Spying in the Cube-icle

Having listened to my friends extolling its virtues throughout the years I was away at university, last night I finally made a visit to Bristol's microplex, 'The Cube'.

Tucked discretely down an alley in Kingsdown above the BRI, the venue certainly didn't disappoint. The orangey beamed low ceilings and half-staircases created an environment resting somewhere between a quirky European backpackers' hostel (the sort with sofa throws, free tea and cheap beer/ 'herbs') and a scout hut. It all felt very homely until I went into the ladies loos and found a peep-hole cut out of the side of my cubicle. I can only assume that The Cube once really was a scout hut and they haven't got around to filling it in yet. Either that or its meant to be a kind of voyeuristic extension of the viewing experience. (Sorry. Not for me. I'll be taking a tea-towel to hang up next time I go.)

Peep-shows excluded, the private members cinema (it costs £1 to join) boasts a daily changing programme of films from around the world along with a range of themed screenings, gigs and exhibitions. There's also a lounge and student style bar serving up an eclectic range of drinks and snacks which range from cocktails dashed together out of plastic bottles to yummy deserts and wasabi peas. There's also a programme of special events. This summer sees The Cube Summer Garden, a series of outdoor screenings featuring French and Japanese cinema which you can take with tea and cake.

Apart from the few slight discomforts (the hole in the loo and some of the most excruciating wooden seats any scout or guide could have possibly sat upon) , the only real damper on our evening, was the unannounced switching of the film. We thought we were going to see the French Moroccan 'Couscous', but instead found ourselves presented with Bertolucci's 'The Non-Conformist'. This wouldn't have been the most unwelcome of surprises - it is an excellent film - but given that we had, only a few months ago, tracked down a screening at another of Bristol's arts cinemas, it was largely due to laziness that we sat through the Italian classic again.

Communication is something The Cube could perhaps do with working on - that and an effort to sort out a few technical problems with their projectors (which I think may have explained the switch), but it would be a shame if this venue ever loses it's secret club-like feel. The prices are low (£2 for all on Tuesdays) which make a few unexpected occurrences acceptable and make me sure I will be visiting again.

Sex in the City

Apart from the seeming growth in screeching levels, the long awaited film didn't disappoint. All the expected ingredients were there: clothes, shoes, cocktails and - of course- men.

Luckily the writers have managed to avoid the fate of fellow 90s show, Friends, in that the girls have been allowed to grow up more or less convincingly, thus not looking completely sad or ridiculous - except where it was intended. Certainly there were the familiar romantic faux-pas and more than a fair smattering of non-satisfactory males, but now in their 40s (and Samantha, we discover, about to hit the big 5 - 0 ) the girls are far more women who have begun to develop the capacity for self-criticism more than was ever evident in the television series. 

This is what makes the happy-endings credible. Even the Carry-Big saga is resolved to an extent through self-reflection on both parts. Carry is too easily swayed by the big - excuse the pun - picture and Big, well, not surprisingly realises he is paralysed by his fear of commitment. 

Miranda's full-time lawyer, mother and wife role is not the feminist fantasy it could have been, but a far more real portrait of how hard it is to have it all and not loose something - or yourself. 

Samantha - liberated femme fatal - embraces domesticity only to find she cannot let go of her more animal impulses - though this is slightly spoilt by the not particularly amusing use of a horny puppy. At least she facilitates an essential ingredient of any SITC product - beautiful, naked men. 

Charlotte is perhaps the least convincing and responsible for a large proportion of the shrieking. Her role within the plot, however, aside from providing a cheap 'poo-in-the-pants' laugh, is far more serious than it first appears. Her looks, remarks and actions are often the most-misplaced and naive, yet their consequences are immense. 

Whilst women everywhere may envy the four SITC girls before dismissing them as wistful fantasy creations (indeed, Carry's wardrobe is not that of any journalist I've heard of) the  national obsession with aligning ourselves with one or other of them may just have something to do with the very tangible human qualities they convey beneath the Prada. 

Human, but stereo-typical you might say. The popularity of the show has for a long time raised important questions about the way in which women view women. Whilst we like to find identification, we also lie open to accusations of reinforcing traditional male-authored female stereotypes. It's frivolous and it's fun, but it also a portrait of four very different 'types' of women. 

The question is, should the film be regarded as anti-feminist - because of the central role men play in the plot -  or 'post-feminist'? The men are only painted in relation to the girls (epitomised by the fact that even when we finally learn 'Big's name, presumably for the sake of realism, he is still rarely privileged with its use) and at the end of the day they all get what they want. Or so the story goes.

Child Genius

The follow up series to Child Genius once again provides a showcase for parental obsession. The parents of Peter the would-be chess champion, Georgia the prodigious toddler and Adam the academic, are worthy of a series dedicated to their own psychoanalysis. At best they are troubled, at times they are little short of scary. The common theme linking them all is a repeated demonstration that they see their child's gift both as an identity and valuable commodity.

Watching Lucy Brown forcing her two-year-old daughter to share in her own anxieties about the child's talents was painful. To excitedly dangle an envelope from a school containing Georgia's acceptance or rejection in front of her, before bursting into tears in disappointment just seemed cruel. Georgia may be outstandingly intelligent, but she is not an adult and, not surprisingly, did not appear to act like one. However advanced she is her manner was still that of a child - and for a child to be dragged along an adult emotional rollercoaster is surely not a situation to be condoned.

Adam, the child who started Prep School this week caused concern to his parents because they feared he wasn't different enough anymore. Were they embracing the stereotype of the gifted child who can't socialise with anyone of his own age? Their compulsion to formally test their second son, Samuel to check they weren't 'missing something' special highlighted their obsession with quantifying their children. Luckily this had a happy outcome - well, relatively - he was gifted but not as gifted as his brother.

As for Peter the chess-player who doesn't go to school, at least his saddening failure to win the junior chess championship encouraged his parents to put him in contact with other kids, all be it the scouts rather than school.