The very premise itself veered on the slightly regressive side, in some delegates' opinion. Should we be returning to such divisive questions in a time where we feel we've come too far to see one sex as more 'powerful' or 'better' than the other? Perhaps it's not a helpful discussion any more, rather than polarise the issue, it's more beneficial to collaborate in celebrating our differences (whatever these are, again, worth another few hours of consideration) and focus on how the two can inter-relate to create a future founded on synergetic harmony. Aaaw, nice, fluffy, female pipe-dream eh?

I for one, found the question stretched my imagination. I tried to omit the figures of Hitler and Stalin from the annals of history and wondered how different things could have been – or would a crazed, hell-bent Helga have emerged instead, unable to repress the urge to exercise all her neuroses with the wonderful new power she had in her hands? Or am I so deeply entrenched in the pillars of patriarchy myself, that even the idea of attempting to dismantle them (or at least, tap them gently) has become an insurmountable and unimaginable task?

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<!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--><!--[endif]--> What we could all agree on is that society has a problem. Many problems. And a lot of these are impacting on women and young people. These are evident in the ever-growing numbers of 8 year-old girls with anorexia and bulimia that Dr Linda Papadopoulos works with on a daily basis (not to mention the increasing number of women in their 30s and 40s suffering from these diseases) to the more traditional examples of misogyny, so deeply entrenched they happen almost flippantly, such as the executive who asked Linda to make the tea before realising she was a doctor – I imagine that was a meeting he squirmed through.

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<!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]-->And, on a more macro level, there is a problem. A disturbing statistic from Skillset recently revealed that from 2006-2009, 750 men compared to 4,900 women lost their jobs in television. I am going to hazard a guess that many of these jobs were administrative, therefore seen as more 'expendable' but that beggars another question, why are so many women in TV still only in clerical or junior positions. I'm also going to hazard another guess that some of the women over 30 were let go because it was assumed they'd be off to start families some time soon. There may be some validity in the reasoning here but this raised another important issue of the inter-connectedness between social policy and media. We need not only a social policy that supports women and men who require a flexible working lifestyle but must ensure this is endorsed throughout the media who act as though they operate in another realm, refusing for example, to implement the Gender Equality Duty Act of 2007. Davina James-Hanman, director of the Greater London Domestic Violence Project, also stressed the importance of supporting men in bonding with their children, suggesting that this could be implemented through a social policy that makes it mandatory for men to take ‘parenthood’ leave. And of course, we need a media that portrays these policies in a positive light.

So, how can we, as women, implement change? The importance of women supporting each other was frequently raised. As television programme creator and developer Dianne Nelmes said: "Never be a woman who doesn't like other women." Interestingly, Linda cited another incident earlier she had been criticised for her looks by, yes, a female writer. My friend who holds a high-powered managerial position within the music business, leaves the office bang on five now in order to collect her children from after-school club, and unfortunately she knows it is the women who berate her for this, behind her back. We need change from the top but attitudes must be challenged from below. However, as Linda pointed out, this behaviour can in part be attributed to an early conditioning process – boys are encouraged to compete overtly, whereas girls, frustrated they have no other outlet in which to express this, turn in on each other, thus sowing the seeds for a lifetime of fiercely comparing and regulating each other’s ‘hotness’ factor.

I do think a lack of empathy, or the inability to place yourself in another's shoes is somewhere at the core of this rotten state of affairs, and this operates throughout the spheres of the home, politics and the workplace, across both genders. I was left thinking, why are we all so horrible to each other? What atavistic desires does buying Heat, for example, sate or feed? And whether it be dissecting the 'moral values' of Jordan or the daughter we admonish for not fitting into her swimsuit properly, thus propagating a generation of anorexics and bulimics by stoking doubts within themselves, we need more empathy. I’m not laying the blame entirely at mothers’ doors here, images in the press of airbrushed stick insect-thin girls, (which Linda argues in her ‘Sexualisation of Young People’ Home Office report should carry health warnings) certainly have a detrimental effect, but we also have a responsibility not to be brainwashed and consequently passing on the neuroses we absorb from the media and our peers.

To take the example of Jordan, yes, she clearly displays traits of an emotionally disturbed person, and for that she deserves our understanding, not our derision. Whatever we think about her now, she was once, like we all were (boys and girls), navigating the hazardous crossroads of sexuality, probably with all the agility and precision of Bambi's first faltering steps. As some of us understand, acting sexually confident and mature and actually being sexually confident and mature are two very different things, "the acting" demonstrates yet another effect of the ‘sexualisaton’ of young people, that Linda describes. It never surprised me to learn that Jordan was sexually assaulted in her early teens but I was pretty horrified (followed by flippin’ furious) to read some of the subsequent evaluations concerning this in the public arena – "how could you rape Jordan? It's not as though she'd be difficult to bed."

