Whatever else 2007 has been, one thing is certain; it has been a truly vintage year for film.

We have seen thirty three films at the cinema this year and I can only think of one that was a real let down, and that was Nick Love’s Outlaw, as I was really looking to seeing the director of The Football Factory and the Business  step up to the plate and make a great movie to build on the promise shown in the Football Factory and The Business.

Outlaw isn’t as bad as the reviews suggest, but it was a missed opportunity as Love tackled social exclusion and the Justice system head on, and in a way that challenged the woolly left.

Ten Canoes was interesting as it was the first major release done in aboriginal language, but I found it a bit to earnest and patronising. “Hey, black people swearing and telling rude jokes whilst dressed in hunter gather gear! Far out!”

I enjoyed the Hollywood Blockbusters, especially The Bourne Ultimatum, The 300, Spiderman and Transformers, and there was plenty on the action front with Die Hard 4.0, Shoot ‘Em Up and Smokin Aces to get the blood pumping.

The Science of Sleep was a really clever and off beat French offering, but Ne le Dis a Personne gets my nod as best Foreign Language picture, a cool thriller in the Roman Policier tradition, although oddly it was written by an American.

2007 will be remembered for so-called torture-porn causing unnecessary upset for the Kira Cochranes of this world.

As I said back in July, Hostel especially, is damning of a Society where if you are super rich, money can buy all including the power over life and death. Capitalism taken to the nth degree. As for Vacancy and Captivity, they are fairly harmless ways to waste an evening and I can’t get excited about either which shows they are anodyne rather than offensive.

Cochrane cites misogynist angles in her criticisms but having seen Death Proof, Vacancy, Captivity, and Hostel I can only lay that charge at the first mentioned picture in which a man beats a woman whilst uttering hateful, gender based abuse.

Had the victim been black, and the language racist then I’m sure the censor would have taken a dim view, but the other movies contain non such anti woman material and I just don’t get this statement from French actor Julie Delpy;

 “I hate horror films in which women he treats like shit," says the star of Before Sunset. "That whole Tarantino thing about beating up women and killing them and chopping them up. Just because he has the mind of a 12-year-old….” (About Death Proof)

The whole point is that Mike (the main character) is a useless inadequate who hates women, and is riven with self-esteem issues. Hence there is a scene where he receives a lap dance as part of a dare on behalf of the girl characters, but there is no doubt in the mind of the viewer who is in control and who is exploited.

I believe that Quentin Tarantino is actually sending up the negative and exploitative portrayals of women in Cinema, as Stuntman Mike is exposed as a cowardly loser when presented with strong women as opponents who are fighting back and regaining control.

Tarentino is often accused of misogynism because of his portrayals of women, but they are usually strong, heroic and come out on top, so I would like the PC brigade who probably wouldn’t see his films anyway, to crawl away and take their pathetic self loathing with them.

The British Film Industry, whilst not prolific, produced two gems of social commentary with London to Brighton and Red Road, both are a window into the underbelly of those untouched by Labour’s ten years in office and show that film, and art in general are important instruments of social commentary and hopefully, change things.

These films are made by young people who are worthy successors to Ken Loach in educating their contemporaries about what gives outside the bubble of progress in which most of us live.

Eastern Promises was an interesting, if flawed gangster movie, and comedy wise I thought Hot Fuzz and Venus were excellent British contributions.

Zodiac deserves to be mentioned in dispatches as a crime movie, but it was over long and a bit pedantic for my liking.

So to the Top Ten of the Year and my personal awards… Soooo interesting and I know how many of the great and the good in the celluloid world are waiting with bated breath… But enough about Richard.

1) This Is England. Directed by Shane Meadows. This is a peerless commentary on the evils of Thatcherism and how her policies butchered Working Class communities, making fertile ground for the BNP. Made in typical Shane realite style there is so much he has to say that is relevant and important for our times.

2) Control. Directed by Anton Corbijin. Ian Curtis biopic, which proves why British music, and film are the best in the world. This is a film about what it means to be human.

3) The Good Shepherd.  Directed by Robert De Niro. Epic study inside the CIA during the Cold War era. Outstanding performances from Matt Damon in the lead role, hot on the heels of The Departed.

