On Big Evil Plans and Superheroes

This is about the Big Evil Plans in this year's comic book movies. As such, it contains spoilers. Lots of spoilers. Spoilers for The Dark Knight Rises, The Amazing Spider-Man and The Avengers. You have been warned. SPOILERS.

So I watched The Dark Knight Rises. I enjoyed it, I enjoyed it a lot. There was a lot to love (give Caine another Oscar at once) and it looked incredible. It was a fitting end to Christopher Nolan's bat-saga – an immersive multi-film character-arc that sits favourably beside The Lord of the Rings, The Godfather and … er … the Star Wars prequels.

But as much as I enjoyed it, by golly was it a long, flawed movie. You could actually see Matthew Modine ageing throughout the course of the film. I wouldn't have minded the length so much if the thing that was padding it out – Bane/Talia's evil maniacal scheme – had actually made sense. As it was happening, I kind of thought/hoped it was building up to something more evil, more … challenging. But no, it's just a really elaborate, protracted revenge plot.

If I remember it correctly, this is Talia's evil plan:

  • Deliberately get Bane captured by the CIA so that he can share a plane with The Only Fission Scientist In The World and kidnap him.
  • Persuade slimy construction magnate Daggett to lace Gotham with explosive concrete and hire Selina Kyle to obtain Bruce Wayne's fingerprints. Hopefully Daggett won't question how exactly this plan is meant to benefit him.
  • Use Wayne's fingerprints to make blatantly fraudulent deals on the stock exchange.
  • Now broke, Wayne will obviously hand control of his empire over to Miranda Tate/Talia al Ghul (someone he's met a couple of times and knows nothing about) and show her where the fission reactor is. At no point should Wayne's identity as Batman – which Bane and Talia are aware of – be used to manipulate him.
  • Wayne is snapped and thrown into the Pit.
  • The bridges are destroyed with the explosive concrete, isolating Gotham. Blow up some other stuff. Trap the city's police force (who apparently only ever do anything in one great big disorganised mob) in the sewers, after they're ordered down there at exactly the right moment.
  • Steal the reactor, weaponises it, and then drive it around town for five months in one of three identical trucks (ooh, that'll slow them down!).
  • Just to make him feel bad, make Wayne watch Gotham get all messy on a crappy telly with poor reception.
  • The bomb will blow up Gotham in its own good time, or maybe Talia will detonate it if she fancies it.

All of this, just to avenge Papa al Ghul's death? Does any of that make sense to you?

The Joker's plan in The Dark Knight didn't make much sense either, but as that film progressed, it became more and more evident that his only plan was to use the city as a chaotic playground in which he and Batman could frolic, psycho-bromatically. A senseless structure to his actions – and maybe I'm giving Nolan et al too much credit here – was actually an integral part of the plot. In this film though, the plan just appears to be long-winded and messy just for the sake of making the film more epic.

Some of the consequences of this plan are interesting, but never quite reach the promised level of epicness. The disintegration of the city could've been a fascinating direction of what a city is and how it operates without order – think the dystopian visions of Children of Men or The Pianist. But rather than watching a city eat itself, we're mostly just shown a small group's attempts to remove some policemen from a hole. So the plan doesn't really serve the antagonists or the film.

Thinking back to the year's other big comic book movies, it occurs to me that the Big Evil Plans in those movies didn't make a great deal of sense either. I mean, what was Loki's goal in The Avengers? Why was he doing what he was doing, and what was his plan for getting it done? Why was he working for those alien folk? Or were they working for him? And why exactly did he get himself captured? It all seemed a bit haphazard. And aside from "ooh, I do like a good reptile me", what was The Lizard's plan in The Amazing Spider-Man? It's like he'd watched the end of the first X-Men film and just copied it because it looked like an interesting way to spend an evening.

Evil used to be so much more simple. It used to be clear-cut and to-the-point. Now it's all about stock exchanges and deliberate capture (now there's a done-to-death trope we don't need to see any more) and driving bombs around town for no good reason. Evil's not evil any more, it's just nonsense.

Perhaps Skyfall will lead us out of this quagmire of inept evil. Although the Bond films aren't immune to terrible Big Evil Plans (I still have no idea what Quantum of Solace was about), they also gave us the pinnacle of the form: Goldfinger's Fort Knox heist. Hopefully the new film will take its lead from that and demonstrate that convoluted opaque schemes don't necessarily equate to smart ones.