This might sound very idealistic and possibly prosaic, I'm not necessarily saying anything new here, but we do need to foster more kindness and understanding. As semiotician Dr Malcolm Evans said, towards the end of the event, we need to start listening to each other more, and this is a skill that must be encouraged in early education. If we can begin to recognise the validity of these traditionally perceived 'female values', also often indicative of a 'good mother' (a role that many women see as undermined and undervalued) perhaps then, we, as women and men, can begin to set an example and bring about change.

http://www.newplayerstheatre.com/london/events/seeyounexttuesday.asp

http://funnywomen.com/index.php

This fine documentary opens with a simple but salient point: who do we pay to talk to us? Politicians? Perhaps. Pastors? Maybe sometimes… The answer is comics. Comedians are the only people to whom we offer our money and say, “please talk to me… make me laugh at myself and the things around me.” In an age of global hostility, fear, and repression of thought and individuality, the voice of the comic is more essential than ever. We need comedians to remind us how farcical life is; and to poke fun at the institutions and zeitgeists that too easily become writ.

Bill Hicks understood the importance of this role from an early age. As a restless teenager – trapped in his Southern Baptist Texan townhouse with his all-American, college-graduate family – Hicks would sneak out and head for the only comedy club within a million miles of his home… the Houston Comix Annex. Hicks quickly became renowned for his clean, ‘high-school-kid’ brand of comedy and was taken under the wing of Steve Epstein’s fast-talking, hard-drinking comedy troupe, ‘The Texas Outlaw Comics’.

By his early twenties Hicks was already a legend on the Texan comedy scene, but he knew that his comedy could reach greater heights and deal with much wider issues than growing up in a Texan Baptist household. He began experimenting with hallucinogenic mushrooms, and would sit by a remote lake with a few trusted friends and explore the infinite possibilities of philosophy, consciousness, and existence.

This might all sound a bit heavy for comedy, and it certainly took Hicks a long time (and an almost fatal battle with alcoholism) before he really learnt how to incorporate his esotericism and staunch criticism of American society into his comedy routines. These routines – which began around 1989 with ‘Sane Man’, when Hicks was at the ripe old age of 28 – should be immortalised and filed away in the library of Congress with the works of Whitman and Hemingway. The raw simplicity, the fervent passion, the searing love for his common man that forced him to criticise society with all the spit and power he could muster, make Bill Hicks one of the most important spokespersons for Reagan’s America.

Hicks was a product of a forgotten generation of Americans, growing up in the 1970s, who couldn’t understand what had happened to the gusto of Johnson’s ‘Great Society’ or the purity of spirit and love that inspired the cultural revolutions of the 1960s. Vietnam had killed the American spirit, and everything that came after it further distorted and twisted the American Dream into a dogmatic society of thoughtless and unquestioning pawns who were free to do whatever they wanted… just so long as they wanted to do what they were told.

But no matter how much energy Hicks threw at his performances, mainstream America was not ready to hear his message. He achieved international fame and was cherished and idolised in Canada and his spiritual home, the UK; but he was criminally unappreciated in his beloved homeland, and was left to perform in the same old clubs on the same old comedy routes that he had been peddling since his teen years.

In 1993, just as he was beginning to achieve the mainstream platform he so desperately desired (not because he wanted fame, but because he wanted people to hear him) Hicks was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, and passed away within a year. He spent his final months touring, creating what many consider to be the finest and most passionate stand-up performances in the history of stand-up comedy. His friends could not understand why he had become such an unstoppable force; they didn’t realise it was simply the desperation of a great man to immortalise his message before he was dragged away from this earth.

Hicks’ last performance was, in his own opinion, the finest of his career. He was invited onto the David Letterman show (the only mainstream show to have shown him any support in his career) and delivered an extraordinary rebuke to America, largely based around the recent Waco massacre. The performance was cut from the final broadcast, and the network claimed that Hicks’ views were to ‘dangerous’ for mainstream broadcast.

Throughout his life Hicks was ignored and chastised as anti-American; but in fact, as with so many great insubordinates, it was his deep love for his country that inspired him to fight back against the forces of corruption and lethargy. It was too great a struggle in the 1980s, but in the 15 years since his death, the rise of the internet and a stuttering revival of American liberalism has allowed Hicks’ stock to rise. His fanbase is growing at an unprecedented rate, and DVD and CD sales have mushroomed inline with the growth of youtube and the revelation of previously unseen clips. The culmination of all this groundwork, and arguably the culmination of Hicks’ entire career, is this documentary.

In Hicks’ final days he returned to his family home and forced his mother to sit with him while he took her through his entire collection of photos and VHS recordings. When she asked him why he was doing this, he explained that someday, somebody might want to make a documentary about him.

15 years later, British TV producers Matt Harlock and Paul Thomas have graciously and expertly taken up the mantle. They have created an honest and simple documentary relying solely on the lucid and evocative memories of Hicks’ friends and family, and Hicks mountain of personal photos and video recordings. The Hicks estate have made it clear that this is the only time they will open up their lives to such a far-reaching project, and so this really is the final word on one of the most important men in the history of the American entertainment industry.

