Mark Kermode

I'm not unfond of running. A few times a week I slip on my running shoes, then get up and vow to be more careful next time, then I go for a run. I'm not sure anyone really likes running while they're doing it, it's all pounding and sweaty and leg achey, and every single time I'm convinced I won't make it back home. At the end I collapse in a gasping, sobbing mess on the floor, swearing on my mother's socks to never run again. And then – clichéd but true – endorphin starts oozing everywhere and within a couple of minutes I want to go running all over again. Except by this stage my legs have shut down for the day so I have to wait till next time.

Like I said, I'm not unfond of running. And this is the only real prerequisite for enjoying Haruki Murakami's [b:What I Talk About When I Talk About Running|4352812|What I Talk About When I Talk About Running|Haruki Murakami|http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51jRd8LRR6L._SL75_.jpg|2475030]. That book is essentially about Murakami's writing career but from the point of view of his running (that makes sense if you've read the book, honest). If you don't like running I suspect you'd hate the book, but if you're at least not unfond of it then Murakami's wonderful style makes the book a delight to read.

I may be not unfond of running, but I love films. Especially horror films, and especially especially the kind of bad horror that some people disdain without even seeing it. Mark Kermode is of a similar bent, and It's Only a Movie is essentially What I Talk About When I Talk About Running except it's about Kermode's life as a film critic from the point of view of films. And Kermode's literary prowess doesn't quite rival Murakami. Of course that doesn't matter here, his thoroughly over the top enthusiasm for films pervades every page. The book is essentially a series of semi-fictional anecdotes about his career, with most of them punctuated by "just like that bit in [insert film here]."

The anecdotes aren't semi-fictional on purpose per se, but Kermode admits his memory is wildly influenced by what he thinks should have happened, or what he wishes he had done in a given situation. We've all come up with a punchy and witty riposte the day after someone says something to us, Kermode clearly does this too but, five years later, can no longer distinguish between whether he actually said the thing or not. This makes the book thoroughly entertaining once you get over the fact that many events in the book didn't happen the way they're told. Certainly the book had me snorting inappropriately on several occasions, Kermode's description of Mamma Mia! provoking actual tears of mirth.

If you like films, especially cheap, nasty horror films, then read the book. If not, well, then don't.… (altro)

I'm not unfond of running. A few times a week I slip on my running shoes, then get up and vow to be more careful next time, then I go for a run. I'm not sure anyone really likes running while they're doing it, it's all pounding and sweaty and leg achey, and every single time I'm convinced I won't make it back home. At the end I collapse in a gasping, sobbing mess on the floor, swearing on my mother's socks to never run again. And then – clichéd but true – endorphin starts oozing everywhere and within a couple of minutes I want to go running all over again. Except by this stage my legs have shut down for the day so I have to wait till next time.

Like I said, I'm not unfond of running. And this is the only real prerequisite for enjoying Haruki Murakami's [b:What I Talk About When I Talk About Running|4352812|What I Talk About When I Talk About Running|Haruki Murakami|http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51jRd8LRR6L._SL75_.jpg|2475030]. That book is essentially about Murakami's writing career but from the point of view of his running (that makes sense if you've read the book, honest). If you don't like running I suspect you'd hate the book, but if you're at least not unfond of it then Murakami's wonderful style makes the book a delight to read.

I may be not unfond of running, but I love films. Especially horror films, and especially especially the kind of bad horror that some people disdain without even seeing it. Mark Kermode is of a similar bent, and It's Only a Movie is essentially What I Talk About When I Talk About Running except it's about Kermode's life as a film critic from the point of view of films. And Kermode's literary prowess doesn't quite rival Murakami. Of course that doesn't matter here, his thoroughly over the top enthusiasm for films pervades every page. The book is essentially a series of semi-fictional anecdotes about his career, with most of them punctuated by "just like that bit in [insert film here]."

The anecdotes aren't semi-fictional on purpose per se, but Kermode admits his memory is wildly influenced by what he thinks should have happened, or what he wishes he had done in a given situation. We've all come up with a punchy and witty riposte the day after someone says something to us, Kermode clearly does this too but, five years later, can no longer distinguish between whether he actually said the thing or not. This makes the book thoroughly entertaining once you get over the fact that many events in the book didn't happen the way they're told. Certainly the book had me snorting inappropriately on several occasions, Kermode's description of Mamma Mia! provoking actual tears of mirth.

If you like films, especially cheap, nasty horror films, then read the book. If not, well, then don't.… (altro)

I'll come clean: I only knew Mark Kermode as the erudite film critic in the Observer and on BBC Radio and Television. I have long admired him, in this role, because he doesn't follow a 'line'. One can never tell whether he will praise or damn a work. He is unswayed by reputation or hype.

Previous tomes by Mr K. have lead me to recognise his literary talent: he writes genuinely amusing, self deprecatory biography which is light but always engaging. Now I find that, despite his protestations, he is an accomplished musician. Is there no end to this man's talents???

Seriously, even if you have no musical interest and have never enjoyed watching a film, this book is worth reading. If either of the aforementioned categories have, even a passing interest, then it's a MUST… (altro)

Mark Kermode is a rare individual. It is impossible to predict his film reviews: a work comes out that has all the hallmarks of being anathema to him, and he'll praise it; another will have garnered praise from all quarters and MK will deflate it. Were this to be sheer perversion, it would soon become tedious but, he manages to argue his case eruditely and, even if one disagrees, his words cause healthy reflection.

It is, therefore, interesting to see the manner in which the mind behind these pronouncements works. Kermode, it transpires, is a small 'c' conservative. He rues the passing of projectionists, argues for the silent black and white films original purity of genre and claims the Exorcist to be the greatest film ever made.

I'm not sure that I agree with any of that but, it was interesting to take the trip and Mr Kermode puts his case well. He also writes well: it is rare for a book to cause me to laugh out loud, but his description of sneaking into adult films (no, NOT that sort of adult film!) as a youth are genuinely laugh out loud funny.

If one has any interest in modern film, Mark Kermode is a figure that cannot, and should not be ignored. Thank you, sir; I look forward to reading more of your work.… (altro)