A film co written by Luc Besson; set in Paris 2010, packed with lots of free running (Parkour) and a leading lady who used to do porn. Don’t let the fact that it’s made by a bunch of cheese eating surrender monkeys dissuade you.

If that sounds like your cup of tea then read on. Better yet, go to your local bittorrent tracker.

Trailer

The film’s set in Paris 2010 where the city has walled in the banlieues. I think they were trying to draw contrasts with that beloved sliced and diced swiss cheese state that…i’ll digress.

The French subtitles refer to banlieue as barrios. I find it a tad annoying:

• Banlieue
• Ghetto
• Barrios
• Favela
• Gacekondas
• Chawls

They all mean the same thing. Poor cunts living next to a city, defined by a high level of unemployment and the crime it entails.

I just love how Luc Besson portrays women. It’s how all men fantasize women should be. Spunky.

Lola and her panties.

So the waif like girl has been kidnapped by K2, a fat mother fucker with lots of guns. He halls her past a platoon of mercenaries. One grabs her arse and tells her what he’d like to do with her. Five minutes later and the roles are reversed, she’s got the gun. As they’re leaving she shoves a gun in the guys face. Takes off her panties, shoves it in the guys mouth and makes him chew it.

The film is light on plot and heavy on action. I don’t like writing about films. Just fucking watch it.

For more information about what the film is actually about, head on over to IMDB.

I haven’€™t written in a while- the reasons are too dull to be detailed here. This week I’€™ve decided to review two largely ignored Oriental films. There is something I like about Oriental films in general; horror is generally more intense, action usually better choreographed, any quirkiness just quirkier. My preference is not influenced solely by racial bias’€¦

The Happiness of the Katakuris (2001)

A remake/mutation of the already bizarre ‘€˜The Quiet Family’€™, Mike Takashi’€™s ‘€˜The Happiness of the Katakuris’€™ is most definitely the quirkiest black comedy I have ever had the pleasure of seeing. Simultaneously morbid and irrepressibly cheerful, it documents the plight of downsized urbanite Katakuri Masao who optimistically stakes his family’€™s livelihood on restoring a country inn in a remote location. Having shifted sweet wife Terue, senile father Jinpei, divorced daughter Shizue, troubled son Masayuki and inscrutable toddler granddaughter Utanômi to the bizarrely named ‘€˜White Lovers’€™ Inn’€™, he waits for the construction of a major road nearby and the floods of customers which should follow. Unfortunately, it soon becomes apparent that the anticipated road just isn’€™t going to materialise and the only customers that check in are of the sort that have an irritating habit of dying during their stay. Desperate to ensure the success of their business, the Katakuris persevere as a family and do their best to keep the deaths quiet, resorting to burying the bodies in the forest behind the house.

In addition to having a totally bizarre plot, ‘€˜The Happiness of the Katakuris’€™ encompasses four different genres of film: Opening with a rather disturbing claymation of an unidentifiable angel/demon tearing out the uvula of a girl in a restaurant, Takashi incorporates horror and comedy elements with surreal musical interludes in between. The sight of a somewhat mild-mannered Japanese family reacting to their discovery of a gruesome death by bursting into song has to be seen to be properly appreciated and a scene involving their admirably vigorous attempt to dispose the corpse of an enormous sumo wrestler had me howling with laughter.

However, those who have appreciated Takashi’€™s previous works such as ‘€˜Ichi the Killer’€™ and ‘€˜Audition’€™ may find this film to be disappointing. Though the subject matter is undeniably morbid, perhaps as a result of the presence of a small child in the picture, Takashi has curbed his twisted imagination somewhat. The sometimes overlong musical numbers often take the edge off some of the gruesome imagery and the comical presentation of the scenarios prevent any sense of horror from developing. In fact, taken apart, each genre element is lacking in some way: the horror isn’€™t frightening; apart from the odd inspired one, the musical numbers are pretty forgettable; the claymation is at times used to mask low production values and the comedy, though sporadically hilarious, can border on the farcical. Thrown randomly together, however, these elements contribute towards making such a surreal hotchpotch, it’€™s easy to ignore some of the film’€™s more obvious flaws. Though if the unusual storyline alone appeals to you, I’€™d recommend watching the Korean original over this frantic, if very memorable, nonsense.

