A Not So Silent Night: 5/10

When the Independent, The Telegraph and The Guardian all gave this gig four stars, I wondered if they'd been to a different Royal Albert Hall.

Clearly, they didn't pay £50 a pop to sit in the clouds where the performers were barely visible (no big screens) and where the sound system dared not - or could not - tread. At times, they contrived to render this - one of the world's greatest concert venues - to the aural equivalent of a church hall.

I wish that were my only problem with this get-together (though the rest is probably my fault). You see, as a fan of both Rufus and Martha, I had hoped for a song or two of theirs I might recognise. Instead, I got a Carol Concert and Christmas covers, the lowlight being Rufus's boyfriend singing "Silent Night" in German. "Churchill would be rolling in his grave," remarked a jolly Rufus. At least he didn't have to listen to this schmaltzy tosh.

Green's: 5/10

What a disappointment. My wife's cousins were in town. They'd read a list of the "100 best restaurants in London", and Green's made it in. I don't know how. Cheap, it ain't. Nor is there much to choose from if you're a vegetarian. The waiters don't understand when you ask for a starter to be brought with the main. They had an "accident" with my seabass, resulting in my dinner arriving 10 minutes' after everyone else's. The service was diabolical and slow; the portions tiny. My smoked salmon and scrambled eggs starter was delicious. But at a cost: the final bill came to a gargantuan £40 a head, not including tip. I won't be going back here in a hurry.

Funny People: 7/10

Panned by the critics as a self-indulgent first failure for Judd Apatow (Knocked Up, 40 Year Old Virgin), there's much more to Funny People than first meets the eye.

Adam Sandler is George Simmons, a super-rich comedy actor who wants for nothing (notice the similarity?) except his old flame. He's diagnosed with a terminal disease, only to be cured. Along the way, he takes on Ira Wright (Seth Ragen) as his little helper-cum-mentee.

The jokes come so thick and fast I almost drowned in my own saliva: from Adam Sandler's piano-playing mockery of Wright's real name - Winer ("You're hiding some Judaism there," (and which reminded me of my friend, Ariel Winer's tale about the time it was announced over the school tannoy that "a real Wiener" should come to the Principal's office); to the funniest bit of all: Jonah Hill's discovery that all you need for a YouTube hit is to roll around on the floor with cute kittens.

Eric Bana, who plays hubby to Apatow's actress wife, is annoying. And there is a lull in the gag-fest halfway through (hence the 7/10). But this is - for me - yet another example of the goons at Time Out watching a different film to the one screened in cinemas for mere mortals. Funny People is a very funny film.

Foreskin's Lament: 8/10

The most blasphemously hilarious book I've ever read. I laughed on the plane. I laughed in the bath. And when I read it to my friends over Friday night dinner, we all laughed together.

Foreskin's Lament revolves around the mental, metaphysical jousting taking place between author and G-d. The highlight for me is the Blessing Bee contest, and in that sense it peaks in the first 20 pages. But Shalom Auslander is blessed with great penmanship, a wicked sense of humour and a deep-seated bitterness towards his parents, his religion and the Lord Himself. It can be repetitive in parts, but if he can keep his prose this disciplined, and recount tall tales as vividly as the ones he's experienced, then a rich, and long-lasting career beckons. Buy this book.

Mesrine - Killer Instinct: 9/10

My heart was still thumping in my rib-cage as the credits rolled on Mesrine - Killer Instinct. This is a violent biopic of the eponymous gangster, played by the sneeringly brilliant Vincent Cassel. Not one for the squeamish. But as a portrait of one of France's most notorious criminals, and as cinema, it is almost perfect.

Inglorious Basterds: 7/10

Jewish revenge-fantasy with snappy dialogue, creepy wit, some gore and a stand-out performance from Chrisoph Waltz, Inglourious Basterds is a return to form for Quentin Tarantino. Just don't take it too seriously.

Sin Nombre: 8/10

One man on the run from his gang; a family fleeing Central America for the promised land of the U.S.A. Relationships are born, developed and then broken in Sin Nombre, sometimes violently. This not being a Hollywood road movie, you get a sense from the start that it's not all going to end happily - redemption doesn't always come in this lifetime.

Dinner with Mugabe: 7/10

Can there be a better book on the history of modern-day Zimbabwe? In Dinner with Mugabe: The Untold Story of a Freedom Fighter Who Became a Tyrant journalist-turned-author Heidi Holland has managed to track down ALL the important players who shaped Mugabe's mutation into a monster: everyone from Ian Smith - the last leader of Rhodesia to waiters that served him at a Victoria Falls hotel. The book culminates in a rare interview with the man himself.