The film employs a revolutionary animation technique that allowed the filmmakers to animate old photographs, adding dimensions and colour and movement to them so that the viewer is transported into Bill’s world not just by the absorbing commentary, but also by the visceral images.

The live footage is also expertly blended into the narrative, so that Bill seems to jump out of the film and onto the stage to perform some of the material that has just been explored. This allows viewers to take a completely new perspective on material that may or may not be familiar to them. Hicks’ fans will surely relish becoming entangled in the trials and tribulations of his life while watching him rage against the dying of the American Dream, and they will feel so much closer to this complex and inspiring idol by the end of the film.

It is difficult to tell how this film will perform theatrically, but this critic certainly hopes that it will achieve the success that these filmmakers, and Bill Hicks, deserve. This wonderful film has recorded a life and immortalised a great man, and that is all one can ask of the cinema. ]]> American: The Bill Hicks Story http://www.t5m.com/nicholas-deigman/american-the-bill-hicks-story.html/feed http://www.t5m.com/stuart-colman/the-ministry-of-sound-radio.html http://www.t5m.com/stuart-colman/the-ministry-of-sound-radio.html#comments Thu, 18 Mar 2010 13:15:40 +0000 http://www.t5m.com/stuart-colman/the-ministry-of-sound-radio.html "to stimulate creativity and cultural excellence, and to provide public value in all of its major activities", then 'Nation might one day Speak Unto Nation' as per the original intention. The next Director-General of the BBC, whose appointment should be sooner rather than later, might want to win friends and influence people by addressing the long-standing disparity. As this could take some time, will someone please wake me when the revolution is over.]]> The Ministry of Sound Radio http://www.t5m.com/stuart-colman/the-ministry-of-sound-radio.html/feed http://www.t5m.com/mark-pilkington/game-anticipation-metro-2033-trailer.html http://www.t5m.com/mark-pilkington/game-anticipation-metro-2033-trailer.html#comments Wed, 17 Mar 2010 15:47:45 +0000 http://www.t5m.com/mark-pilkington/game-anticipation-metro-2033-trailer.html One of the most anticipated games of the year is almost here. Based upon the best-selling novel of the same name, this game places you in the role of a survivor of a nuclear fallout in Moscow, having only survived the devastation because you happened to be deep underground in the cities Metro system. Once you return to the surface, you find the world is a more dangerous, and horrific, place than you could ever imagine... Now be honest - is it me, or does this game look amazing?

The announcement of the sale of the Nicole Farhi label came at the same time as news of the sale of the Tommy Hilfiger brand to Calvin Klein’s owners Philips-Van Heusen for the much grander sum of around 2.2 billion euros. Hilfiger himself remains principle designer and ‘face’ of his brand, but has no management role in the business side of the company.

What with all the closures of various magazines and fashion publications during the recession, it’s nice to see a new launch, especially of something as cool as The Gentlewoman, the new biannual fashion bible from the publishers behind men’s style mag Fantastic Man. Editor in Chief of the new title, Penny Martin, told Grazia magazine that she wanted The Gentlewoman to be something that women ‘could sit down and enjoy reading’ and it should attract interested fashionistas with its debut issue, with an exclusive interview with Celine’s newest designer Phoebe Philo, formerly of Chloe and responsible for one of the best collections on the Paris catwalks this season with the autumn/winter 2010 Celine show. The first issue will be available in newsagents on the 22^nd March.

A trickle of Britain’s most successful designers have been slowly returning to London Fashion Week over the last couple of seasons, but one of the country’s hottest, John Galliano, has been kept in Paris due to the success of his creative directing role at French super-fashion house Dior. But he will be crashing back to our shores soon enough, as he has been announced as Donnatella Versace’s replacement as the honorary chairman of the annual Fashion Fringe in Covent Garden. He has signed up for the role for the next two years, and will spearhead the search for London’s hottest new designers. Previous winners of Fashion Fringe include fashion editor and First Lady favourite Erdem, as well as Basso and Brooke. The applications for this year’s Fringe competition are now open so if you are a budding designer you better have a look.

You want the rainbow. I'm gonna give it to ya.

Hard.

It's good to be back!

Here's a few I took today.

I'm going to be taking pictures all weekend and hope to bring you some interesting outfits.

]]> Back 2 Brick Lane http://www.t5m.com/blackmarket-boo/back-2-brick-lane.html/feed http://www.t5m.com/michael-shelton/highway-to-the-green-zone.html http://www.t5m.com/michael-shelton/highway-to-the-green-zone.html#comments Mon, 15 Mar 2010 16:06:20 +0000 http://www.t5m.com/michael-shelton/highway-to-the-green-zone.html Highway to the Green Zone http://www.t5m.com/michael-shelton/highway-to-the-green-zone.html/feed http://www.t5m.com/lisa-marks/the-death-of-an-ex.html http://www.t5m.com/lisa-marks/the-death-of-an-ex.html#comments Mon, 15 Mar 2010 16:03:43 +0000 http://www.t5m.com/lisa-marks/the-death-of-an-ex.html Last week I discovered that the man I lived with for four years in my early twenties had died. Not only that, he'd died two years ago.

