Why does the toad work...

Out filming at Vista festival in Hull today, attempting to get people to wax lyrical about Hull's adopted son Philip Larkin. We did ok but still probably need another 50 more interviews. Finest response today was from a young woman who asked, "Is he the guy that abandoned slavery?" Other interviewees gave intelligent, thoughtful responses; one interpreted the poem Cut Grass via the medium of dance. Lots of people, as expected, only knew Larkin as the man wot wrote "that thing about your parents ruining your life" or "innee summat to do wiv turds?". During one interview a somewhat desperate father pushed his very young children into the shot, mistaking us for a film crew doing something important.

Morris dancing...

Down the cinema tonight to watch Four Lions. It's a comedy. I enjoyed it. When we were buying our tickets an eccentric man behind us in the queue took an interest in Sam's bag and the Jimi Hendrix artwork upon it. There was no suggestion that we may have been packing explosives. Instead, he gave sulky teenage son Sam some early Hendrix history, by way of an intense till-side lecture covering the Isley Brothers years. He followed this with some rather unnerving admiration for my large nachos. Thankfully he sat a few rows down from us so he didn't spoil the evening. Sam noticed as the end credits rolled that our new Hendrix expert friend had taken his shoes off to watch the film. Back to Morris, having read a host of reviews on my return, I'd say Tania Ahsan's take is amongst the most sensible reading.

Kick-Ass cinema trip...

Kick-Ass last night. Lived up to its title. Beautifully choreographed, baletic Woo-style violence and action, funny and very tightly knitted screenplay and solid performances from a quality Anglo-American ensemble. This film looks superb throughout and the story is just crazy. Chloë Moretz's Hit-Girl is the finest, handiest, weapon-savvy child since Natalie Portman's Mathilda in Leon. Loved every one of its 117 minutes. Apart from, well, the set up for the sequel at the end, which, as welcome as it will be, and as much of a nod it was to all those Super Hero films that have preceded Kick Ass, came across as just a little bit smug (yes, yes, that was the point). But the best thing I've seen in a long, long while.

I expected the cinema to be busy. Up until a minute before the main feature, there were four of us in front of the screen. Sod's law dictated that, as the feature was about to start, a group of noisy young folk would plonk themselves and fill the row in front of us - and take 15 minutes of the film to calm down and shut up. And just in the nick of time, as I was about to get nasty. Quite why that row and not one of the 15 others is beyond me. As Hit Girl would have it, they were c*nts.

These are crazy nights...

To see The Crazies last night with son Sam. I especially enjoyed the moment when Sam jumped out of his seat, turned to me and said, "That frightened me." Which I'm sure is the intended effect (The Crazies is rammed full of moments designed to make the audience jump, although they don't always work) throughout this epidemic thriller. The film was ok. I'm not familiar with George Romero's 1973 film of the same name so can't compare and contrast with Bruce Eisner's effort that was 'inspired' by its predecessor. What truly horrified me, given that we've been frequenting Vue and Reel of late, was the extortionate price of seats at the Odeon. "It is expensive, isn't it?" said the 60-year-old bloke behind the counter, who must have been considering tendering his resignation at the moment he sold us the tickets.

Planet 51...

Went to see Planet 51 with son Sam yesterday. Mildly amusing and I liked it and the 1950s-fixation throughout. We were the only two punters in Screen 5 at Reel in Hull which was, for once, not the coldest room in the universe, but it did feel rather strange to have nobody sitting around us, talking incessantly. So, taking advantage of the private screening, we did more talking than usual. Mainly because Sam was holding the nachos (a unique occurrence) and I had to keep bothering him for one. At one point the day's frenzied activity caught up with me and I closed my eyes. "Wake up! I can't believe you're asleep," shouted Sam. I wasn't. Although it reminded me of Star Wars at the Dorchester in 1977 when my old man nodded off during the Death Star battle.

That's paranormal...

Went to see Paranormal Activity with son Sam last night. It wasn't bad. We had the screen to ourselves right up to the moment when the film began, then we were joined by some silly, giggling girls. Perhaps understandably, they screamed at every bump in the night but, when the lights went back up at the film's conclusion, one group made a rather strange deal about how they hadn't screamed at all. Simple story that will have been easily shot for the much-hyped 15k. Wish I'd thought of doing it!

2012...

