Att: 24,727

The story of the most influential band in rock is told through the eyes of it’s only constant member; drummer Nick Mason.

You can divide Pink Floyd’s career into four distinct segments. Firstly when the band was lead by erratic psychedelic genius Syd Barrett which produced 1967’s Piper at the Gates of Dawn, a period during which Floyd’s live experience inspired the Beatles to replicate this sound on Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.

Then came the band’s best and most consistent work, the so-called Democratic Phase where all four members wrote together, the best-known works being Atom Heart Mother, Meddle, Animals and in the middle of this period Pink Floyd released possibly the quintessential British rock album, Dark Side of the Moon.

Roger Waters then began to dominate at the complete expense of Mason and Richard Wright, and with David Gilmour only contributing some music to The Wall it became inevitable that The Final Cut was virtually a Waters solo album.

This record, whilst politically explosive is virtually unlistenable and self indulgent, resulting in Gilmour withdrawing his name from the production credits.

Waters was sidelined and Gilmour led the Band for 1987’s Momentary Lapse of Reason, which saw a partial return to form, cemented by the incredible Division Bell released in 1994 and a suitable landmark for Pink Floyd to cease recording.

The book narrates the band’s progress but leaves the reader feeling somewhat un sated as, for musicians that recorded some of the most existentialist work, there is little discussion of feelings or sources of inspiration.

Three incidents made me think that, as individuals, Pink Floyd despite shunning rock god behaviour and lifestyle, were cringingly ambitious.

Firstly as Syd descended into madness the band simply carried on with no thought about the impact on their songwriter. They simply recruited David to cover the vocals and guitar parts, leaving Barrett to just sit on stage in a daze and when one night in the van going to a gig someone suggested picking up Syd, an un named band member said; “Let’s just not fucking bother”, and that was that.

Compounding this when, in 1975 Syd turned up unannounced at Abbey Road, he was met with stony faced, embarrassed silence and left never to be seen again, a fact Mason acknowledges was a complete disgrace on the band’s part. Although it didn’t stop them cashing in on Syd’s memory with Shine on You Crazy Diamond.

Thirdly Waters summarily sacked Richard Wright from the band in a fit of rage right in the middle of the Wall Tour. Gilmour and Mason said nothing, and Wright was forced into carrying on as a hired hand despite Roger saying Rick would never record with Floyd again.

The inter band relations are summarised thus; “Things got so bad between David and Roger, that someone almost said something”. Which made Live8 all the more remarkable, something Mason covers here.

It occurs to me that Pink Floyd are so typically English, as no feelings are very remotely referred to in everyday life, but a repressed to the extent that they can only be dealt with by producing art of the highest quality, once again proving what a weird lot we really are.

HUNTER DAVIES; THE GLORY GAME.

This was really the first football book aimed at a literary audience, and was the last until Nick Hornby’s Fever Pitch in 1992, which produced a flood of such work that it is now virtually a discreet genre.

Davies was given un-restricted access to Spurs’ first team squad for the 1971/72 season and the result in a fascinating insight into how things were done.

Each chapter is about a specific aspect, from the Manager Bill Nicholson, through to the support staff, and even a section where Davies travels to Coventry on one of the notorious British Rail Football Specials.

There is a very interesting appendix where the author produces a questionnaire about social attitudes and it is surprising to read that Alan Mullery saw marriage as a partnership of equals, changed nappies, cooked, cleaned, and put the kids to bed, whilst Pat Jennings believed in not lifting a finger.

Depressingly only three players voted Labour, although Steve Perryman considered himself strongly Socialist.

Joe Kinnear was 25 at the time the book was written and it is apparent then that the guy was intelligent, forward thinking and would go on to great success as a Manager.

It would be brilliant if Davies could repeat this effort in the current era as, despite the money you can see that the Top Four aside, most players clearly love what they do and enjoy playing a great deal.

There is widespread cynicism about the game, mainly inspired by the press, but for sheer entertainment the Premier League is still up there and the strides made by Aston Villa and Hull City are proof that anything is possible.

GEOFFREY MOORHOUSE; ESSAYS ON RUGBY LEAGUE.

One game that is still largely in touch with its fan base is the thirteen man code, and I for one find that Hull City aside, I would take RL and cricket any day if I had a choice of viewing.

This is the RL equivalent to the Glory Game and the prose is first class, evocative whilst avoiding cliché as we are taken on a tour of snippets of the games history from its formation in a Huddersfield hotel, to the fascinating Lions Tour of Australia in 1988 which includes a magnificent description of the Lions defeating their hosts in the Third Test.

 Moorhouse educates us on the history of the Australian Origin Fixture and it’s social roots, and overall this is a great read about a great game and why it is so important to us along the M62 corridor in particular. 