Bandage

I'm knocking some code around, and need to throw a test post out there to make sure my RSS feed is working. Seems like as good an excuse as any to quote this speech from the last episode of Mad Men, which is one of the best things I've seen in a while:

He needed to let off some steam, he needed adventure, he needed to feel handsome again. He needed to feel that he knew something, that all this aging was worth something, because he knew things young people didn’t know yet. He probably thought it would be like having a few tall drinks and feeling very, very good, and then he would go back to his life and say, ‘That was nice.’ …

And then he realized everything he already had was not right either, and that was why it had happened at all, and that his life with his family was some temporary bandage on a permanent wound.

Now that's writing.

Prometheus

At last, after years of intrigue and months of the most obnoxious marketing campaign in recent memory, Prometheus if finally out. And I've seen it. And I have issues with it. SO MANY ISSUES.

Apparently I'm not the only one. Not wanting to spill spoils all over twitter, I've set up this page to discuss the film in a nice little cordoned-off area of the web. Obviously, if you haven't seen the film, stop reading this now. Enjoy this unofficial poster from Midnight Marauder and then go away. Go see the film (for it definitely is worth seeing) and then come back here afterwards to enjoy the vitriol.

Seen it? Good. So, anyway, issues:

It's a prequel, but it isn't a prequel

The filmmakers have gone to great lengths to make it clear that this takes place before Alien. It isn't another universe or timeline. They set up a situation that is almost identical – but not quite – to the one the crew of the Nostromo come across in that film. There is a derelict ship that has crashed in an identical way, there is a proto-xenomorph wandering about. But this is on a different planet, and it's a different ship.

WHY?

Aside from "oh we really fancied dragging this out into another couple of films", what is the point of this? They've made a film that 95% gels directly with the original film, and then at the last minute – psych! – no it isn't. Setting up further prequel films would be fine if they hadn't already led the audience down the path of anticipating the joins (something that I was rather enjoying up until I didn't). I read this on one forum, and it pretty much sums it up: "It's like reaching the end of Revenge of the Sith and Anakin gets up and … isn't Darth Vader."

The characters may be asking "how did we begin", but the audience are there for the answer to "how did Alien begin?". All they had to do was keep the Space Jockey in his chair, or perhaps put Shaw in the chair and then have the chest-burster scene happen there. Do we really need two more films to wait for someone to sit in a bloody chair and get tummy ache? It's a great build up full of intrigue and clues and anticipation, completely fumbled at the last minute … from the writer of Lost. We should've seen it coming.

(By the way, one prequel that does go to great lengths to gel perfectly with the original is the new version of The Thing, which is a lot better than you probably think it's going to be.)

The casting

The casting in this film is ridiculous. Given that the crew of the Prometheus is international, why juggle about the nationalities of the cast? You want Idris Elba in your film? Fine. Does he need to be American? No. Not at all. Messing around with their accents is just distracting (particularly in the case of Rafe Spall and Noomi Rapace) and serves no purpose whatsoever.

And why on earth cast Guy Pearce? Aside from one viral video in which he plays his own age, what is the point in casting him only to slap on some rather dodgy old man make-up? It was a great opportunity for getting an old legend in there. Random idea: Clive Dunn. Yes, Clive Dunn is still alive. IMAGINE CLIVE DUNN IN PROMETHEUS. Or, and I realise they already kind of spaffed this idea on the AvP films, how about Lance Henriksen?

Idiot scientists

These are scientists. Not just any scientists, but given the expense and importance of the mission, presumably scientists at the top of their field. And they're all bloody morons. The evidence:

  • They rather luckily land in one place on the planet where there's sign of life. They walk into a single building, find a single body and then declare the entire civilisation extinct. Jumping the gun a tad, no?

  • Having found that this one building contains bio-weaponry, they decide that this isn't their home planet, and is an arms-factory planet thing. That's like an alien visiting Earth, walking into a book shop and declaring that this must be a library planet belonging to a species from elsewhere.

  • "So, this alien building. With the skull on top. Where everything has died. On an otherwise toxic planet. LET'S TAKE OUR HELMETS OFF!"

  • If you've somehow reanimated a dead alien's head using a gizmo, and then the dead alien's head starts throbbing and expressing absolute agony, maybe turn the gizmo down a couple of notches. 

  • Don't pet phallic alien things that crawl out of black sludge. Just don't.

