Dublin: Day 0 - Prelude to a Trip

I have returned from Dublin with stories galore. So many ticket stubs, brochures, and receipts cover my desk, I hardly know where to begin. Or how to fit it all into one entry. So here's what we're going to do. I'm going to be blogging on each day of my trip one entry at a time. And posting them on the day of the week that they happened (from Wednesday to Monday). So we're gearing up for six entries of Dublinformation & Dublintertainment.

"Six days?" You may be asking yourself. "But Evan, I am such a devoted follower of your travels, that I know you were only in Dublin from Thursday to Monday, and that is five days!" Well, dear reader, to understand certain elements of this multi-day epic, it is necessary to have a prequel of sorts. So consider this entry the "The Hobbit" to the "Lord of the Rings"-esque tale that will unfold over the next several days. Do not worry, though, there will not be any crazy Appendices. And I have not created my own languages, songs, or elaborate mythologies to go along with it. Dublin did all that for me!

So now then, to begin: Wednesday, February 17th.

I woke up early that morning, due to the large to-do list I had laid out the night before. My goal was to finish a paper that was due Monday before I left, so that I would not have to bring my laptop with me, and in-between finishing that, find the time to print my bus and plane tickets, find some shampoo and toothpaste of a carry-on friendly size, pick-up a few things from Jon, do laundry, and pack my bag. It was going to be a full day.

Well, I was intently working on my paper when, after a quick sub of the day break, Jon called me up out of the blue. I was thinking he wanted me to go get my stuff, but instead he told me that his friend Abby had accidentally purchased tickets to see Waiting for Godot on the wrong day, and now she had an extra ticket, and would I like to go with her. So here I was with an opportunity to see a show I'd always wanted to see, starring Sir Ian McKellen no less, on the one day where I'm seriously working under a mildly flexible deadline.

So I thought: Do I go see this show, or do I finish my paper? Then I thought: This show is by Samuel Beckett. He is Irish. We will be hearing about him in Dublin. This would be a wonderful preview to the culture.

And I went.

It was an excellent show. For those of you who know nothing about this show, I suppose a plot summary is in order: Nothing happens. Two men, Vladimir and Estragon, wait for someone named Godot. They instead meet up with a man named Potzo who keeps a man named Lucky tied up on a leash. Potzo and Lucky leave. Godot never comes. This sequence of events is repeated in the second act. So, how could I enjoy such a show? One, it was extremely funny and incredibly tragic. Both at the same time. Also, all four actors gave superb performances. Watching Ian McKellen eat a carrot was the second best actor eating a fruit or vegetable scene I've ever seen. (First place goes to Geoffrey Rush's apple eating at the end of Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest.) The only way I could have enjoyed it more is if I didn't have the thought of paper-writing itching at the back of my brain. It took all of Ian McKellen's acting prowess to keep me from thinking of George Bailey and Jefferson Smith.

After the show, I grabbed a pizza at ICCO, and settled back into work on the paper. Things were going along nicely when I was interrupted by BBC's incredibly thorough online coverage of the Olympics. Specifically, I was watching the Men's Halfpipe Qualifier. More specifically, I was watching to see New Hampshire's own Scotty Lago. Now, I wasn't sure what to expect. I mean, I knew he was good from everything I'd heard, but I'd never seen footage of him boarding. The only time I'd seen him get air we were jumping out of a plane. Well, I watched him place into the semi-finals, which apparently wasn't shown on the NBC coverage back in the states. (Put that on the list with Bob Costas as a strike against NBC coverage.) Didn't get to watch the semis, though, because I had laundry to do. Well, it was a pleasant surprise when I came back from doing laundry around 2:00 or so to find that he had placed into the finals.

At this point, I was far from done my paper, and had resigned to the fact that I would not be finishing before I left. I would be bringing the laptop with me to Dublin. I also decided that at this point, going to sleep would be a bad idea. You see, I had to catch a 5:30 bus to the airport, and I was afraid I would oversleep and miss it at this point. So I decided I would stay up and fly to Dublin on zero hours of sleep. A good idea? Well, you can judge that on your own when you see how Day 1 goes.