This was a man who worked out regularly, played a mean guitar, never smoked, drank in moderation and who suffered a fatal heart attack.

Our break up was amicable and although we hadn't been in contact for the best part of a decade, I've spent many hours this week trying to process the news.

He was kind, with a great sense of humour and as I've continued on life's journey (and subsequently had relationships with men who were anything but the above), I've come to realise just how genuine a guy he was. It makes no sense.

He had been married for eight years and had two step-kids when he passed away. Oddly (or not?), I felt the need to acknowledge his passing but unsure what to do, I slept on it. The next day I sent his brother-in-law my condolences via email. He was very kind and I'm glad I reached out.

More surreal is that I found out what had happened on a visit to see my mum in Tenerife. I lived here for three years in the early Nineties and it's here that we met. In fact, we lived together less than five minutes from where I'm staying.

Earlier that afternoon, I'd walked to the supermarket and spied the wine we used to drink; Faustino VII. People would laugh at us because we chose to pay an astounding 300 pesetas for a bottle of wine, while the majority of the Brits would glug the lousy cheapo battery acid that came in boxes for tuppence. Yes, we lived large!

For old time's sake, I bought a bottle and took it home. Mum asked me what he was up to and I told her I didn't know, so I Googled his name, thinking I'd find out what band he was playing in.

Instead, I found a two-year-old obituary. I walked out onto the patio, looked across the ocean and stood there rooted to the spot, stunned.

I've lost many people in my life, notably all my grandparents and my Dad but this is the first contemporary of mine who has died. And he was a man that I lived with. What?

The next day I went with Mum for coffee in a little town called Las Galletas, and while we were sitting there a woman came up to our table and told me that she remembered my Dad. He died 13 years ago so it was a lovely moment and made me realise that as long as we remember, they won't be forgotten.

So this is me, not forgetting.

We toasted Stefan's memory with the bottle of Faustino.

Instead Palazzo Vecchio offers two floors as well as a mezzanine floor filled with remarkable paintings and sculptures by Michelangelo, Donatello and many others as well as the lavishly furnished private rooms where Medici family members lived and worked like the beautiful Chapel of Eleonora of Toledo, the wife of Cosimo I with its paintings by Agnolo Bronzino or the fascinating Map Room with its painted panels representing the world as it was known in the sixteenth century.

A little less famous but holding a mystery all of its own, try not to miss the Chamber of Hercules on the second floor. You will find representations of Hercules, one of the most famous heroes of ancient mythology are strongly present throughout Palazzo Vecchio as the Medicis, in their quest for power, identified with his courage and endeavours to overcome all the adversities in his way. However, in this Chamber dedicated to him, you will not only see the ceiling decorated with frescoes of his twelve labours but also a famous nativity painting of a Madonna and Child. This painting is popularly known as the 'Madonna of the Ufo' or the 'Madonna of the Flying Saucer'. Painted in 1450 by Jacopo del Sellaio, the picture shows, in the centre, the Madonna in adoration of the baby Jesus who is propped up by the infant, St John the Baptist. Far in the background of the picture, behind the Madonna, on the left, there is a shepherd with a barking dog at his feet. The shepherd is looking and pointing upwards into the sky at what appears to be an oval-shaped flying object.

According to the American UFO Research Coalition, this painting is one of the oldest documents testifying the existence of UFOs and extraterrestrial beings. Others do not agree. For example,  after considerable research, the art historian, Diego Cuoghi, who is also a member of Cicap (Comitato Italiano per il Controllo delle Affermazioni sul Paranorma - Italian Committee for Investigation of Claims on the Paranormal) has concluded that the object in question is simply a comet of the Nativity star.

How much more fun it will be for you to make up your own mind.

For a certain in the know person, a fragrance from Escentric Molecules is the only accessory worth wearing. Created by one of the most talented perfumers in the industry, Geza Schoen, the brand has a cult following with worldwide waiting lists and adulation from every fashionista worth her top note. Oh, and lest you forget, there’s the much discussed pheromone effect.

You’ve probably read how Molecule 01 is a single scent ingredient (Iso E Super) with incredible powers of attraction and that The Beautiful Mind Series Vol. 1 reconfirms a smart woman as a sexy woman. But the genius of the EM series is rather than smelling of a perfume, you instead become enveloped in a feeling, which opens you into other worlds of possibilities and aromas.

The scents you can spray on your wrist when next in Harvey Nicks (if they’re in stock!), but for where the brand’s inspiration comes from, read my conversation with two of the founders of EM, Geza Schoen and Paul White of Me Company.

KD: Tell me about EM and where the idea came from.