4) Sunshine. Directed by Danny Boyle. A Satrean si fi picture that has more layers than a very large onion. An absolute masterpiece which cements Boyle’s position as one of the world’s top five directors.

 5) American Gangster. Directed by Ridley Scott. This proves what an amazing year this has been, as this picture is up there with Goodfellas in the role call of this genre.

6) The Simpsons Movie. Directed by David Silverman. The greatest ever TV comedy becomes a contender for the greatest ever comedy picture. Simply brilliant and brings together into one place all the ingredients of this great franchise.

7) The Last King of Scotland.  Directed by Kevin MacDonald. This, along with Blood Diamond explain the tragedy of Africa, which is the world’s richest Continent but has been systematically asset stripped by the West so that the majority of it’s people live in unimaginable poverty, yet somehow retain supreme dignity. Tony Blair rightly made Africa top of the agenda during his spell as President of the G8, which makes his decision over Iraq even more perplexing.

8) Sleuth. Directed by Kenneth Branagh. Pinter written two hander brilliantly played by Michael Caine and Jude Law. This is a film that keeps you locked in to a great suspenseful drama as two men fight over a woman. Simple but effective.

9) The Bourne Ultimatum. Directed by Paul Greengrass. Another triumph for a British director who brings intelligent raising of current issues (the War on Terror, so called) to a block busting and fast paced action thriller

10) Death Proof. Directed by Quentin Tarentino. Not his best effort but this director’s films are always so interesting on many different levels and he is a brilliant storyteller.

Best Picture: This Is England, funnily enough.

Best Screenplay: Harold Pinter for Sleuth.

Best Director: Danny Boyle for Sunshine.

Best Male Actor: Matt Damon in The Good Shepherd.

Best Female Actor: Kate Dickie in Red Road.

Best Cinematography: Alwin Küchler for Sunshine.

The advent of iTunes and the iPod means that I don’t listen to music radio on a regular basis anymore. What’s the point when you have the shuffle option, and, as there are 5,859 tracks to choose from repetition isn’t an issue, so it’s like having you own music radio without all the annoying twaddle from a DJ.

The result is that I haven’t really discovered any new music this year and, Amy Whitehouse excepted, all my purchases have been by acts already established in my collection.

Mark E. Smith joined forces this year with a German techno house duo and the result is Von Sudenfed with a disc called Trommatic Reflexxions. It is completely off the wall but it works. How, I don’t know  but it does. Trance techno with a drum and bass beat, with the Lad Himself doing his shouty poetry over the top.

This year’s Fall offering, Reformation TLC had all the usual trademarks but with a new band (the old one walked out on the eve of recording, due to an incident that may or may not have involved a banana-skin, a corkscrew, a guitar-amp, and some whiskey) those being clunking, driving bass lines with Smith’s idiosyncratic “vocals” meandering around on top.

Mark’s performance is more poetry reading than singing although the Band are capable of melodic introspection as well as infuriating oddballism, but as ever with the Fall, you won’t get bored and I have played this album over and over, to savour all the unusual twists and turns that aren’t always apparent straight away.

Stereophonics released their new long player Pull the Pin in October, and for me it was going to be almost impossible for it to live up to it predecessor the magnificent Sex, Language, Violence. Other… which I consider to be their finest record and the best British out and out rock album of this decade and which I have played to death since it’s release in 2005.

But I was not to be disappointed. Kelly Jones is back into a rich vein of song writing form after a two-album dip in the wake of 1999’s Performance and Cocktails, and this record displays a heavy, punky sound allied with Dylanesque lyrical subtlety which Jones has made his trademark.

Bank Holiday Monday displays the get down and dirty rock side of things, and Daisy Lane showcases Kelly’s observational side as he reflects on the mindless stabbing of a boy for his mobile phone.

The live show, which we caught when it came to Hull, was a typically raw and visceral experience and was a fitting climax to the year having also checked out the Killers in Sheffield, and the Who at a rain sodden Circle in May.

I missed the Kaiser Chiefs show at Hull Arena earlier this month due to developing meningitis during my last cycle of treatment, but the boys said it was every bit as good as last years.

Whilst it was always going to be a tough task to follow 2005’s Employment long player, Ricky Wilson and the his Leeds crew’s 2007 effort Yours Truly, the Angry Mob displayed a growing song writing maturity without losing the nascent energy of it’s predecessor. They are masters of the pop song hook, and Ruby especially just sucks you in with its upbeat repetition.