But, a result of my sleepless night: I got to watch every boarder of the Men's Halfpipe Final. (Again, more than the NBC viewers. Love that BBC.) Well, after a quiet, yet elated celebration on Scotty's securing Bronze, followed by an even quieter stunned silence when Shaun White unveiled his new trick, I realized I hadn't really packed. So I tossed some stuff in my backpack, and I was ready to go. After a quick shower to wake myself up, I was out the door to meet Ryan for the walk to Baker Street to catch the EasyBus.

But that's where the line between Day Zero and Day One blurs together, and where I'll draw this post to an end. So, some things to remember:

1. As of the start of Day 1 (5:00 AM) I had not slept for 20 hours.

2. I had just watched Irish playwright Samuel Beckett's most famous work, Waiting for Godot.

3. I was hauling my laptop with me to at some point finish my paper.

What we blog about when we blog about love.

What else could I title a blog post written on Valentine's Day? Okay, so there are lots of options. I could have gone the movie route. ("Blog, Actually." "Punch Drunk Blog." "From London With Blog.") Or the novel route. ("Blog In the Time of Cholera" leaps to mind.) And the music route offers an incredible number of possibilities. ("Can't Blog Me Love." "The Hazards of Blog." "The Greatest Blog of All" sounds a bit boastful. Avenue Q's "You Can Be As Loud As The Hell You Want When You're Making A Blog." And so on, for the other 460 items in my iTunes library that remain when I search 'love').

But in the end, the Raymond Carver short story wins out, and that's the title we're left with.

So, what DO we blog about when we blog about love?

Here's what I'm going to do: Talk about the things I love about London so far. This is, after all, still a travel blog at heart. Sure, I'll be using 'love' a bit hyperbolically. But that's what Valentine's Day is for, right? That and giving Hallmark something to do in February. (Such a pity Presidents' Day Cards didn't take-off.)

Are you ready? Then we'll begin.

The Green Man

I have mentioned this place before. It is a cider house, but not in the John Irving sense (though it does rule). It's more of a pub that specializes in ciders and awesomeness. Lots of different ciders. From ciders so dry it feels like you're drinking a pint of wine (Westons Organic Vintage) to ciders made from pears instead of apples (Gaymers Pear). But the cider of choice: Green Man Special Cellar, a cider made especially for the Green Man. Perfection in a pint. Sweet and strong, you have to be careful if you have more than one. And you'll want to have more than one. But good drinks alone do not a good pub make. This place also has an excellent atmosphere. All sorts of crazy stuff hanging on the walls. And "Room 2" upstairs features a bunch of classic movie posters, like "Forbidden Planet" and "Das Cabinet des Dr. Caligari." And they play all sorts of great music (see below). And they know us there now. For the most part. Well, two of the bartenders do. So I can check that off my London to-do list. Speaking of to-do lists, I'm working my way through trying all the ciders. I will provide more thorough information when I complete my mission.

New Music

From the moment I stepped into Subway (see below) and heard a song I'd never heard before in my life, I realized I'd probably stumble upon some new music in London. This has indeed been the case. Much of this music has been found at the Green Man (see above). They have been so kind as to list a lot of the stuff they are playing at the pub on their website, which has helped me track it down on Grooveshark. Here are some artists I've been listening to from that: Bombay Bicycle Club, Memory Tapes, Fools Gold, We Were Promised Jetpacks. All make for great listening. I've linked to my favorite songs on Grooveshark. But I definitely recommend checking the rest of it out. Especially the Memory Tapes album "Seek Magic" and the We Were Promised Jetpacks album "These Four Walls."

I've also just recently (read: yesterday) seen some live music, as part of HMV's "Next Big Thing" series of concerts highlighting bands and musicians who are, well... the Next Big Thing. Last night at a place called The Borderlines we saw three acts. First was a fellow named Andrew Morris. I think he was good, though we weren't really listening at that point. After him came Matthew P. Very good stuff. He only has two songs up on his Myspace* music page. Unfortunately, my favorite is not up there. Even more unfortunately, his EP "Swimming" is not available in the states, so if you like what you hear (and you're in America), you can't buy it. And I can't even find out if my favorite song he played is on the EP. Though I don't think it is. Anyway, there was a third band that night, too, but they were old and awful, and don't have much time left to become "The Next Big Thing."