GS: EM is the idea that not anybody wants to wear a ‘perfume.’ EM offers ‘auras’ with the Molecule series and incredibly sexy scents with the Escentric series. I’d been carrying that idea with me since 1990. It just needed the right time with the right people and that is precisely what came together when I met Jeff Lounds and Paul White in 2004.

PW: It all started with a conversation between Geza, Jeff and myself. A brief tour around the concept of EM followed by the working versions of Molecule 01 and Escentric 01. For Me Company it rapidly developed as investigations into concepts that could be loosely described as binary efflorescence, the science of scent and the sensuality of encoded messaging.

Ultimately we had 0’s & 1’s and geometrical binary on our mind, everything decodable if looked at intelligently enough. An arcane, submerged string of messages about the product. The EM01 is denser than the EM02, but even the dots on the EM02 are decipherable. All of this is a distinct and clear response to the nature of fragrance and its role in attraction.

KD: How do you ‘make’ fragrances?

GS: Well, fragrances are being created. You start with an idea; an accord of raw materials you think is exciting enough to try out. If it is a good one you carry on refining the scent until you are happy.

KD: What do you think people want from a fragrance today?

GS: Overall I’d say it needs to combine a few things. Everyone somehow still likes freshness in a perfume, it also shouldn’t get on your own nerves or others, i.e. be too strong or sweet or cloying. People also want to feel sexier or desirable with a perfume so it needs some intriguing notes others can’t get their nose off. So, that’s not too easy then to combine all these things and still smell different but good.

KD: Describe the bottle design . . .

PW: We have a saying, 'Being creative is like running in someone else's trainers. You don't know where you're going all the time. You don't think about thinking, the synapses fire and you feel possessed. It's like speaking in tongues.’ As in the case of EM, where someone really wants to work with you simply because they like and trust your potential to produce something original, this is going to produce the most interesting and original work.

Possibly this dark, encoded packaging has a quiet dignity that speaks to people. Equally the restraint of the branding and the subtle encoding help with the idea of a personal possession of the brand – we have heard people say many times that it is their fragrance and not ours.

KD: There are so many perfume bottles on the ground floors of the world's department stores. What makes a fragrance cut through the hype and have impact?

GS: Phew, I hope that it is ultimately still the juice itself, which holds up the spirit and the success of a particular brand. In some cases advertising and TV campaigns will help for sure but if the fragrance isn’t right, it wont last.

KD: Where do you see the perfume industry going? New types of products, packaging, ingredients?

GS: For ingredients, as such, it will be a horrible future. Already so many fabulous ingredients have been eliminated or restricted that the new introduction of interesting chemicals won’t make up qualitatively for the losses. Imagine you’re a painter and some powerful organisation comes in and tells you to forget about dark green shades, no silvers and just maximum 10% of light violet tones please in the future.

Regarding the packaging I couldn’t care less really as the problem is within the cost structure of most products. As long as the industry won’t spend more money on better ingredients we won’t see amazing alternatives coming up. That’s why the niche market is more exciting to watch for future creations.

Tim Key

Mr Key first came to my attention on Charlie Brooker’s Screen Wipe a couple of years ago, and his hilarious poetry, which on Wikipedia is referred to as ‘deliberately bad’, was refreshing in a market so full of repetitive, observational mainstream acts. Then the short run of the BBC sketch comedy Cowards showcased Key and three other young comics. Most of the show was excellent, and a welcome contrast to the beast that sketch comedy has become, with its otherwise universal reliance on poor impersonations of celebrities to get laughs (see Katy Brand and even, dare I say it, Harry and Paul). Most recently Key has been a much more visible personality, taking the role of question master in BBC4’s We Need Answers, as well as appearing on News Wipe from time to time.

Key’s latest one-man show, which happens to be called The Slutcracker, had a sell-out run at the Soho Theatre in London, and I managed to catch it one evening. Key’s style is not stand up in the traditional sense. There are no jokes, but there are definite punch lines. It’s almost performance art, but with an introspective and self-mocking tone that makes the excessive pretentions seem delightfully silly and very, very funny. Key reads his poems from small notebooks stuffed into the various pockets of his ill-fitting suit, and he uses a conductor’s baton to direct the audio and video elements that punctuate the five or so parts into which the hour long performance is divided. Poems are interspersed with almost stream of consciousness musings, coupled with occasional laddish outbursts that jar intentionally with the rest of his act. Keep an eye on Key, and see him live if you can. He lacks the kind of manner that is gradually turning fellow Cambridge graduate David Mitchell into a staple of the living room, but he is one of the most inventive comedy performers on the circuit today.

Ramona

Having not been to a gig for a while (I saw half of a Propagandhi gig in Sheffield last summer before a fire alarm cut it short) I was fairly excited to shake the cobwebs off my eardrums again. And the Portland Arms in Cambridge was the venue to help me with that task. Before talking about the band, I’d like to praise the venue itself. It is basically a pub, but with a small backroom for gigs. I’ve been to tons of tiny venues in the past, and in terms of atmosphere, and more importantly sound quality, this was one of the best. Every element of the groups on stage was evenly balanced, and even the vocals were not totally eclipsed in the miniature listening environment.

