Tuesday, 4 October 2011

Bloody Hell, Nowhere Boy.

I won't lie - the Beatles have, up until now, been just another band that I know I should like but haven't really gotten around to taking much of an interest in, unless my Dad's iPod shuffles in a forceful manner. But now, as aforementioned - bloody hell.

Sam Taylor-Wood's is a name that I knew through editorial articles, her film one that I put on the list of 'seeing eventually'.  Now I've Googled her in awe and am simply willing her to make the next chapter, as I haven't felt quite like this about a film in a long time. Because 'Nowhere Boy', a biopic of Lennon's early life, is a miraculous thing. Not only is it beautifully written, but everything it's made from is so heart-wrenching that you can't believe you hadn't already seen it one hundred and fifty-four million times. So you watch it to make it so. Set in the 50's, I'm a sucker for it from the off. The hair and the music and the urgency of adolescent rebellion is something that makes me ache to be more interesting. More 'Lennon'. And kudos to the wardrobe department. 

From a technical view, I'd pronounce it flawless. It's got all the fancy editing and perfect balance of those sweet silent moments, the smooth cuts from his early childhood into this swirling force of emotion. And the acting is just the same. Aaron Johnson, perhaps a little awkward in 2008's 'Angus, Thongs and Perfect Snogging', was more than a little mesmerising. Say what you want, I don't think even Lennon kept up a Northern accent at all times. Johnson was powerfully commanding, his anger and emotion so affecting that I caught myself frowning and tensing as he did. The brutality of the losses themselves, of course, shocked my ignorant self but I won't pretend that it's the cruelty of Taylor-Wood creating them: the power and those awful profound silences set my mind reeling at the amazing film-making whilst the rest of me took a moment to sort myself out. I'm not a weeper - it just feels like a physical blow, and I need to remember to breathe.

But then it's not fiction. It's a captivating depiction of a gruesome childhood that produced a riveting man. And there's a real beauty in that.

"Oh dirty Maggie Mae, they have taken her away..."

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