this year's model

out with the old:


in with the new:

Released in the UK to the usual Apple hullabaloo last Friday, the iPhone is that rarest of convergence devices: one that actually delivers multiple functions without overwhelming its user with unnecessary bells and whistles, while still looking good. Which is all I'll say about it for now. I'm still getting used to it, though I'm already at a point where I wonder how I could have functioned so long without it. As in, before this thing, what did I do when I was preparing dinner? Certainly not listen to Ryan Adams while reading a LA Times article, that's for sure. Which isn't the most necessary of things, granted, but as far as entertainment goes, it's pretty nifty.
Full(er) review to come.

just breathe

shortcuts - 29/10/07

listening: the band you can't tell your grandma about, Holy Fuck

watching: season 1 of the Hills. It's even worse than I remember. Which means, of course, that I'm loving it to death.

buying: a coat (H&M) and a jacket (Uniqlo) to gear up for the winter. So naturally today the weather started heating up. Come on cold, you can do better than that! (I kid, you can keep hiding for a while. I'll definitely see enough of you over the next few months)

eating: homemade raita salad at work. Take that, EAT.

reading: Crime and Punishment. It's a beast of a novel when you only have about 5 minutes a day to devote to it, but highly worth it.

Jeremy Larson - Jeremy Larson

no, this post title isn't some sort of facetious tribute to John Malkovich, it's actually the title of sound advice alumnus Jeremy Larson's debut album, released to little fanfare last month. The pride of Springfield, MO, he has taken the modern pop sound that had been introduced on a couple of EPs last year to an even more ambitious brand of pop with hints of electronics and classical music. In a genre that has seen its share of repetitiveness and lack of innovation over the years (Keane and Coldplay: I used to kinda like you guys, what happened??), this album feels like a harbinger of very good things to come. It's far from perfect, but it succeeds where so many fail by being fresh and assertive.

Most of the songs are piano-based, yet there is as much emphasis on the additional layers to give it a very modern sound. For sure, this is no electronic music, but there is a clear influence by the laptop-pop scene that has developed recently (DNTEL, The Album Leaf...). As a result many of the tracks create a mood that can feel cold and aloof, but also yearning for warmth. Consequently a lot of the material is about alienating distance and loneliness (Make Believe), but, equally importantly, about not giving up (Swim).
Yes, the music on this record is pretty, but thankfully on songs life More Than You or The Sound Of Snow Larson exhibits a modicum of desperation that is so often lacking in the genre. When you notice how innocuous the subject of love has become in mainstream pop songs, that is refreshing to hear.

Naturally not all is perfect on here, there are still a couple of skippers that, though not bad, aren't particularly memorable either (A Neutral Conclusion, Martyr). But consistency can always come later, what we have here right now is an artist unafraid to take chances to try to come up with an original take on a tired cliche, and that is most definitely a good thing.

listen to songs from the album here

silver lining

no doubt about it, London is an expensive city. Not only do the basic essentials (rent, food, CDs) add up to an arm and a leg here, but indulging in any sort of hobbies generally tends to drive up one's budget to Himalayan heights. This past summer I enjoyed a great recital of Le Corsaire by the Bolshoi ballet, something which I felt very fortunate and delighted to see. Still, the seats cost £90 each, and they were in the upper ranges of the theater, so you can imagine what some decent spots would run you. And how unappreciative you might feel should you witness a less-than-stellar performance. Same goes for pretty much all forms of entertainment in this town, from theater to rugby matches.

But naturally that is the gloomy view of things, one that only the most cantankerous of Londoners would espouse after living here for a while. Because although the options for free/cheap entertainment might seem less comparatively to a city like Paris, there are nonetheless bounds of them for the motivated individuals to partake in. Take movies for instance. At first sight it might seem difficult for movie buffs to keep a regular habit of catching screenings regularly, what with 1 adult ticket in a typical London cinema costing the equivalent of an unlimited movie pass in Paris. But while that might be true in most movie theaters, there are some ways to catch more screenings without breaking the bank, from Cineworld's monthly pass to the BFI Mediatheque, as well as screenings at the ICA. Among these outfits, one has emerged as the go-to place to go see movies from mega-blockbusters to artsier fare while on a budget, a mere few weeks after their general release: Prince Charles cinema. Located a few short hops from cinematic mecca Leicester Square, it provides a wide-range of movies in all genres, special screenings with Q&A sessions, as well as their famous Sound of Music singalong. The prices are on the right side of affordable, going for a maximum of £4.50 for general screenings, while members pay from £1.50 to £3. More importantly, the selection of flicks is top-notch, with recent blockbusters cohabiting with smaller movies. It's thanks to this varied slate that I was able to catch New-Zealand indie rom-com, Eagle vs Shark, this past Sunday. The movie is touching and hilarious, and it was a real treat to be able to watch it with a large audience.
When it comes to cinemas London might never equal Paris, or even New-York, but it's nice to know that there are decent options out there not part of the major chain behemoths. Now if only the Prince Charles would install cup holders in their seats...