My only criticism would be that Heidi Holland feels the need to interject her own views and analyses after almost every interview. She repeats, time and again, how Mugabe's troubled life - including stints in jail, possible torture, the death of his older brother etc - played a part in his becoming the "man" he is today.

But this is an insightful, valuable book, one which will no doubt be studied by historians, diplomats and anyone with even a passing interest in Africa's most enduring dictator.

Wilkinson Sword Razors: 1/10

Like most of the world's male population, I've always been a Gilette man. Their razors have always been sufficient, so why change?

Scouring my local Boots for some Mach3 blades for the third time, I spotted a special offer: Wilkinson Sword razors, including three blades, half price. The total cost was about the same as five blades of Mach3 (which were - as usual - out of stock), so I figured, why not?

Now I know why. Wilkinson Sword's motto of latter years has been that their blades are so sharp, they need to put bars on them. Sadly, those bars get in the way of shaving: where the Gilette would mow down everything in its path, the Wilkinson misses hairs; the blades are hard to clip on and off; the strip at the front of the razor peels off; and the whole package is clunky.

I won't be buying them again.

A view from the Foothills: 7/10

The man behind A Very British Coup has published his memoirs as an MP.

It's an eye-opening insight into the inner workings of the Blair/Brown machine which has ruled Britain since 1997. It also shows that MPs - despite their duck islands and moats - can be a human bunch, burdened with the same insecurities and troubles of plebs like us, and often saddled with unfulfilling and demoralising jobs that make zero use of a person's skills.

I zoomed through A View From The Foothills: The Diaries of Chris Mullin in what for me was record time (the last time I read a book approaching 600 pages I notched up two birthdays before I finished it!). It's witty, observationally brilliant and shows that for all his supposed decency, Prime Minister Gordon Brown is just a power-crazed, insecure schemer who now appears to be getting his just desserts.

The one thing Mullins wrote that I took exception to was his throwaway line that Cherie Blair's empathy with suicide bombers was no big deal. Hopefully in my capacity as a journalist I'll come across him before long and put that to him.

Otherwise, Chris comes across as a decent, honourable politician. And, as has since been revealed by the Daily Telegraph in an age where MPs try to blag the biggest plasma TV possible on the taxpayer's tab, Mullins makes do with a black-and-white set, because all he watches is the news. If only there were more like him (minus the Blair bit).

Joseph The Kitchen Fitter: 9.5/10

Finding a decent tradesman can be a nightmare. The trouble is, unless you want to spend over the odds to get your kitchen fitted by the company you buy the kitchen from, you need to find one. Luckily, some friends recommended Joseph.

Not only is he polite, friendly and honest (in marked contrast to my Polish builders (Joseph is Lithuanian), but he did an amazing job fitting our Ikea kitchen, laying our solid wooden floors and tiling. Where Ikea's people wanted to charge us £4,000 for installation, Joseph charged us about £2,500. I wouldn't hesitate to recommend him. I've not asked his permission to put his phone number down here, so I'll put his e-mail address instead, which is: fitterjoseph@yahoo.co.uk .

Good luck.

Synecdoche: 2/10

"This is tedious," says the wrinkled cleaning lady. "There's nothing there."

She's talking about life and the play she's rehearsing for. She might just as well have been speaking about this film. For not only is Synecdoche tedium in its grandest form. It's incomprehensible, depressing and, at more than two hours, it drags on for the eternity that the film seeks to show doesn't exist.

This film has - once more - shown me that critics have their heads so far up their own arses that they can only see film through shit-tinted goggles - so, when they see shit films, they actually look good. Either that, or they're shown different films altogether. How else can you explain the fulsome praise lavished on this film, or others, such as L' Emploi du temps, which make you consider having your nails pulled out with pliers as an enhanced evening of entertainment.

So what's Synecdoche about? I don't really know. Something about a successful - yet sickly - theatre director who loses track of life, time and his family. There are about three moments during the film when you'll laugh. But that's hardly adequate compensation for having to endure this drivel.

Which just goes to show - if you want an honest review of a film, read Grazia magazine rather than Time Out!

X Men Origins: Wolverine: 7/10

Persuading my girlfriend to see any film involving violence and genetically-enhanced super-heroes has never been easy. But X-Men is different. This is wholesome family violence, with a moral purpose to boot.

Wolverine, one of the good X-men from the original bigscreen trilogy, is the focus of this film which is, to all intents and purposes, a vehicle for hairy hunk Hugh Jackman.