Atlas Holiday Homes in Hull, which employs 340 people directly and countless others through the supply chain, is about to go bust leaving a trail of human devastation in it’s wake in the run up to Christmas.

The recession? Empty order books? An industry on its knees due to the current economic climate?

No. Not a bit of it.

This company’s order book is full until March, which is a more positive state of affairs than existed in the last two years, according to the Hull Daily Mail.

The reason Atlas is going under, and that these workers will have to explain to their families the harsh realities of life to come, is Barclays Bank.

The historical arrangement, which has been the case for the last thirty years is this; Barclays make credit available for supplies, Atlas build the caravans and mobile home to order (note NOT on the off chance, hence everything is accounted for in advance), collect the dosh, pay the Bank off and the rest is profit.

Barclays have decided that this arrangement will cease henceforth and the result is mass redundancies and all the social consequences that ensue.

The Banks got us into this mess in the first place, and now are compounding matters by systematically wrecking businesses by refusing requests for reasonable credit, and even pulling out of existing arrangements.

This presents the Left with an historic opportunity.

Nationalisation, a concept that even six months ago would have put you to the Left of the Communist Party had you held such a view, has become a necessary move if we are to halt the headlong crash into not just a slump, but a Depression.

At the present time the tax payer is exposed to the risk, but has no power to influence how our money is allocated by the Banks, whose response has been to swing from the sublime (reckless self declared mortgages) to the ridiculous (drying up credit almost completely).

Darling’s response? Print money, which is tantamount to debasing your own currency.

 We need to show leadership and initiative to restore the flow of credit and prevent the misery inflicted by Barclays Bank on the City of Hull being replicated again and again across the UK.

With twelve minutes to go there was only one winner of this game, and it wasn’t Sunderland. But once again this cocked eyed, incompetent arse of a referee denied Hull City the courtesy of competing on a level playing field.

The main problem was his persecution of Marlon King.

Every single time our centre forward received the ball with his back to goal he was either flattened by the visitors centre back, or he was penalised erroneously for backing in, or holding. It was a pathetic joke.

King was neutered meaning we had no outlet and the midfield became clogged up.

Selection issues resulted a lack of width and after the sending off of Ricketts (the second card was a farce) Halmosi was pressed into service at left back and we rather fell apart after Richardson fluked a second for the Black Cats.

Mildly concerned rather than worried sum up my emotions going into the Christmas programme.

My concerns are; we lack vim when we come off a great result away from home, as if we expect to roll teams over and urgency is absent until we go a goal behind, secondly Ashbee is beginning to be exposed at this level when we are under pressure exhibited by a heavy first touch and poor passing, and finally I would like to see the following selection which although not much different, would give us width without losing defensive qualities when we don’t have the ball.

Myhill; Doyle, Zayette, Turner, Dawson; Mendy, Marney, Boateng, Giovanni; Folan, King.

This wasn’t a real 4-1 thrashing, but we lost the plot a bit in the last few minutes and it was a pretty undisciplined end to a game we should have put to bed once Barmby equalised, and in the wake of this there was chaos on a regular basis in their back four.

The Premier League is aptly named, there is quality in all of the teams and we learned this the hard way today. Sunderland have the likes of Malbranque, Cisse and Richardson who are international class, so be where we are in this division is a triumph.

Hull City: Myhill, Mendy, Turner, Zayatte, Ricketts, Garcia (Cousin 57), Ashbee, Boateng (Halmosi 81), Geovanni, Barmby (Giannakopoulos 68), King.
Subs Not Used: Duke, Doyle, Windass, and Marney.

 Att: 24,917.

The human catastrophe of the Dirty Protests, which culminated the disaster of the 1981 Hunger Strikes, is told through the story of Bobby Sands and the Prison Officers involved.

Some films are brilliant (The Dark Knight) and some are important (Ten Canoes). It is rare that these two attributes come together, and when they do the results can be explosive. Crash and Schindler’s List come to mind, and to the pantheon can be added Steve McQueen’s masterpiece Hunger.

There is no back-story, which I feel is the most important decision that McQueen made as it removes politics from the equation and allows the film to be straight down the middle.

Cinematically this picture is a tour de force. Hunger is McQueen’s first foray into film, as he is known largely as a Turner Prize winning visual artist. His use of single shots is incredibly powerful and he uses silence as a tool to challenge the viewer to reflect on the subject. A scene where a warder is sweeping up had a strange impact on me.

The pace of the film is a total triumph, as we are party to a simple scene of an officer smoking a cigarette followed by a sharp spasm of intense violence, which causes one of the warders to weep on the other side of the wall, out of sight from his colleagues.