pret-less

forecast for tomorrow's lunch break: deeelicious (I hope)

had a nice time

Dedicated to the fortress of suckitude that is Heathrow Airport. My dear, dear Gatwick, you were sorely missed. I promise not to be unfaithful anymore in the future (if I can, you know how these things work. It's not you, it's me).

free music

is there anymore space on the Radiohead bandwagon? Because I've been off it for a while, actually I've never really been a full-fledged passenger, but it seems like I'm gonna have to climb back on again.

seriously, this is pretty amazing. More coherent thoughts later. Maybe.

mercy mercy

at Burberry, less is definitely not more. All I bought was one tie, and they put it in an elaborate package inside a bag fit to hold Imelda Marcos' shoes collection. Oh, and a ribbon? Really?

The receipt was put in its own not-so-little portfolio, maybe so it feels it's worth more than the paper it's printed on? And so we can kill a few more trees, just for the heck of it I suppose.

pinched

Horace Greeley, this is for you

fashion fauxrward

5 crucial reasons why not wearing a belt with your suit pants is a tremendous idea:
- saves time at the metal detector, letting the x-ray machine people focus on the really important stuff, like reminding the people in front of you for the 127th time that day that you have to take your keys and change out of your pockets before passing through. If you wear a belt, the terrorists have won
- 2.1 seconds more sleep time in the morning
- it's a proven scientific fact: when you work, your belly gets hungry and lets you know about it. A belt is just a cruel reminder of the vicious constraints of society. Just let it be, man
- demonstrates your staunch refusal of corporal punishment
- gives you an assured look even if you're doing it out of complete laziness (not me of course, I would never do that)

MC Hammer so hates this post

youtubin: blackass

meet the anti-Jackass, as played by comedy genius and Youtube legend Tracy Morgan in this sketch from Saturday Night Live. And watch for his reaction at the pool.

shameless

on the guilty-pleasure-o-meter, MTV's sorta-reality show "The Hills" has got to rank a very strong 9 banana splits out ot 10. A sequel of sorts to the drama-tastic Laguna Beach, The Hills follows Laguna Beach alum Lauren Conrad as she starts her life in the Los Angeles fashion world, as a FIDM student and intern at Teen Vogue magazine. But LC's fledgling career is merely a pretense to follow her love-life and friendship, with plotlines worthy of the best Beverly Hills, 90210 episodes.
The main ongoing story concerns LC's relationship with her former best friend Heidi, who has now become her nemesis, mostly because Lauren can't stand her boyfriend (now fiance) Spencer. Which isn't surprising considering the guy is pretty much the mayor of Weaselville and has been trying to figure out a way to get Heidi to ditch Lauren ever since meeting her. This has led to some momentous scenes worthy of the most intense Gaza Strip standoffs, including Lauren's memorable observation about her friend's beau that "he's a sucky person. He's a sucky person". The use of this adjective to describe Spencer is so brilliant I have literally nothing to add to it, other than that once you hear it, there is absolutely no way you will not eventually use it in some sentence or another.
There's also Lauren's on-off boyfriend Jason, with whom things invariably ends in tears, generally for no particular reason to the outside eye. Yes, he does seem a bit more distant than usual and, yes, a tad douchy at times, but overall it seems like the breakup happens because the drama is just meant to be. The fact that he's almost the most redeemable male on the show says a lot about the type of people encountered. My favorite is Justin, also known as Justin-Bobby (why? he just wants his friends to call him that. I wish I were making this up), Audrina's (Lauren's roommate) ex-future-whatever boyfriend. Even in the sea of clueless guys the girls encounters, he stands out by his amazingly casual behavior. And I don't mean casual in a good way. From wearing combat boots to a beach party to talking about his other girl to Audrina during a date, this guy is the king of uncomfortable random. Which is to say that every scene he is in manages to heighten the already deliciously-high unintentional comedy factor by at least 250%.
Confirming popular stereotypes about young Hollywood, most of the people on the show are as attractive on the outside as they are unappealing from the inside, and in the end what you see on the screen manages to reach a point of superficial ridiculousness that you can't help but watch. As the trekkies say, resistance is futile.