Bruce Springsteen continues to confirm why he fully deserves the sobriquet The Boss with a stomping live version of the Seeger Sessions recorded in Dublin. The record contains different arrangements and interpretations from the original 2006 disc, plus a new version of Atlantic City, so charges of cashing in on the brand are not appropriate in this case.

His second release of the year reunited Bruce with the E Street Band for the first time in five years. Yet another soulful, reflective and rocking album to add to his considerable wealth and breadth of work, Magic contains traditional Bruce fare in Radio Nowhere plus his ruminations on middle age with Girls in Their Summer Clothes.

The voice of Blue Collar America, Bruce Springsteen really does have the Midas touch when it comes to making music.

April saw Richard Thompson release his first rock album for four years, and Sweet Warrior was well worth the wait.

Richard does a mean line on relationships, and sexual infidelity in particular and Johnny’s Far Away follows in that tradition, along with the anger ridden I’ll Never Give it Up in which he invites all comers outside in the car park for a good old tear up, shades of a ‘Nineties Thompson classic I Feel So Good.

The outstanding track for me is the truly shocking "Dad’s Gonna Kill Me", which tells the story of a terrified soldier serving in Iraq as he observes death and destruction up close and personal via a road side bomb. None of this matters to his US General who proclaims; "at least we're winning on the Fox Evening News".

Richard’s under rated guitar playing comes to the fore and is given more prominence on this record, and as ever he makes excellent use of a limited vocal range.

But it’s the songs that typically make this a very good set and a reminder that Richard is an un appreciated national treasure, right up there with Morrissey, Elvis Costello, Billy Bragg and Ray Davies as one of England’s greatest working song writers.

The Arctic Monkeys. My dog has no nose....

And so to my Album of the Year which is by Amy Winehouse and carries the unfortunate, but prescient title Back to Black.

Her travails are well documented, and people seem to have plenty to say on the matter but all I can say is that I have nothing but admiration for her brutal honesty about herself and everything that ails her through the songs on this record, and the lyrics to Tears Dry On Their Own should not have to be written by a 23 year old with such a stunningly beautiful voice.

Winehouse, a Working Class London girl, is the epitome of how we as a society oppress women and expect them to look and behave in a certain manner, and the fact that she describes herself as “ugly”, “fat” and “no good”, shows that the Islamic Fascists condoned by George Galloway, insisting on the burka and veil certainly do not have sole monopoly on putting women down.

The voice of an angel, and a tortured genius. Sounds familiar to me, but please God Billie Holliday is only referred to regarding Amy for the voice and not the lifestyle.

An ageing writer played by Michael Caine engages in a battle of wits with a young actor (Jude Law) who has stolen his wife’s heart away.

This piece originated as a stage play for two actors by Anthony Shaffer (The Wicker Man) and was adapted for the screen by the genius that is Harold Pinter, being committed to celluloid in 1972 with Caine as the young man and Laurence Olivier in the older role. This prompted Jude Law to harbour an ambition to play the elder role in thirty years time.

Caine is an under rated actor in my book, mainly due to the sheer weight of his back catalogue which contains more than it’s fair share of dross mostly done in the ‘Eighties which diluted the deserved plaudits for his role in the seminal British Gangster movie, Get Carter.

I have not seen the original and it would be instructional to compare the approach of the cast and director to this dark and bare play which is typical Pinter in it’s portrayal of the unpleasant side of the human psyche.

All the action takes place in on a country estate and only two actors are present, except for a glimpse of someone on a TV screen (Pinter) so I can understand why director Kenneth Branagh used a lot of unusual camera tricks and various different shot gambits, but I began to find it irritating and felt it was becoming the Branagh-Aren’t-I-Ever-So-Clever-Show?

There was little need, as Law and Caine produced an absolutely electric performance rendering the messing about totally pointless and quite patronising to the audience whom Ken thinks can’t possibly concentrate for 90 minutes.

But that’s my only gripe about an intelligently produced and acted piece of work.

Guess who said this of Sleuth?

“  Whose idea was it to zap this raddled corpse with electrodes and make it jolt and reel and stagger around for 88 impossibly painful minutes?”

 Non other than our old friend Peter Bradshaw of the Gruniard. What a completely silly man.

