Last night, after watching a few French films in which people seemed to achieve nothing except disappointment, mockery or a death into which some form of meaning should be read, I chose the film selection and went with that oft-overlooked Cameron Crowe film – Singles.
I’m not going to sit here and go on about what a masterpiece it is or how deep and wonderful the narrative and plot are because, frankly, they’re not. Which was kinda the point in watching it – I wanted something a little more upbeat (which includes the soundtrack which reads like one of the finest Seattle Sound mixtapes you’d find) and that didn’t leave me feeling sad for an old man who spends the last half of a film chasing his moped around a council estate while his guests await their couscous.
No, what I will say is how weird it feels to be looking back at that scene (one to which my cd collection is indebted) and realise a) just how far back it is at nearly twenty years and b) how picture-perfect and polished the Hollywood version of ‘grunge’ was. Everybody, everybody, in those chequed flannel shirts (which themselves were well pressed), ripped jeans or band t-shirts with long-sleeves underneath to their jobs while sipping plenty of coffee. Does that mean that the next attempt to ride a mass-youth-culture wave into the pile of movie money will see the ‘everyday people’ such as myself wearing tight, skinny jeans and black t’s to work?
It was a little strange, as said.
Also, on the subject of movies etc; this is one of the must-see ones for the year and I never use that phrase:
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