So Close (2002)

We have Asian directors such as Kar wai Wong, Yimou Zhang and Ang Lee to thank for the Western perception of modern far-eastern cinema. The entrance of some admittedly lovely films into our mainstream (Hero, Crouching Tiger, 2046 et al) seems to have created the impression that the Far East has the ability to churn out a range of invariably semi-highbrow, interestingly exotic flicks at an admirable rate. I am personally thankful that Cory Yuen’€™s ‘€˜So Close’€™ never made a general cinematic release in the West since such an event would have shattered this illusion forever.

‘€œSo Close’€? is basically an Asian clone of the modern Charlie’€™s Angels films with added gore, better choreographed fight sequences and shameless Sapphic overtones. The plot involves two female assassins protecting their late father’s invention- technology that can infiltrate every closed-circuit monitoring system in the world- from gun-toting gangsters. It is as preposterous to watch as it sounds, a mere excuse for a succession of wire-aided martial arts fights interspersed with some mawkish Chinese soap opera-style drama in between.

Though it is unlikely to appeal to the high-minded, ‘€œSo Close’€? is unpretentious and at times, entertaining. The opening sequence is close to being inspired: a beautiful assassin enters a shiny high-rise and proceeds to calmly eviscerate an army of bad guys to the strains of The Carpenters’€™ ‘€˜Close to you’€™. The closing three-way brawl featuring guns, knives and bamboo is pretty visceral and more imaginatively choreographed than most Hollywood fodder. A twist that occurs in the middle of the film is genuinely unexpected and things improve dramatically as a result afterwards (clue: a really irritating main character dies a painful death).

However, some major issues render ‘€˜So Close’€™ almost unwatchable at times. The dialogue is gut-wrenchingly dreadful which certainly isn’€™t helped by the extremely mixed acting quality. The tinny soundtrack is invariably appalling- though the semi-titular ‘€˜Close to you’€™ provides an interesting contrast to the gory action at the start of the film, Yuen insists on shoehorning it into every other scene of the film which kills its novelty value somewhat. Lastly, the aforementioned lesbianism: though some form of cheap titillation is inevitable in female ‘€˜superhero’€™ movies, here the lack of subtlety is so shameless, it can be jarring. At the risk of sounding prudish, a scene involving two sisters engaging in a ‘€˜playful’€™ post-bathtime wrestling match made me feel uncomfortably voyeuristic; a feeling that was only heightened by the fact that I was unfortunately watching this film with my father. Yuen’€™s attempts to develop sexual tension between Hentai schoolgirl-type Vicki and tough-as-nails cop Hong is clumsy and contrived. Unlike the quietly impressive ‘€˜My Summer of Love’€™, ‘€˜So Close’€™ is not a film intelligent enough to handle such themes without getting crude. Considering the plot of ‘€˜So Close’€™ involves girls kicking the shit out of big, scary guys, the film certainly doesn’€™t come across as being very female-empowering. Women should therefore steer clear. Highly recommended for those with Asian girl fetishes though.

In recent years, the term ‘€œteen movie’€? has become distinctly dirty. In the same way that no credible musician appears willing to class their work as being of the ‘€œpop’€? genre, anyone with any sense of proud pretension is very unlikely to admit their fondness for a film genre long associated with shallow characters, laughably derivative plots and hand-stuck-to-the-penis jokes. However, as with a trip to a vintage clothes store (or indeed TK Maxx), genuine greats can be found amongst piles of steaming, soiled rubbish. This week I review two of my all-time favourites:

Welcome to the [imdb: Dollhouse] (1995)
“Why do you hate me?”
“Because you’re ugly.”

Rather inappropriately, I first saw this film when I was ten. Some incompetent boob had stuck the wrong label on what I had assumed was a pirate VCD copy of Batman and Robin. As a result, I was very prematurely subjected to this unflinchingly nasty portrayal of adolescence and having seen it again very recently, I can safely say that my advance in years has only heightened the brutality of this film.

The unfortunately named Dawn Weiner is our unfortunate looking heroine, her bad teeth, greasy hair, thick glasses and gangly body embodying all that is horrific about puberty. What appears to be a direct result of her unfortunate hideousness is the daily humiliation she must suffer at the hands of those both at school (within the first five minutes of the film, we are forced to witness a school bully order that Dawn defecate in front of her) and at home, where she is either ignored or treated with disdain in favour of her pampered little sister and nerdy older brother. Holed up in a depressingly suburban New Jersey neighbourhood, thirteen year-old Dawn experiences something of a sexual awakening in the form of a paralysing crush on the high school heartthrob and a bizarrely burgeoning relationship with a roughneck school bully who perpetually threatens to rape her.