“The gates of England are flooded. The country's been thrown away."

A touch of the Enoch Powell’s seems to have afflicted England’s greatest ever songwriter?

It would seem so, until it becomes apparent that the NME took two separate sentences uttered by Morrissey on different occasions, and meshed them into one in order to make a good hook line on the front page.

The author of the story, Tim Jonze submitted the interview in good faith and when he saw how it had been constructed he immediately demanded it be edited back, and when the paper refused he had his name removed from the piece.

This is why Morrissey is suing the NME. It has nothing to do with the content of the piece, more to do with how the paper has yet again stitched him up and slurred his reputation with racism.

For a modern, progressive artist there can be no worse accusation. Eric Clapton is a racist and proud of it, so you know where you stand with a guy like that. Irony doesn’t even begin to deal with that situation.

But the worst thing that Morrissey can be accused of is naivety given his history with this music paper, who in 1993 intimated that the Mancunian held dodgy right wing views as he was draped in the Union Jack whilst supporting Madness.

I have read the interview in full, and spent some time reading the extremely pedantic and tedious statement on his management sanctioned website www.true-to-you.net and can conclude that whilst Morrissey has been outspoken, there is no evidence that he is a racist.

Here is an example of what Morrissey said, and my comments based on the experience of being a patient at the Royal London Hospital in Whitechapel, which serves the community of Tower Hamlets in the East End for a total of four weeks.

"With the issue of immigration, it's very difficult because although I don't have anything against people from other countries, the higher the influx into England the more the British identity disappears."

As a white Anglo Irish male I felt angry and frustrated that on my last stay in hospital my dire situation of developing meningitis was exacerbated by the fact that all the staff, please note NOT some, ALL the staff “caring” for me were African.

Not a problem as such but the language barrier became a total nightmare.

I needed sleeping pills on a regular basis, plus sedation and a saline drip but every single issue became a battle as they simply didn’t understand, and more pertinently they did not want to understand what I was asking for, but were very content to speak their own local languages with each other, and patients from that Continent.

Thus a simple polite request has to be delivered as a demand as this seems to be how things are done.

The Anglo Irish are by nature more reticent in the way we ask for help, whereas one Zimbabwean nurse told me, in a friendly but insightful way that in Africa manners don’t work the same way. It’s a cultural thing and there is no value judgement placed on people because of it. It’s just the way things work.

Additionally, we have different views on what constitutes “dignity”. That sounds a bit nebulous and precious, but the way I was dealt with when I was racked by violent vomiting, sweating and shaking at the height of it was just disgraceful. Man handled and shouted at in accents so heavy I couldn’t make out a word. And that when they deigned to speak English in front of me.

I am thirty-nine, big and ugly enough to look after myself but imagine if I had been an elderly person? Or indeed this had been my first contact with hospital in the wake of my appalling initial diagnosis?

One thing I remember more than anything else when it all kicked off, was the kindness, good humour and empathy that I was treated with by the Staff crew at Hull Royal. The Doctors may have been hopeless (all overseas), but the physios, porters, nurses and general staff were diamonds.

Why? Because by and large all the people were from Hull and it’s hinterland thus they know and understand the community.

If you introduce a few outsiders then they pick up the vibe and can enhance matters with a different slant, but within the local context of how things are done.

But if those positive few then lead to the demographic situation being changed beyond recognition, then it becomes inevitable that the zeitgeist and dynamics of a community change, and it is everyone that suffers.

The indigenous population become resentful and this transmits as hostility to the newcomers who then turn in on themselves and shun integration.

We have to address head on why it is that areas such as the East End and Leicester (50% Asian as of 2001 and rising) are becoming they way they are.

(Morrissey used the word “flooded”, but given the history of such a term, I feel this inflammatory, but I know what he means.)

“It’s the economy, stupid”. Bill Clinton’s quote regarding the leading factor in elections can be transposed to so many scenarios, and immigration is one of them.

Due to the fact that 85% of the World’s population own 10% of the wealth, and that if you are on the UK minimum wage this puts you in the top 12% of the World’s earners, the attraction of the Western Developed World is enormous.

It’s natural that the brightest and best from the Underdeveloped and Developing Worlds will gravitate to where the money is. Who wouldn’t?

