Fordyce Maxwell - 'I might now need therapy to stop me singing Take A Chance On Me'

Published on Saturday 2 August 2008 19:51

THERE are times when you have to stand up to be counted. It might mean antagonism or, worse for us real men, ridicule, but it has to be done. Decision taken, the sooner said the better: I liked the film Mamma Mia!.

I know, I know. Cheesy, a chick-flick, virtually plotless, mawkishly tear-jerking, some acting veterans proving they can't sing Abba hits that were classified as corny when first heard more than 30 years ago.

But as the years roll on, when I go to the cinema I want to leave feeling cheerful rather than depressed, smiling rather than thinking that a couple of Leonard Cohen tracks and a Wee Free sermon might lift my spirits.

I sat through There Will Be Blood recently; well done but cheerless, ending with one of the main characters beaten to death with a 10-pin bowling skittle. From the reviews I suspect that the latest Batman offering would have the same violent "the end is nigh, abandon hope, can I have a prescription for anti-depressants?" effect.

Not Mamma Mia!. Liz said I smiled all the way through; an exaggeration, because there were a couple of It's A Wonderful Life moments when I got something in my eye. But she had a vested interest in saying that, because when she suggested Mamma Mia! I didn't want to go.

We're busy people. Rasps, redcurrants and blackcurrants to pick. Walks to walk. Cricket to listen to. The start of that annual exercise in hope over experience, the football season – even though Liz contended there was no indication the previous one had ever ended.

With all that going on, even with the east coast haar blotting out for days on end the sunshine being enjoyed by the rest of the country, why would I want to go to a film? Especially one based on Abba songs sung by non-singers.

There was also the likely venue to consider. My early film-going memories include Genevieve and Paleface and Old Mother Riley shorts at the Eildon Cinema in Coldstream; Four White Feathers and The Searchers at Seahouses; Lady And The Tramp at the Playhouse in Berwick.

What do these venues have in common? All gone, that's what, like hundreds of others throughout the country, along with smoking, chewing gum under the seats, back-row wrestling, usherettes with trays, grainy film, broken reels and slow handclaps.

In are venues with a dozen huge screens, soundtracks with a decibel count that make boy-racing car stereos sound muted, popcorn in buckets, soft drinks in bigger buckets and a ticket price guaranteed to make you nostalgic for the 1s 3d downstairs, 1s 9d upstairs, no snogging, good old days.

But never underestimate the persuasive powers of a good woman, especially one who saw the Mamma Mia! stage show and thought the film would be even better – and who might just have had enough of picking soft fruit in east coast haar.

I might now need therapy to stop me singing 'Take A Chance On Me' as I shave of a morning or 'Money, Money, Money' while slitting through the mail, and 'Super Trouper' for no reason at all, but Liz was right about the film. She loves it and I do, I do, I do, I do, I do, I do.