The music

Oh right, so this is a Star Trek film now, is it?

The production design

Oh right, so this is Jodorowsky's Dune now, is it?

A waste of space

Look, if you're going to make a film with a spaceship in it – and then name the film after that spaceship – show it in action. The Prometheus spends most of the film parked. That's no fun.

It starts in the wrong place

That enigmatic montage of Earth at the beginning aside, the main action should start with the ship waking up. Not on Scotland. That whole scene was completely pointless. Imagine if it opened with the sequence of a lone mysterious guy wandering around a massive ship and getting his jollies to Lawrence of Arabia. Much more intriguing. And claustrophobic. And creepy.

Serials belong on telly

I'm fed up of films that don't work on their own, no proper endings/structures, only a teaser for the next film. Hunger Games was the same. Serialised storytelling belongs on telly. I've nothing against franchises, but each film should work on its own. Like Alien and Aliens did. Serialised films can work, bit only of there is definitely another one coming out very soon. The Lord of the Rings films worked. But ending a film with "Weeee, we're going on a space adventure! In a few years! If the box office takings are sufficient!" instead of an actual climax is just plain insulting to the audience.

The biggest crime of all: mediocrity

It's just so very nothingy. The credits say it was directed by Ridley Scott, but really it could've been directed by anyone. It's just so very bland-looking. It's passable. It kills time. Now go back to the original Alien and marvel at the framing, the editing, the atmosphere of the thing. It claws at your face. Now that is a film.

Words

A few words I've been throwing around willy-nilly recently: I've written about the magic of posting things (you know, actually posting … posting things … in the post … with stamps and paper and spit) in the April issue of MacUser. I've written a stationery field guide for So & So. And I've interviewed some lovely magazine folk for the forthcoming issue of the ever-brilliant Gym Class Magazine. More words will be thrown as they come to me.

Read. It's good for you.

Books

Being a designer, I'm obliged to have Ikea Expedit shelving (one day I'll upgrade to advanced designers' shelving: Vitsoe). In that grid of sixteen shelfulous holes, Dr B and I have managed to compartmentalise all sorts of reading material – Penguin, Marvel and Laurence King each get there own squares, as does Philip K Dick. But there's one square at the top that contains a collection of my essential, always-helpful, never-to-be-eBayed, perfect books. Whenever I hit designer's block, it's to these books that I turn first. They're a great source of reference and inspiration. Here they are (with – disclaimer – Amazonian affiliation links which will help go towards building my Peanuts and Hellboy libraries):

Fifty Years of Painting by Ed Ruscha. Since coming face-to-face with OOF a few years ago, Ruscha has become one of my favourite artists. Dr B bought me this rather lovely book after we went to the Hayward Gallery's excellent retrospective in 2010. Flicking through his work – a distinctive blend of photography, packaging design, architecure, colour and type – never fails to spark up my imagination valves.

Full Moon by Michael Light. Very simple, this one: it's photographs taken by astronauts on their way to, and on, the moon. The moon for crying loud. If that doesn't inspire you in any way, you're a moron.

Moondust: In Search of the Men Who Fell to Earth by Andrew Smith. Smith's quest to interview the surviving astronauts who have stepped onto the moon. Like Full Moon, but in text form. And quite heartbreaking. Puts any troubles you're having into perspective (frustrated that you can't get Word to shut down properly? Try coping with a life stuck on Earth after you've walked on the frisking moon, desk jockey) and a reminder that mankind is capable of quite astonishing, brilliant things.

A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius by Dave Eggers. Yes, he's a bit pretentious, but I'm a complete sucker for Eggers' words. This memoir, which goes from the death of his parents through to the launch of Might magazine (because start-ups aren't a new thing, you know?) is … well, what the title says actually.

The Visual Display of Quantitative Information by Edward Tufte. Tufte knows information. He knows how it works and how it should be presented. And he demonstrates that the complex presentation of data has been around since long before the invention of the Mac – the explosion in infographics in recent years probably wouldn't have happened without this and a couple of Tufte's other texts. Whenever I'm stuck and wondering if I'm doing it right, this book always helps (actually, a cheaper alternative would just be a big piece of paper with "NO YOU ARE NOT" printed on it).

Seventy-nine Short Essays on Design by Michael Bierut. Culled from Bierut's articles for Design Observer, this collection is always a great place to spend a few minutes and, with each essay, get you thinking about design in a completely new context. Plus, each essay is set in a different typeface, so it's handy just as a type reference guide too. And it's yellow.