It was the lot of the Irish until the 1990’s, and now it’s the Poles, Eastern Europeans and Africans who make their way here, so denuding their home countries and further hamstringing chances of progress. The ultimate Vicious Circle.

Who gains? Not the Working Class in the UK who see wages driven down and prices driven up by demand for housing. Not the Migrant Workers themselves who become isolated within a hostile environment and hanker for home. Listen to the great Irish Folk music of the mid 20^th Century as they yearn for the Ould Country.

The winners, as ever are the Boss Class whose obscene bonuses dwarf any gains made at the lower end. Company Director’s pay has increased by a revolting 52% since 2000, (source TUC.org.uk) compared with 6% for everyone else.

Top pay is increasing 17 times faster than average pay. And if City bonuses had been shared among everyone at work in the UK, we could all have enjoyed a Christmas bonus of more than £350 each.

If we were serious then Tony Blair’s call to arms to “Make Poverty History” would benefit everyone, as migrant workers would be able to stay at home, fulfil their dreams and transform their Nations.

And communities in the UK fractured by the tensions of immigration, could be healed and become truly multi cultural.

That way everyone wins. Except the Bosses, which is why it will never happen making Gleneagles 2005, and Live 8 nothing but a sick joke at the expense of communities all over this Globe of ours.

 That’s what Morrissey (I reckon) was getting at. He is no racist and as a Socialist neither am I, but things need to be said and debated amongst the Progressive Left. No sacred cows. Just the truth as we see it, couched in moderate, temperate language

A clinical strike from the impressive Caleb Folan and a bundled home penalty rebound from the rampaging Frazier Campbell, saw City return to winning ways in the wake of two very poor away defeats at Preston (3-0) and Southampton, where we were spanked by four without reply.

So all the hype surrounding our promotion chances of a month ago was replaced by gloom, doom and calls for the Manager’s head. Added to misery on the field came the oh so predictable rumblings of discontent from ace mercenary Jay Jay Okocha, whose agent stirred up paper talk of a transfer window move to Sheffield United.

They can have him with knobs on, and I’ll pay the postage for the relevant documentation as this has turned out exactly as I feared back in July.

He played Mickey Mouse sub Conference standard football in Dubai for two years so to expect him to get match fit, and then turn on his undoubted skills on a regular basis was frankly pie in the sky.

£15 grand a week tells you all you need to know regarding his motives for joining City.

Henrik Pedersen’s agent must have rubbed his hands in glee when Okocha signed, as it sent all the right messages to injury prone Premiership has beens the wrong side of thirty. Easy pickings at Walton Street boys!

I fear we can add Hughes to this list as well, given another tired and lacklustre effort this week.

Fair dos regarding Windass, as all Deano has ever wanted is to wear the Black and Amber and Nick Barmby was definitely a good influence in his first season, although eighty appearances in three and half seasons provides it’s own narrative. Some players are just injury cursed with no real explanation being forthcoming.

This an extremely poor Division this season and represents our best chance for years of a top six finish, so with nearly £3 million having been forked out since Duffen took control in Boardroom I imagine that the new owner is far from impressed by Phil Brown’s performance in the Tigers Hot Seat.

If real progress is to be made then the window MUST see the exit of a number of under performing players (McPhee, Marney, Hughes, Okocha and Pedersen) in order to finance the acquisition of a left footed mid field player, a right back so that Ricketts can return to left back, and a genuinely creative central mid fielder just in case John Welsh is not up to scratch on his return from the best part of a season on the sidelines.

I would also like to see Dave Livermore play in the Ashbee holding role, as yet again the Skipper, for all his endeavour proved he lacks the requisite first touch at this level.

The gates have slumped dramatically and only 16,006 turned up for this game. The odd £10 game, which Adam Pearson used as a tactic to fill the Stadium, had a knock on effect and we averaged 18,500 last term. £22 is steep by anyone’s measure.

 Hull City: Myhill, Ricketts, Turner, Brown, Dawson, Garcia, Ashbee, Marney, Hughes, Windass (Livermore 79), Folan (Campbell 72).
Subs Not Used: Duke, Doyle, McPhee. Att: 16,006

A concert pianist arrives in an unnamed Central European City in preparation for a concert that he has no recollection of agreeing to, and in a state of seeming near amnesia.

