Stimulating sounds: "At the BBC" by Cream

Year released: 2003 (contains recordings that date from between 1966-1968)
Personnel: Jack Bruce (bass, harmonica, vocals); Eric Clapton (guitar, vocals); Ginger Baker (drums, vocals)

We close the chapter on the Cream story with this nice collection of tunes recorded for the British Broadcasting Corporation. A nice complement to the original studio albums. Reviews are from the Beeb and of course, allmusic.

There's a lesson to be learned by the likes of Spiritualized, Lambchop and the Polyphonic Spree here. With Cream less really was more. Who needs three bassists and a marimba player when you can make as sophisticated and joyous a noise with just three musicians? Even the power blues of Led Zeppelin (who surely would never have existed without Eric, Jack and Ginger paving the way) needed four members. And one of them was a multi-instrumentalist. Never before or since has so much volume been made for so many by so few. And that includes the White Stripes.

That's not to say that this is all sturm und drang. The whole secret of Cream's success was their ability to progress from Chicago blues to psychedelia and beyond with a jazzy sophistication. This was due to a seasoned rhythm section that a young Eric Clapton had lacked to support his extended (and extending) soloing in previous bands like the Yardbirds or John Mayall's Bluesbreakers. This album collects and polishes up Cream's BBC sessions - all part and parcel of a standard band's career during the 60s.

While most numbers are mono mixes the skill and sense of a band evolving in double quick time dispel any audio grumbles. Listen as Clapton's guitar style passes through a lysergic filter to move between old standards from his Bluesbreaker days, like Freddie King's ''Steppin Out'', to the wobbly wah-wah tones of ''Tales Of Brave Ulysses''. As EC's guitar gets looser Jack Bruce's vocals get more angelic and Ginger Baker's drums get, err...louder. To top this you get the shockingly youthful tones of Brian Matthew appealing to the 'groovy, tuned-in, turned-on, way out fans' and getting some remarkably ego-free interviews from EC himself.

The fact that the BBC forced the band to curtail any excessive soloing comes as a blessing for those familiar with the longeurs of Wheels Of Fire. Ginger still does his falling-down-stairs impersonation, but it's the succinct, poppy nature of tracks like ''I Feel Free'' and ''Strange Brew'' that forces Clapton to give us guitar work that he's rarely bettered since.

Strangely, this historical overview highlights how their major musical touchstone, the blues, was to eventually lead them astray. Post-Disraeli Gears their muse (tainted by bad blood and too much touring) lapsed into bloated twelve bar behemoths such as ''Politician''. Could Free and Black Sabbath be far behind? Yet even these lows surpass most other contemporaries' best efforts. If you never shelled out for the marvellous 4 cd set, Those Were The Days, here's a handy alternative career overview that'll leave you smiling.

This compilation of 22 Cream BBC tracks from 1966-1968 marked a major addition to the group's discography, particularly as they released relatively little product during their actual lifetime. All of but two of these cuts ("Lawdy Mama" and the 1968 version of "Steppin' Out," which had appeared on Eric Clapton's "Crossroads" box) were previously unreleased, and although many of these had made the round on bootlegs, the sound and presentation here is unsurprisingly preferable.

As for actual surprises, there aren't many. It's a good cross section of songs from their studio records, though a couple, "Steppin' Out" and "Traintime," only appeared on live releases, and some of these BBC takes actually predate the release and recording of the album versions, which makes them of historical interest for intense Cream fans. (There are also four brief interviews with Eric Clapton from the original broadcasts.)

There's a mild surprise in the absence of a version of "White Room," but otherwise many of the group's better compositions and covers are here, including "I Feel Free," "N.S.U.," "Strange Brew," "Tales of Brave Ulysses," "Sunshine of Your Love," "Born Under a Bad Sign," "Outside Woman Blues," "Crossroads," "We're Going Wrong," "I'm So Glad," "SWLABR," and "Politician."

Cream took better advantage of the live-in-the-studio BBC format than some groups of similar stature. There's a lean urgency to most of the performances that, while not necessarily superior to the more fully realized and polished studio renditions, do vary notably in ambience from the more familiar versions. The sound quality is good but not perfect, and variable; sometimes it's excellent, yet at other times there seem to be imperfections in the tapes sourced, with "Sunshine of Your Love" suffering from a (not grievously) hollow, muffled quality.

If there's any other slight criticism of this set, it's that a handful of BBC tracks don't appear, including some that don't make it onto this CD in any version, like "Sleepy Time Time," "Toad," and "Sitting on Top of the World." Given Cream's tendency to over-improvise on the band's live concert recordings, however, the concise nature of these BBC tracks (none of which exceed five minutes) makes them preferable listening in some respects.

Stimulating sounds: "Goodbye" by Cream

Year released: 1969 (three months after the band's breakup in Nov. of 1968)
Personnel: Jack Bruce (bass, piano, organ, lead and background vocals); Eric Clapton (guitar, lead and background vocals); Ginger Baker (drums, percussion, lead and background vocals); Felix Pappalardi (bass on "What a Bringdown," also produced); George Harrison (credited as "L'Angelo Misterioso," rhythm guitar on "Badge.")

Cream's parting gift is a sparse affair but still one with lots of good moments, including the anthemic "Badge." Allmusic has the lowdown.

After a mere three albums in just under three years, Cream called it quits in 1969. Being proper gentlemen, they said their formal goodbyes with a tour and a farewell album called--what else? --"Goodbye."