Logo Design Love: A Guide to Creating Iconic Brand Identities by David Airey. If you have any interest whatsoever in branding and logo design, you'll already know of David Airey. Based on a multitude of typically helpful and generous blog posts that go behind the scenes of his design process, this is a great resource for anyone in the business of creating/embiggening logos.

Ordering Disorder: Grid Principles for Web Design by Khoi Vinh. An excellent guide to the theory, not the code, of designing for the web by the former Design Director of the NY Times. I couldn't have made this site without it. If you're not familiar with Vinh, take your eyes for a wander over to his blog Subtraction at once.

Studio Culture: The Secret Life of the Graphic Design Studio by Tony Brook and Adrian Shaughnessy. The first of many great titles from Unit Editions, this is a book-shaped peek through the windows of other people's studios. With interviews and (unfortunately rather small) pictures, this is a great look at the how, what and where of the design industry at the moment. Shaughnessy's How to be a Graphic Designer without Losing Your Soul and Graphic Design: A User's Manual are also pretty much essential.

The BLDGBLOG Book by Geoff Manaugh. Another case of taking a blog and repurposing it for print, finding a more suitable rhythm and medium for the subjects at hand (in this case, "architectural conjecture, urban speculation and landscape futures"). Some of it is quite heavy-going, but always fascinating. Fingers crossed for a second edition based solely on Manaugh's film-related articles (Nakatomi Space is a particular favourite of mine).

Grid Systems in Graphic Design by Josef Müller-Brockman. A classic text for any designer, looking at the core elements of design. Written pre-Mac, pre-Adobe, it gets to the fundamentals without getting bogged down in the specifics of execution. Plus it's bilingual, so you can teach yourself German whilst reading it. Which is nice.

Eames by Gloria Koenig. There are chunkier books on Charles and Ray Eames, but for a simple overview of their work, and something that you can just dip into and be immediately inspired by, this slim volume does the trick nicely thank you very much. A constant reminder that the boundaries between design disciplines can – and should – be traversed.

Barbican – Penthouse Over the City by David Heathcoate. The Barbican is one of those pieces of design that absolutely fascinates me. The architecture, the ideology behind it, everything. It's like a post-war idea of what a fortress on Mars would look like. One day, Dr B and I will live there, oh yes we will. Heathcote's book goes into incredible detail about its development, with an amazing array of plans and photographs and illustrations. Plus it's simply an excellent example of editorial design.

Less and More – The Design Ethos of Dieter Rams by Keiko Ueki-Polet and Klaus Klemp. It's a big book full of pictures of things design by Dieter Rams? What's not to love? Well, one thing actually: the cover of the first edition. It's made of the most horrible plastic stuff imaginable – like putting a Fabergé egg in an athlete's foot sock. Apart from that, utterly beautiful.

Is Douglas Trumbull making Rendezvous With Rama?

A very brief introduction to Douglas Trumbull for those you who don't know him: he's the guy who created the groundbreaking effects for, amongst other things, 2001: A Space Odyssey, Blade Runner, Close Encounters of the Third Kind and more recently, The Only Bit In The Tree Of Life Worth Sticking Around For. And he directed Silent Running, which is ace. So there, now you know.

Anyway … in a recent interview with The Hollywood Reporter, Trumbull describes a film he's planning on making, a project that will showcase the true potential of cinema in the 21st century, something that is "way beyond anything that Peter Jackson and James Cameron have been doing". Here's how he describes it:

… it’s a 200-years-in-the-future science fiction space epic that’s going to address very big, lofty issues, like man’s place in the universe, and how our contact with an extraterrestrial civilizations that are so mind-bogglingly in advance of our own that it will go into some of the same territory that 2001 went into, and it’s going to do it in a very plausibly scientific way, not a fanciful way. There are no alien monsters, and the earth is not being attacked by anybody. It’s going to be a much more intelligent, what we call hard-science fiction, and I think there’s absolutely nothing out there like this.

That sounds an awful lot like Rendezvous With Rama to me. Having just read the book for the first time (it's amazing), it's still fresh in my mind. And every single thing Trumbull says has for Rama written all over it. Plus it's by the same author, Arthur C Clarke, so that reinforces the "same territory as 2001" bit.

