Bit of a large image for the blog, I know. But when it comes to Bonnie Raitt, I love her too much to care about photo-sizing. (And I think she looks amazing here. I’m really considering getting a similar white strand in my hair!)

Her new album, Slipstream is now out, and it’s gorgeous. Her voice is silky-smooth and always evocative; her guitar playing precise; her band sit comfortably behind her. The songs here are a mix of originals and covers - Raitt’s version of Loudon Wainwright’s ‘You Can’t Fail Me Now’ is a particularly beautiful and heartfelt number. Suffice it so say, I always love Bonnie, and this album is no exception. Listen to it now. Now I say.

Two weeks after first starting The Walking Dead, I’ve just finished season two. While I would not say that it’s the best TV ever, both seasons had me gripped from start to finish. So much so that I ended up seeing an episode a night (at least) to get through it. Plus, it’s set in the South, so I’m obviously going to be interested, no matter what. I’m biased like that. Brilliantly paced and structured, the show revolves around a group of survivors in Georgia after some sort of apocalypse in which millions of dead (zombies) walk the earth. Whether this was due to an event or virus is not explained; nor should it - the show has enough ambiguity and unanswered questions perfect for a lengthy drama.

The protagonist - while it is nevertheless a strong ensemble piece - is Rick, played by Andrew Lincoln. It’s great that British actors are getting work in America, but my lord, Lincoln is a bad actor. I always thought he was good in Teachers and This Life, but here (complete with ‘Southern’ accent) he is wooden and often hammy. But, regardless, the rest of the cast are strong, and it is the collective characters that make this show work. It is the dynamics and relationships of the group that are really at stake here, zombies or not. In this way, it is typical of the survival TV genre, seen in Lost for example. Moreover, the horror is nothing new: this is standard zombie fare. But - and there is always a but - The Walking Dead is still riveting, well-crafted and enjoyable television. (Oh, and the gore is pretty awesome - at least one or two zombie killings viscerally depicted per ep). 

As the zombies keep on coming, and the group’s number dwindles (the body count rapidly amps up by the end of season two), the tension mounts. The season finale is both spectacular and highly unnerving. We get a definite sense of where the characters are heading in season three; plus, the last line (spoken by Rick - and this is not a spoiler) forebodes much of what’s to come: “This is not a democracy any more”. Can’t wait for season three in the autumn.

Andrew Haigh’s second feature is a decidedly low-key affair that is elegantly shot, subtly acted and tightly formed. Set over the eponymous weekend of the title, the film follows Russell, a gay man in his twenties through a snippet of his life in Nottingham. Russell wakes up after a night out next to Glen, a guy he picked up in a bar. But very quickly we realise that this is no mere one-night-stand. The two end up spending most of the weekend together; having sex, discussing their lives, using drugs.

All of this is highly naturalistic and pared-down film making. The two leads - Tom Cullen and Chris New - have a very real chemistry on screen and make their story that much more believable. The direction is not intrusive and the script foregrounds character over plot. This is a film that knowingly or not situates itself in the long tradition of realist British cinema. 

While the film is not perfect - there are a number of moments that fell flat due to the script - Weekend is an engaging and wholly believable drama that in its modest form actually discusses sex, the representation of homosexuality, family, belonging and life’s narrative arcs. Though it does not hit all of these nails precisely on the head, Haigh’s film delicately covers vast intellectual and emotional ground in a small space. 

Andrew Haigh’s second feature is a decidedly low-key affair that is elegantly shot, subtly acted and tightly formed. Set over the eponymous weekend of the title, the film follows Russell, a gay man in his twenties through a snippet of his life in Nottingham. Russell wakes up after a night out next to Glen, a guy he picked up in a bar. But very quickly we realise that this is no mere one-night-stand. The two end up spending most of the weekend together; having sex, discussing their lives, using drugs.

All of this is highly naturalistic and pared-down film making. The two leads - Tom Cullen and Chris New - have a very real chemistry on screen and make their story that much more believable. The direction is not intrusive and the script foregrounds character over plot. This is a film that knowingly or not situates itself in the long tradition of realist British cinema. 

While the film is not perfect - there are a number of moments that fell flat due to the script - Weekend is an engaging and wholly believable drama that in its modest form actually discusses sex, the representation of homosexuality, family, belonging and life’s narrative arcs. Though it does not hit all of these nails precisely on the head, Haigh’s film delicately covers vast intellectual and emotional ground in a small space. 

I’ve once again been too quiet on here. I endeavour to update it a bit more often. To begin, some comments on David Grossman’s latest book. Released last year, Grossman’s To the End of the Land was, to begin with, a bit of a struggle. I enjoyed the story, but couldn’t get into it fully. But recently, something clicked and  I plunged back into the narrative. 

Set in contemporary Israel, the novel follows Ora -a mother whose son has just been sent back off to the front-line in Gaza - and her old lover Avram, who walk the Israeli wilderness, telling stories from their past. It is Ora’s hope that, if she is not at home (not there to take to receive the news), then her son Ofer will not die in combat. Ora and Avram’s stories to each other are performances of delaying the possibility of death, like Scheherazade’s tales of 1001 Nights. It should be said that Grossman is wonderful at writing women - Ora particularly - and she exists not merely as a character, but a fully-rounded and believable person.

Grossman’s novel is a huge, panoramic and picaresque tale of travel, meditation,  memory and history. It takes in the themes of war, love, family and politics - a huge undertaking - yet weaves all of these elements together with dexterity through the small framework of a family drama. Grossman’s own son died in war as he was finishing this book, and a small afterword by the author contextualizes the story. Affecting, emotional, beautiful and tender, this book is one of the best evocations of the Israel-Palestine conflict. Moreover, it is one of the best illuminations of the connection between the personal and national spheres - the nation and the family. A necessary and important novel. 

This Christmas, I received Jeanette Winterson’s new book, Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal?, her gorgeous and emotional memoir that charts various periods in her life. Starting with her childhood in the north of England, Winterson’s life was far from ideal. Her strict and religious adoptive mother would often chastise her, claiming that ‘The devil led us to the wrong crib’. While this opens her memoir, and Winterson follows it with a wry and comic response, nonetheless the tone she sets is one of dark and deep psychological depths. The narrative follows her through teenage years and her eventual move out of the house and to university at Oxford. 

Then, after a leap in time, we arrive at Winterson’s break-down after splitting from her girlfriend, director Deborah Warner. The split sends her into a spiral of depression and ‘madness’ in which retreats into her own psyche. This part of the book is some of the most honest and frank writing I’ve read and Winterson is not afraid to shy away from the complex mix of emotions she is feeling. Moreover, she has always been an eloquent writer and her prose here is effortless and engaging. 

Ending with the recent meeting between Winterson and her birth mother, Why Be Happy? concludes on as ambiguous a footing as it began. Ferociously honest and true, I read this book in one go. I sat at the dining table reading it with my breakfast and didn’t put it down until I’d finished mid-afternoon. Any fan of her novels will surely love this, but even if you typically are not in the Winterson camp (I would sometimes include myself here), there is much to admire and marvel at in this brave and beautiful memoir.