London Film Festival

It's been a hectic couple of weeks and all's been quiet on the Camden front. Well, that's not strictly true, as the BBC Electric Proms have turned the upper half of Chalf Farm Road into a star-strewn catwalk of celebrity glory. At least I assume it has - the closest I've been was trudging past the barriers for the live music awards, clutching my two Sainsburys' bags and muttering about people getting in my way. Still, have got tickets for Divine Comedy on Thursday, and believe that counts for something.

I have, however, made it to a few shows at the London Film Festival. Made it to Stranger than Fiction last week, which was basically a development of Adaptation, and possibly even the Last Action Hero, in terms of post-modern contrivances. Fun if a little forced and doesn't really make sense the more you think about it. Still, nice to see a quirky American indie film that doesn't feauture some Zach-Braff-alike looking winsome. Yesterday had a bit of a marathon with both Christopher Guest's For Your Consideration (good but way too short) and the Surprise Film, which turned out to be .... The Prestige. After last year's catastrophic Mrs Henderson Presents, this was a great relief (though there was some anticipatory buzz hoping for Casino Royale). It's a nice little turn, and reminded me of the supposed film adaptation of Carter Beats the Devil that was rumoured a few years ago. The trouble is that, like all such films from The Sting onwards, it's only half film, the other half being magic trick in its own right, keeping the audience misdirected and delivering the sort of pay-off which has at least a grain of genuine surprise. Trouble is, as time has gone on and writers such as David Mamet or Chris McQuarrie have chipped away at the number of genuinely good twists untried, what remains is either well-trodden and somewhat hackneyed or so fantastic that it challenges suspension of disbelief. The Prestige has both problems, though Christopher Nolan handles the whole thing stylishly as does a solid cast (though Scarlett Johansson's cockney accent is rather "Heather Graham in From Hell" - slightly too flat and forced to sit comfortably alongside Christian Bale's barrow-boyisms). Not quite Sideways or School of Rock but a darn sight better than Judi bloody Dench. Hollywoodland tonight.

Oh, and some rather head-in-hands news from the States.