Sub of the Day

When you don't have a dollar in your currency, a five dollar footlong is not a possibility, so what is a country to do? England's answer: The Sub of the Day. Every day of the week, you can get a different six inch sub for 1.99. Now, they don't let you decide -- it's a calendar that they appoint. But it's a good calendar. It includes Turkey & Ham, Italian BMT, Tuna, Spicy Italian, and more... My personal favorite: Monday's Chicken Tikka. Perhaps simply because it's something we don't have at home. But more likely because it is incredibly delicious. If you are ever wondering, "Hmm... What is Evan eating for lunch today?" Just check this website, and you will have your answer.

The Senate House Library

My adviser/tutorial leader in the English department recommended I check out this library in addition to UCL's. His argument was built on the fact that they had more film books. He was absolutely correct. I went here on Friday and it blew my mind. First of all, the place is a maze. Separated into two massive wings, each with several floors, rather than just have large, expansive rooms full of books (it does have those), it also features hallways with dorm-room sized rooms coming off of them, each of which is filled with shelves. And the film books (what I was seeking out to find some books by and about Frank Capra) are housed in the same area as all the American Literature section. Now, the maze-like nature of this library would probably annoy a lot of people. But the way I see it, I'll never be in a rush to find a book, by virtue of the fact that I am not in a Dan Brown novel, nor am I Nicolas Cage (THANK GOD). For me, the opportunity to wander invites me to pick up another book that I can use to take breaks from my work-required reading. Which is why Faulkner's "Go Down Moses" is sitting on top of my stack right now. Excellent. Also, in among their Modern American Lit. was a copy of the novelization of E.T. So how can this library get any more amazing? Answer: It could come with me back to Georgetown.

UCL English Lectures

Okay, so not always. But for the most part, I have loved my lectures in the English department. The system they have here is really cool. My class subjects in English are extremely vague, if you don't remember: American Literature to 1890 and Modern Literature. Every week, a different lecturer comes to talk to us about a specific subject. Examples from recent lectures include: Walt Whitman, New York, The American Short Story, and Melville's "Benito Cereno" in American Lit. and Reading Film, Vertigo, J.M. Cotzee, and Post-colonialism in Moderns. The variety in lecturer is really great, as it gives you the feeling that whoever is lecturing on something is doing so because they really know their stuff. Now, whether or not this is the case, I'm not sure. To be fair, I've had a few lectures that didn't seem to interesting, but... They are more than balanced out by entertaining and engaging lectures by Mark Ford and Michael Sayeau, my favorite members of the English department here.

So, that is just a sample of some of the things I'm loving about London. Check back later this week for some potential updates on: My feelings toward the Amazon Kindle, a summary version of my paper on Frank Capra, and a preview of my plans for my trip to Ireland. Oh, and maybe those photos of Amsterdam!

*Dear readers, if you have a Myspace and are not a musician, I kindly request that you de-activate it immediately.

Dames en heren, we gaan beginnen!

Translation: Ladies and gentlemen, let's begin!

As you faithful readers of these adventures and musings may recall, a few posts ago I mentioned a trip to Amsterdam in the near future. Well, that near future is now the past, and the trip was a success. Jon, Ryan, Brett, and I have gone to Amsterdam and returned to tell of our adventures. Here are some highlights:

Ingang (Entrance)

What better way to travel to a city full of canals than by overnight ferry? From London's Liverpool Street Station, we took an evening train to Harwich, where we boarded our StenaLine vessel. After exploring the boat (from deck, to bar, to on-board shop) we decided to go to sleep early, since we'd be getting into Hoek van Holland at 7:45 the next morning. Several hours later we were given a boat-wide wake-up call in Dutch by our captain, to inform us that "Coffee-tea-snacks" would be available for purchase, and that we should get ready to get off das boot. Soon we were down the gangway, passing all sorts of strange Dutch signs and ads (Giorgio says 'Magnifico'!). And an hour or so of train travel later, explaining that yes, our tickets were indeed valid, we were in Amsterdam.