Relatively thin on plot, here greater emphasis is put upon character development and some fantastically memorable dialogue instead (‘€œDawn! You are not leaving this table until you tell your sister that you love her!’€?). Like with his recently released follow-up, Palindromes, director and writer Todd Solondz has extracted entertainment out of excruciating discomfort.

Any film in which rape is depicted as being as amusing as it is disturbing is clearly a twisted one and Welcome to the Dollhouse provides no exception. This is neither a cheerful coming-of-age movie nor the story of a girl with a heart of gold that happens to be trapped inside the body of a troll. It becomes apparent that Dawn is a complex, extremely flawed character that is often far from being likeable. Heather Matarazzo’€™s portrayal of a girl who is merely the product of a callously neglected upbringing is flawless and startlingly mature. However, judging by the message of this film (being really ugly is detrimental to all aspects of your life, including the way you behave) it may not have been so difficult for her to get into character.

[imdb: Heathers] (1989)
‘€œPeople will look at the ashes of Westerburg and say, “Now there’s a school that self-destructed, not because society didn’t care, but because the school was society.” Now that’s deep.’€?

Scintillating dark, Heathers elevates itself over its 80s contemporaries with some sharp dialogue and astutely perceptive social commentary which looks at high school feudalism from an insider’s lofty perspective. Every possible high school social division is bitingly satirised in what appears to be an attack upon the concept of mindless conformity.

A very young Winona Ryder is our angsty yet remarkably clear-headed and likeable narrator. Fed up of the vacuous, bitchy clique of popular girls with which she has forged friendship in her attempt to stay afloat in the cutthroat world of the American High School, she sees a kindred spirit in a Jack Nicholson-esque newcomer, J.D (Christian Slater). Confiding to him her secret fantasies about knocking off her supposed best friend (the acid-tongued beauty Heather Chandler) proves to be a terrible mistake. The initially mildly rebellious J.D turns out to be a raving, Moby-Dick-quoting lunatic who kindly entangles her into a web of deceit and staged suicides that shake up the school.

Heathers is genuinely funny. Wonderfully bitchy one-liners (‘€œWell f*ck me gently with a chainsaw. Do I look like Mother Theresa?’€?), amusingly deadpan reactions to grievous ills (‘€œDear Diary, my teenage angst bullshit now has a body count’€?) and utterly moronic parental units (guidance counsellor: ‘€œ”Whether or not a teenager decides to kill themselves is the biggest decision of their life’€?) lend the film both a sense of the macabre and a knowingly absurd quality. Costume and set design capture an era: the Heathers are clothed in the cutting edge of hideous 80s fashion from their enormous scrunchies down to their multi-tiered ra-ra skirts and J.D’€™s familial abode epitomises 1980s glossy, hollow decadence.

With its unusually dark theme by teen movie standards, it wouldn’€™t have been unreasonable to expect a suitably ironic morbid ending but in this area, Heathers disappoints. Whilst not exactly walk-off-into-the-sunset idyllic, it is a little too tidy for a film which features a teen suicide epidemic. Optimistic ending notwithstanding, however, Heathers is highly recommended stuff.

Other teen movie greats:

[imdb: Rebel Without a Cause] (1955)
The original teen angst movie. The film that made James Dean in his rebellious red jacket an icon. Natalie Wood’€™s pair of bizarrely conical-shaped tits do not distract too much from the excellent action that unfolds.

[imdb: Saved!] (2005)
Perhaps not as funny or as daring as it could have been, Saved! is set in a Christian high school and pokes fun at young, misguided fundamentalists. Still, this twist on the genre and the casting of Macaulay Culkin as a wheelchair-bound cynic does result in some moments of inspired comedy.

[imdb: Clueless] (1995)
Student 1: (excusing herself from a school tennis lesson) Um, Ms. Stoeger? My plastic surgeon doesn’t want me doing any activity where balls fly at my nose.
Student 2: Well, there goes your social life.

I think they got tired after blowin $93 Million on the rest of the film. The last few shots they got a lil kid to play the old guy I can’t remember the name of (Attention span problems). Of course they forgot to tell the kid to be so spritely so it looks silly.