It's a project that David Fincher and Morgan Freeman have been trying to get going for several years, so perhaps they've given up and Trumbull has stepped in. Or, better yet, they're working with him. Given the Fincher pattern of every other film being amazing, he's just got to get something merely very good out of his system (20,000 Leagues Under the Sea) and then … this. Even without Fincher, this could be fantastic. I may have just jumped to completely the wrong conclusion here, but for now, I'm incredibly excited.

Any other Rama fans out there? What do you reckon?

Can couples work together?

For the past month, that young Dr B and myself have both been working from home. She's on research leave, which basically means she gets to spend most of 2012 pouring the brilliant ideas in her head onto paper and into academic journals. Clever bunny.

We've set up our matching trestles-and-Mac desks, slapped the hellmouth printer in between, and now we've got a nice little office/studio/thinkatorium. Now you would've thought that working side-by-side was a terrible idea, and we'd get bored of the sight of each other, but it's actually going rather well. We drink silly amounts of coffee, we take it in turns staring furrowed-brow at the bookshelf for inspiration, we get stuff done. Crucially, we both know when we're due a Judge Judy break, and every now and then we'll have an impromptu Goodbye Yellow Brick Road sing-along.

One highlight of this set-up is that we get to share the highs of the other's work (like Dr B having a eureka moment in the middle of the night and trying to type it up as quickly as possible before sleep got hold of her) and help each other out through the lows ("I'm sorry darling, I have no idea why Word is doing that … no don't throw it out the window … let me make you some toast …").  Plus, having someone working really hard in the corner of your eye is incredibly motivating – and between two people, that's self-perpetuating inspiration. In summary: working with Dr B is brilliant.

Do you work with – or alongside – your other half? How is it?

Gallery photography etiquette

The Doc and I visited the Hepworth Wakefield the other day. It's a beautiful moated lump of concrete angles and brutality, full of some rather nice art. Very much my cup of tea. But it's also a bit confusing.

Worldwide, galleries generally fall into one of two camps: "please take as many photos as you like" and "if you even dare contemplate reaching for a camera you will be shouted at and publicly humiliated you pathetic art thief, what are you thinking, now delete every single file on your camera or we'll do your kneecaps in".

I understand both approaches, even if one is always upheld in the most disproportionately aggressive way possible (Leeds Art Gallery is particularly bad). I take photos of pretty much anything and everything I come across in my travels, but freedom to take snaps can be incredibly disruptive – a trip to MoMA a couple of years ago was marred considerably by the fact you couldn't get near any of the works for gaggles of people slowly framing perfect shots with their enormous TouristGigantiCams.

The problem with the Hepworth is that it can't decide which camp to be in, flitting between these two extremes on a room-by-room basis. Each room in the gallery has a tiny sign telling you whether or not photography is permitted. It all seems rather arbitrary. As a result, I spent my entire vista being slightly distracted by trying to work out under what conditions I may enjoy the work, and trying to perfect my iPhone-camera-ninja techniques. In the end, the only decent pics I managed to get were of the outside of the building.

So I'm undecided as to whether or not gallery photography is a good or bad thing, but I am certain that each gallery should make a decision one way or the other. What do you reckon?

York New York

I need some help from you wise, handsome folks. The beautiful Dr B and m'self are heading from York to New York for our honeymoon this summer, and our wedding gift list is basically going to be made up of New Yorkulous activities that people can get us.

We have a couple of things – a lunch of pastrami on rye at Katz's Deli, a pop to the top of the Empire State Building – but other than that, we're not entirely sure what to put on the list. We'll probably be heading to the High Line and MoMA at some point, but as far as I'm aware, they're both free. And cocktails will have to be had … somewhere.

So what would you recommend?

Facebook and the lost art of conversation

It's hard to pin down exactly what it is I don't like about Facebook – mostly because the damn thing changes shape every two weeks – but Daniel Howells makes a good point about how it's lost its personal focus over time, and conversation is no longer at the heart of it:

When I started using Facebook, I loved the fact that all the content on it was about my friends. Very simply and quickly, I could discover what they were up to, what they planned to do, or what they thought about stuff. The kinds of conversations that I had on the site were akin to the kind of conversations I might have in a pub.

In a pub, you talk about things that affect you, other people, or about things. The discussions and dialog you have is intrinsic sharing – sharing and discussing things that are very personal to you.

