Day 114. Uh, what's the deal? (24/4/19)

We got our first VHS player in June 1982. I know this because of the contents of the first music tape we ever recorded. Top Of The Pops with ABC doing Look Of Love (video rather than studio). Loads of other stuff. 3 hours of music.

Because you recorded music then. The Icicle Works doing a half hour set at the dockers' church down by the Pier Head. First place we ever saw them live. The Bunnymen at Sefton Park (this isn't all 82 now, obviously, I'm jumping all over the place), The Waterboys debuting on Whistle Test, The Doors Are Open, No-one Here Gets Out Alive. You recorded this because you'd never see it again. And you'd watch it again and again. Because it meant something. It meant everything.

Which isn't what we're talking about. It's an aside.

A top loader with a remote control attached by means of a wire that stretched across the living room.

Hired from Radio Rentals, because that's how you used to do tellies and videos. The shop also had a rental section. Because you couldn't buy this stuff. The VHS's presence contingent on one rule from our Dad: "If you rent I Spit On Your Grave, it goes back."

We never did.

But we had access to films. Had the chance to tape and rewatch films. Obtained interesting pirate copies. Mates round to watch ET before it hit the cinemas. Rambo with Arabic subtitles.

Again. Not actually what we're talking about. But we've had access to all these films since 1982. We've had VHS rental, VHS purchase, DVD, Blu-Ray, streaming. I worked for decades in retail with 30% discount. I own more DVDs and BluRays than are strictly necessary and have watched about 20% of them.

Last night I watched Mean Streets. For the first time. I've had 37 years and I've only just got round to Mean Streets. Seems a bit daft that. Not as bad as the fact that I've owned Raging Bull on three different formats and still not watched it.

But I'm trying to rectify my omissions. Bit by bit. And J had gone to bed and Netflix had presented me with Mean Streets.

Good, isn't it? Not Goodfellas level good, obviously. (And let's be honest, that whole coke fuelled breakdown into paranoia in Goodfellas is actually a bit dull. Thought that in the cinema, haven't changed my opinion over the years. Let's the rest of the film down.)

Mean Streets though. It's got all the themes he'll cover in later years, all the stylistic tricks, all the great music. Anything that starts with Be My Baby is sound by me.

You couldn't really accuse it of having a plot. It's more a string of moments that kind of coalesce. Most of which seem to have been very much improvised by the actors on set. But it's good. Nice to see Harvey Keitel back when he was an exceptionally gifted actor.

DeNiro though? Masterclass. Absolute force of nature. Twitchy, nervous, manic, agitated, always a thread away from exploding, the perfect trapped street punk who cares about nothing but himself, his downfall obviously inevitable.

The kind of film that makes you sit up till slightly later than you intended.

Always a good thing.