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BM’s trip to Lahdahn Tahn 2: The Return

May 22, 2008

A day-trip to London yesterday, mainly to see the Indy preview (which I’ll touch on later but am not keen to spoil). The day started with a trip to the Imperial War Museum to see the Ian Fleming exhibition. Badger Mum assures me I spent a lot of my childhood in the war museum *insert witticism here* but non of it came back to me for some reason. Odd.

Anyway, the Fleming stuff was cool. I was a tad worried I’d not really enjoy it, having not read any of the Bond books and not being a huge Bond fan – I mean, like most people, Bond films were a big part of my childhood TV viewing (especially on Bank Hols and around Xmas), I see the new films when they’re out in the cinema, but I don’t own any Bond films, nor nuffink. But the exhib was really interesting. I knew nothing about Fleming going into the museum, other than he wrote the books. But he led a really interesting (Bond-esque) life plus he was a journalist (which automatically bonds – fnar – us as we all must stick together, mustn’t we?). The bookish-collector-geek in me loved seeing all the first editions lined up together, and reading the love letters he sent his wife (and then learning of their subsequent marriage break-up) was really sad. The love-cynic in me swelled its smug head. “See?” It said. “Even the most passionate love affair is soiled eventually.” Hmmm…

Onwards to Primark and by this stage I was regretting doing my new Davina DVD the evening before. Seriously ladies, it’s a killer on the thighs and not one to do before a day of walking around London (up steps, down steps – owch!). Every time I go to Primark these days, I come out with armfuls of clothes. Not having my own branch on the doorstep means that I only go every other month or so, leaving bags (literally) of clothes to buy every time. But this time… This time I was the same size as every other fecker in London, and it seemed they had all charged in beforehand and swept up all the 10s and 12s in the place. Muchos frustrating.

And this is the FLAGSHIP store, might I add. Surely – surely – the flagship, Oxford Street, biggest-in-the-South store should ensure their staff keep shelves restocked with at least one of every size. I lost count of the number of times I came across a 14 or a 16 on the racks (it’s a curvier girl’s mecca right now I tells ya!). In the end I managed to find ONE dress that was my size – and it was basically a dress I already have but in different material. Muchos peeved and shocked that my beloved Pmark had let me down in my wardrobe of need (I seriously need new clothes that fit properly). Thank god for accessories and underwear, or I’d’ve come out with bugger all. Primark hasn’t let me down like that since the pre-face lift days. I hope it doesn’t happen again…

To the main event. Indy. Without spoiling it: it’s not as good as Raiders, but then I was prepared for that. I hadn’t read any reviews going into the film, but was advised not to get my Raiders hopes up. Lower the bar so to speak. And as long as you do that, you’ll enjoy it. I had a few niggles, especially with the finale and some sequences were a tad gratuitous (Mutt swinging through the jungle Tarzan-style for one). But there are some wondrous bits. Loved the Paramount sign opening (something I’d been gagging to see) and they dealt with it excellently and with the bathos that tends to permeate the Indy films. Great stunts (especially the ‘car juggling’ sequence), some good comedy (and not at all annoyingly slapstick as one reviewer said).

<Photo 3>Loved having Indy and Marion back together (it’s all about the chemistry) and Mutt is fine. I was worried he’d be a bit Short Round but no, he works well (even though you can’t really hear a lot of what he says at first as he tends to gabble a bit at the beginning). In fact, one Indy buff said he might have even stolen some scenes from Ford, but I wouldn’t hear of it! This is a different Indy, in a totally different time, a time where he doesn’t fit in any more – everything he knew and was comfy with has gone and it’s only until later in the film where he can come into his own again.

Not being very up on the Cold War, one particular scene really affected me. Again, don’t want to give too much away, but let’s just say I wasn’t aware of the whole nuclear bomb testing site thing, and it left me rather chilled (er… ho ho). That’s what I like about Indy films – they unveil a whole lotta history and mythology to those of us who wouldn’t ordinarily bother to read up on it. And that’s why the ended peeved me rather. Indy is all about history, digging stuff up and unearthing treasures. Yes, it has sci-fi-esque leanings, but once you get onto X-Files territory, it starts to lose its way. But hey ho. Like I said, it’s not nearly as embarrassing to watch as Temple of Doom, so I was happy.

Star spots of the night: Warwick Davies (Willow, Harry Potter and all other fantasy films that require short people) and his wife hanging about outside afterwards. Plus John Hurt (and family) who introduced the film and then spent a while talking to journos outside too, bless him. Oh, and we saw Mark Lawson and his wife on the tube – wearing trainers with a suit and talking about meetings with the Beeb and the Sunday tabloids in very booming voices. Who wears suits and trainers eh? Sod this sticking together malarky…

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