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Our Kind Of Traitor, Film Review.

Liverpool Sound and Vision Rating * * *

Cast: Ewan McGregor, Damien Lewis, Naomi Harris, Stellan Skarsgård, Mark Stanley, Alicia Von Rittberg, Mark Gattis, Jeremy Northam, Saskia Reeves, Alec Utgoff, Pawel Szajda, Khalid Abdalla, Grigoriy Dobrygin, Velibor Topic, Dolya Gavanski, Radivoje Bukvic, Marek Oravec.

It is only right that John Le Carré’s work is still seen as being amongst the finest of post Second World War espionage and spy fiction, from the remake of Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy to the hit television series Night Manager, John Le Carré’ is revered and respected, yet somewhere along the line that blurs one ideology from another, an author’s work can be muddled when adapted by another for the big screen; it is a fate that awaits what should be a good interesting film, Our Kind Of Traitor.

500 Days Of Siege.

I built a moat,

hammered down a sign, hand-written

biting scrawl, the legend “Ere Be Monsters”

screams at passers by

and just in case they think

of asking for the draw bridge

to be lowered, to come

inside and visit the land of the self siege,

they first have to negotiate the mine field,

to cover their noses from the smell

of plague that I pump into the air

as a warning, to cross their souls

and brace themselves for the sight

of scythes being sharpened

Eyes Up.

How is it there are not more accidents

upon Britain’s high streets

as we have found a way to truly

be at one, not with the universe,

but with a small selfish screen

which demands we lower our heads in silent

prayer and ignore

the passing footsteps of the careworn

and the sarcastic, that we must

bump into those surrounding us

and argue that they should

look out for our shadow dangling off us,

desperate to get away and seek

out other sun driven silhouettes

in humanity’s gloom;

Cymbeline, Theatre Review. R.S.C., Stratford Upon Avon.

Liverpool Sound and Vision Rating * * * *

Cast: Gillian Bevan, Bethan Cullinane, Oliver Johnstone, Hiran Abeysekera, James Clyde, James Cooney, Natalie Simpson, Temi Wilkey, Graham Turner, Kelly Williams, Marcus Griffiths, Byron Mondahl, Doreene Blackstock, Eke Chukwu, Romayne Andrews, Marieme Diouf, Jenny Fennessy, Kevin N Goldberg, Theo Ogundipe

During the Royal Shakespeare Company’s quest to perform all 38 of the great Bard’s plays over the coming years, audiences get to glimpse gems of his repertoire that are less often performed. This production of Cymbeline showcases one of Shakespeare’s later plays, and the play shows a maturity and complexity that is a joy to behold.

Freedom In Budapest.

It is a freedom fought and worth

the small slow drag on a Cuban cigar,

the long drawn out

spiral of smoke

and the collection of brown

spit that chokes the air

off the Danube, only briefly

before it becomes invisible

but toxin rich, before it is joined

by the steaming coffee, stronger

than home, sending its aromatic

desire up the street in a kind of wanton

come hither eyes and stroke

of the silk stocking that I watch

of one woman on her young friend;

The Temptation.

Accused of everything under the sun, blamed for all and sundry and sometimes with truth in their words and the charges – the responsibility is truly being mine alone. However, more often than not, they are just the unfortunate side effect of being the scapegoat, of being the person the finger gets pointed at when trouble brews, when the ugliness of jealousy steps into the heart of a person, when envy and hate are allowed to fester, to breed and to accumulate in a kind of toxic soup, bubbling under the surface, never truly revealed until the bitter taste of poison cramps their stomach and the foam of any residual innocence is long since evaporated.

Judith On The Danube.

Her eyes match the Danube on this cloudy day,

yet look deeper, look beyond the casual

observance and see a person that is majestic,

that rises up beyond the groove

imposed by life at others behest,

see a woman,

as you should see all women,

as life itself, for without them

we are just lumps of useless clay, dressed in rags

and willing ourselves to self destruct;

The Danube meanders along with serenity,

as her eyes close to remember the scene forever,

it is a serenity that is matched and surpassed

Miriam Calleja, Pomegranate Heart. Book Review.

Liverpool Sound and Vision Rating 9/10

It is an island that sits on the edge of many different ideologies, of history having forged its distinct and positive identity and one to whom the people who nestle and cling to its rock with patience, drive and a sense of peace in their hearts. Malta has almost everything you could wish for, in both a place of relaxation and the best of holidays but also it holds secrets that implore investigation and one of them is the local outstanding poet Miriam Calleja and her anthology of dual heritage writing, the beautiful and absorbing collection that entwines throughout each page, Pomegranate Heart.

Bastille Day, Film Review.

 

Liverpool Sound and Vision Rating 0/10

Cast: Idris Elba, Richard Madden, Kelly Reilly, Charlotte Le Bon, Alexander Cooper, Anatol Yusef, José Garcia, James Cox, Laura Hydari, Karl Farror, Eriq Ebouaney, Daniel Westwood, Jorge Leon Martinez, Alex Martin.

There are times when you do have to wonder if some film makers actually know the difference between a good film with a plot that doesn’t tax the brain too much and that where they make a film just purely for the credit or the financial gain that might come their way, the plot as weak as a watered down soup from a vending machine in a bus terminus, the acting as interesting as mould growing in a Petri dish and all the action of a night in the morgue, where the only excitement is seeing just how badly the film runs towards its bitter and thankful conclusion.

Drive

I would love to know what made

each city burn so bright

and every town, village and enclave

burst with energy, the pulse,

is it manufactured, brought into existence

by the heartbeat of those

whose muscle desires it most;

desire in ache, desire in conquest,

the craving to be free

but pulled in one direction

to be a fragment of the whole…

 

I see the whole and kiss its pulse,

I hear the trumpet blown and the

car horn bluster with discontent,

the ravage of the road