We are not introduced to Sands until around a third of the film has passed, and again this decision means that McQueen eliminates the possibility that we may overly identify with Sands’ personal story. We are privy to the base squalor of the H Blocks and the Provo’s struggle to regain Political Status, which had been rightly removed by the no nonsense Roy Mason, and re iterated (again rightly) by Thatcher, through the experience of others.

Let’s be 100% crystal clear about one thing here.

The Provisional IRA was, and is made up of criminal scum.

There is no justification, especially from the Left, for their vile actions and this is one Socialist that believes that Margaret Thatcher was absolutely right not to grant this demand from people who were prepared to go into an old people’s home and gun down a guy in cold blood in front of the staff and residents. An old peoples home. Just process and reflect on that for a moment.

Back to the film. Liam Cunningham and Michael Fassbender deliver one of the best scenes committed to celluloid in this country as a priest and Sands debate the why and wherefores of the War on the outside, and the context of Sand’s plans to up the ante on the inside.

This is a twenty-minute single shot affair, completely compelling and real, making you imagine what Sands believed he was trying to achieve, but at the same time not eulogising what was a truly troubled, yet passionate man who had clearly been brain washed, perhaps due to fatal flaws in his character, into a desperate and tragic journey to certain death for a cause that delivered nothing but pain and horrible suffering for thousands of people.

I left the cinema largely in charge of my emotions. But one question suddenly hit me, exploding into my head causing me to lose control and weep bitter tears.

WHAT WAS IT ALL FOR?

I lived in Northern Ireland for three years and brushed past a variety of people, learning a lot about them and myself in the process. It was a privilege.

But even as a by stander it is impossible not to have been affected by the War going on around us.

Person A. Brother gunned down by the British Army at a checkpoint. Her life ruined and defined by others by what happened. Lionised by Republicans, shunned by the rest having never asked for any of it.

Person B. Cousin murdered by the Provos.

Person C. Left University to look after his parents after his brother was imprisoned for Provo activity.

Person D. Threatened by the Provos and sent bullets in the post for not getting the OK from the organisation to run for Students Union President. He withdrew when his Mum copped abuse in Town.

Person E. Cousin killed by the Army.

Person F. I met this guy in Farnham when I lived there and despite the terrible things that had happened to him a serving soldier in the North, had nothing but good things to say about both communities there. His best mate was killed by a Provo land mine, and his lost colleagues at the Drop in Well massacre in Ballykelly. He had a breakdown on Christmas Day 1995 and never worked again.

And finally. The piece de resistance. Declan Moen from Letterkenny in Donegal.

There is plenty I could write to excuse what Declan did. His chronic shyness, inadequacy and the such like. The man who came with me when we were paired up with local families for a feed by our Parish Priest, who played that quintessential English game of cricket with us, who rubbed along with our gang from all over the UK and Ireland.

But I’m not going to. He joined the Provos. He dissembled and crept about. He part took in shameful and vile acts as a facilitator, giving succour to those who committed the unforgivable. He helped bring suffering and visceral misery to countless familes.

Declan Moen ended up in jail. Declan Moen took part in the “Peace Process” as Officer Commanding in the Prisons. And to prove satire is alive and well, Declan Moen takes British Crown Tax Payers money to lecture on crime at Leicester University.

Was all this tragic waste meant to result in Ian Paisley and Martin McGuinness grinning, gurning and sharing a cuppa with the British Prime Minister in Stormont as part of an Assembly that recognises Partition?

I doubt it.

War and conflict are generally futile, and if ever this needed proving the 3,500 deaths all over the UK and Ireland that resulted from this War are all the evidence you will ever need.

Thank you Steve McQueen.

This is a exceptional film and one of the best I have seen since Control.

In terms accepting the vilest and darkest events in world history, we have come along way with the Holocaust meaning there is more opportunity for film makers to explore the deeper processes at work without having to portray the degradation that was abroad during this unbelievable era.

Schindler’s List broke the log jam due to it’s placing of human stories into the context of the horrific events and Spielberg ended up making one of the best, and most important films of all time.

Now artists can take it as read that the audience is in full possession of the facts, and the film can concentrate on other issues.

Here Salomon "Sally" Sorowitsch is a master criminal based in ‘Thirties Berlin where his medium is counterfeiting anything from art to money which funds a feckless lifestyle.

His luck finally runs out and Sally, as a Jew and a criminal is sent into the Concentration Camp system where he is right at the bottom of the pecking order due to being a career criminal.

His nemesis, the cop who busted him, returns as a senior SS officer, but this perversely proofs to be the biggest stroke of luck imaginable for Sally as Herzog has been put in charge of setting up a counterfeiting operation with the aim of debasing sterling and the dollar to such an extent that the Allies would be forced to the negotiating table, Sally is the man who can pull it off.