What you wouldn’t do is turn up to the pub with a bunch of DVDs, maybe some magazines, yesterday’s newspaper, and your Xbox. You also probably wouldn’t be standing there listening to Spotify on your iPhone. That’d just be rude.You then wouldn’t start handing these items out to other random people in the pub, often in total silence.

The increasingly undefined purpose of Facebook as a network just makes me appreciate things like Path even more. On there, you post updates about you, and that's it. No games, no videos, no external links (with the exception of music you're listening to, nobody trying to sell anything or point you to something interesting (that's what twitter is good for). Just good old harmless "this is what I did today" – it's a nice environment.

(Unfortunately it's a pub that people may have heard of, but they're not entirely sure how to get to it, or where the entrance is, or whether it has that weird "new pub" smell inside.)

To extend Daniel's metaphor, Path is a comfy booth next to the fireplace in the pub with your mates, just having a nice sit down (and there's nothing better than a good sit down, is there?). Twitter is going for drinks after your favourite conference, where you meet lots of like-minded people who you find yourself wildly gesticulating at whilst trying to hold five conversations at once about ephemeral yet fascinating things.

And Facebook? It isn't a pub any more. Facebook is like being shouted at in a supermarket.

Design Museum

I'm rather excited about the new location for the Design Museum. The former Commonwealth Institute building is stunning (who couldn't love that original hyperbolic paraboloid roof structure?), plus it's on Kensington High Street, so only a short walk from Whole Foods and the Roof Gardens. Looks like a proper good day out to me! Roll on 2014.

More details and pics at Creative Review.

D&AD publications? Anyone?

I'm a proud member of D&AD (Design and Art Direction for those not in the know. Not to be confused with the even nerdier AD&D), and although I pay my annual sub, I'm not sure I could really tell you what I get for it. A nice membership card and … I'm not really sure. There are events, but they're all quite London-centric. The one big tangible thing used to be the Annual – a mighty chunk of book, showcasing the year's best work – but now you have to pay extra for that (not only do you have to pay for it, it's actually cheaper for non-D&AD members).

But this wasn't supposed to be a rant about that. I'm sure I could be making more of an effort to get involved in their activities. No, what I wanted to raise was the idea of subsidised (as in CHEAPER) resources and guides for members. For example, I'm often dipping into the Graphic Artists Guild Handbook: Pricing and Ethical Guidelines. It's a fantastic reference guide, but is very clearly about the American market. I want – need – a UK version, and it seems obvious to me that D&AD should be the people to produce it. The Copy Book looks like a step in the right direction – I'd love to see more publications like this. I'm a print man myself, but I suppose they could even be delivered in one of these new "elec-tronic" formats I hear so much about at the Gentlemen's Club.

So, is it something you'd like to see D&AD do? Or am I completely off the mark here regarding their role in the world?

DC rebrand

When I first saw it, I wasn't too sure about the new DC branding – it looks like they sell stickers to me – but now I've seen how they plan to use it, I'm a little more convinced. Only a little. The gradient and the slim horizontal opening of the C still look a bit off. My big bugbear (commented on previously) is that they still insist on putting "Comics" after the abbreviation for "Comics". I know that some people are absolutely fine with this, but to me it's far, far worse than the whole Waterstones' apostrophe uproar.

Detective Comics. Or DC. DC Comics just looks stupid.

Path

I've been toying with new(ish) social network app thingy Path over the last few weeks. I'm still weighing up its usefulness, and where it fits in the whole twitter/Facebook/Google+/social recluse spectrum of things. I could bang on about it here, but Richard aka Ace Jet 170 has done a much better job of it, and I've left a big old comment under his observations, so you should just go and read all about it there instead.

Related: another Daniel (there's more than one of us, you know) has written a small but perfectly formed post, social content is only as good as the company you keep. In summary: if you find twitter boring, you've only got yourself to blame. FOOL.

Cinema 2011

Here's my annual list of things I've seen at the cinema (see also: 2009 and 2010 lists). I still haven't quite managed the one-film-per-week average, but Dr B and I have been giving our Lovefilm list a good battering, so we've seen plenty at home on our lovely new sofa.

My highlights of the year were Never Let Me Go (which could really do with a new poster), Submarine, Drive and Super 8. The three big superhero films of the summer were also pretty damn good  (and I'm now very excited about next year's Spidey/Avengers/Dark Knight line up).

I'm pretty certain Tinker/Tailor/Soldier/Spy was excellent, but I may have to revisit it to make sure as I … so ashamed … fell asleep a little bit.

