Of Time and the City

As promised, a final film squeezed in before the year's end.

Of Time and the City comes with quite a pedigree: not only did it win, um, something or other at Cannes, but it's also the Film of the Year for none other than Dr Mark Kermode (all praise be to his name). It's clearly very arty, and filmic, and all other sorts of stuff. But is it any good?

Well, "know your audience" is an essential bit of media advice for producers, and here I reckon it helps to know if you are meant to be in the audience. And if I'm honest, it helps if you're... well.. getting on a bit. If you're under twenty, go see Twlilight instead. If you're under thirty, then go wild and see both - hey, you have the disposable income, after all. But for those of us the other side of four decades, this offers all manner of nostalgia and is well worthy of consideration.

For those who don't know, the film is billed as an elegy and/or love song for Liverpool. There's a lot of b&w photography, great music, and a voice-over by director Terence Davies who manages to out-baker Tom Baker, which is quite an achievement. Nothing terribly much happens, for the whole length of 74 minutes. (It's not quite autobiography, and not quite documentary either). There's definitely a poetic quality to the whole affair, and it's truly a unique film. And even though I did nod off a couple of times, that only helped to add to the dreamy quality of the whole affair.

On a different day, this could have been pretentious twaddle. But today, I found the film moving and quite, quite beautiful. Now get me my pipe and slippers, it's nearly my bedtime.

(Oh, but: Film of the Year? Nah.)