As a slim, six-song single LP, it's far shorter than the rambling, out-of-control "Wheels of Fire", but it boasts the same structure, evenly dividing its time between tracks cut on-stage and in the studio. While the live side contains nothing as indelible as "Crossroads," the live music on the whole is better than that on "Wheels of Fire," capturing the trio at an empathetic peak as a band. It's hard, heavy rock, with Cream digging deep into their original "Politician" with the same intensity as they do on "Sitting on Top of the World," but it's the rampaging "I'm So Glad" that illustrates how far they've come; compare it to the original studio version on "Fresh Cream" and it's easy to see just how much further they're stretching their improvisation.

The studio side also finds them at something of a peak. Boasting a song apiece from each member, it opens with the majestic classic "Badge," co-written by Eric Clapton and George Harrison and ranking among both of their best work. It's followed by Jack Bruce's "Doing That Scrapyard Thing," an overstuffed near-masterpiece filled with wonderful, imaginative eccentricities, and finally, there's Ginger Baker's tense, dramatic "What a Bringdown," easily the best original he contributed to the group.

Like all of Cream's albums outside "Disraeli Gears," "Goodbye" is an album of moments, not a tight cohesive work, but those moments are all quite strong on their own terms, making this a good and appropriate final bow.

Stimulating sounds: "Wheels of Fire" by Cream

Year released: 1968
Personnel: Jack Bruce (bass, cello, harmonica, calliope, acoustic guitar, recorder, lead and background vocals); Eric Clapton (guitar, vocals); Ginger Baker (drums, percussion, bells, glockenspiel, typanie, lead and background vocals); Felix Pappalardi (viola, bells, organ, trumpet, tonette, also produced).

Not as masterly as "Disraeli Gears" or as urgent as "Fresh Cream," "Wheels of Fire" still rocks. More experimental and split into live and studio sides, it hints at what direction the band might have gone in had it not imploded months later. And while I'm sure not everyone would disagree, I quite like "Pressed Rat and Warthog." Reviews are from the BBC and allmusic.

Recorded between July 1967 and April 1968 at Atlantic Studios in New York and live at Winterland and Fillmore West, Wheels Of Fire is the apotheosis of Cream. With one disc live and the other in the studio, you gain unparalleled insight to their strengths--the ornate studio productions of Felix Pappalardi, which kept the band lean and focused; alongside the unedited grandstanding of their live performance.

On the studio set, although with their roots very strongly in the blues (their playing and sensibilities were steeped in it), this really was rock music. The power trio format is heard at its greatest on lead track, Jack Bruce and Pete Brown's "White Room". Never were the three players so perfectly harnessed--Eric Clapton's scorching lead over Bruce and Ginger Baker's watertight rhythm section. The arrangements are stunning throughout – from folk to metal with instrumentation such as cello and recorder. However, Ginger Baker's contributions range from the great--"Passing The Time" to the not so great--the Ian Dury presaging "Pressed Rat and Warthog."

There is no such focus on the live side--aside from the extraordinary, defining reading of Robert Johnson's "Crossroads", the lengthy cuts-- including Baker's 16 minute drum solo, "Toad"--show just how excessive the group could be in demonstrating the players' very obvious virtuosity.

The album topped the charts in America and reached No.3 in the UK. Although 1967's Disraeli Gears may be more succinct appraisal of the group, Rolling Stone described the album as "the most representative slice of the Cream legacy," which is absolutely true.

If "Disraeli Gears" was the album where Cream came into their own, its successor, "Wheels of Fire", finds the trio in full fight, capturing every side of their multi-faceted personality, even hinting at the internal pressures that soon would tear the band asunder.

A dense, unwieldy double album split into an LP of new studio material and an LP of live material, it's sprawling and scattered, at once awesome in its achievement and maddening in how it falls just short of greatness. It misses its goal not because one LP works and the other doesn't, but because both the live and studio sets suffer from strikingly similar flaws, deriving from the constant power struggle between the trio.

Of the three, Ginger Baker comes up short, contributing the passable "Passing the Time" and "Those Were the Days," which are overshadowed by how he extends his solo drum showcase "Toad" to a numbing quarter of an hour and trips upon the Wind & the Willows whimsy of "Pressed Rat and Warthog," whose studied eccentricity pales next to Eric Clapton's nimble, eerily cheerful "Anyone for Tennis."

In almost every regard, "Wheels of Fire" is a terrific showcase for Clapton as a guitarist, especially on the first side of the live album with "Crossroads," a mighty encapsulation of all of his strengths. Some of that is studio trickery, as producer Felix Pappalardi cut together the best bits of a winding improvisation to a tight four minutes, giving this track a relentless momentum that's exceptionally exciting, but there's no denying that Clapton is at a peak here, whether he's tearing off solos on a 17-minute "Spoonful" or goosing "White Room" toward the heights of madness.

But it's the architect of "White Room," bassist Jack Bruce, who, along with his collaborator Peter Brown, reaches a peak as a songwriter. Aside from the monumental "White Room," he has the lovely, wistful "As You Said," the cinematic "Deserted Cities of the Heart," and the slow, cynical blues "Politician," all among Cream's very best work.

And in many ways "Wheels of Fire" is indeed filled with Cream's very best work, since it also captures the fury and invention (and indulgence) of the band at its peak on the stage and in the studio, but as it tries to find a delicate balance between these three titanic egos, it doesn't quite add up to something greater than the sum of its parts. But taken alone, those individual parts are often quite tremendous.

