i am hate

I went to see I am Love last week which was slightly disappointing. I'm a big fan of Italian cinema, especially the recent new wave of younger directors attempting to escape the shadow of Fellini, a fascist past and a dictatorial present. Recent highlights including Sorrentino's Il Divo and Garrone's Gomorra have underlined the determination of Italian filmmakers to confront political and social corruption whilst remaining true to the aesthetic qualities that have historically illuminated their nation's cinematic tradition. (A condensed version of Sight and Sound's lead article this month.)

I am Love was a detailed vision of wealth, human fallibility and the destruction of trust within a family unit set against the austere backdrop of contemporary Milan. That it was stylistically cold, clinical and exacting was not an issue in itself; indeed the strikingly singular atmosphere underlined the emotionless entrapment of a life endured under the auspices of Italy's super-rich but it also alienated the viewer from any realistic sense of empathy. I hoped for something more involving.

Nearly two weeks since I gave up all hope of the title coming to OT and a lot has happened. After beating ciddy in the 93rd minute (really quite sexually enthralling) and some other stuff going on United now sit a point behind Chelsea with two games to go. I still think we've fucked it though. All I really care about is getting the Glazers to die or at least fuck off...they won't though and I'm convinced the majority of United fans will stick it out at OT because they hold the club so dear. It's a tough habit to break.

So anyway not much else to discuss, Election stuff is stultifying, London stuff is just stuff and nothing has really grabbed my attention this week other than the nice weather and realising how good it is to drive a scooter around London. Till next time.

April blues, Skiing, St Moritz, and an election.

For the last few years April has been an enthralling month for United fans. Successful European campaigns, three League titles and hot spring afternoons getting pissed before FA Cup semi finals were the norm, so it was only a matter of time before it all went 2006 again. To a certain extent Untied have ridden their luck in recent years, Sir Alex has somehow kept the ship afloat with astute signings and powerful leadership (of course helped by the immense influence of Ronaldo and more recently Rooney) but if most Red's are honest with themselves it is hardly surprising to see our season heading down the metaphorical shitter before the end of May.

The history books will record this season in green and gold hues, for it has been marked indelibly by the mass opposition to the Glazer family, precisely five years too late. Whilst Rooney's form has been exceptional United have rarely looked like the team that cruised to the ECL final last year and it's not simply down to the absence of Ronaldo. As a team we have suffered from prolonged periods of injury and a complete lack of cohesion, whilst certain players have not risen to the challenge of performing consistently for a club addicted to success. My final year as a season ticket holder and regular match goer until our present owner's are ousted has felt like a prolonged goodbye tinged with regret. Following United in recent times has been fantastic, but looking back to the initial take over it is difficult to escape the fact that fans such as myself were closing our eyes to inevitable disappointment.

Even if we do bounce back next season a tangible part of our club will have been sacrificed. Swathes of longtime Reds have been forced to turn their backs on Old Trafford, with ticket prices and new-comers systematically destroying the last semblance of atmosphere and community that once defined our club. Even aways are now infested with AIG shirt wearing mongs and clueless Koreans armed with video cameras and I-Phones. Sad times.

Luckily I missed out on attending the Chelsea, Bayern and Blackburn debacles because I was off galavanting in the Swiss Alps a la Tyler Brulee (editor of Monocle who writes a bizarre column for the FT describing his insane St Moritz lifestyle.) Whilst I didn't meet him out on the slopes I did get the chance to do some sun bathing after long mornings of smashing up the powder. (Snow that is.) I also ate far too much Rosti; a fucking amazing dish made out of grated potato fried in egg. Switzerland may be the insular banking capital for the world's shiftiest cunts but it is without doubt, a very fine place to spend Easter.

Back in England summer is looming. Long evenings spent getting fucked up in beer gardens and general stupidity await. It's scary how fast the British public metamorphose into denizens of warmer climes the moment the clocks come forward. Pasty legs, goose pimples and awful clothes define our approach to the merry month of May. In better news Tit-Monday is just around the corner. More of that next time though.

Come May 6th we will apparently have the most important election this country has faced since the 1970's. Should be fun, though sadly the British public is faced with rewarding absolute failure or electing a group of brainless tools into power. Neither will be good for democracy and neither will drag Britain out of its present slump.

Till next time...