As the novel unfolds we are introduced to characters that at first Ryder has no connection with, but they then turn out to be key cogs in his life and all the action takes place in an ethereal atmosphere of unreality.

I expected some great revelation at the denouement of the book and imagined that the pianist was in purgatory, or some other unreal situation, given that natural law seemed at best suspended, but I was to be disappointed and frustrated on this count.

And those sentiments just about sum up my feelings on this Kazuo Ishiguro offering. To me, this author’s great strength is that he is a great storyteller, keeping it simple and allowing his characters to develop in a manner that allows the reader to make their own judgements.

The Remains of the Day, When We Were Orphans and 2005’s Never Let Me Go are all amongst my top picks in Literature, which makes The Unconsoled such a bitter disappointment as I would consider Ishiguro as a bit of a banker, as I would U2 or The Manics to be regarding music.

The main problem with this book is the pedantry on display as we are party to the totally pointless ins and outs of the character’s thoughts, all to no end.

Ryder has encounters with people from his past, as far back as school but in a hazy dreamlike way and nothing is ever resolved and we never find out what is going on and why.

In Never Let Me Go there is the certainty that the main protagonists are different from everyone else, and the author develops this layer by layer until we work out the truth for ourselves, but this just rambles in a futile I’ve Lost the Will to Live way.

Were it not for the fact that I was a captive audience due to being in hospital, I would have given up about halfway through.

 My honest assessment is that Kazuo Ishiguro has produced a piece of self indulgent twaddle in the midst of some great work, and to use a musical analogy this is Radiohead’s Hail to the Thief, and The Remains of the Day is The Bends/ OK Computer. Even genius has an off day.

On 18^th May 1980 Ian Curtis took his own life at the age of 23, leaving a wife and young child behind. That’s the real tragedy of the Joy Division singer’s demise.

The fact that he was the most single influential British songwriter and performer of his generation pales into insignificance against the heart rending futility and waste of a young life, and its impact on those left behind.

Once again the spectre of suicide casts its pall across this Parish, forcing your correspondent to face up to life in all it’s true fucked up glory, but I found it strangely reassuring what happened to Ian Curtis.

It was no one’s “fault”.

A combination of epilepsy and prescription drugs unleashed the demons that existed in his (and potentially all our) heads as that imperceptible, onion thin layer of self-preservation melted away and exposed the raw part of his emotions to the harsh realities that exist everywhere, but from which we are protected, however imperceptibly.

Where the Sex Pistols, necessarily, were destructive, Ian Curtis and Joy Division were creative and stepped into the musical vacuum left by Punk.

A line can be traced directly through British music from this Band through the Fall, the Smiths, Happy Mondays, to Oasis, the Manics, Libertines and the first Arctic Monkeys record.

But the film, although featuring the music of Ian Curtis, never wavered form it’s purpose of commentating, and trying to reach an understanding of what ailed this young genius, and this was reflected in the stunning performance of Sam Riley in the lead, and of Samantha Morton who despite her ITV Drama pedigree, impresses me more and more. She was excellent as Myra Hindley in Longford, and captured the soul of Mary Queen of Scots in Elizabeth: The Golden Age.

The film was produced by Tony Wilson in alliance with Curtis’ widow Deborah and it occurred to me that we might not be getting the full story, as they would wish to preserve Curtis’ memory and we all know what a narcissistic bugger Wilson was but, whatever issues that may raise, Control is a searing and (appearingly) brutal piece which puts me in mind of a cross between Jean Paul Sartre’s Les Mains Sales, and Saturday Night, Sunday Morning due to Anton Corbijn’s sparse Black and White production values.

This is a great movie, understated and all the better for it, delving into issues of love, real friendship, and what art is really for.

Humour is regularly a feature, even in such a seemingly Kafkaesque piece. Can Hooky REALLY be so wickedly funny all the time? I imagine so, and it is fitting that Control provides such a good postscript for the genius that was Anthony H. Wilson, the man who had the vision to allow British music to re invent itself

It is October 1987, Stuarts Gardens, Portstewart, Co Derry and our student house.

I am playing a tape of Joy Division.

Mike Fisher: That’s just bloody student music!

Me: Yeah, and you like Bob Dylan.

Fisher: Yes, but the difference is that I understand Bob Dylan.

 Some things should never be forgotten, or lived down.