All those flashbacks we see in the first three films - hinting at the hirsuite one's origins - are filled in. There are new mutants, both good and bad (including some who look set for their own X Man vehicle). Some live. Some die (you get a bonus if you manage to spot Shain from Neighbours). There is a fantastically unbelievable denouement (even more so than the rest of the film). And by the end of it all, you feel satisfied, that you got the bang for your buck, but with one unanswered question: what happens to Wolverine's brother?

Duplicity: 6/10

The reviews were lukewarm, but there was nothing else on. So we thought, why not? After all, it's from the same director as Michael Clayton, and that was brilliant: great story, great performances and thrilling.

Duplicity touches - lightly - similar issues to Michael Clayton, namely corporate skulduggery.

Alas, despite Julia Roberts and Clive Owen taking the lead, the dialogue between the two is wooden; the chemistry as false as their motives; and the film is way too long. The only saving grace (aside from a glimpse of Julia Roberts's boobs (or her double's) are the performances of Tom Wilkinson and Paul Giamatti. Which is why it's such a shame that we see so little of them in the film.

So by all means go and see this caper. It'll fill two hours of your day that otherwise might go to waste. Just don't expect Michael Clayton mark II.

The Budda of Suburbia: 8/10

I woke up at 4am this morning. I couldn't go back to sleep. So I read the last 80 pages of THE BUDDA OF SUBURBIA. Three hours' later, I finished. And I felt good.

I bought THE BUDDA OF SUBURBIA about a month ago. I heard the author, Hanif Kureishi, give a reading of it at Book Slam, and he was hilarious.

"I told my kids I was going to a disco this evening," he recalled.
"A disco? Why?"
"For a book-reading," he'd replied.
"You want us to go with you to a disco to listen to you reading from a book?"
"Yes."
"Fuck off, grandad."
"Well at least I'm not a virgin," he retorted, to howls of laughter.

His writing displays the same wit, but also a much deeper understanding of human nature, and what it means to be a British/Indian/Muslim living in London. For me, he's like an Islamic Howard Jacobson: painfully funny, bitter, and a turn of phrase that keeps you glued to the page.

In THE BUDDA OF SUBURBIA, his Whitbread award-winning first novel, the coming (or should that be cumming?) of age of Karim takes centre stage.

Amoral, on-heat and disoriented by his dysfunctional, Ebony-and-Ivory parents, he finds himself through fucking, and being fucked. Karim can't empathise, and it's hard to empathise with him. But then, just observing his cheek, his complete lack of moral clarity and his humour is satisfying enough. As are the author's observations of a decaying 1970s London, where no-one works, the middle-classes pretend to care and people's moral centre of gravity is out to tea.

You Don't Mess With The Zohan: 7/10

Stupid, offensive and childish, this is one of the most politically-incorrect films you're ever likely to see. You Don't Mess with the Zohan also happens to be very, very funny.

The plot, insofar as there is one, centres around The Zohan (played by a Ruud Gullit-permed Adam Sandler), an Israeli counter-terrorism commando who dreams of becoming a hairdresser, and making everyone "silky smooth". That's not all he does. And in between hummus jokes, a Hezbollah hotline and a weakness for hacky-sack (not always involving the miniature bean-bags), there is some romance.

The film was criticised by left-wing magazines, like TimeOut, for stereotyping Palestinians and Arabs as bungling, happy-to-die terrorists. They have a point. But this film is so grossly offensive to both Arab and Israeli - and its ultimate moral so pure - that all you can really do is laugh.

Ultimately, though, this is just another Sandler-vehicle, albeit his most hilarious to date. For maximum effect, watch when exhausted and your capacity to think AWOL; this is stupidly funny cinema at its finest.

The Dark Knight: 9/10

Amazing, thrilling, brash, and reduced to only £5.99!.

I wouldn't normally write such a short, lame review, or so shamelessly suggest buying it. But when I popped into HMV the other day, it was still on sale for £17.99, though seems everyone is now discounting it: HMV's website has it for £6.99.

Enjoy.

Love2Recycle: 9/10

My Nokia N95 had been sitting in a drawer for months, unused, unloved, and (almost) forgotten. Then I read about Love2Recycle on MoneySavingExpert. There was a special £10 bonus payout on all phones. So I filled in my details, sent my phone in via the prepaid jiffy bag that arrived in the post. A few weeks later, a cheque for £110 arrived. Brilliant!

