacity to relate, to feel something. And that's the thing about sports films. As with certain parts of life, you don't really need to understand it to enjoy it.

   

2011, and how film went back to the future.

Even in Dalston,

these are not acceptable

As happens every year, the December of 2010 boldly delivered it's prophecies of how the film world would take shape in the following twelve months. In amongst the usual press guff concerning Next Big Things and the continued domination of the franchise (2011 has seen more sequels than ever before), one prediction unexpectedly fell well short of it's heralded mark. The rise and imminent domination of 3D.



I get it, you're blue.



When i was enduring Avatar's bloated narrative a couple of years ago, I was seemingly safe in the knowledge of at least one thing, that the hideously retro 3D glasses I was wearing were a sign of things to come, that this magnificence was the FUTURE, and that paying an extra fiver at the flicks should be viewed as a privilege. A non 2D privilege.

Well, I'm happy to report that 2011 has proved that 3D, whilst evidently and correctly, is here to stay, it hasn't actually taken over the world, and, if anything, this year has seen a backlash, a bizarrely retrospective swipe at the future delivered by the very film-makers who are supposed to take us there. Because, whilst 2011 featured the usual barrage of effects laden fare, the theme of the year has been one that screams not of futuristic desolation, but 1970's claustrophobia and paranoia.

Still can't believe your sister's
 the rough one from EastEnders



Take a couple of the year's most high profile and successful films for starters. Tomas Alfredson's Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy is an obvious signpost, but none the less important for it. A story and a style that evoked great 70's thrillers like The Parallax View, with a visual panache that relied as much on stillness as movement, a rare example of a film that expected much of it's audience, and pandered to none.
If TTSS was the critic's darling, the Steven Soderbergh's Contagion was as close to B-movie blockbuster as Tinseltown allows. A star studded cast and multi million dollar budget were evidently in place, but this was a picture that shared it's DNA with the likes of The Andromeda Strain and early 70's dread, however hard it's contemporary licks suggest otherwise.

That hadn't bargained for the
 student exchange trip to Tottenham

To see film-makers like Alfredson and Soderbergh spin classic stories into pieces so relevant was a joy to behold, but this year's trend of nostalgia is probably best highlighted by the very wunderkind widely thought of as the next pioneer of his craft. JJ Abrams' Super 8 clearly borrows (and repays) a generous pinch of Spielbergian magic dust, but emerges as a joy, and proves that you can occasionally please all of the people, all of the time. Albeit with an 80's heritage and stamp, the conspiracy theories and paranoia screamed of the 70's and was a heartening reminder that when effects compliment a story rather than dominate it, they become all the more impressive.

This isn't to say that 2011 hasn't had its share of retrospective shoddiness. The much vaunted X-Men: First Class suffered in its pre-dated setting and felt un-necessary, whereas seeing the excellent Joel Edgerton pop up in a mildly redundant prequel of John Carpenter's masterful The Thing was a mis-step all round. There was also the brilliantly nuanced (sic) Arthur remake starring Russell Brand, which was roughly as good as every other Russell Brand film.

Not Human. Nice coat though.

But, in spite of these failings, 2011 has done a bloody good job of getting paranoia and an overbearing society back into the mutliplex. Perhaps it's the world around us that has laid the foundations for the public mistrust gracing the silver screen, the feeling we are being watched and lied to, and the recurring theme of a world in trouble. But whatever it is, it's welcome. Jesus, 2011 even achieved the almost unachievable, by adding a watchable, clever, addition to the Planet of The Apes cannon, a feat that proved beyond Johnny Depp's de facto other half, Tim Burton.

Rehearsals went,
in all honesty, too far.

Whilst it might be labouring a point to suggest that 2011 has been a generally outstanding year, it's true that certain examples point to a variety and ambition that can only lead to high hopes for 2012. Brit film had another major fillip, as Ben Wheatley's Kill List succeeded where Nicolas Cage's remake failed, by out Wicker Man-ing The Wicker Man, in another tale that played on conspiracy and paranoia. But whilst films such as this will remain on the very outskirts of the mainstream, it was the willingness of the big flicks to stick to genre that was refreshing.

Early promotional efforts were poor.

