The last 12 months or so I've been on a massive Brian Clough binge, which culminated in me sobbing in the foetal position following the final chapter of Duncan Hamilton's unbelievably good Provided You Don't Kiss Me. Of course I knew the ending, but that usually only serves to render the finale even more emotional (shamefully, the same happened with Marley and Me).
The superb ITV documentary (TV company who employs Andy Townsend and Robbie Earle in doing a good football program scandal) Clough was as touching and memorable as the title was brief. Had my gruff Welsh housemate not been watching with me, I'd doubtless have gone the same way as Provided You Don't Kiss Me.
David Peace's The Damned United, started me on this 'Clough-venture' (I'm sorry) early last summer. It's a terrifically entertaining book, dark and beautiful, one that I read as slowly as possible, such was my reticence to finish. It was the second book I'd read after years of skim-reading during my English degree, and was a wonderful antidote to my first. Ahem.
So imagine my delight then, to hear of a Damned United film.
Normally I zone-out when dullards go to see a beloved novel adapted for the cinema before complaining "it destroyed the essence of the book" or "they cut the scene of when Framley and Kip-Kip swam upriver into the Norgik forest", but I can see myself uttering the same thing walking out of the cinema following The Damned United. Well, not about Framley and Kip-Kip, there was a dearth of scandinavians in English football in Clough's heyday.
Like the Doctor who is convinced his patient's ailment is linked to spinal injuries, I will report back next week.