Stimulating sounds: "Disraeli Gears" by Cream

Year released: 1967
Personnel: Jack Bruce (bass, lead and backing vocals, harmonica, keyboard); Eric Clapton (guitars, lead and backing vocals); Ginger Baker (drums, lead and backing vocals)

Cream's masterpiece, the perfect synthesis of their bluesy and psychedelic inclinations. Two reviews here first from the BBC and the second from allmusic.

It started as a joke. Mick Turner one of Cream’s roadies was discussing with drummer, Ginger Baker, how he fancied one of those bikes with’ Disraeli gears’. He meant, of course, derailleur gears, but the band found the mistake hilarious and so the name of one of one of the UK’s premier psychedelic albums was born.

By 1967 Cream had had one rather false start. "Fresh Cream," their first album had been a rushed and rather too purist collection of blues standards and curios, and as such was already by 1966 considered out of step with what was occurring around them. “I Feel Free” had hinted at the wild lysergic undercurrent, but they’d yet to find their heartland in the London underground. One reason this had happened was because of the band’s backgrounds, not only in the blues (as Eric Clapton defected from John Mayall’s Bluesbreakers) but also in Jazz; both Jack Bruce and Baker having served time with Graham Bond. Luckily this wide-ranging set of backgrounds was invaluable in their next step.

Second time around it was far different. Chemicals had been imbibed, Clapton had struck up a friendship with Australian artist Martin Sharp who not only provided the lyrics of “Tales Of Brave Ulysses” but also came up with the splendidly baroque cover. Meanwhile Jack Bruce was now working with underground poet, Pete Brown, whose lyrics were equally trippy. “SWLABR” (it stands for ‘She walks like a bearded rainbow’), “Dance The Night Away” and “Sunshine Of Your Love” were perfect encapsulations of the point where the blues got psychedelic and in turn got heavy. “Sunshine…”’s riff is at once iconic and defines the power trio aesthetic that was to prove so popular with the band’s many disciples.

The other creative catalyst was producer Felix Pappalardi. Co-writing both "World Of Pain" he also helped transform the blueswailing “Lawdy Mama” into the slinky “Strange Brew” – a contender for best album opener of all time. Clapton’s guitar had by now been exposed to the effects heavy stylings of Jimi Hendrix and his heavy use of wah-wah gives Disraeli Gears just the right amount of weirdness, making this probably the most experimental album he ever made. The modish inclusion of Ginger Baker’s rendition of “A Mother’s lament” was the edwardiana icing on the cake. By the band’s demise, two years later Clapton had returned to his first love – straight blues and the band had become the barnstorming power trio hinted at here. For a short time they were bringers of peace and love.

Cream teamed up with producer Felix Pappalardi for their second album, "Disraeli Gears,", a move that helped push the power trio toward psychedelia and also helped give the album a thematic coherence missing from the debut.

This, of course, means that Cream get further away from the pure blues improvisatory troupe they were intended to be, but it does get them to be who they truly are: a massive, innovative power trio. The blues still courses throughout "Disraeli Gears" -- the swirling kaleidoscopic "Strange Brew" is built upon a riff lifted from Albert King-- but it's filtered into saturated colors, as it is on "Sunshine of Your Love," or it's slowed down and blurred out, as it is on the ominous murk of "Tales of Brave Ulysses."

It's a pure psychedelic move that's spurred along by Jack Bruce's flourishing collaboration with Pete Brown. Together, this pair steers the album away from recycled blues-rock and toward its eccentric British core, for with the fuzzy freakout "Swlabr," the music hall flourishes of "Dance the Night Away," the swinging "Take It Back," and of course, the schoolboy singalong "Mother's Lament," this is a very British record.

Even so, this crossed the ocean and also became a major hit in America, because regardless of how whimsical certain segments are, Cream are still a heavy rock trio and Disraeli Gears is a quintessential heavy rock album of the '60s. Yes, its psychedelic trappings tie it forever to 1967, but the imagination of the arrangements, the strength of the compositions, and especially the force of the musicianship make this album transcend its time as well.

Stimulating sounds: "Fresh Cream" by Cream

Year released: 1966
Personnel: Jack Bruce (bass, harmonica, vocals); Eric Clapton (guitar, vocals); Ginger Baker (drums, vocals)

Two reviews here, the first from the BBC and the second from allmusic.

Laid down at the height of the United Kingdom blues boom, Fresh Cream covers the kind of territory you might expect from three of the most respected players on the scene at the time. With Clapton fresh just from his time with John Mayall, Ginger Baker leaving behind the R'n'B backwaters of Graham Bond Organisation, and a woefully under-employed Jack Bruce hightailing it from the increasingly pop-leaning Manfred Mann, the electric blues was their natural turf.

Highlights include the racing harmonica work-out, and the call and response excitements on Muddy Waters’ “Rollin’ and Tumblin,’” a spine-tingled vocal on the Willie Dixon classic, “Spoonful” as well as the self-penned “Sleepy Time Time” which gives Clapton a free hand to wake up all and sundry. The traditional standard, "Cat’s Squirrel" is given a rousing treatment, showing how well these players meshed. Only a particularly anaemic stroll through Robert Johnson’s “Four Until Late”, sounds like a side filler.

What lifts this album beyond the blues-tinged pigeon-hole are some superior pop songs brought along for the ride.

It’s well-neigh impossible to hear the opening bars of “I Feel Free” without conjuring up images of dolly birds, hip young guys in new threads full of finger-clicking coolness hopping aboard one of those brand new Mini cars and soaring off for groovy times. Cultural cliché’s aside, given the amount of musical information that’s been packed into those two minutes and fifty-five seconds, it’s a wonder the thing doesn’t implode under the weight of its own inventiveness.