Once we'd figured out how to exit the train station (a more complicated procedure than you may think), we were off and exploring. Sort of. More wandering, really, since we had no idea where we were going. Or where we were. Everything was extremely foggy for our entire stay. You couldn't really forecast your route more than a block, because from there, you couldn't see a thing. But we let our wallets and our stomachs be our maps, finding first an ATM, then a nice bakery called the "Special Dutch Bakery." We also dropped a few collective Euro on a large and confusing map of the city, failing to notice the many -ijds, -ijks, and double-vowels that would have clued us in to the fact that was exclusively in Dutch. But thankfully we had Eunice the Garmin GPS on hand to guide us to our first destination.

Het Rembrandt-Huis

Here, for 6 Euro, we were able to see the home of famous painter and etcher, Rembrandt Harmenszoon van Rijn (whose full name was not mentioned at any point on our tour). The home was filled with items that would have been there when he lived there from 1639 to 1656. Not one to braggingly display his own work, Rembrandt's house was frustratingly devoid of any Rembrandts. But he did have a fantastic room of curiosities, including various sculptures and stuffed animals (I was particularly fond of the two armadillos, though one stood next to an armadillo-shell basket, making for a disconcerting juxtaposition). They also had a nice display of his etchings, and some goofy demonstrations of paint making and etching printing.

But it was shortly after this that we realized something (other than us) was...

Lost in Amsterdam

Let's face it. It wouldn't be a complete blog entry about Amsterdam if we didn't reference Guster at least once! So, what was lost, you ask?

You may have noticed that there is no photo link for pictures of Amsterdam. Nor are there any photos in this post. That's because sometime between the train into Amsterdam and the Rembrandt House, my camera vanished. Thankfully, I hadn't taken any pictures, so no memories were lost. But it was (and is) extremely frustrating. But we had to persevere... So we set ourselves a new destination and charted a course for...

The Van Gogh Museum

But there was a huge line there, and it seemed somewhat expensive. So we didn't go in. Instead, we walked back over to...

The RijksMuseum

Initially, we'd passed this up because of the line, too, but under the impression that it was free (we had not yet learned that few things are free in the Netherlands, more on that later...), we waited. Here, we would encounter our first bouts with Dutch people who clearly wanted us to Uitgang (Exit) their country. After one member of our Fellowship was called an idiot by museum security for no reason at all, confusion with a revolving door resulted in further scoffing. Then, when Jon couldn't produce exact change for our 12.50 entry, and instead tried to pay with 15, the cashier exclaimed "You do not have exact change? Is this not possible?!" Clearly we were inadvertently upsetting these people.

The museum itself was interesting, though. The ground floor consisted of mostly historic Dutch artifacts from their time as "A World Power" (Remember New Amsterdam? Imagine how different the rhythm of this song would be if that had stuck...). On the first floor (upstairs), there were all sorts of paintings, including the Rembrandts we had secretly been expecting to find at his house. And some very nice Vermeers, and an exhibit on "The Little Ice Age" art of Hendrick Avercamp. After picking up the bags we'd had to check (a fact which we learned when one of us walked in with his in hand), we were back to the cold, foggy streets of Amsterdam, ready to make the long trek to...

Hotel Flipper

Our stately accommodations for the evening, maintaining the nautical theme of our journey with a dolphin on the sign. The theme isn't consistent throughout, as the decorations on the inside were mainly framed jigsaw puzzles of babies dressed up as flowers. Here we would encounter our first and only language barrier, as the housekeeper mistook our request for a bar of soap in the hall bathroom as one for every bar of soap and bottle of shampoo she could find. After setting down the bags and resting our feet for a few minutes, we were off and back into the city.

Wandering the Streets I

Bracing ourselves against the cold and fog, we walked around Amsterdam taking in the evening sights. One interesting detail in the Hotel Flipper neighborhood, is that for a city built so much on canals and waterways, boat maintenance is not a priority for most people. Coatings of algae are common decor on many of the boats, and dozens of boats have simply given up on floating, choosing instead to rot and sink, half submerged in murky water. Lovely.

So how do people get around, then? Cars? No. Walking? Only the foolish tourists. The natives prefer the bicycle. On the boatride over, Ryan mentioned that there are more bicycles than people in Amsterdam. We all had a good laugh about this. That couldn't possibly be the case, because people only need one bike. It's not like sheep in Ireland, where a farmer could have several hundred. And bikes don't occur in the wild, so that's not a factor. But lo-and-behold, it appears to be true, at least from observation. From the train you can see massive bicycle-only parking lots. And bike paths are more heavily trafficked than roadways. But even with all this traffic, no one wears a helmet. So for anyone in helmets looking to corner the market... A few well-placed ads featuring brutal head-injuries and statistics, plus one centralized helmet store... Just a thought.