The cinemas themselves brought their own particular charms. Birmingham's Electric Cinema, with its leather sofas and waiter service, was a nice way to spend Valentine's Day. The Contagion experience was somewhat heightened by watching it in a crowded Leicester Square cinema full of incessant coughing and sniffling, only to then go into a crowded tube. It was a soggy pleasure watching the triumvirate of monster movies (Gremlins, Troll Hunter and Tremors) in Somerset House – made slightly surreal by the twitter-induced mumblings in the crowd about "something kicking off in Tottenham". And of course, York's City Screen continues to be the best cinema in the country.

A couple of disappointments: The Adjustment Bureau was a huge let down, and Hobo with a Shotgun had a great title and one amazing actor, but was mostly terrible. Confessions was a good idea wasted. The Tree of Life had amazing cinematography and one incredible sequence (hat tip to Douglas Trumbull), but was mostly a big old bore. The King's Speech (was that really this year?) was great except for the year's standout abysmal performance by Timothy Spall as Churchill (more like Baron Greenback, according to Charlie Brooker).

Anyway, here's the list:

  • The King's Speech

  • Peeping Tom

  • Top Gun

  • Bringing Up Baby

  • The Fighter

  • Rope

  • Never Let Me Go (at Birmingham's lovely Electric Cinema)

  • True Grit (ditto)

  • The 400 Blows

  • The Adjustment Bureau

  • Blue Valentine

  • Frankenstein (live from the National theatre)

  • Submarine

  • Limitless (at York's awful, awful Reel Cinema)

  • Source Code

  • Thor

  • Confessions

  • Win Win

  • X-Men First Class

  • Bridesmaids

  • The Tree of Life

  • Hobo with a Shotgun

  • Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part Two

  • Captain America: The First Avenger (twice)

  • Gremlins (at Somerset House, whilst rioting occurred elsewhere)

  • Troll Hunter (ditto)

  • Tremors (ditto)

  • Super 8

  • The Inbetweeners Movie

  • Rise of the Planet of the Apes

  • Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy

  • Drive (twice)

  • Crazy, Stupid, Love

  • The Adventures of Tintin: The Secret of the Unicorn

  • Contagion

  • Ghostbusters

  • Hugo

  • Sherlock Holmes: Game of Shadows

  • Mission: Impossible – Ghost Protocol

Rendezvous with reading

Even though my standard-issue Ikea bookshelves are bursting at the seams, I got plenty of beautiful books for Christmas. And in 2012, I'm going to read. In 2011, I barely read a thing, which is appalling behaviour.

Not only did Dr B manage to get me a sci-fi classic that I've been meaning to read for years, she  got the edition with the beautiful black and white cover. Quite how I've managed to not read Rendezvous With Rama before is beyond me, but I'm already halfway through it and it's incredible. But there's a problem: Sanda Zahirovic's design is just one in a series of other classic space operas, and being an obsessive completist (or "man"), I'm not going to be able to sleep until I get the entire set now.

Other printly wonders that fell from my stocking: John W Campbell's Who Goes There? (the novella that The Thing is based on), the 2012 TimeOut New York guide (honeymoon, here we come), 101 Things I Learned in Film School (from the same series as the excellent 101 Things I Learned in Architecture School), the 2011 D&AD Annual (which is … grumble alert … significantly cheaper than the almost identical edition available to D&AD members. How does that work?), and JG Ballard's Complete Short Stories, volume two.

I can only assume I was on the "nice" list.

Here I Mo again

It's almost that time of year again: Movember.

For those of you foolishly unaware of this annual festival of upper-lip fluff, it's basically this: throughout November, men across the world grow moustaches and kind, attractive people like yourself give them money for their hairy efforts. The aim is to raise vital funds and awareness for men’s health, specifically prostate cancer and other cancers that affect men. It launched in 2003 with a meagre 30 men, but in 2010 almost half a million mo-growers were involved.

Last year I managed to raise £366 (thank you to my lovely sponsors!), plus I received a tweet from Stephen Fry for my efforts. Obviously, I want to beat that this year. To achieve this, I shall, of course, be modelling my tufty growth on that of Jason Schwartzman in The Darjeeling Limited (why wouldn't I?). First though, a couple of weeks of an excessive shaving regime, just to encourage something, anything, to grow.

To sponsor me and to keep up with my progress, visit my MoSpace page.