The rhythmic ambitions and ambiguity of “NSU” adds to the thrill, and if some of it doesn’t quite work as well as it should (Bruce’s dreary “Dreaming” is especially lame), “Sweet Wine” with its psyche-tinged lyrics and the heavy breakout offers a clear hint of what was to come. Overshadowed by its more famous successor (1967’s Disraeli Gears) and their reputation lengthy improvisations during which mighty civilisations would rise and fall, their debut captures one of those elusive moments in music when blues, pop and rock magically starts to coalesce to create something brand new.

"Fresh Cream" represents so man represents so many different firsts, it's difficult to keep count. Cream, of course, was the first supergroup, but their first album not only gave birth to the power trio, it also was instrumental in the birth of heavy metal and the birth of jam rock. That's a lot of weight for one record and, like a lot of pioneering records, "Fresh Cream" doesn't seem quite as mighty as what would come later, both from the group and its acolytes.

In retrospect, the moments on the LP that are a bit unformed-- in particular, the halting waltz of "Dreaming" never achieves the sweet ethereal atmosphere it aspires to -- stand out more than the innovations, which have been so thoroughly assimilated into the vocabulary of rock & roll, but "Fresh Cream" was a remarkable shift forward in rock upon its 1966 release and it remains quite potent. Certainly at this early stage the trio was still grounded heavily in blues, only fitting given guitarist Eric Clapton's's stint in John Mayall's Bluesbreakers, which is where he first played with bassist Jack Bruce, but Cream never had the purist bent of Mayall, and not just because they dabbled heavily in psychedelia.

The rhythm section of Bruce and Ginger Baker had a distinct jazzy bent to their beat; this isn't hard and pure, it's spongy and elastic, giving the musicians plenty of room to roam. This fluidity is most apparent on the blues covers that take up nearly half the record, especially on "Spoonful," where the swirling instrumental interplay, echo, fuzz tones, and overwhelming volume constitute true psychedelic music, and also points strongly toward the guitar worship of heavy metal.

Almost all the second side of "Fresh Cream" is devoted to this, closing with Baker's showcase "Toad," but for as hard and restless as this half of the album is, there is some lightness on the first portion of the record where Bruce reveals himself as an inventive psychedelic pop songwriter with the tense, colorful "N.S.U." and the hook- and harmony-laden "I Feel Free."

Cream shows as much force and mastery on these tighter, poppier tunes as they do on the free-flowing jams, yet they show a clear bias toward the long-form blues numbers, which makes sense: they formed to be able to pursue this freedom, which they do so without restraint. If at times that does make the album indulgent or lopsided, this is nevertheless where Cream was feeling their way forward, creating their heavy psychedelic jazz-blues and, in the process, opening the door to all kinds of serious rock music that may have happened without "Fresh Cream", but it just would not have happened in the same fashion as it did with this record as precedent.

Stimulating cinema: Made in Dagenham

Director: Nigel Cole
Year released: 2010

Even if you don't know anything about the real life events that inspired this film, you can probably figure out how it's going to turn out pretty quickly. And even still it doesn't detract from the film in the last. The cast is uniformly excellent--major characters all the way down to minor ones--and everyone is played pitch perfectly. The costumes and settings are excellent and the story flows along nicely, without any wasted scenes or detours. Good one from director Nigel Cole--and if you don't believe me then I'm sure you'll trust Roger Ebert. His review was originally on Nov. 23, 2010.

Ford is having a great year, and I just bought one of its new Fusions. How would I feel if I discovered the women building it had been paid less than the men, simply because they were ... well, women? If a woman does the same job as a man, should she receive the same pay? Yes, says common sense. No, say corporations who will disregard anything in the search for profits.

Ford, let me hasten to add, has a policy of equal pay for equal work. It was not always that way with Ford, and to be fair, most corporations. “Made in Dagenham” takes place as recently as 1968, when the British Ford plant in Dagenham paid women significantly lower wages than men — with the agreement of their own unions and the Labour government of Harold Wilson.

Why was this so? Did they do less work? No. In fact, they were highly productive. It was so because the unions, the company and the government were run by men, and I dunno, I guess they just weren't used to thinking about women in that way. “Made in Dagenham” is a delightfully entertaining movie based on fact. The women went on strike, annoyed their unions and their husbands and embarrassed Wilson, who was caught with his principles down.

Sally Hawkins, that emerging dynamo of British acting, stars as Rita O'Grady, who sews automobile seat covers in what is literally a sweatshop; she and her co-workers have to strip down to bra and panties because of the unbearable heat. Her union organizer Albert Passingham (Bob Hoskins) is a left-winger whose principles run deeper than his union's. He was raised by a brave mother, instinctively admires women and sees with his own eyes that unequal pay is wrong.

Rita, a quiet woman, almost by accident becomes the shop steward. Albert spots the way her humanity cuts through politics. Using her first as a surrogate, he encourages the idea of a strike. The head of the union (Kenneth Cranham) at Ford “works closely with management,” as they say, and the government is also not eager to alienate a big corporate employer. All Rita O'Grady knows is that she works hard and believes that what's fair is fair.

A brief strike escalates into a much larger one. Her own husband, Eddie (Daniel Mays), is against her. The usual alarms circulate about left-wing influences. But when Rita is seen on the telly (and she is), she makes it all seem so simple (because it is). The strike at Dagenham changed history, in England and America, at Ford and many other manufacturers and elsewhere in the developed world. It's one reason so many jobs are outsourced to places where labor unions and equal pay do not find favor.