Now Ramona is a band at the beginning of its journey, and you could tell that each member was still in the process of finding their own place in the musical machine. Old pop punk is the driving influence here, and the ghost of Blondie floats over them. Lead singer Karen Anne has an impressive natural presence on the stage, holding herself somewhere between nonchalant cool and energetic emotion at all times, but never being overtaken by either. Her vocal is clean and flawlessly executed in technical terms. Lyrically the songs dwell on the typical teenage topics, though there are flashes of more adult themes that transcend the occasionally angsty but generally up-beat tunes.

Guitar, drums, bass and keys/synths complete the Ramona line-up. There are actually distinct personalities that define each band member, though like Karen Anne there is no overriding/distracting level of showmanship to detract from what is an assured group performance. It will be interesting to see how the band develops, and whether their sound will change over time. I believe an album is in the works at the moment, though you can check out good old Myspace for some previews.

What's more, Easter is the first Sunday after the full moon after the Spring Equinox, which is an unnervingly Pagan way of choosing the date of a holy day. In fact, the timing of Easter doesn't come directly from the Equinox (unlike, probably, Christmas from Yule, the Winter Solstice), but from the Jewish Passover. Passover itself, however, is directly linked to Springtime, with the Torah repeatedly describing Passover as “the holiday of Spring”. Spring follows the darkness of Winter, and Passover celebrates the Jews going from slavery (a metaphorical darkness) to freedom (a new life).

It was often in the past helpful for Christian societies taking over Pagan countries to super-impose their holy days over Pagan ones. Of late, it's also been convenient for Neo-Pagans to reverse the procedure and claim Pagan roots for Christian holidays, not always accurately. But still...

Bunnies – seeds of change – new life.

Christian or Pagan or Jewish, you'd be amazed what the religions – by intent or chance – appear to have in common.

Instead of attempting a straight telling of Lewis Carroll's tale, Burton's version of Alice mashes-up elements from both the original book and its sequel Through The Looking-Glass, which in itself isn't that much different from many of the previous film adaptations of Carroll's writings, on top of this however is a new framing plot-line where Alice is now a young adult, having forgot her previous adventures other than in recurring dreams, and is now having to deal with real world problems such as the etiquette of social engagements and unwanted proposals of marriage. Once again she follows the nervy and elusive White Rabbit away from all this and finds herself in Wonderland, or as it's now called 'Underland' whose numerous fantastical denizens hope that she will be able to deliver them from the tyrannical reign of the Red Queen, but before she can she has to remember her previous encounters with them and rediscover her sense of self, or as the Mad Hatter puts it her 'muchness'. That rather convoluted description of the plot highlights the main problem with this adaptation in that it overcomplicates the original story to the extent where much of the fun is sucked out of it. While the original story is essentially just a collection of vignettes strung together, it was charming, compelling and coherent despite this, and other film adaptations have managed to convert this structure with entertaining results, such as in Hayao Miyazaki's Alice-homage Spirited Away, however this version just feels like it is going through the motions to cover all the 'greatest hits' as Alice is forced to in turn meet all the famous characters and have the same expositional discussions with each. Additionally, the turning of Wonderland into the dark, war-ravaged place known as Underland is a major mistake as it means that Burton even has to hold back on his stylistic touches in order to render the place suitably desolate. While it's clear that a lot of money has been thrown at the film to create moments of 3D spectacle – objects are frequently thrown at the screen in order to make the audience feel like they've got their money's worth – it's a shame that the money couldn't have been spent on giving the script extra dimensions instead.

The two central performances are rather problematic as well. Mia Wasikowska makes for a pretty Alice but she doesn't have much presence, remaining quiet and girlish even after Alice rediscovers her muchness, whereas Johnny Depp as the Mad Hatter is simply irritating. It was perhaps a bad idea to bump up his character from supporting role to major star anyway as the dark back-story that has been created to do so doesn't sit well with the comedic moments created by his lunatic antics. Added to this is Depp's decision to portray the character as a jumble of comedic accents and tics, which serves as a reminder of how his Jack Sparrow was incredibly fun in the first Pirates of the Caribbean but got subsequently less so with each further film in the series.

However, there are still many parts where the film gets it right. The supporting cast, mostly comprised of familiar British faces, are generally excellent, with Stephen Fry's Cheshire Cat standing out in particular as an always amusing mix of sophistication and mischievousness. The portrayals of the Red and White Queens are also rather inspired. Most reviews have pointed out that Helena Bonham Carter is essentially channelling Miranda Richardson's Queenie from Blackadder II as the Red Queen and Anne Hathaway's serene White Queen was inspired by Domestic Goddess Nigella Lawson (although Lawson never made quite so many gracefully elaborate gesticulations with her arms) and the contrast between Carter's spoilt-child and Hathaway's caring maternal figure is delightful. Whenever Burton is presented with the opportunity to show the more vibrant side of Wonderland the film becomes much more entertaining, such as the ostentatious palace of the Red Queen, with her royal court comprised of amusingly out of place anthropomorphic animals such as frogs, fish and pigs. It's just a shame that these moments are so few and far between.

