Went To the Pictures

Last Thursday afternoon I was sitting in a Glasgow CineWorld auditorium watching The Pirates: In an Adventure with Scientists. I, and another guy sitting some half dozen rows behind me, were the audience. On reflection I can say I enjoyed the film; the visual effects were pleasingly sumptuous, and I recall smiling my way through it and chuckling several times. However I was always conscious of the presence of the rest of the audience; that other bod sitting somewhere behind me. Not once did I hear him laugh out loud, nor he me. I suspect both of us felt a little inhibited for the film did have some laugh-out-loud moments which were reacted to, on my part, by barely audible controlled chuckles. Had there been the usual early afternoon attendance of some thirty or forty that feeling of self consciousness would surely have evaporated in the security that numbers can provide.

One other factor distracted from my full enjoyment of the film. A couple of cinema attendants – fifty years ago they would have been ushers – kept looking up in my direction, one of whom had his hands in front of his face as if peering through a pair of opera glasses. On two occasions one of them walked up to my row and glanced across at me. I do believe they suspected me of pirating The Pirates. Perhaps the abnormally low attendance was getting to them as well.

It was around two in the afternoon while making my way along Sauchiehall Street that I decided to wander over to the GFT (Glasgow Film Theatre) and check the timings of another film I wanted to see: The Kid With A Bike. The next showing was 14:30. I calculated that I could take in this film and still make the 16:33 train for Wemyss Bay. I snacked in the Cosmo Cafe before taking my seat in the auditorium. This was the first time I'd visited the GFT for some 25 years. Wow, this was a proper cinema theatre. Much superior to the soulless boxlike auditoriums of the CineWorld multiplexes. Here there were elegant curves and an overall plushness to the place. I felt I was sitting in the GFT's Bentley as opposed to CineWorld's Skodas.

Kid With a Bike lived up to its good reviews: in last weeks Radio Five Live Film Review Mark Kermode had made it his co film of the week. The kid was a pure ill-tempered brat, and Samantha should have told hime to get on his bike instead of which she angelically tolerated his antics. But I really enjoyed the film with its wonderfully developed characters.

I was in good time for my train, and got home in time to watch an enthralling football match on the telly between FC Shalke and Athletic Bilbao, the latter winning by four goals to two.

Really, Russell?

I was watching My Life In Books last night with guests Russell Grant and Tim Rice. During the show Russell felt he needed to remind the audience that he was gay. “It might just have crossed your minds” he joked. Not at all, Russell. Perish the very thought . . . . and grass isn't green; shit isn't brown; bears don't shit in the woods; bankers are ragged-trousered paupers and never pay themselves exorbitant, unjustified bonuses; holocaust – what holocaust; it never rains in Scotland; and Scotland will win the World Cup.

Can I hear a pedantic peasant asking which World Cup. Take your pick: football, rugby, cricket. OK some scraggy team of Morags may have picked up the odd silver pot for chucking stones over a frozen loch, and a hairy Hamish might be a world beater at heaving haggises over a hedge. But the day Scotland wins the football World Cup is the day I will eat my head.

No, Russell, Britain and its dog knew you were gay when gay meant happy and you delightful fellows of homosexual persuasion were known by more unambiguous and colourful terms, all of which are far too un-PC for me to utter. You don't have to open your mouth dear, you don't even have to flounce into a chair; the side you are batting for is plainly evident as soon as you look into the camera.

By the by, Russell and Tim were having such a whale of a time slapping one another on the shoulder and having a good old boyish chinwag between themselves that poor Ann, bless her, could hardly get a word in edgeways. She ended the show by saying how delightful they both were. Code, I suspect, for “ a pair of limelight-hogging ba . . . . . bad boys”.