The struggle is far from over. Only last week, a Republican filibuster in the U.S. Senate prevented passage of the Paycheck Fairness Act, which would have added teeth to measures for equal pay. You don't see many GOP ads saying it's against equal pay, but it is. So are corporations, and there may be a connection, but it's harder to say now that corporate political contributions can be secret.

But back to Dagenham. Although Albert set the ball rolling, Rita quickly found tons of support, some of it in unlikely places. One backer of the strike was the government's Labor minister, Barbara Castle (Miranda Richardson). A “fiery redhead” (why are all redheads “fiery”?), she defied the pipe-puffing Wilson, who didn't want to alienate Ford.

She explained her reason: “Harold, you are wrong.” Probably the movie's best scene is when Castle receives O'Grady and her co-workers in her office and astonishes them by giving her support. Her decision put the Labour Party on the spot.

Another ally is much more unlikely. She is Lisa Hopkins (Rosamund Pike), who is married to a top executive at Ford. She received a first-class education, could have had a career but now finds herself playing the role of a well-trained and tamed corporate wife. Her husband, Peter (Rupert Graves), assumes that of course she opposes the striking women. Not so fast there, Pete.

Niki Caro's 2005 film “North Country” starred Charlize Theron in a similar story about a woman who won the first American sexual harassment lawsuit. That was in 1984. Some men are slow to figure these things out. The unexpected thing about “Made in Dagenham” is how entertaining it is. That's largely due to director Nigel Cole's choice of Sally Hawkins for his lead. In Mike Leigh's “Happy Go Lucky” (2009) and again here, she shows an effortless lightness of being. If she has a limitation, it may be that she's constitutionally ill-adapted for playing a bad person.

Stimulating cinema: Four Lions

Director: Chris Morris
Year released: 2010

Bloody brilliant film about a group of would-be jihadists who can't seem to can't out of their own way. Genuine laughs are derived from a scary topic (terrorism). Truly one of the best films I have seen, ever. The review comes from A.O. Scott and was originally published in the New York Times on November 4, 2010.

Terrorism is stupid. Terrorists are stupid. It seems to me that these truths have not been sufficiently acknowledged, especially by movies, which tend to imagine terrorists as the diabolically clever authors of complicated conspiracies. But surely the recent historical record suggests that for every extremist mastermind scheming in a cave somewhere, there are innumerable stooges, fools and copycats, their dreams of glory tethered to half-baked ideas and harebrained plots. Incompetence married to zeal is hardly benign--dumb people have done their share of damage in the world--but it can nonetheless be funny.

These musings are inspired by "Four Lions," a shockingly hilarious, stiletto-sharp satire directed by Chris Morris and written by a squad of British wits. It concerns a squad of British nitwits eager to wage jihad and unsure of just how to go about doing it. That there are five of them in a movie called “Four Lions” is testament either to their aggregate brain power or to their mathematical skills, though it is also true that one of the group is subtracted by an incident of premature martyrdom involving a sheep.

Shot in a jerky, low-budget style just a few steps removed from the inflammatory Web videos its characters try to make, “Four Lions” is unsparing and yet also curiously affectionate. Taking place mainly in a nondescript, lower-middle-class suburb, with excursions to Pakistan and London, the film proceeds through a barrage of multilingual, heavily accented slang, punctuated by bursts of nearly “Jackass”-worthy slapstick, some fatal. In the manner of "Extras" or "In the Loop" it offers a thoroughly cynical, cringe-inducingly precise portrait of a slice of contemporary society.

It is hard to know just how to introduce the five self-styled mujahideen whose confused, powerful desire to blow something up sends the movie on its chaotic, farcical journey. Perhaps in ascending order of intelligence? In that case, Waj (Kayvan Novak) would probably come first, since he cannot tell a chicken from a rabbit and studies Islamic doctrine in children’s books like “The Cat Who Went to Mecca.” He would be followed by Faisal (Adeel Akhtar), a dreamy, timid soul whose big operational idea is to train crows to be suicide bombers.

Waj and Faisal are disarmingly sweet-natured, given that they have chosen the path of violence. The same cannot be said for Barry (Nigel Lindsay), whose belligerent fanaticism may stem from the fact that he is presumably a convert to Islam. Or he may just be nuts. His big operational idea is to bomb a local mosque, which he says will “radicalize the moderates.”

In any event, when Barry recruits Hassan (Arsher Ali), who expresses his religious beliefs through bad hip-hop rhymes, he precipitates one of many schisms within the cell, in particular because the leader, Omar (Riz Ahmed), is jealous.

To say that Omar is the brains-- and also the conscience-- of this band of brothers is accurate, as far as it goes. Though he cannot aim a rocket launcher, a failure that gets him and Waj thrown out of a training camp in Pakistan, Omar can tell a rabbit from a chicken, and he can see his comrades’ foolishness. This means that he can expand the movie’s comic range by making fun of them and also that he becomes a vessel for the audience’s sympathy. That he is a regular guy with a job as a security guard, a good-humored wife (Preeya Kalidas) and a young son makes him all the more likable, even as his likability makes his commitment to violence especially disturbing.

Unlike, say, Udayan Prasad and Hanif Kureishi's sensitive and prescient "My Son the Fanatic," "Four Lions" is not an examination of the social and psychological roots of British Muslim fundamentalism. Its mockery is cruel, well aimed and, in its way, fair, since non-Muslim Britons and nonviolent Muslims (like Omar’s pious brother) come off no better than the titular pride of lions.