As a guy in my late 20s, I'm pretty sure I'm not supposed to be the target audience for this sort of stuff, but I'll be damned if I've missed a single episode of the show's 3 seasons. And unlike other candidates to the guilty pleasure tag like, say Desperate Housewives or The OC, this one only requires you to switch off your brain for 20 short minutes. More than that would be unbearable but as it is, it makes this highly recommended viewing. Or not. But either way it behooves us to realize that this is Lauren Conrad's (and MTV's) world, and we're just living in it.

youtubin: let's get hyphy

you know what? When I grow up, I want to be a hip-hop dancing professional sports mascot.

faster, faster

with my work schedule still in full madness-mode (one week to go!), I did manage to find myself a new flatshare last week. My lease was due to end on the 24th (today), and though I barely had time to look at places, I felt it was time for me to find accomodations a little bigger and possibly closer to my workplace. Thanks to the magic that is gumtree, I found such a place pretty easily: went to see it on Wednesday afternoon, said I liked it, and when I called back Thursday morning, the room was mine. The rest was straightforward as well: 2-3 tube return trips to move my stuff, a transfer of the deposit+1 month's rent via internet banking and presto, I'd changed flats.
One of the greatest things about the new place so far is that I can walk to work. Or at least will be able to when there isn't a mini-typhoon lashing out at London like this morning. Walked just 3 minutes to the bus stop and my feet were still wet 6 hours later. And that's after changing socks, and letting my shoes dry with newspaper stuffed in them (grandma-tip style).

One thing for sure is that, compared to Paris, looking for a place to live here is very very easy. No need to give landlords a file with ridiculous amounts of information, not to mention guarantees from your parents. Here you pay a deposit (generally 4 weeks' rent), the first month of rent and you're good. Now this situation is linked to the fact you can get expelled pretty fast if you fail to pay rent, compared to France where multiple laws protect renters, which leads many landlords to stay away from anyone who doesn't have the ideal profile. And with so many people (including more and more foreigners) wanting to live in Paris, it isn't hard for them to cherry-pick. Not to say London is heaven when it comes to renting an apartment, far from it, but at least when it comes to moving in/out, it doesn't feel like you're going through an adoption process.

droning on

warning: this post is about as rock n'roll as an episode of Everybody Loves Raymond

these days my schedule has started to get a bit blurry: weekdays turn into weekends which are workdays, after which I go out like it's the weekend. Things are busy at the office (which will only increase as the month goes along), yet there are still things I want to do after spending 12 hours staring at three computer screens, so evenings chilling at home have not been part of the agenda recently. I'm not partying like an art school student or anything, but I keep finding things that keep me out of la casa, even if it's just a run in Hyde Park after work. I think tomorrow I will go home straight from the office, but I can't be certain seeing how things have gone.

This has me thinking that out of the many concepts branded about in the modern corporate environment, that of work-life balance rings particularly hollow. Early in one's career, spending long hours at the office is almost a pre-requisite to move up the proverbial ladder. In that sense, the notion of balance does not really exist. Work takes up most of your time, energy, and motivation. Of course in return you get plenty back, from increased self-confidence, financial willpower, and if you're lucky a decent social environment. But in order not to feel too drained, it's essential to be able to maximize one's rest/leisure time. In my case I've found concerts to be one of the better ways to forget about everything for an hour or so, without staying out too late. Two weeks ago I had an absolute blast at the Justice gig, with a tremendous Rex club-like atmosphere, yet I was home by 12:30. The previous night I had seen an amazing concert by Broken Social Scene, one of my all-time favorite bands, and was safely home by eleven.