Anyway, shortly after we set out, we realized we hadn't eaten since our stop at the Special Dutch Bakery, so we decided to stop in at the next reasonably placed restaurant we found. As a result, we did not enjoy any authentic Dutch cuisine, and instead had Italian. The most interesting feature of their menu? The choice of small, medium, or large beer. We all got medium, and then asked what kind it was. The response we got sounded like "Any kind," but before we could specify our kind of choice, the waiter quickly walked away, perhaps afraid we would infect him with our Americanness. We would soon learn that what we heard as "Any kind" was actually his Dutched-up pronunciation of Heineken, which we probably should have realized earlier, having walked by the Heineken factory four times that day.

Fueled by our pizzas, our medium beers, and the lukewarm hospitality we received at the restaurant, we were on the streets again for more exploring. After being accosted by a multi-lingual crutch-wielding homeless lady, who we would later run into again when we ducked into a souvenir shop to warm-up, we realized exactly how strange this place was. Between the bikes, the sunken boats, and the pretty lax legal system, it was like nowhere we'd ever been. We continued to wander, until the exhaustion of a night of poor-pillowed boat sleep and a day of city-walking hit us. But rather than call it a night all-together, we decided to stop off for a late-night snack, where we would learn a very important lesson.

The adventurous travelers that we are, we decided to grab some McDonalds. Here, there were certain difficulties with our orders. Specifically, miscommunication with one cashier led to a price that was way too high. That was corrected, but then when we expressed surprise at the additional cost of a pack of ketchup, an employee set us straight, reminding us that "This is not Free-mart!" True, sir, true. But we just want some dipping sauce. We found ourselves repeating the words that had been so rudely presented to us earlier in the day: "Is this not possible?" It turns out it was. It just cost us money.

That was our last stop of the night. We returned to Hotel Flipper somewhat early that night, planning on getting up early the next day to see the Sunday sights.

Sunday Morning

After a pretty expansive breakfast at Hotel Flipper, we checked-uit faster than lightning, leaving that world full of wonder to find ourselves once again wandering the Amsterdam streets with our backpacks. But this time, we had a destination in mind, so as we bid farewell to the sunken boat neighbors of Hotel Flipper, we asked Eunice to guide the way to...

The Anne Frank Huis

We arrived to find there was no line, but it still took us a little while to get in, since they, too, had a backpack-related request. Unlike the Rijksmuseum, which made us check our bags, though, the Anne Frank Huis, simply requested that we where them as frontpacks. So, tickets in hand and backpacks simulating pregnancy, we entered the "Museum with a Story." As the only member of our Fellowship who had not read her Diary, I was a little bit behind on what the story was, but the museum does a lovely job presenting it for those who somehow missed that part of the required reading list in their younger years. Quotes from the diary, along with historical artifacts and more general description fill the house from the office area to the secret annex. The story is presented not only architecturally, taking you through the house, but also chronologically. Overall, quite well-done; definitely a powerful and moving experience, though it was somewhat frustrating when the route through the house ends at the Anne Frank Cafe and Gift Shop.

Wandering the Streets II

Once again, we found ourselves out on the streets with no real destination in mind. We stopped to right our backpacks, and those of us with cameras (everyone but me), took pictures of the outside of the house, and the large line that had now queued up outside. Heading back toward the city, we passed a bridge with a Pan (of Pan's Labyrinth) like carving on it. I stopped to get my picture taken as the Pale-Man. Hopefully the rest of the Fellowship will upload their photos soon, so that I may compile and post a few of theirs (giving proper credits, of course) so you faithful readers can see them. Pan was just the first of many bizarre decorations and statues we walked by that day. We also saw Anne Frank and Multatuli, both done in a similar style, making them appear to be melting after already having been hastily created. We also stumbled upon some very impressive graffiti and building art, including the Lichtenstein-esque explosion featured 7-seconds into the Amstel Light video you should have watched at the beginning of this post. Very cool. It made me sad to be missing my camera.

