"You think I'm an arsehole. And I'm not, really. I'm just British."

As a little prelude to this fall’s Napa/Sonoma trip, we watched Bottle Shock (imdb | rotten tomatoes) yesterday. Not great. It swung too wildly between the good (Alan Rickman, as always, and the beautiful California countryside) and the bad (70s clothing turns my stomach, as do Bill Pullman and the non-Kirk Chris Pine) for me to recommend it, but damn if it make me want to pull another bottle out of the wine fridge.

Way at the other end of the bleak-meter was The Road (imdb | rotten tomatoes), which I kind of assumed they’d ruin, especially after seeing Charlize Theron in the previews. But they didn’t ruin it at all, and Theron’s part of the mother actually helped, I think. Certainly they explain more about the story’s genesis to the viewer than to those who read the book, but it was probably necessary. Anyway, watching it made me want to read more Cormac McCarthy, so I pulled Blood Meridian off the shelf and set to it last night. I reckon I’ll be despondent by tomorrow and homicidal by Friday.