The trick in those busy times is to keep things bordering on predictibability without feeling like you're living a real-life Groundhog Day. Although who knows, being able to punch that guy Ned every once in a while might turn out to be a good stress-reliever.

emergency office weekend survival kit

one big holiday

Q: what's better than a 3-day weekend?
A: a 4-day weekend!

Tomorrow is the first of my 3 August mini-trips, with a 4 day jaunt to the -mostly- sunny shores of Brittany. Eating, sleeping, reading, swimming, laughing, sleeping: sounds like a decent agenda to me.

lead me to your door

as one of the most diverse cities in the world, it is hard not to feel at home very quickly in London. But feeling like a Londoner can take more time, if only because when moving here (or anywhere else) you still carry over the instincts and behaviorism you've picked up in previous homes.

For me the first time feeling like one happened not too long ago while, quite fittingly, riding the bus. A couple of French 20-somethings here for the weekend were talking with their friend who apparently lived here or something, and they got to discussing the weather, remarking how horrid it was. The bus passed the James Smith store and the guy make an innocuous joke about how that store would never go out of business considering said crappy weather. And even though it is probably exactly the sort of remark I would make, my first thought when I heard this was how so not better Paris (which is where they were from) weather was and that their miffed criticism was a bit annoying. So in effect I got sort of defensive, which is a common reaction when you feel a sense of belonging somewhere. It's not very rational, after all talking about the weather for 5 minutes is something you'd do with perfect strangers here, so for friends to do so seems totally normal. But in that context this small moment kind of served as a personal realization that I do consider London to be more than just where I live - it's also my home now.

the night starts here

Tuesday morning I'm feeling good, it's quite sunny out, for once not too chilly, and I decide to go for a run during lunch. Though not yet a runaholic like some people at the J.O., I've managed a decent time last week and it's got me wanting to get back into regular running. I even start thinking about the London marathon while on the tube (NB: i have never run a marathon, or even an official race since my glorious participation in the Hong Kong French middle-school olympics) and start scheming about how to deal with the hordes of groupies that will soon pave the way of my training runs.
Typically busy morning, I really should stay at the office during my lunch break but it's too nice out to resist, so I go for a run with a friend from work. We start kinda slow then I push a little bit, manage to beat my time from last week, and also push my buddy to beat his, although 2 minutes behind (hey I never said I wasn't competitive). Back to the gym to change, I'm barely out of the shower when I get a message asking if I'd go for a run that evening. Can't refuse, so I text back to accept, even adding an exclamation point to my answer to show my eagerness, which is a technique I believe I learned from Shakespeare. I know that getting pasta salad for lunch isn't an option at this point, so I oblige.
After an even busier afternoon, run number 2 does not sound like the most inviting of activities. But actually it goes fine, my running partner is in a similar state of mind to mine, so we shuffle along. Hyde Park can be really gorgeous in these conditions, I even forget I'm tired by this point.
I am due at a work social for a friend who's leaving the company, and manage to get there at 9:15pm, also known as 3 hours after everyone else. By this point a few people are hunched around a table waiting for food, the rest near the bar just having drinks. Of course I make the sensible choice and opt for staying with the stand-up crowd (zing!), despite my belly's protestations. Some drinks are had, conversations partaken, a general enjoyable night out, prolonged with the inevitable last mojito at a hotel bar (why do bars close so early in this city again?). At 1:30am I stumble somewhat into bed, a bit dizzy but my pillow seems like the softest pillow in the world and I promptly pass out.
1:32am: bzzzzzz. I get a text, then a call from the friend we were feting that night. She thinks someone has been in her apartment (door was open, lights on, etc...). I somehow dress up normally, get a cab to her place, and make my best to reassure her. Considering my state of tiredness, I am pretty sure I would've dozed through any break-in during the night. In fact I am pretty sure I ask her where I can sleep within 40 seconds of my arrival. Who says chivalry's dead?
Work today feels kinda bad, to say the least. Unshaven, with mostly the same clothes as the previous day (which is where the extra tie in my desk comes in handy), with mental reflexes far from sharp, I slowly realize that this is going to be the busiest day of the month, as first days generally are. Hooray for red bull!
All this to say: I am going to bed now. Attention would-be burglars: if you could leave my friend's flat alone (and mine while you're at it) it'd be much appreciated. And to all other, as a great man used to say: good night, and good luck

sugar kid

they say the secret to living well is learning at least one thing per day. Today I learned a fun fact about strawberries: a portion of 100g of the stuff only contains only about 25 calories. Thus a carton of 400g like those they sell at Marks & Spencer only comes out to about 100 cal, barely a third of what chomping down on a Snickers bar would provide. Pigging out while eating healthy, now that's the way of the future.