With no destination in mind, we couldn't have Eunice guide us, but managed to stumble upon one of the sights we had intended to visit all along. Walking along the water at one point, I looked at the windows of the buildings we were passing, and noticed that some of them were framed in red light. We had stumbled upon the outskirts of the famed Red Light District. Walking a block away from the water, we found ourselves in the heart of the District on a Sunday morning. Now, as you can imagine, a Sunday morning is a pretty quiet time in the Red Light District. Perhaps people are in church, praying away their latest stop on the road we were now on. (Though it's more likely they were at some brunch buffet, enjoying the Skip's Scramble or some other ungodly culinary creation.) Basically, we were the only people on the streets, which made an already bizarre, somewhat awkward place, even more bizarre and awkward.

We continued our window shopping at a few other shops selling interesting oddities. First, a collection of Socialist Art and Memorabilia, including an interesting collection of busts of Stalin, Lenin and the gang, along with a collection of paintings of Lenin doing non-government things like having a picnic. They also had a banknote for ten-trillion Zimbabwe dollars. And a little walk away from there we found a liquor store with a window full of absinthe. We considered buying some, but weren't sure what transport laws would be like, and didn't want to spend any more time dealing with customs officials the next morning than we needed to.

We decided to return to the main square in Amsterdam, to see a few of the major monuments and sights in that area, or what we could see of them through the fog. But on our way there, I shouted at two passing bikers, because... They were Georgetown's own Dan Finnegan and Andrew Dubbins! They had come up for a weekend away from Georgetown's posh Villa le Balze. Unfortunately, they were on their way to return their rental bikes (more bikes that contribute to the inflated bike-to-person ratio), so we couldn't spend more time than a quick hello, and some shared remarks on crazy random happenstances and small worlds.

After a bit more wandering and some lunch, it was time to head back to the train station and back to Hoek van Holland.

Uitgang (Exit)

After yet another round of confusion on the train, as the ticket-taker wondered what this ticket that promised us transport from "Any Dutch Station" meant, we reached the Stena Line port with time to spare before we would be allowed on the boat at 7:00. So we finished the last of the snacks we'd purchased while watching CNN and learning of the massive snow storm we were missing in D.C. Soon it was time to board the boat, and after yet another bout of ticket confusion (really now, isn't this the type of ticket the boat people should be used to seeing?) we bid farewell to Giorgio and his advertising friends, and boarded to head back to Harwich. Since we were on the boat earlier this time, we decided to grab a few drinks on the on-board bar and have dinner at "Food City" one of two restaurants on the boat. Unfortunately, Food City wasn't Free-Mart either, and we were charged for condiments here, too, with the exception of soy sauce, which apparently translates as "Catjip" in Dutch, so you can see how that might be misleading.

Following another night of boat-sleep, we were awoken by our captain at 5:30, got off the boat around 6:30, breezed through Customs with surprising ease, and were sleepily riding the train back to London shortly thereafter. And I was back in Ramsay Hall in time for breakfast!

Overall, a worthwhile trip, and an exciting first adventure out of London. But after two days, we were ready to uitgang... perhaps because it was so cold. And I think the Dutch folks we met were ready for us to uitgang, too, back to our land of Free-Marts, any kinds, and things that are possible.

Review: Harry Brown

The first film I saw at the Prince Charles Cinema was an early matinee of Harry Brown, the first film of director Daniel Barber.

Harry Brown is a dark, gritty story of vigilante justice exacted by an aging man (Michael Caine, aka why I went to see this movie) against the drug dealing hoodlums who terrorize his neighborhood and have just murdered his close friend (David Bradley, aka Hogwarts' Mr. Filch). Caine's story is interwoven with the official police investigation of the murder, led by Detective Inspector Frampton (Emily Mortimer, who 30 Rock fans will recognize as the hollow-boned Phoebe*).

Now, when I say gritty, I don't mean things get a little dirty, like when you skin your knee on the playground and some sand sticks to it. I mean turn your eyes from the screen because you can't believe this is actually happening and that you're seeing it. But you know what your getting right from the start. The opening two shots, which appear to be made on a camera-phone (a well-executed stylistic decision relevant to later plot details) are as follows: (1) As a gang initiation a boy freebases cocaine (?) out of a lightbulb, and (2) a young mother is gunned-down in a park by two boys on a moped (?), which is quickly hit by a truck. And this is all before the opening credits tell us "Michael Caine is Harry Brown."