Jon Favreau's Cowboys & Aliens was, bar the title, not so much of a mish-mash, but a straightforward, classic tale that owes more to the Western than it does to the technology powered millions on the screen. Likewise, the recent, powerful The Ides of March is a stripped back piece of cinema, relying on good old-fashioned story and performance, a film that could have as easily been made 40 years ago, and relying on qualities that won't ever appear dated.

With only a matter of days left before the Hollywood juggernaut steams into 2012, the final few weeks have been punctuated by the appearance and anticipation of films the year should be remembered for. The cloying, foreboding (and, admittedly unseen by me) air hanging over Take Shelter have wowed critic and moviegoer alike, but it's Michel Hanavicius' The Artist that perhaps best showcases 2011 as the year that time forgot.

A black and white offering concerning 1920's cinema? Tough sell. Why not just go the whole way and make it virtually silent?! Oh, you did. And what rose from these unlikeliest of beginnings was the film many now regard as the best of the year, primed for a (quiet) assault on next year's Oscars.
2011 may not have been cinema's finest year, but it was certainly one of it's most unexpected. And I didn't don those stupid glasses once.

Family Misfortunes



Too hot to be related o me



Everyone's had the 'Who Would Play You In A Film Of Your Life?' chat at some point, if only for a few seconds. And, once you get past the fact that you look nothing like Pitt or Kunis, or any other photogenic human, the answers can be pretty revealing. Not because it shows who we like or respect, but because it shows, to a degree, how we view ourselves. But what if we took that one stage further? If there's a film of my life (piss off, there might be) then I wouldn't be (completely) alone, who plays the rest of the clan? Is it important to know? No. Have I run of out ideas for threads? Possibly.



And that's why you're not my dad



First up, mother. My first thoughts were along the lines of Pfeiffer, but then it would get all Oedipal and cease being tasteful. Ditto Marisa Tomei, maybe just old enough, but I'm not sure I want friends saying my mum is hot, even if it's fictional.

At the other end of the spectrum, the Helen Mirren factor screams at me, but she's possibly a wee bit old. But I need that air of gravitas, someone who delivers authority and coolness simultaneously. It comes down to two. Annett Bening v Meryl Streep, with the former winning out on the basis that my mates wouldn't want to nail her.



The father figure, then. Hmmm, I'd like Alec Baldwin, but he's insane and more of a junkie uncle. Dustin Hoffman is cool, but maybe too feminine and eccentric to gain my full imaginary boyhood respect. I did consider Gene Hackman, but he seems slimy and I'd always be worried he'd crack on to my auntie (Joan Cusack), so he's out. A close second is Tom Selleck, but the hirsuteness of the man borderline terrifies me, so I'm just left with Richard Jenkins, which is nice. Plus I think he'll get on with mum.

Willow. Like the tree.

He's my brother now

Next up: Brother. Important one this, I can't afford to be much cooler than me or my narrative will suffer, so options become sharply limited. Not too good looking, nor one step away from a dark cave. So the honour (yes, it's an honour) goes to Casey Affleck as my lucky brother, combining complete anonymity and socipathic tendencies like it's not even a 'thing'.

Of course, he and we need a sister. A little sister. And no-one likes their little sister. So I'm gonna make it Willow Smith, just to mess with expectation. Plus, it shows we are progressive. To finish off the ensemble, I need to enlist a pair of grandparents, the kind of old folk who will, at once, supply you with booze and petty cash whilst retaining their own teeth and bowel movements.



By cuddles, I mean sex.



Step forward.......Imelda Staunton, who mainly makes the family on the back of her Vera Drake gig.Not particularly uplifting I know, but I have a feeling my cousin (Dakota Fanning) might need her for that very reason sooner or later.

Last, and pretty much least, I need a grandfather. An off the rails, bad influence, worse role model grandfather. Michael Caine came close but is too sane, Richard Jenkins would be good but fuck, he's my dad. So it's left to Donald Sutherland, on the basis that he has facial hair on tap and Keifer may visit every other weekend.

I think my family is less a montage of how I view myself and more of a list of people I could think of. But it would be still be a good family Christmas, especially if Auntie Monica Bellucci turns up for 'cuddles'.