I went to see The Gentleman last night, of which I knew nothing at all, though once it began I realised I did know that Hugh Grant had a film in which he gleefully played a scuzzy tabloid journalist of the sort he loathes and established an actual NGO about. It was entertaining stuff: very clever of course, being directed by Guy Ritchie, and quite empty and lightweight. Also, the first ten minutes I had no idea what was going on as I developed that inevitable scratch in the throat that made me need to cough very badly, and instead I suppressed it, with tears flowing from my eyes and completely unable to concentrate on what was going on. Fortunately it didn’t matter as it was the sort of film that has so many twists and turns one could really come into it at any point and be able to follow what was happening, or leave without really needing to know what happens at the end or what the truth of it all is.
There was one lost opportunity, I thought: a gym run by Colin Farrell for a bunch of delinquent teens, which I thought was far more interesting and amusing than the Chinaman subplot, which often seemed to me to drift into the kind of edgy faux-racism that is so self-conscious that it is, basically, just racist.
The cinema was one of those super luxury ones that our unequal Asian societies seem to do exceptionally well. One of the people I went with promptly fell asleep and I could hear her snoring gently throughout.
A pleasant outing, all in all.