And indeed, he is. One has to wonder, as Jon and I did on our walk home, what drew Caine to this role. Perhaps it was the complex loneliness of Harry, or the invitation to play an (almost) action hero. We may never know. But it's a good thing he did. I can imagine no one else in the role. Emily Mortimer is similarly wonderful to watch.

But what makes the movie so gut-wrenchingly difficult to watch without grimacing, shuddering, or turning your eyes down from the screen, are the performances of the film's hoodlums. These characters were portrayed so realistically by the cast that it is difficult to believe they are not, in real life, gang members, drug dealers, or addicts. They are, for the most part, thoroughly unlikable, contributing to the viewer's unwavering support for Harry's vigilantism. It is in the creation of the details of these characters that the film really thrills. Tension rises brilliantly in an interrogation montage, and in one sequence in the basement of a completely terrifying dealer and addict, my heart raced and my breathing slowed, forming one of the strongest physical reactions I've ever had to a film. Much of this is due to the quickly established fact that when tension is formed in this film, it won't be broken, so much as shattered; the violence will be swift and brutal, and Daniel Barber isn't going to dampen the impact by cutting away.

As far as films like it, I really can't think of any. Comparisons to Eastwood's "Gran Torino" are easy to jump to, but the film hardly feels the same. For one thing, the supporting cast in this one does a good job (even if the writing leaves their characters a bit flat, as some reviewers complain), unlike the often laughable performance of the minor characters in "Torino." Furthermore, whereas Eastwood's aging ex-military man seeks to keep his past life closed, Caine's literally re-opens the box of his Marine days. And the violence here leaves "Torino," and any other violent film I've seen, feeling relatively tame. But perhaps my tolerance is low or my exposure to cinematic violence too limited.

Ultimately, Jon and I concluded that we cannot really recommend this film to anyone, as much as we both liked it. Neither of us would seek it out to view again. It was simply that unsettling. One of those films that you avoid recommending, for fear that it might color you a violent sociopath in the eyes of others. Or worse yet, that a conversation may ensue, wherein a new viewer asks, "Do you remember that scene when...?"

Yes, I do remember that scene. In wide-screen, surround-sound, squirming, flinching, heart-racing detail.

*"I'm Phoebe, we've met before. Jack proposed to me outside your office?... I have hollow bones like a bird?..."

Prince Charles Cinema

There is one independent cinema in London and it is the Prince Charles Cinema on Leicester Place. From my one viewing experience (detailed in the next post), I can tell you that it is a wonderful place. There are two screens inside, one Upstairs and one Downstairs. Downstairs is where they screen films that have been out of other theaters for some time, as well as various event screenings. For example, they are currently holding a Vintage Season (Bicycle Thieves, Citizen Kane...) which will soon transfer into a Sci-Fi Season (Close Encounters, Aliens, Spaceballs...).

The Downstairs screen is great. Comfortable seats, lots of legroom. Interestingly, the seats run up on an incline toward the screen. The complete opposite of stadium seating, imagine if the floor of the Ioka had tilted in the opposite direction. Upon first entrance, this is a bit disarming, as you wonder, "Will the people in the back be able to see?" (There's a balcony-like overhang in above the back several rows). I imagine they can see just fine, though I haven't sat in the back (yet).

But here's the really great draw: Prices. In London, a movie is outrageously expensive. But not so much here. Without a membership, a film will usually run you £6.50, or £5.00 for a weekday matinee. But with a year-long membership for £16.00, the normal ticket price drops down to £4.00, and the first (earliest) weekday matinee is just £1.50, the second (later) weekday matinee is £2.50. Those are great prices.

I have decided that a membership is worthwhile. Hopefully in my time here I'll get my money's worth. That's just 5 early matinees, so I think I should be able to do it. My membership card, freshly printed today, is lovely, and laminated, and features Wall-E, sporting a crown (the cinema's logo). As I understand it, there are several different movie characters you can get on the back. I like what I ended up with. Maybe we'll get to go see "Hello, Dolly" together.