Inept as they are, the five members of this foursome follow the logic of their convictions to the end, and the film is nervy enough to do the same. It sustains its comedy past the point of sensitivity or good feeling, tickling the audience with matters that may be too painful, too awful, to contemplate otherwise and building toward an ending that manages to be grim, appalling and uproarious all at once. You laugh until the laughter turns to ashes in your mouth. And then you laugh some more.

Stimulating cinema: The second best soccer movie of all time

Movie: The Damned United
Director: Tom Hooper
Year released: 2009

This is one of the best sports movies I've ever seen. It so happens that the beautiful game is my one true sports passion, so naturally I would be predisposed to liking this one. But I'm confident that both of these films would appeal to non-soccer--or maybe even non-sports--fans. Character development is the reason why--in "Offside," the characters elicit sympathy and empathy. In "United," the characters may not all be terribly likable or admirable but they are undeniably fascinating. And the soccer technicalities--things like moving up and down a division for example--are illustrated and explained in such a way that a non-fan is able to understand and focus on the characters, their motivations and their actions. "United" is an endlessly fascinating film with a slew of excellent performances and a compelling story.

At the movie's center is manager Brian Clough (rhymes with "enough," I was never quite sure how to pronounce this until watching the movie). Played with near-perfection by Michael Sheen, Clough is a cocky bantam rooster of a man. A success as a player (he's quick to point out to his charges that he scored 251 goals in 274 matches during his career), Clough has become equally successful as a manager. The movie begins in 1974 following England's failure to qualify for that year's World Cup. Legendary manager Alf Ramsey steps aside paving the way for Don Revie to assume the hot seat. Revie (Colm Meaney, in another tremendous performance) has had a hugely successful career at Leeds United, building the team into a "di-nasty" and generating unstinting loyalty from his players. He is absolutely revered at Leeds and anyone following in his footsteps would be up against it. Of course, that man is the headstrong, arrogant, flamboyant Clough.

Clough wastes little time is blowing up everything Revie has created at Leeds. He gives a controversial interview on local Yorkshire television, claiming Leeds' glories have been tainted because Revie instructed his team to play dirty (the old school Revie might have argued tough but fair).

Clough tells them they can throw away all their medals and trophies because they haven't won them fairly. Clough tells his resentful players that they will now learn to play attractive, free-flowing football and leave the rough stuff behind. They are also forbidden to even mention Revie's name, which of course doesn't go over well. It's easy to see that it's personal for Clough when it comes to Revie and we flashback to the roots of the problem.

January 27, 1968. Clough and his loyal assistant Peter Taylor (Timothy Spall, another home-run performance) are in charge of struggling Derby County, a second-division team struggling near last place. They are drawn against Leeds in an FA Cup match. Clough is overjoyed; Leeds are leading the first division at the time and even though beating the visiting giants will take some doing, it will be a prestigious game (and a profitable one) for his unfashionable little club. Clough rolls out the red carpet for the visitors, making sure the field is as good as it can be and even breaking out a bottle of fine wine for after the match. Clough assumes that Revie and he are similar blokes; they both grew up in the same region and both played for the same team. But when Leeds arrives for the match, Revie ignores Clough (it's not clear whether he ignored him or simply didn't see him in the crowd). And after the match--a hard-fought affair Derby loses 2-0--Revie shakes hands with Taylor and the team's trainer but not with Clough (again, it's not clear if this was an intentional snub or just an oversight). Nevertheless, the roots are planted and Clough becomes obsessed with beating Leeds and one-upping Revie.

The infusion of new talent--thanks to Taylor's keen eye for spotting good players--helps lowly Derby win the second division title and gain promotion to the top flight. Now they will be on the same level as Leeds. Clough and Taylor are overjoyed; everything they have worked together to achieve is coming true. But despite their success, the Derby chairman Sam Longson is miffed. Played with almost Dickensian spirit by Jim Broadbent, Longson is angry that Clough has spent money on the players and perhaps even more miffed because he wasn't consulted about the new signings before him. Clough, arrogant as ever, basically tells the chairman to lump it and he and Taylor set about building Derby into a champion. Improbably, Derby wins the top division title in 1972 making Clough and Taylor the toast of the football world. That victory also gives them entry into next season's European Cup, a prestigious competition featuring the top teams from throughout the continent.

Clough continues to spar with Longson over finances and their rows become increasingly hostile. It all comes to head as Derby prepares to take on Italian team Juventus in the European Cup semifinals. Simply making it that far as a fantastic achievement for a small team like Derby but as luck would have it they have to face Leeds in a league match a couple of days before. Longson strongly urges Clough that maybe he should rest a few of the regulars and save them for the potentially more lucrative European match. Bollocks to that, says Clough, who is still burning to beat Revie at every turn. A heated argument ensues between the two, with Taylor looking on in horror. Win or lose, you get the sense that Clough's fate was sealed right then and Taylor knows it--he tells his friend that he shouldn't have talked to the chairman that way and that he doesn't want to lose his job at Derby. Clough thinks they are untouchable because of the way they've transformed the team into the winners and claims the fans would revolt if anything happened to them. Of course, Derby loses to Leeds and several key players get banged up in the process (Clough was right by the way, Leeds was a dirty team although whether they were dirtier than others at the time is debatable.) Derby then loses to Juventus too, ending the European dream and turning off the money taps.