rollin' and tumblin'

if you think about it, rock is mostly about dirtiness, uncomfort and frustration. But during last week's Black Rebel Motorcycle Club show at Somerset House those sentiments were conveyed just through the music and for once not in the overall concert-going experience. With some of the best conditions I have ever witnessed at a gig in terms of personal space (enough people (it was sold-out) to make you feel you were part of something, but also enough room to let you breathe and move at ease) or organization, this was one concert that really was all about the music. So kudos to the organizers, these people are often mentioned in a negative light even though I'm sure it must not be an easy job.
To be fair the perfect conditions don't mean a thing if the performances aren't there, and on that aspect the boys in black from BRMC did not disappoint. Whether it was when unleashing their thumpier tunes (Whatever Happened To My Rock n Roll, Took Out A Loan) and thereby eliciting an awe-inspiring number of beer-showers, or taking things back with the slower but soulful numbers from their acoustic blues-influenced third LP Howl, the show was a solid 2 hours of the many facets of good old-fashioned rock music. They might have played a few too many of their unhurried songs in the second half of the gig, but all was very quickly forgotten when they gave the audience a rousing rendition of Spread Your Love which launched a modest but spirited moshpit session at the front, which my friend and I briskly joined. The following picture should give you an idea of that experience:

The band then played one more song before leaving the stage to raucous applause, though it isn't always easy to gauge the mood in such an open space, especially when you're near the front. But the discussions overheard on our way out seemed to confirm my personal feeling of great satisfaction. Rock is a pretty simple thing, and as such a good rock concert just is, no highfalutin explanation necessary.

BONUS:

• more pictures in my flickr set
• video from Whatever Happened To My Rock n Roll:

vagrant weekend

kelly watch the stars

watching a movie is an activity generally better enjoyed with minimum disruption. Noisy teenagers, chirping cell-phones and pop-corn munching are some of the reasons why more and more people are turning away from cinemas, opting instead to stay home and make it a DVD night. But watching a movie outdoors overrides all these claims, and is one setting where the magic of film resounds most clearly. London might not have as many options as Paris in this department, but there are still a few events held in the summer for outdoor screening enthusiasts. New venue The Scoop has free screenings throughout the season, and various festivals throughout the London area offer such showings. Then there is the Film4 Summer Screen, held in the prestigious Somerset House location near The Strand from Aug 2-11. Boasting a mostly mainstream yet eclectic program, the series of screenings is sort of the posh cousin of these events, what with tickets costing £12.5 and the afore-mentioned venue. But it should be good fun, with the always-intriguing possibility to drink up some champy (or Pim's for a truly ritzy experience) while catching an old -or new- favorite. Tickets are mostly sold out, but a small allotment will apparently be available on the day of the showing at the Somerset House box office.
The lineup consists of the following:

• Thursday 2 August: Knocked Up
  
• Friday 3 August : The Descent / The Thing
  
• Saturday 4 August: The Good, the Bad and the Ugly
  
• Sunday 5 August: Rushmore
  
• Monday 6 August: Rear Window
  
• Tuesday 7 August: E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial
  
• Wednesday 8 August: Walk the Line
  
• Thursday 9 August: Chak de India
  
• Friday 10 August: Hot Fuzz / Point Break
  
• Saturday 11 August: 2001: A Space Odyssey
  

Personnally I would've loved to go see either Point Break ("that's Johnny Utah, man"), or my favorite movie I can't explain, 2001. But since I won't be in London that weekend, I will be attending the showing of The Good, The Bad and the Ugly with a friend, which isn't too shabby a pick either. I had a terrific time watching Charade at the Trocadero in Paris two years ago, I'm glad I can do the same sort of thing here too, even if it does come with a London-sized price tag.