Marley & Me: 0/10

Ain't dogs just the cutest? Especially those adorable little Andrex Puppy Labradors that tumble over one another in adorably lovable ways.

The makers of Marley & Me clearly had this in mind when they turned John Grogan's memoir into a film.

Sadly, a feature-length Andrex ad would have been more entertaining (Look - he's got the loo roll. Oh my goodness: he's running off and leaving the kid just sitting there...). This is a film that has no redeeming qualities, no laughs, no tears, and, with the possible exception of Kathleen Turner's turn as a dog-trainer, no performances worth remembering.

Okay, so the dog jumps in a pool; it eats chairs; it licks people; it - wait for it - poos on the beach. Who cares?

More worrying still, this film is actually doing well at the box-office. Which either means I'm a cold, callous, dog-hating curmudgeon; or there are a lot of stupid people out there who think that a film about a man, his woman, and his best friend somehow qualifies as entertainment. Personally, I'll plump for the latter. My only solace from all of this is (SPOILER AHEAD), that the dog dies and has no puppies, which means there won't be a sequel. Phew!

Benihana: 1/10

If there is a more overpriced, underwhelming restaurant experience in London, I'd like to know. The staff at Benihana in Swiss Cottage are friendly enough. And the chef who attends your table - comprising an enormous steel super-hot plate and stools around a wooden bench - is entertaining, flipping bits of egg-fried rice into patrons' mouths; and juggling with his razor-sharp knives; and throwing salt-shakers into his hat.

But for £91 I'd rather plump for Claridges, thank you very much. And what did our money buy us?:

-Two miso soups + three small sushi rolls
-A main of salmon/black cod (two very small, oil and lemon-soaked slithers that barely registered).
-Heart-shaped mousse for dessert.
-Two virgin mojitos.

I'd always had my suspicions about this restaurant, which has been in its present location almost as long as Ye Olde Swiss Cottage on the other side of the road. As you walk in, you're greeted with the stench of stale oil. The red carpets ooze grime and faded glory. And when you're shown to your table, you quickly realise that an intimiate dinner this will not be.

So I won't be going back to Benihana. Not for the "entertainment"; not for the food; and certainly not for another Valentine's dinner.

Anvil! The Story of Anvil: 9/10

I laughed. I almost cried. And had to use all my powers of persuasion to convince my friend that we'd just seen a real-life documentary, not a mockumentary/rockumentary in the style of This Is Spinal Tap.

I can understand why he found it so hard to believe me. And not just because Anvil's drummer shares a name with the director of that eponymous classic. Or that Stonehenge, the unexplained rocks in southern England about which Spinal Tap sang a ridiculous homage, makes a cameo appearance in Anvil.

The incredible tale of two nice Jewish boys still trying to hit the big-time with their heavy metal band, 30 years after they peaked, is both funny, sad, and ultimately touching.

"In the summer of 1984," we learn in both the trailer and the film's opening sequence, "Anvil toured the world with some of the biggest names in rock...All of them sold millions of records around the world...All of them, but one..."

Now in their 50s, lead singer Lips and drummer Robb Reiner still can't understand why they failed where rock gods Whitesnake, Scorpions and Bon Jovi succeeded. Yet they're a stoical bunch, like wide-eyed schoolboys who still dare to dream.

They embark on a European tour that was doomed from the start. They fight. They break-up. They get shafted. But they keep plugging away. By the end of this film, you may still loathe the band's music and dildo-strumming guitar-playing; but you'll have a place in your heart for these hitherto unheralded journeymen of rock.

Donkey Punch: 2/10

A few weeks back I met a nice Jewish boy called David Bloom. He had a nice fiancee. He was well-spoken. And he had an interesting career: he's a screenwriter. His biggest success thus far, a 2008 Brit-flick called Donkey Punch. He was even a class-mate of a close friend. How very nice, I thought.

But having seen Donkey Punch, I'm not so sure. The title refers to what a man, when in flagrante delicto can do to the lady he's taking from behind (not up the arse - one of the few saving graces of this vile film), in order to accentuate his pleasure. Punching a girl in the back of the neck just as you're about to reach the point of no return causes her muscles to contract, apparently, heightening the pleasure. "What's in it for the girl?" asks one of the characters. "Nothing," is the implied answer. The same goes for watching this film.

The characters - from the slutty, good-time-girl students on the pull; to the Ali G-sounding, cleft-lipped, South-London-wide-boy who thinks he's a DJ, a drug-dealer and in the least bit attractive. He isn't, and he probably went to public school.