Defiant as ever, Clough blasts Longson in the press after that game; telling the media that the chairman is more interested in renovating the directors' box than spending money on players. Taylor suffers a heart attack and his health problems only strengthen his wish that Clough would just turn it down a notch so that they can keep things status quo. Clough has other ideas though and writes a letter to the board offering up his and Taylor's resignation in a half-baked plan to force the chairman's hand. The board calls his bluff though, and despite their massive success, Clough and Taylor are out. Naturally, the fans are furious--there are petitions and protests--and Clough is confident he and Taylor will get their jobs back. But when Derby names former player Dave Mackay as manager (a player Clough brought to Derby years earlier when Mackay was virtually at the end of his playing days) the battle is over.

Reeling and in need of a job, the pair get a call from Brighton and Hove Albion, a nondescript third-division team. The Albion chairman has big dreams and deep pockets--he wants Brighton in the top flight and is willing to pay Clough and Taylor first-division wages if they'll work their magic once again. Taylor is keen to join but not Clough; Brighton is a southern town and he's from the North. He can't relate to the sleepy ways of the seasiders. Eventually though he accepts the offer but says he, Taylor and their families need a holiday in Mallorca first. There, Clough is approached by someone from Leeds who wants to gauge his interest in the job. Clough and Taylor get into a furious argument--Taylor thinks its wrong to break their word while Clough arguing that it's merely a better job and anyone would do the same thing if offered. Words escalate, and soon Clough is insulting his friend, insinuating that he brought nothing to their success and that he, Clough, did everything on his own. Taylor is deeply wounded--he was the brains behind the operation, always loyal and faithful and didn't deserve Clough's scorn. It is a strong, strong scene and the two end up going their separate ways.

And now we're back at the start. Without Taylor's steadying influence and the cooperation of his players, Clough's reign at Leeds lasted only 44 days as the team made its worst-ever start to a season. Later, he appears on a talk show, thinking he'll speak about his time at Leeds and what went wrong. Instead he's blindsided; his nemesis Revie will be on the show too and the two spar back and forth in what would have made for fascinating live viewing.

Clough accuses Revie of being cold-hearted and dishonest and brings up the handshake snub of six years earlier. Revie claims not to have known who the young manager was, a dubious statement considering that Revie was well-known for meticulously researching each and every opponent (he supplied his Leeds players with detailed dossiers on their opposition before every match). The interview ends with Clough saying "we'll see where we are in one years' time, in five years time." There is the small matter left of healing the rift between him an Taylor and as the film ends, Clough is driving down to Brighton with the hopes of patching things up. A postscript to the movie tells what became of the principals and--depending on who you believe in the Clough-Revie dispute--you can say it's a happy ending.

At center stage is the relationship between Clough and Taylor. I've seen frequent articles that compared them to a married couple and that's an entirely appropriate analogy. They bring out the best in each other and when times are good, they are splendid. But they also bring out the worst in one another at times (their climactic blowup on the beach in Mallorca) and the relationship is not always the healthiest. Ultimately though, it worked grandly because it was based on respect, trust and love, foundations for any good relationship. Clough and Taylor had spouses and families of their own but they were inextricably tied to one another, heart and soul.

Stimulating speech: Winston Churchill's greatest hits

No fan of Clement Atlee then--and snarky to the ladies as well--but Sir Winston Churchill (1874-1965) certainly had a way with words. Whether or not you agree with his politics, the man did know how to turn a phrase and in this era of cookie-cutter, sound-bite spouting leaders, we could use a dose of Churchillian originality and verve.

We make a living by what we get, but we make a life by what we give.

There is no such thing as a good tax.

Some see private enterprise as a predatory target to be shot, others as a cow to be milked, but few are those who see it as a sturdy horse pulling the wagon.

The inherent vice of capitalism is the unequal sharing of blessings; the inherent virtue of socialism is the equal sharing of miseries.

We contend that for a nation to tax itself into prosperity is like a man standing in a bucket and trying to lift himself up by the handle.

An appeaser is one who feeds a crocodile—hoping it will eat him last.

The problems of victory are more agreeable than the problems of defeat, but they are no less difficult.

From now on, ending a sentence with a preposition is something up with which I shall not put.

A fanatic is one who can’t change his mind and won’t change the subject.

Bessie Braddock: “Sir, you are drunk.”
Churchill: “Madam, you are ugly. In the morning, I shall be sober.”

Nancy Astor: “Sir, if you were my husband, I would give you poison.”
Churchill: “If I were your husband I would take it.”

A lie gets halfway around the world before the truth has a chance to get its pants on.

Once in a while you will stumble upon the truth but most of us manage to pick ourselves up and hurry along as if nothing had happened.

If you are going to go through hell, keep going.

It is a good thing for an uneducated man to read books of quotations.

You have enemies? Good. That means you’ve stood up for something, sometime in your life.

If you have ten thousand regulations, you destroy all respect for the law.

You can always count on Americans to do the right thing—after they’ve tried everything else.

History will be kind to me for I intend to write it.

Writing a book is an adventure. To begin with, it is a toy and an amusement; then it becomes a mistress, and then it becomes a master, and then a tyrant. The last phase is that just as you are about to be reconciled to your servitude, you kill the monster, and fling him out to the public.

The farther backward you can look, the farther forward you are likely to see.

A sheep in sheep’s clothing. (on Clement Atlee)

A modest man, who has much to be modest about. (on Clement Atlee)

I am ready to meet my Maker. Whether my Maker is prepared for the ordeal of meeting me is another matter.

The truth is incontrovertible, malice may attack it, ignorance may deride it, but in the end; there it is.

A pessimist sees the difficulty in every opportunity; an optimist sees the opportunity in every difficulty.
To improve is to change; to be perfect is to change often.

Politics is the ability to foretell what is going to happen tomorrow, next week, next month and next year. And to have the ability afterwards to explain why it didn’t happen.

