Back to Back to the Future

For those who have not seen, spoiler alert (shame on you)



I took the afternoon off to watch Back To The Future today. My local cinema tried to keep me away by only showing it during work hours so it could keep its sole screen free in the evening to show The Social Network (modern film about modern things - boo!), but I have a very understanding boss. It being the half term holiday I was a little worried loads of screaming kids to be in to see it (a poor prejudice), but there were only two child tickets sold, according to box office man. The rest of the audience was what you might call 'older children'. Like me, I guess.

I've seen the film countless times, so know the story as good as anybody in my generation. I wasn't old enough to appreciate it in 1985, but being the youngest of lots of siblings meant that it (along with the Star Wars films, Indiana Jones and Clint Eastwood's entire career) was a major part of my cultural education. Despite my familiarity with the film, I was struck by how clever and how funny it is. Cleverer and funnier than I could remember. When I was growing up, I was probably more impressed with the cool set pieces (the skateboarding, the guitar playing, etc) than with the comic drama being played out by the central characters Marty, his parents and Biff the school bully.

It's a comedy! I never realised! Obviously, I laughed at certain bits when I was younger, but always regarded it as a cool adventure film about time travel. It is, but that's not the important bit. It's a comedy. And like all good comedies it is about the main characters being stuck or trapped somewhere. Marty McFly is stuck with a family not fully in charge of their own destiny, with a father who's incessantly pushed around by Biff. And it seems to be heriditary, with Marty being written off as a 'slacker' by his teacher, just like his old man.

I often regard my English teacher as the man who introduced to me the magic of irony (yes, it is magic. Anything calling itself irony that isn't even slightly magical is usually something unpleasant, like sarcasm or plain old lying). But watching Back To The Future today has made me realise that in getting all those jokes in the film meant I understood what irony is, I just didn't know it yet. If the writing wasn't so sharp and neat and lean in this film, all the coincidences would come across as corny or stupid. But each one is met by a laugh or a wry smile of recognition from the viewer. There is nothing superfluous in the script. And there is nothing left out. It is perfect.

In the past I have argued that the two sequels are just as good as the first film, but now I am not so sure. They are entertaining romps, no doubt, but the stories are not so neat. I suspect that the coincidences will come across to me as a little corny and maybe a little stupid. The thing that will carry them through will be the warm performances of the central characters, a warmth just as prevalent in the original.

One thing I've always regarded as a plus for the second film is its darkness: I've argued that this darkness makes it a more interesting film. Wrong. It is an interesting film that happens to be very dark. Also, what that opinion implies is that the first film is without darkness. Wrong again. His mother fancies him! Doc Brown frequently refuses to listen to Marty's warnings about his terrible fate! Biff almost molests (or worse) Lorraine! The dance band smoke weed! How much darkness do you want?

Compare and contrast this with Star Wars. The Empire Strikes Back is widely regarded as a better film than its predecessor. This has nothing to do with darkness and everything to do with writing. The first film is a corny matinee movie; blockbuster nonsense. There is nothing inherently wrong with that; it has its place. But Empire has plot. It has better drawn characters. It has a major twist. It has genuine tension and suspense. The first film is a mildly entertaining firework display. In comparison, Empire is a fucking bonfire. It has magnificent glowing embers.

Anyway, back to Back to the Future. If you've seen it a thousand times, see it again. On the big screen. Walking up to the cinema, I thought to myself: what am I doing? Paying to see a film I've seen so many times before? When I could be a work, earning a living? I know this film like the back of my hand!

I came out dazed. It truly felt like I was looking at the back of my hand for the first time. It is a magnificent back of the hand. It really is.

Sorting my record collection

I recently sorted my record collection, both vinyl and CDs, back into a simple alphabetical order (then chronological by release within artist). i've been meaning to do it since I moved a while a ago. A long while ago. I've since moved once more.

I am sometimes tempted to sort them into subcategories, but have always resisted or managed to convince myself that too many records would sit uncomfortably in two or more different categories, or most comfortably outside all groups together. Besides, I get a little perverse kick out of seeing my box set of Petula Clark sit between Clap Your Hands Say Yeah and London Calling by the Clash. And for the Cs to carry on through Clogs, Clouddead, Jarvis Cocker, the Congos and Ry Cooder. Other times you have things nestled together quite happily, like Aidan Moffat and Mogwai.

I bristle at that bit in High Fidelity when the idea of an alphabetised collection is scoffed at; it is then revealed that he is sorting them into autobiographical order. Clearly the actions of a man having a breakdown. In my teens i tried doing that and failed. I had just twenty or so CDs at the time.

The CDs fit happily into six wine crates stacked like bricks against the living room wall. I would need more crates, were it that there's a fair few stored under the bed, but let's not talk about those. I'm not sure if my CD collection will grow much more. They are dying, if not already dead. I'm a little sad - in my youth I dreamed of walls lined with shelves rammed full of them. But I can use their demise as an excuse to concentrate on the vinyl. I cannot envisage falling out of love with the physical artefact enough to be content with my hard drive storing zeros and ones of sound, with nothing but short, cold text and a tiny image of the cover to identify it.

Record collections are documents - personal anthologies of love and luck. I could hear almost any piece of music I care to think of right now by taking a few short seconds of my time to find it on the web. But the music I spend time with is stacked in the corner, waiting. And I suspect it will always wait. And will always follow me from building to building, from room to room. Just as I searched from store to store, from market to charity shop.

Obligatory apology post

Sorry to my one or maybe two readers for not writing in such a long time.

I've been spending the last few months writing 500 words for Artrocker. It ate up so much of my energy that I had to abandon all other endeavours.


the latest issue of Artrocker contains a little thing by me on the band Clor, who were on the front cover of said magazine FIVE YEARS AGO.

Time flies (that's the other reason for not writing here).