The sex is graphic. The violence, gratuitous, and the characters annoying. So much so, that by the end of it, you've given up caring about any of them.

Which begs the question: how does a nice, normal, northwest London Jewish boy come up with something as depraved as this? Either he has a vivid imagination, or he's seriously disturbed. I can only imagine what his fiancee thinks.

Apple iPhone: 9/10

I know I won't be the first person to review their iPhone. Nor will I be the last. But it's not often I fall in love with a gadget, and I fear that I may be smitten.

It's not just that it's thinner, better-looking and more responsive than the models I've had in the past. It's got a better personality too!

Phone
Easy to use. Brings up contacts at the touch of a pixel. And lets you add people as Favourites, rather than the 9-contact limit "Speed-Dial" my old N95 allowed me.

Texting
SMSs appear in text bubbles, so you can see who said what and when. Annoyingly, you cannot send business cards or files by text.

Typing
I never realised how fat my thumbs were until I got the iPhone. I'm getting used to it, though. And the auto-correct tends to iron out most of my typos.

Touch Screen
Highly responsive, which is probably why you can't use if it you're wearing gloves. Can be irritating if you want to change songs in the winter-time - or, like me, when riding your bike to work in the morning.

iPod
Even more intuitive than the phone-less version. Lets you Shuffle within Albums, for example. However, I often find that when shuffling my entire library, the same songs keep on cropping up, leading me to wonder just how random the shuffle function really is.

Apps Store
Allows you to download handy applications, ranging from film reviews, to Labyrinth (the game, which you tilt the iPhone to play), to Sabbath times (the latter having the downside that my boss can now see what time I really need to leave in the winter!).

GPS
Not as accurate as the ones you'll find on a Nokia. But then, it finds your location instantly rather than three days after you've moved on. And as it uses Google Maps, finding where you are - and searching for companies, restaurants, car parks etc - is a cinch.

Crashing
iPhone, unlike my 80GB iPod, uses Flash memory. So resetting after a crash is much easier.

YouTube
So easy to use YouTube, making full-use of 3G technology. Now I can finally see what it's for!

Camera
No flash. No zoom. No nothing. This is a poor, poor camera.

Video
There isn't any (unless I've missed it!).

Bluetooth
Pretty pointless. While WiFi works like a dream, connecting to other BlueTooth-enabled devices is impossible. So forget about sending files to friends and foes.

Copying & Pasting
Another thing you can't do on your iPhone.

Using iPod Speakers
I needed a quiet clock in my room - one that wouldn't keep my girlfriend awake at night. So I downloaded the Night Stand app, which beams a radio-alarm-clock style digital clock in neon blue. Trouble is, when I docked it in my one-year old Teac DAB iPod dock, the iPhone told me it couldn't tap in to the power source. The speakers would still play the iPhone iTunes. But clearly, my iPhone battery wouldn't last long this way. So now I can either lump it and make do without. Or upgrade my docks and speakers (all three lots) to new-style ones. Did Apple do this deliberately to make us upgrade and spend more money on their products?

OVERALL
Overall, though, the minuses - the crappy camera, the disabled-Bluetooth, and the measly maximum 16GB you get on the top-of-the-range model - are outweighed by the joy that owning one of these beauties engenders. Your life will never be the same again.

Monkey: Journey to the West: 9/10

"In a mythical time, on the Mountain of Flower and Fruit," reads the synopsis, "there is a great stone. One day, the stone explodes, expelling an egg. The egg hatches, and Monkey comes into the world."

And I'm so glad he did.

There were no clouds. No shouts of "Pigsaaaaaaay!". And no singing of "Monkey Magic. Monkey Magic. Ooooh Monkey Magic..." Yet Monkey: Journey to the West is a thoroughly entertaining, imaginative and clever work of theatre, conceived by Chinese-born actor/choreographer/singer Chen Shi-Zheng; composed by Blur front man Damon Albarn; and designed by his Gorillaz collaborator, Jamie Hewlett.

Between them, they combine in Monkey Hewlett's cinematic animations with Chinese-language opera (try to sit to one side if you can, so that you don't have top keep turning your head to read the subtitles); dazzling (and sometimes airborne) choreography; and sweetly-sung opera.

If I have a criticism it is the uncomfortable seating at the outside tent where Monkey is performed (in what appears to be a disused car park at the O2); the extortionate prices of nibbles (that'll be £6 for a small bottle of water and a packet of Munchies!); and the fact that our simian hero scratches his nuts a little too frequently. If real, wild monkeys engage in such conduct as regularly, I'm, er, a Monkey's uncle.