You probably won’t get the same idea with some screengrabs but hey:

I’m really old and should hobble

But then again I might be a spritely little kid in a wig.

Following BT’€™s very successful narcissism-themed review, I had every intention to emulate (shamelessly rip-off) the concept. However, for reasons I cannot explain, the only theme I could think of was that of ‘€œMacaulay Culkin: the Wilderness Years’€?. Unfortunately, since his mid-nineties disappearance into obscurity, Macaulay’€™s career seems to have struggled to regain the momentum it once had: his filmography as an adult performer amounting to the paltry sum of two films as a result. Perhaps when Macaulay finishes defending the man who allegedly did not molest him and completes another, that themed review shall materialise. Until that day arrives, however, you’€™ll have to make do with my thoughts on the French romantic thriller L’€™Appartement and its Hollywood remake:

L’€™Appartement (1996- French with subtitles)

Though Gilles Mimouni’€™s film features a severely fragmented narrative reminiscent of a certain release only two years earlier, it is immediately more comparable to Hitchcock’€™s haunting Vertigo than to Tarantino’€™s violent masterpiece. Across a plot which appears to purposefully rebel against the notion of linearity, Max, a successful businessman, becomes embroiled in a suspicious murder, a case of mistaken identity and different relationships with equally beautiful and aloof French women.

Switching between elegantly cluttered Parisian apartments, the aforementioned ladies and most confusingly, time frames, the pace of L’€™Appartement is heady. Constant twists threaten to convolute the action but the perfect construction of the precisely synchronised plot rattles L’€™Appartement along to its tragically ironic and subtle climax quite satisfyingly enough.

It’€™s all extremely French: wardrobe, settings and dialogue are without exception sickeningly chic. Beautiful cinematography is coupled with some thoughtful and subtle performances: Vincent Cassel’€™s Max is inscrutable and somewhat shifty, but is somehow still sympathetic. Romane Bohringer plays the character of Alice with such laudable understatement that it is often difficult to tell whether or not she is semi-psychotic and on the verge of a major breakdown (upon a second viewing, she most definitely is). Monica Bellucci, most recently seen prostituting her considerable talent in Spike Lee’€™s diabolical She Hate Me and more literally in the controversial The Passion of the Christ, is hypnotic. A small smile which plays teasingly around her lips at one point in the film speaks louder than hours of Hollywood spiel.

L’€™Appartement teases, grips and confuses in equal measure. It is simply an astonishing film. If you know me, get me to lend it to you. If you don’€™t, take yourself down to the video shop- it’€™s entirely worth it.

Wicker Park (2005)

I write under the assumption that Spieloff attracts a readership that is reasonably like-minded with its pretentious creator. A scathing attack upon a soulless, pointless, americanised remake of an exquisite French film may therefore prove to be an exercise in preaching to the converted. However, Paul McGuigan’€™s attempt to introduce L’€™Appartement, in the guise of Wicker Park, to audiences unwilling to read a few subtitles leaves me with little other choice.

Relocated to Chicago and repopulated with younger actors, Wicker Park is simultaneously a rather shitty teen movie and a half-hearted Fatal Attraction-style psychological thriller. Out of the able hands of Mimourni, the same time-jumping plot remains intact but now seems contrived and riddled with plot holes; very possibly due to the fact that all of the subtlety and ambiguity that pervaded the original has been violently eradicated. Small visual clues have been shunted aside in favour of dramatic revelations (‘€œOh my God! She’€™s a psychotic stalker!’€?) which patronisingly spell out exactly what is happening onscreen.

The formerly stellar cast have been replaced with bargain-bin cast-offs: Max is now the younger, less sophisticated Matthew and is played by the pretty but ever-wooden Josh Hartnett. Lisa, (formerly Monica Bellucci) has undergone a transformation from doe-eyed, elegant beauty to Diane Kruger, (Troy, National Treasure) who is nice-looking enough but is inexplicably unsexy. If there was any doubt as to whether the character of Alice was psychotic before, Rose Byrne’€™s frantic performance dispels any uncertainty: In Wicker Park, she is made to run around, tears streaming down her cheeks, spouting sure-fire stalker lines such as, ‘€œI was watching you sleep!’€? in a sinister manner. The appalling, utterly obnoxious Matthew Lillard (Scooby Doo and more memorably, that unintentionally hilarious abortion film wherein he gets to shoot Cher) completes this inept bunch.