Simply put this is the Diet Coke version of the story, a pleasant, but artificial and unsubstantial take on an old classic. While there are worse ways to spend an evening at the cinema it feels like a missed opportunity. There are already better versions of the tale on film – even Disney's previous version – which are more worthy of your time than this, as is a re-read of Carroll's still amusing and enchanting books.

I went to see your new film at the weekend. Alice in Wonderland. In 3D. With a Disney stamp on it and that lady who worked on Beauty and the Beast and The Lion King behind the writing desk.

Now, I’m not a 3D-sceptic Tim, let’s get that straightened out. I like the depth it gives to the images, and I like the clarity of picture you get with the digital projection it uses. But I don’t like the price hike and I don’t like having to wear the glasses over the top of my existing ones. Prescription 3D looks like it could be some way off. So I liked the use of 3D in your film, and you didn’t use it as a gimmick like certain sequences of Disney’s recent reimagining of A Christmas Carol did.

The attention to detail in the design of Underland was also good, Tim. Everyone was going on about how James Cameron had made ‘a whole new world’ in Avatar, when all he’d really done was copy/paste five or six animals with a few extra limbs into a rainforest. But there is more than enough imaginative power in the pages of Lewis Carroll’s novels to provide inspiration for a fairly deep onscreen environment, and you and your team have done a pretty good job of reimagining it. I could see that the first Disney version helped a bit as well.

What else is good? Oh yes, using the Jabberwocky poem as a foundation for the plot. I bloody love that poem Tim, and I also gather that you got some of the designs for the beast from old illustrations, which is faithful of you. Not sure you needed to make the beast talk though.

Right, I’ve been quite nice so far Tim, and you’ve deserved every word of encouragement, believe me. But I do have a couple of bones to pick with you. First, why did you cast Barbara Windsor and Matt Lucas? Distracting for a British audience, don’t you think? And a tiny bit irritating, at least for me. Second – Anne Hathaway...she’s awful, isn’t she? And didn’t she have that boyfriend who went to jail for massive fraud and money laundering? She’s not the sharpest of knives. Or whatever that saying is. Thirdly, why was Helena Bonham Carter doing an impression of Queen Elizabeth from series 2 of Blackadder? Frown.

Johnny Depp deserves his own paragraph. I do love Mr Depp, and have always appreciated his quirky roles. But you might have given him a little less control over this one. I don’t know why the Hatter had to become such a central character, and I don’t know why he was so endeared to Alice. I suppose you had to cement the plot to a couple of characters, and Depp is a massive star. But it didn’t work for me. I know you don’t know me Tim, but I think it’s time to put Johnny down. And never let him dance again. You managed to make your movie feel like Shrek in the closing seconds.

Despite criticising your casting a bit, I thought that Alice (Mia Wasikowska) was excellent, and I enjoyed Alan Rickman and Stephen Fry, both of whom managed to perform in an understated manner that didn’t damage the film in the same way that some of the other Brits did.

My biggest problem was that the film was too coherent, if that makes sense. It adhered to the same kind of story arc as other fantastic kid’s films of the past, and in doing so lost a lot of the lunacy and escapism of the source material. Apparently you told some journalist that you couldn’t attach yourself emotionally to the disjointed series of events that make up Carroll’s novels. But you’ve gone too far in the opposite direction with this one.

So you’ve not done too badly with this one Tim. I don’t think I want to see it again anytime soon, and I was a little bored and annoyed at the clichés during the showing. But kids will probably love it. The little girl sitting next to me was on the edge of her booster seat for quite a while.

It feels like spring is in the air. Maybe it's because the Oscars are over, or the fact that it hasn't rained for a while but last week I pulled my dust-covered flip-flops out of my walk-in closet instead of my Ugg boots.

Then I saw the state of my winter feet, threw the flip-flops to one side and put my boots back on. Hobbit-feet are singularly unattractive in a woman. Hell, in a man too. Thankfully, mani-pedicures are fairly inexpensive out here and people get them regularly.

One of my friends gets her manicures done at the same salon as Nancy Reagan in Beverly Hills. I don't go there but to a lovely lady on Los Feliz Boulevard. Really, if you're looking for a cheap thrill, there's nothing nicer than an hour in the pedi-chair, Black-berrying and sipping on a Jamba Juice.

But I digress. The spring weather came at the right time for a weekend visit to my old stomping ground Marina Del Rey. I was cat sitting for my friend Toby and decided to drag my boyfriend to the farmer's market in Santa Monica on Sunday morning.

I used to cycle the beach path to the market (you can valet your bike for free) but this time because there were two of us (and only one bike) we took the car, and I was delighted when we drove past the market and saw that Klezmer Juice were providing the music (that's them in the photo).