A team is put together amongst the inmates, from a senior banker, Sally, through to guys doing the chemical mixing and pressing. Herzog gives them best of everything. Comfy huts complete with sheets on the beds, decent food, tobacco and even boozy parties. Meanwhile on the other side of the fence…

Sally is clear about one thing. Survival, even if this means actively helping the Nazis to win the war. His co-workers generally are of the same view but when the inevitable cross contamination with the rest of the Camp comes to pass, such pragmatism is pushed to the limits and many begin to enter a period of reflection and self loathing which results in arguments and collective soul searching.

Herzog is desperate to crack the dollar and when one of the forgers decides enough is enough, the consequences could be extermination for the team.

I was interested by the portrayal of Herzog. It must be a very fine line for an Austro/ German production to tread regarding showing a human side to a leading Nazi, but as with Downfall I think a fair balance was struck.

 As a piece of entertaining cinema this film really works well, but the context of the pictured makes this one of the best films I have ever seen.

Hollywood producer Ben (Robert de Niro) is having a bad week. He is contending with a temperamental director who refuses to cut a less upsetting ending to his Get Carteresque gangster picture (“It’s my art man, my soul yeah?”), the studio boss is on his back and to compound matters Bruce Willis is refusing to save off his beard and lose weight for an action film, and to cap it all his daughter and ex wife have been in the sack with men he deems as unsuitable.

This is an enjoyable film, which pokes fun at the more ludicrous aspects of Hollywood life and Bruce Willis as himself provides the ultimate send up of the volatile, ego manic leading man. His confrontation with Ben over the beard issue is laugh out funny and it’s good to see a guy prepared to laugh at himself like that.

De Niro doing “comedy” doesn’t have a good track record as he seems to have this goofy face that he feels obliged to pull which began in Midnight Run and I last observed in Meet the Fockers.

But in this film he plays it straight and allows the script and the director to produce the laughs, and although there are some quite manic moments all the actors avoid over doing it making this a very intelligent comedy.

Look for the nods to other films which will make you laugh and others wonder why.

You could accuse Barry Levinson of being self indulgent and overly clever, a theme prevalent on IMDB, but you go to the pictures to be entertained and What Just Happened ticks the boxes.

The reason that some critics don’t like it is probably because Levinson is reminding them that actually the majority of film making is not that important in the context of life, and those in the industry take themselves far to seriously.

On a totally different note as this is a film that does actually have something important to say, The Front Line was hidden away in a middle of the night slot on FX for reasons I can’t fathom.

The film appears to be a straight forward heist movie as Joe, Head of Security at a Dublin Bank has his wife and child snatched at gunpoint, and the only way he can get them back is to let in a bunch of gangsters to rob the vault of $2 million.

Matters are going according to plan until a co-worker stumbles upon what is going on, assaults one of the robbers and brings a whole heap of complications for our man.

All routine stuff, except that Joe is from the Democratic Republic of the Congo and on the run from not only the Civil War but also the demons in his mind that result from this conflict. 

We learn some of the horror experienced in Africa by so many people on a depressingly regular basis, but also we are challenged by the prejudice and downright racism which is dished out to immigrants in Ireland, such an irony given the chances given to our Diaspora in other nations where we have been welcomed and had success.

But that results from rapid change and other countries are no worse or better than Ireland in this respect.

 The Front Line is a fantastic story, which is let down a tad by some pretty ordinary acting but is deserving of recognition due to the screenplay, and the portrayal of Joe by Eriq Ebouaney who will soon be on our screens in Transporter 3.

When Mortimer goes to tell Abby and Martha, his two dear, sweet old aunts, the good news about his marriage to Elaine, he makes a grim discovery in the window seat. Meanwhile his eccentric brother thinks he's Teddy Roosevelt and spends many a happy hour digging the Panama Canal in the cellar. When their other brother makes an unwelcome visit, chaos and confusion break loose in this wonderful American farce which was staged by Hull Am Dram outfit extraordinaire The Chameleon Players this weekend.

The choice of such a sure fire winner was justified by a record attendance which included a turn out of 89 punters for the first night alone, a figure many professional companies would be heartily pleased by.

I was lucky enough to tread the boards with a group so nice “that they make the Waltons seem like the Sopranos”, as Ray Rumkee describes them in the Hull Daily Mail, but behind the endless cups of tea and laughs is a great deal of hard work which was typified by Ed Dixon who played the Cary Grant lead role with poise and an understated comedic bent.

The Players are a great bunch to be involved with, and despite the fact that Arsenic and Old lace was the 69^th production dating back to 1986, new members are always immediately made to feel welcome and part of the scene because the group is a fine example of local community democracy in action, and  shows what can be achieved when a bunch of diverse people come together in a common purpose, in this case to have fun and entertain. Just brilliant.

http://www.chameleonplayers.com/