Kristen Sinclair

When it comes to films, I’ve never really been one for happy endings. It’s just too satisfying when you know that everything works out in the end and you can just forget about it, safe in the knowledge that the guy got the girl; the bad guy lost; they all lived happily ever after. I love a film that leaves you guessing, wondering long after you’ve left the cinema and brushed the popcorn off your clothes. I love a film with an ambiguous ending that’s open to endless interpretations, where there’s no definite answer and it’s all left to the viewer to decide what happens and how they want to story to end. Or perhaps not how they’d like it to end, but how they think it ends. A film like that will open discussion and linger on your mind even when you’ve forgotten the predictable finale of Endless Love . My Own Private Idaho: "This road will never end. It probably goes all around the world." An unclear film ending differs from a plot twist. Sure, unexpected twists are gr

Jake Gyllenhaal as Louis Bloom in Nightcrawler, 2014 (Source: huffingtonpost.com) A few weeks ago I went to see Nightcrawler, Jake Gyllenhaal’s latest movie. The plot revolves around Louis Bloom, a petty thief who stumbles into a new career as a ‘nightcrawler’ – a nocturnal cameraman who, along with his assistant Rick (played by Riz Ahmed), scours the streets of LA in search of shocking and grisly crimes to photograph and film before the mainstream media. Gyllenhaal’s character catches people at their worst: dead, dying, mutilated, and all to satisfy the public’s morbid curiosity. Like Bloom says, “I like to think that if you see me, you're having the worst day of your life.” When Louis realises he can make some serious money ‘nightcrawling’ by selling his best and bloodiest footage to a failing news station, his hell-bent obsession with getting the ‘money shot’ has dire consequences. As someone who would like to work in journalism in the future, the film got me thinking: when

This piece also featured in The Indiependent  here . Lou Reads! Source: blogspot.com Lou Reed has always been something of a fascination and an enigma to me. The Velvet Underground are one of my favourite bands, and a handful of Lou’s solo albums are among my most treasured. Whilst reading Mick Wall’s hastily penned biography Lou Reed: The Life , the stories behind two of his most famous songs, 'Venus in Furs' (from the Velvet Underground’s 1967 debut The Velvet Underground & Nico ) and 'Walk On the Wild Side' (from Bowie-produced 1972 solo album Transformer ) sparked my interest. Even the band’s name was inspired by a book! I had a lot of reading to do, it seemed. Legend has it that Lou Reed and John Cale found a copy of journalist Michael Leigh’s 1963 paperback Velvet Underground on the streets of New York and liked its title so much they decided to name their band after it. However, it was the book’s title that caught their attention, not so mu

There are so many gorgeous stills from this film I could hardly choose one Source: ourgoldenage.com.au “ Qu'est-ce que c'est ‘dégueulasse’? ” In theory, I’m watching this film to improve my French… or because I’m a total sucker for a pretentious romance film. À bout de souffle , or Breathless , is director Jean-Luc Godard’s debut feature length film, released in France in 1960. The story follows petty criminal and scumbag Michel Poiccard (Jean-Paul Belmondo) who models himself on Humphrey Bogart and, having rashly killed a policeman pursuing him from Nice, flees to Paris and rekindles his relationship with American journalism student Patricia Franchini (Jean Seberg). Poiccard attempts to collect debt from an underworld associate whilst trying (unsuccessfully) to convince Franchini, who sells copies of the New York Herald Tribune on the Champs-Élysées to supplement her studying at the Sorbonne, to escape to Italy with him. Breathless was very innovative in its tim

Midge Ure Saturday 1st March 2014 @ Olympic Concert Room, Holiday Inn, Belfast 10th United Airlines Belfast Nashville Songwriters Festival ★★★★ Most music fans would agree that arena and stadium shows just can’t rival the intimacy and sweaty passion of smaller venues. I’d never been to a venue of smaller capacity than about two thousand, so finding out about a series of small gigs taking place across Belfast through a leaflet I’d picked up was a lucky coincidence. iPod camera quality Travis Is a Tourist I booked tickets to the Belfast-Nashville Songwriters Festival (or ‘BelNash’ as it’s known) on a whim. The week-long event involves veteran singer-songwriters such as Donovan sharing the stage with up-and-coming acts, from both the local area and over in the States. The festival takes place each year at various small venues across the city, such as the Empire Music Hall and, oddly, the Holiday Inn. For a mere twelve pounds each, my Dad and I went to see Ultravox

Title: Just Kids Author: Patti Smith Publisher: Bloomsbury (2010) ★★★★★ “No one expected me. Everything awaited me.” I almost always find that the best part of an autobiography is the beginning: the writer’s youth. Once they’re rich and famous, it’s not nearly as interesting a read. Strictly speaking, Just Kids isn’t an autobiography, it’s a memoir: “…a salute to New York City during the late sixties and seventies…a true fable…a portrait of two young artists’ ascent”. Although I am a fan, I knew very little about Patti Smith’s personal life, and the very fact that there is little mention of her music career somehow cements the book’s appeal for me. Just Kids details Smith’s love affair with photographer and fellow artist Robert Mapplethorpe during New York of the late sixties and early seventies: the time of Andy Warhol’s Factory stars and drag queens, musical revolution, psychedelia and, of course, drugs. A little like Morrissey’s autobiographical offering, Just Kids

Dedicated to Clara Balzary, bandmate Flea's daughter (Source: wikipedia.org) "My smile is a rifle, won't you give it a try?" The first time I listened to Niandra Lades and Usually Just a T-Shirt was in the back of my family’s campervan parked in Calais after we’d just been robbed. I hadn’t listened to it – or any of Frusciante’s narcotic haze of nineties releases – since, preferring his more polished offerings of To Record Only Water for Ten Days and Shadows Collide With People , until my sister bought me a copy of Niandra Lades for my birthday. My main memories of the album were Frusciante’s wails making me jump as I tried to drift off with my headphones in. So, safe to say, I was a little apprehensive upon receiving this gift.      Although released in 1994, the first half of the album – Niandra Lades – was recorded prior to Frusciante’s departure from the Red Hot Chili Peppers during the recording of Blood Sugar Sex Magik at the allegedly haunted