Picked up Vue's in-house, comma-tastic publication prevue (I like the title, it's oh so very clever and I also like Vue, their nice comfy seats and adult-sized leg room and, in Hull, the whole "only digital multiplex in Europe" thing) when we were at A Christmas Carol 3D yesterday. A pull-out quote in prevue made me laugh about but also put me off the forthcoming (the word forthcoming is only used in reference to films, isn't it?) sensory-blitzing 2012. "The human stories," goes the quote, "seem destined to play second fiddle to the effects, after all, seeing the end of the world is what you've paid your money for!" I especially like that exclamation mark. Who needs stories about humans when you can blow shit up? That, my friends, is the future. Who will survive 2012? I don't think it matters! All that matters is the catastrophe!

Party...

So, last year I was involved in a short film. I wrote it then, on the shoot, I made lots of cups of tea for everyone and hung about like a right melon with nothing to do. It's not great but neither is it the worst short film that's ever been made. I wanted to call it just Party but democratic decision making being what it is I lost out on a majority vote that favoured It's My Party (too Helen Shapiro for my liking). I was expecting Party to do the rounds at various short film festivals but our producer never appeared to get round to organising that beyond Bite The Mango. So, before it heads into obscurity, here's your chance to take a peek:

Winning, wandering, writing...

A Google Alert popped up in the inbox to let me know that someone had posted a blog post about me. Only they hadn't. The blog subject was my namesake over at Hull City, who'd cracked in a goal today in a 2-0 play off win over Watford to move the Tigers well-within reach of a Wembley appearance. Well done DW. A winning day for the city - as well as the aforementioned, Hull FC and Hull KR both advanced in the Challenge Cup. With the taste of victory in the air and the sun shining we wandered around town aimlessly, pausing for drinks outside a dockside tavern.

Somewhat miraculously, I've written two short film scripts this weekend. A distraction, if nothing else, from writing what I should have been writing, which was adding the finishing touches to an outline for a new play. Despite the lack of words on paper/hard drive the new play is bubbling away and is jostling for position in my addled brain, preparing to burst out of there.

Reading: Yukio Mishima - Confessions of a Mask. Listening: Mystery Jets - Twenty One; The Courteeners - St Jude; Does It Offend You, Yeah? - You Have No Idea What You're Getting Yourself Into; Tokyo Police Club - A Lesson In Crime.

Grim up north...

Shall we not mention my Hull FC prediction? Well, go on then. Woefully off the mark. Given that we came nowhere close to the Robins on the pitch maybe it'd be better to campaig for Rovers to suffer a points deduction now Paul Cooke's been charged with "making an alleged illegal approach to another club prior to the expiry of his contact, without permission of his registered club."
Bit of a meeting re short films today, all the way up the road from the Grand at Leeds' strong-beer stronghold North. And talking of short film, you better go and see this.

Bread, rain and blood...

Big Brother 8: It's all about bread and arguments about bread. And/or toast. And try as I might, and even after all these weeks, I still can't understand a single word that those two twins utter in unison. Nor, for that matter, anything that comes out of Brian's mouth. Kara-Louise's hair freaks me out (did she used to be in Flock of Seagulls?). OAP boybander Ziggy's surely in his mid-40s, if the truth be told. Liam is a walking, talking north-east stereotype - everything in Liam's world is "canny" or, on the odd occasion it isn't, he divn't give a hoot, like. Carole is under the impression that she is running a care home, albeit one in which she regularly breaks down in tears in front of those she cares for and, oddly for someone who used to be a peace protestor, loves a fucking big scrap about absolutely nothing (or, as is usually the case, bread). Jonty is everyone's slightly disturbed and estranged Uncle. Tracey, well, she's a vacuous pile of nothingness - or, as these people are prone to say, she's simply being real - who has a limited vocabulary that consists of "phat" and "sorted". How on earth do you pick a winner out of this lot? Quite simply, you don't. Here's a twist - just let them out, give them a load of bread each and lock the house up, giving it all up as a bad job until next year. There, I've blogged about it. It was inevitable - my life is so shallow.

Rain stopped play today. We were going to Hull's Grassroot's festival but, in the end, couldn't be arsed to amble across town in the wet weather. But not before we'd filled a huge rucksack with sandwiches. So we had a picnic for our evening meal at the dining table. Nice bit of father-son bonding today - as the rain fell down outside we sat and watched Korean gore-thriller Into The Mirror. Son appeared a bit disappointed that the body count was nowhere close to his fave slice of Asian extreme Battle Royale but did come away something of a Sung-ho Kim fan, I feel.