Subcultural engagement for the 21st Century...
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The films of Patrick Keiller

GogMickGog

12:12 / 10.02.06

Picked up the BFI's double set comprising 'London'/'Robinson in Space' just the other week. Stirring stuff indeed, reminding me oddly of Jarman's "Last of England", combined with a little De Qunicey and a smidgeon of Sinclair.

The pace is slow, majesterial and contemplative. The soundtrack- snatches of birdsong and traffic interspersed with mournful chamber music- creates an ambience of drifting early mornings and pins down perfectly the sense of quotidian aimlessness at the core of the work.
I for one adore them both. What do you all think- any fans?

Does anybody know where one can find a copy of keiller's most recent work, "The Dillapidated dwelling"? It looks similarly ace and is narrated by Tilda "bug-eyed gorgeous" Swinton.

Yum

Alex's Grandma

13:12 / 10.02.06

'London,' yes, 'Robinson In Space' less so - After the first ninety minutes or so, the lugubrious tone of the narrative really started to grate a bit, I found. There was a feeling of 'Christ, not another depressed Northern town... they're not going to do the whole f***ing country are they?' But it seemed like they did.

If you sat through both in a single sitting though, Mr Mick, then you have my respect.

GogMickGog

13:35 / 10.02.06

Oh God no! they're both perfect for a kind of early morning experience but two in a row..I'd descend into some kind of near-catatonic lunacy..

Alex's Grandma

00:43 / 11.02.06

'Robinson considered the post-indusrial skyline in Widness - It was the fault of Margaret Thatcher, he said. What would Coleridge have made of this, he wondered, what the f*** might Orwell have said?'

I found myself chewing this over as Robinson repaired to the gentleman's facilities with a fellow he'd met over the internet.

And then we moved north.

All towns that are not London, mused Robinson, are all the f***ing same.'

GogMickGog

14:54 / 11.02.06

"Robinson thinks Wordsworth a village simpleton compared with De Quincey, a ninny of inflated presence

Bugger the tories! he cries as we pass Whitehall on the way to the heart of Hawksmoor's London.

I fancy him something rotten."