I rarely see the point of remakes: to me, they epitomise the criminal lack of creativity that unfortunately exists in the movie industry. However, to dismiss Wicker Park as being totally devoid of merit would be grossly unfair: surely I should have some appreciation for a film that succeeds in making the sublime L’€™Appartement seem even better than I thought before.

Is airing on BBC2 at 10. Highly informative but incredibly boring after the first 45min.

Tally ho kids! Yes its Thursday, and yes, I’€™m back. It may seem as if it was only two days ago that I last wrote for this website, but that’€™s probably simply down to the fact that unfortunately, it was. Unfortunate for you, and unfortunate for me. For you because you have to listen to my shit about something clearly too intellectual and too interesting for you so that you undoubtedly have no concern over, and for me because I’€™m not getting paid and I have several A Levels to pass. Although, as a certain Mr. Nicholas ‘€œI’€™m going to university at Cambridge’€¦Estate’€? Ridgman once said, ‘€œWhat’€™s in an A Level anyway?’€?

Anyhoo’€¦ well since I’€™m supposed to be writing a column on entertainment and lifestyle, I guess I should probably talk about something relevant for a change. So let’€™s try this on for size shall we? Well, last Thursday night I found myself ankle deep in a soiree of the worse kind. ‘€˜Family do’€™ kind of thing, and yes, I do have family: as opposed to simply being the result of a spontaneous eruption from the side of some beast’€™s head in a grotesque parody of a Satan-Sin/Zeus-Athena incestuous relationship-esque-ish-type thingyimijiggybobby. ‘€œHi, I’€™m an English A Level student and I want to get an A without writing English.’€? (Cue appropriate sniggers from various corners of the vastly diverse World Wide Web. At this moment, focusing mainly on the Surrey/Greater London area. And one small hut in South Carolina where they have shit for brains and nothing else in their meager existence to sustain them the way some good old internet trash will.)

RIGHT. No more tangents. Let’€™s recap: Thursday. Family Do. Aunts House. Bored. Being Nosey. Found DVD of ‘€˜Withnail and I’€™. Yes that’€™s right my kindergarten caballeros, the quintessential British comedy, and arguably THE most quotable film EVER, ‘€œWithnail ‘€˜I want the best wine humanity can offer and I want it now’€™ and I’€?. So in this week’€™s column, I shall mostly be talking about ‘€˜Withnail and I’€™. In fact, I shall only be talking about ‘€˜Withnail and I’€™. Firstly, if you fancy going out and getting pissed tomorrow night (Friday, for those of you who don’€™t know) then fuck off. Secondly, if you fancy going out and seeing your friends tomorrow night, then fuck off. Thirdly, if you’€™re contemplating going to ye olde discothèque tomorrow night then’€¦ fuck off. If however, you fancy snuggling in to a good old-fashioned British romp, then read on. Now I’€™m aware that most of you will have seen the aforementioned film, so in which case DON’€™T switch off your computer, and read this anyway since it helps to build my ego’€¦ and my enormous sense of well being. (Penis envy?!) If however, you’€™re unfamiliar with the film, then firstly on which region of Outer Mongolia do you live, and secondly are your wheels still square?

Starring Richard E Grant (Withnail) and Paul McGann (I), the film charts the life and lows (of which there are many) of these two young out of work actors in a post-Hippy London. Searching for an unreachable dream of fame and fortune onstage or on screen (how poignant, considering my own predicament), the two are reduced to an existence of counting down the number of seconds before the pubs open and then counting down the number of seconds again before the pubs RE-open. Living in a pointless and unfulfilling life, the pair finally decides to go away for a weekend in the country, where a series of superbly written comic moments ensue, involving eels down trousers and a certain gay uncle called Monty.
‘€œWe went on holiday by accident’€¦’€?

At the risk of giving the film away, I must warn you that there is no real plot to the film; it is merely a very small snippet of their existentialist lives, showing their outrageous Epicureanism in the form of out and out binge drinking. Very much a scene for a Saturday night in Kingston High street I believe. (Hey, you know you love it really, and besides I’€™m pretty much sure that I spoke to you outside HSBC battered out of my face just the other week’€¦)

Anyway, what makes this film unbelievably brilliant and worth watching over going to ‘€˜The Works’€™ where you can get your phone stolen, a knife in your back, an underage kid vomiting all over your new trousers and Vicky Pollard trying to eat your face, is that aside from the stunning writing, convincing acting and amazing soundtrack (including Led Zep, Hendrix’€¦), what lies at the crux of the film is a truly funny script garnished with a genuinely endearing relationship.

