YESTERDAY I wrote about Manchester's hip n' aware Northern Quarter, as all six of you will remember.
Well Liverpool has it's own little cultural mecca that operated along the same lines, and without a shred of bias, I think it's far superior. I'm referring to the Ropewalks area, which is pretty much anywhere to your right if you're walking up Bold Street.
If you're reading this in Peru, it's still pretty much anywhere to your right if you're walking up Bold Street, but only Bold Street in Liverpool. In England.
There are some dodgy bars, granted. Copycat bars I call them. See how inventive I am? 'Copycat'! I'm original. Anyway, the owners of these copycat bars simply have a short stroll around town, look at a bar that's doing good business, and then using some sort of Star Trek style equipment, clone it exactly within their own building, thus meaning they get loads of business too from people too thick or too uncaring to see what's just happened.
I would name these 'Copycat' bars but they are normally run by members of the underworld as money laundering businesses and so it might not be wise to say they're rubbish, cheap, and backward. Oh Hell, it doesn't matter, none of the six people reading this are gangsters, so; Suede, Mood, The Office, Klass (!), Baby Tiger, and The Velvet Lounge to name but six within 40 meters of each other. Don't go to these places.
Whilst happy to name my least favourite bars, I won't name the ones I like because that could be seen as advertising for my own greedy benefit. I wouldn't want people to think that I've done some sort of deal to mention a great bar in return for a nice glass of red wine, a cooling pint of lager, or a fabulous meal. No, despite being the author of the world's least read Blog, I will not abuse even this feeble position of non-power. And besides, the manager of The Tea Factory is far to clever to give away one of his delicious meals on cheap flattery alone.
Anyway, next to the Tea Factory, where you can drink an excellent glass of red wine for £4, superb value, there sits the FACT cinema. Most of you would, I imagine, have entered it's doors since it opened a couple off years, or so, ago.
This is my take on FACT; It's the best place to watch a film in the UK. No, not the world. That would be an insane statement. There's probably a lovely little cinema down Havana way that has bamboo recliners and free rum and beats the hell out of FACT, but on our little island at least, it's unbeatable.
Firstly, it shows great films. Not just any old stuff that's foreign because it looks sophisticated. No, these are vetted on terms of quality rather than obscurness, and whilst quality is always objective, they normally get it spot on. Second, it's not snobbish. You pay less that you would at the Odeon and they have as many mainstream and kids films on as they do 'arty' fair. Third, you can take you beer into the auditorium and once in there relax in seats that push back into business class comfort. Forth - there's a gallery. Fifth - there's a little cinema on the ground floor called The Box which contains a number of two seater sofas to watch films in the style of a very rich person with the greatest home cinema ever constructed would. Sixth - being thought of as 'alternative' or 'arty' (which it isn't), all the idiots that frequent the Odeon and throw popcorn at you stay well away. In fact, most people stay away, meaning it's never crowded and you'll not be sat next to a smelly woman who keeps touching your leg.
So it was FACT that I chose to go and see Charlie And The Chocolate Factory tonight. It's alright. It's good for about forty minutes, which is true of so many well reviewed films recently. I read a review of Charlie And The Chocolate Factory in a big sensible newspaper that gave it five out of five. They NEVER give films five out of five.
To get five out of five you have to be one of the best films ever made. So this reviewer, who probably sees about twenty films a week, thought that Charlie And The Chocolate Factory was one of the greatest films ever made. He must have been drunk. Or a mate of Time Burton's.
I reckon he'd been invited to a studio party that week and Tim Burton and Johnny Depp were going to be there and he could sidle up and say "Alright? Yeah, Simon Totts, The Times.... Read the review? Yeah? Can we be mates? Tim? Johnny? Come back...."
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