sonic moods - 16/07/07

nkotb: Los Campesinos

where have I been: DJ Zebra's mashups

still going strong: The Strokes-Zeitgeist

one and done: Smashing Pumpkins

blast from the past: Manic Street Preachers

next concert: BRMC, Wednesday @ Somerset House


find out more on my last.fm page

from now on

for "all" those interested, I am changing switching the RSS feed of this blog to Feedburner, so anyone keen to keep up with the various going-ons of my existence should update their subscription to the following address:

http://feeds.feedburner.com/fakeexpat

Do it and you can expect many more posts with as much intellectual substances as those three lines you just read. Don't do it and I won't know anyway. Everybody wins!

tourist at home: the British Museum

with nary a thing planned today after a busy Saturday, I managed to kick myself off my bed after realizing that spending an entire day listening to Neil Young and half-heartedly reading a book might not be the most ambitious of schedules, even for a lazy Sunday-aficionado such as myself. Thus did I find myself heading to the British Museum under a typically undecisive sky, with a firm commitment to finally seeing the fabled mummies. Not that this project could be considered a sign of self-motivation, considering I live a short 15 minute (if that) walk away and that I've already been countless times. But at least it would get me to stop listening to laments about heartbreak and southern men, and in that sense the decision to go seemed like a small moral victory over my shiftlessness.
One thing that is nice about visiting a museum several times is being able to able a personal relationship with it, establishing your own preferences, shortcuts and itineraries. I was lucky enough to frequent the Met in NYC enough to kind of feel a measure of ownership over it, and I see it as a good thing. Trying out new places is great and the definition of curiosity, a quality I always try to strive for, but for situations like today, familiarity is more than acceptable.

Once inside I quickly made my way to the Egypt wing, which for some reason I cannot recall ever having been, despite having visited the British 4 or 5 times. Unfortunately most of the rooms were thronged like all superstar museum can be on a summer day, rendering difficult any prolonged observation. Pestering about tourists is a bit easy considering we all are one at some point in our lives, so I'll simply state that if people understood how pointless it is to pose in front of a glass-encased mummy to have your picture taken with the flash on, I think the world might be a slightly better place. I did find some respite in the other Middle-East rooms, where I spent some time learning about ancient Mesopotamia and Phoenicians.
Most of the exhibits in this wing are well done, but the explanations given are a bit dry. It seems to me that the notecards in the fantastic Asia room, which I never fail to call on during my visits to the museum, contain a more personal description of the artefacts and thus give one a sense of how people lived in these times. Or perhaps it's that I feel personally more engaged by that region than the Middle-East, that's a definite possibility. Either way I was glad to finally have stepped into the realm of mummies and scrolls, and have no doubt in my mind that future visits will include these rooms in my customized walk through the museum.

a few more pictures:

jinx

my sentiment about the weather in July so far can be best summed up by this fantastic quote from Indian tennis legend Vijay Armitraj:

"I love Wimbledon, I just wish they'd hold it in the summer"

So maybe that posting about summer finally starting a couple of weeks ago might not have been a great idea on my part, but let's just hope that today's half-radiance was a harbinger of better things to come. Although I've got a nagging feeling I'll have to keep my Boots close to me, Inspector Gadget-style.

And just because, here's a pic of Vijay in his Octopussy-days. Pure vintage classiness.

La Vie En Rose

a true biopic in the grand Hollywood tradition of the genre, La Vie En Rose tells the story of legendary French singer Edith Piaf, and gives the younger generations an opportunity to learn more about the amazing fate of this true French icon. Edith Piaf is considered by many to be a larger than life, not only because of her persona and accomplishments, but also because of the many tragedies that littered her life. From her impoverished childhood and abandonment by her mother, to her famous love-affair with (married) world champion-boxer Marcel Cerdan, the film manages to give a good overview of the many chapters of her life, without feeling too scholarly. Through it all, Marion Cotillard plays the role with touching honesty and an incredible depth of emotion. There is no show-offness on her part, and the evolution of Piaf as she gets sicker and sicker toward the end of her life is made totally believable (although the makeup was amazingly done as well) by her bravura performance. The emotional weight of the music scenes increases as the movie progresses and we learn about her life, which culminates in an exceptional scene of Piaf singing her most famous song Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien at the Olympia.
As often in this genre, the movie is far from perfect, at times felt longish, and some parts of her life are forgotten entirely (for example her role in the resistance during WWII) while others get a passing mention. Then again the point of a biopic isn't to cram everything about a person's life in 2h+, but to give the audience an idea of what that person stood for. And in that sense this movie is a success, with a particularly thrilling last 20 minutes.