Undoubtedly a must see and a hidden gem worthy of any DVD collection, infinitely better than getting a bus all the way to Sheen only to find out that the massive party with the promises of guaranteed sex and a free drug and booze fuelled night which all the cool kids the year above are going to, actually consists of half a glass of ginger ale and your mother expecting a Swingers party. A predicament not worth considering. Watch it!

Hey kid, help us out alright, buy the DVD of Withnail and I here.

I’d rather go see this movie than meet up with Monika. Thats pretty hardcore. I need to do a survey of New Malden so might drop by afterwards and go for a midnight survey. Hopefully i’ll convince Monika to come out and play because sleep is for the weak. Apparently.

He was a writer, He thought he wrote about the future but it really was the past. In his novel, a mysterious train left for 2046 every once in a while. Everyone who went there had the same intention … to recapture their lost memories. It was said that in 2046, nothing ever changed. Nobody knew for sure if it was true, because nobody who went there had ever come back – except for one. He was there. He chose to leave. He wanted to change.

Duc Tran recently told me to watch this film and knowing his impeccable taste, when I passed the PCG and it was showing I just had to pop in. I’m not used to Asian films which don’t involve martial arts (Enter the Dragon) and arn’t incredibly violent (Old Boy, Izo, Ichi) so this was a refreshing change. The film is foremost an arthouse piece rather than a Hong Kong flick. Vivid colours and the sexiest Ziyi Zhang has ever been, taking long indulgent puffs of a cigarettes while staring into the midst. I really am addicted to pretty girls smoking. Not the exasperated, ‘€œI really need this nicotine’€?, puffs which so encapsulates the average teenage smoker, and so giving smoking such a bad rap; but that sexy, erotic puff. Ziyi Zhang may not be that pale thin girl with eyes forlorn but she is something.

The film seemed to borrow more from Blade Runner (‘All these memories will be lost, like tears in rain’) and Kubrick rather than a typical Asian script. I’m looking forward to seeing ‘€œIn the Mood for Love’€?, His previous film.

Themes of the film mostly revolved around unrequited love and the absence of closure. Most people know my horrid adoration for a girl names Stef. I’m seemingly stuck in purgatory with her, not being able to quench my thirst for her, nor hating her like i should. I guess i should have acted sooner rather than let it become so stale, stagnant.

When i got to the Pub I followed the formalities and wished the girl a happy birthday while brooding for Stef and being rather amicable to her boyfriend. As the night wore on I didn’t know how to keep my cool. As with most situations like this, alcohol becomes your partner; as it was only an hour to closing time, i hurriedly drank up.

After getting so tanked up I felt there was nothing I could do other than equal my physical state with my mental state. Most people who know me when i’m in that mood, know that i’m abusive and annoying. The only way for the torment to end is to punch me, it isn’t like i’m oblivious to that fact. Knowing that i shouldn’t start on her boyfriend, a weedy twat with a pink shirt, for fear of retribution, i instead started on the gay guy. No matter what he wouldn’t fight me. Much to my disappointment. I instead settled on pestering the short kid. The longer he went without punching me the more annoying i grew. I started stroking his face for fuck sake.

To make matters worse, she was trying to convince me to go out with her best friend who apparently thought i was a bit of something. In trying to justify not going out I stated that ‘€œEven if I fuck her i’ll just pretend she’s you.’€? It all went downhill from there.

Returning home, I decided to leave ‘€œ2046′€? and called up Stef. I went in circles but convinced myself that we couldn’t see each other any more. I think i needed convincing more than her. I put it in letter and i’ll pluck up the courage to send it tonight.

Just saw bad education at the princecharles cinema. If you havn’t seen it i suggest you do, don’t think i’ll spoil the plot so just go see it.

On the way bumped into the great pillow fight of 04. roughly 600 people with pillows flash mobbing outside the national gallery next to trafalgar swuare. Bizzarre stuff. Took some pictures with my camera phone but they’re so bad i don’t think i’ll bother putting them up. That reminds me to find my camera.