Socialism is a philosophy of failure, the creed of ignorance, and the gospel of envy.

Solitary trees, if they grow at all, grow strong.

Success consists of going from failure to failure without loss of enthusiasm.

The best argument against democracy is a five-minute conversation with the average voter.

It has been said that democracy is the worst form of government except all the others that have been tried.

Everyone has his day and some days last longer than others.

The whole history of the world is summed up in the fact that, when nations are strong, they are not always just, and when they wish to be just, they are no longer strong.

From Stettin in the Baltic to Trieste in the Adriatic, an iron curtain has descended across the Continent. (from "The Sinews of Peace" speech, given at Westminster College, Fulton, Mo., March 5, 1945)

If Hitler invaded hell I would make at least a favorable reference to the devil in the House of Commons.

Those who can win a war well can rarely make a good peace and those who could make a good peace would never have won the war.

Courage is the first of human qualities because it is the quality that guarantees all the others.

The problems of victory are more agreeable than those of defeat, but they are no less difficult.

If you will not fight for right when you can easily win without blood shed; if you will not fight when your victory is sure and not too costly; you may come to the moment when you will have to fight with all the odds against you and only a precarious chance of survival. There may even be a worse case. You may have to fight when there is no hope of victory, because it is better to perish than to live as slaves.

You ask, What is our policy? I will say; “It is to wage war, by sea, land and air, with all our might and with all the strength that God can give us: to wage war against a monstrous tyranny, never surpassed in the dark lamentable catalogue of human crime. That is our policy.” You ask, What is our aim? I can answer with one word: Victory--victory at all costs, victory in spite of all terror, victory however long and hard the road may be; for without victory there is no survival.

We shall not flag or fail. We shall go on to the end. We shall fight in France, we shall fight on the seas and the oceans, we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air, we shall defend our island, whatever the cost may be. We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender.

Hitler knows that he will have to break us in this island or lose the war. If we can stand up to him, all Europe may be free and life of the world may move forward into broad, sunlit uplands. But if we fail, then the whole world, including the United States, including all that we have known and cared for will sink into the abyss of a new Dark Age, made more sinister and perhaps more protracted by the lights of perverted science. Let us therefore brace ourselves to our duties and so bear ourselves that, if the British Empire and its Commonwealth lasts for a thousand years, men will still say, "this was their finest hour."

Stiumlating cinema: The Lonliness of the Long Distance Runner

Director: Tony Richardson
Year released: 1962

You wouldn't know it to look at me now, but I used to be a long distance runner. In a slightly (okay, extremely) obsessive quest to keep my weight in check, I took up running the mid-2000s. Several nights each week after returning from work--and for me this means 12:30 or 1 in the morning--I would don my gear and go out for a run.

Now my neighborhood was not the best; in fact, at times my route would take me through some not-very-safe areas. It's truly a miracle I was never accosted, attacked or even really hassled very much. But then again, think about it. Someone who is out pounding the pavement at 2 in the morning in the middle of downtown in a large U.S. city obviously has to be a little off in the head, a little nuts. And it's kind of true, although "single-minded" might be a more apt description. I remember the kind guard at the building where I lived would just laugh and shake his head at me whenever I went out--rain, snow, near tornadoes, it didn't matter. At one point I was up to 10 or 11 miles a pop, an absurd amount if you aren't training for anything (which I wasn't).

I marvel at this single-minded pursuit of something, however strange it might be. Where did it go? I sure don't have it now and my waistline backs that up. But I can relate to the character in this great classic of British cinema, who runs not because he necessarily wants to but because--for whatever reason--he has too.

Colin Smith (Tom Courtenay) is a rebel growing up in 1960s Britain. When we first see him, he has been shipped off to a reform school called Ruxton Towers. He is determined not to play by the rules--at one point hilariously bewildering the staff psychologist who is trying find out what makes him tick. We see--in flashback--what brought him to this point. His father dies after drinking poison to escape the constant pain of disease. Sadly, only Colin seems to care--his younger brothers and sisters are blissfully unaware of the significance of the event and Colin's mom (Avis Bunnage) is only to quick to cash in the life insurance policy and go on a massive spending binge (on a side note, it's amazing to see what 500 pounds bought you back in '62).

Colin finds some happiness and solace in pretty Audrey (Topsy Jane) and larks about with his mate. Already dabbling in petty crime, the boys impulsively rob a baker's one night. The crime goes down well enough but eventually the law catches up to our Col, thanks in no small part to a very untimely rainstorm.

Earlier, in the scenes at the reform school, we learn Colin has an aptitude for long distance running. This talent attracts the eye of the school's head (Michael Redgrave). He's keen to beat a nearby rival public (private in the U.S.) school on "Sports Day" and pins a great deal of hope on Colin and his ability. He's kind enough, but he's only being nice to Colin because of what Colin can do for him. And Colin goes along, soaking up the perks--unsupervised training runs and a cushy job in the garden--while not being fully vested in being the governor's fair-haired boy. The climax of the movie comes on race day, when Colin faces off with his posh rival who is like him in so many ways, but with much better breaks along the road.

Adapted from Alan Sillitoe's equally good short story, "Runner" is a real revelation. Shot in glorious black and white--the beach scenes in Skegness are especially grand--it looks great visually. And the tone, set early on by mopey, wanna-be rebel Colin, stays high throughout. "Runner" touches on themes of dysfunctional families, class conflicts and yes, loneliness. When it's just you and the pavement, the mind can conjure up just about anything.