The place was packed with fresh-faced hipsters wandering around with paper plates piled high with food. I usually line up at the tamale stand (never ate them before I moved here but now I'm hooked) but this morning I made a bee-line for the French food stall which was offering a very tasty spinach quiche and salad for $6.

Sitting on the grass, watching the world go by was a delightful way to start the day. I miss the west side for the beach life, my daily bike rides and laid back atmosphere. The east side has a more creative, towny vibe to it and it's also nearer to Hollywood and my friends, which is why I love it there. But if I could split myself in two, I'd live on both sides of town.

Food demolished, it was time to hit the road. We headed up the Pacific Coast Highway to Malibu, which is fairly disparate looking. Where do people hang out? I can't make head nor tail of it. To me it's just a busy highway with half-hidden beach houses, rotten parking and no atmosophere. Maybe I'd feel differently if I had Jennifer Aniston's deep pockets and a beach-side mansion. But where's the centre? It really is the strangest place.

We decided to hang a right and head up one of the canyon roads which lead us to Malibu Creek State Park. It's been raining heavily for two months so now everywhere you look is green and verdant (as opposed to yellow and dusty). We stopped at a viewpoint overlooking the ocean and I swear we could have been looking down over a Welsh valley.

We also happened upon a very impressive Hindu temple near King C. Gillette's ranch, which I later discovered was built in 1977 and is open every day of the year for prayer. King Gillette by the way is the razor-blade magnate and he bought great tracts of land in the Santa Monica mountains in the 1920's, most of which is now a conservation area. His ranch alone is 588 acres and is home to many endangered species (insert bad joke here about beards and stubble).

It was a perfect spring afternoon: the air was warm, the squirrels were bouncy and we had John Williams on the iPod. It still amazes me how much there is to see in California. I don't think I'll ever get tired of it. It really is the best a man (and woman) can get.

‘It’s a Mercedes estate,’ I said. ‘But, yes.’

‘You really are posh!’ he exclaimed. ‘Where are you from.’

‘Well, I live in Tuscany but I’m from London, of course. Posh people all live in London.’ (I am aware that this isn’t true, but I assumed he believed it to be so).

‘Whereabouts?’ he wanted to know.

‘When I lived there I lived in Hampstead.’

‘Posh,’ he nodded vigorously, putting my coffee on the counter. ‘I bet you’ve got a black Labrador, haven’t you?’

Now this was astonishing. What was he, psychic?

‘He’s called Marmite,’ I told the man and I showed him a photo of Marms on my phone.

I was still laughing my head off when I got back to my seat. All the soul-searching I do, wondering where I really fit in, who I really am, where I’m going and all that Oprah stuff, when, in fact, it’s absolutely obvious to anyone in the world exactly who I am, where I fit in and where I’m going. I told this story to a fellow Review Show panellist when we’d traipsed round the exhibition we were reviewing. The photos and the whole thing of it (Don McCullin at the Imperial War Museum in Manchester) made me cry, reminded me of my dad and stuff, and I was still a bit raw somehow. He laughed politely and said it was odd, wasn’t it, that this didn’t apply to him, that nobody could really pigeon-hole him in that way at a glance. This was even funnier than the Stokey man with the coffee machine pigeon-holing me. Not only could I pigeon-hole my colleague in two seconds and could imagine every item on his bookshelves, every piece of clothing in his entire wardrobe, but I felt I’d been out with him at least four separate times in my twenties. Everyone, it turns out, thinks they are unique and categoryless, everyone feels isolated and not really a part of the crowd when, in fact, it couldn’t be less true. It’s so easy to see, especially in England with our class system, precisely where everyone fits in. Say two words and I can tell what you watch on telly, which paper you read, where you go on holiday.

What people don’t realise about Britain though, I think, is that the class system is actually very fluid. Contrary to general belief, you certainly can become posh without having been born posh – and it’s not necessarily about money (that just makes you nouvy). I remember when I was at Westminster School telling people whose parents kept horses that I wasn’t really posh. ‘But you’re at Westminster, Anna,’ they said. This was a good point. After I’d been to Oxford and then married someone who would be an aristocrat if a relative hadn’t killed a king five hundred years ago by sticking a red hot poker up his bum, I stopped making my claim. It just wasn’t true any more.

‘You see,’ said my fellow panellist, ‘I may seem posh, but I’m actually working class. I grew up in blah and my parents worked in a blah and etc etc.’

‘If you go on News Review to talk about the arts you are not working class any more. Even if you once were,’ I said.

Anyway, looking at myself naked in the mirror after the show, exhausted but wired (live is stressy), wondering if the tube of Pringles I ate on the way up is anywhere in evidence on my arse (yes), I was suddenly aware that the way I see myself has no bearing whatsoever on what other people see. I can be described, we can all be described, in a few words. Posh blonde woman, the type who drinks americanos and has a Labrador. That’s me.