When Mick Jagger recently appeared in a promotion sketch, dryly describing these Monty Python reunion shows as "a bunch of wrinkly old men trying to relive their youth", it demonstrated that the Pythons still have the rock star heft of their ‘70s pomp. You might even wonder whether Jagger himself experienced a twinge of jealousy when the Pythons sold out their 10 date run at London’s O2 Arena in approximately the same length of time as it takes to recite "The Parrot Sketch"; the longest stint the Stones have had here is two nights. Certainly, there’s a sense that these Python shows are akin to a legendary rock band getting together for - possibly - one last hurrah, to play their greatest hits to an audience of whooping fans. But, equally, as you watch the arena fill up with men wearing knotted handkerchiefs on their heads or Australian cork hats, the vibe feels a little like a geek convention. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jcsVz6jo5MM Inevitably, the speed with which these shows sold out - 200,000 tickets in all - demonstrates there’s still considerable love for all things Python out there. Though arguably it might prompt you to consider the power the Pythons continue to exert, 30 years on from their last substantial work. Certainly, bearing in mind the comedians who usually enjoy extended runs at the O2 – the likes of Michael McIntyre, John Bishop, Micky Flanagan, Russell Howard - you could be hard pressed to identify a particular legacy Python has left embedded in British comedy. The loopy and iconoclastic spirit of experimentation they pioneered in the late Sixties has been replaced by the tepid observational comedy of McIntyre, or the kind of offence model favoured by Frankie Boyle. Television’s recent big hits have been Miranda, Mrs Brown’s Boys and Benidorm - old-fashioned, regressive shows. Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle appears to be a only voice of progressive comedy on air right now. Even Radio 4 - traditionally, the last bastion of that peculiarly Pythonesque brand of post-graduate, Fringe-dwelling humour - has allowed its comedy output to devolve into identikit panel shows, limp sketch shows and trad sitcoms. It says much about the current yield that the best comedy programmes on the station - Just A Minute and I’m Sorry I Haven’t A Clue - date from the same era as Python. Has anti-establishment humour that the Pythons championed has run its course? Conceivably, then, these reunion shows serve to remind us of a different, arguably richer time for comedy, while allowing each of the key participants to trouser a large pile of cash in the process (one hopes, too, the family of the late Graham Chapman will also enjoy the benefits of these shows). Anyone hoping the Pythons might revert to their original subversive tendencies and bypass entirely their greatest hits in favour of deep catalogue cuts and obscure sketches is bound to be disappointed. This is definitely a case of: and now for something reassuringly familiar. Much as a Stones show is going to draw heavily from the impressive arsenal of hits at the band’s disposal, so this Python reunion is about the classics. As with the Stones, Python may have been daring and risqué in their prime; but no one’s here to see them trot out a bunch of new material. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yBcYuwlWFRM Reassuringly, the Pythons do not particularly bother to bring along any new sketches to the party, nor update any of the jokes. There are a couple of passing references to Michael Palin’s career as a travel broadcaster, alongside telling mentions of John Cleese’s latest divorce and the High Court case over royalty rights to the Spamalot musical which reportedly triggered this reunion. Other than that, these sketches are untouched. Timothy White’s is referenced, a pound note changes hands, canned pre-cooked pork products are in abundance. Carol Cleveland still only has three lines of dialogue. There are some concessions, however. Terry Gilliam makes full use of the O2 screens for some new animation – an opening image of Graham Chapman’s head emerging from behind Earth, to Strauss’ Also Sprach Zarathsutra is rapturously received – while classic sketches, many of them featuring Chapman, are interspaced with the live sketches. There are other, arguably less welcome interruptions. There are too many dance routines ‘inspired’ by Python sketches. They might be a necessary exigency to allow for costume changes, but rather than evoking, say, the Sixties’ revue show model instead they bring to mind the kind of witless sequences that play out behind auditioning contestants on The X Factor. In fact, the show draws heavily on the troupe’s musical numbers. The songs were always a slightly weird anomaly in the Python canon; I always thought there were brought in to pad out the later albums when no one was really making much effort to write proper sketches. Tellingly, perhaps, half the material on the 1980 Contractual Obligation Album are songs. Eric Idle – a man with some heavy musical connections himself – was the troupe’s key songwriter. Incidentally, he is also this show’s director and gives himself plenty of opportunity to sing here: he has two big song numbers in the first 30 minutes. It’s a shame, I think, as Idle’s greatest strengths during the Python’s TV run were his word-play sketches - the man who speaks in anagrams, "Nudge-Nudge", "The Travel Agent Sketch". Incidentally, "The Travel Agent Sketch", with its marvellous climactic rant, is one of the main omissions from the show. Of course, while each Python brought their own specific qualities to the table. John Cleese and Graham Chapman’s material was often cruel, while Michael Palin and Terry Jones’ material tended towards absurdities like the Philosopher’s Football Match. They all excelled as elderly pepperpots, of course (for the record, Gilliam is the first one in a dress tonight), and there’s a genuine delight in watching a dragged up Jones and Cleese, shrieking at each other in those ridiculous voices during "The Death Of Mary, Queen Of Scots Sketch". Cleese seems least match fit. Unlike Palin and Idle, who seem astonishingly sprightly, he appears to struggle slightly with delivery while his voice sounds hoarse. There are flashes, though: his remorseless grinding down of Palin during "The Argument Sketch" or the way he snaps maniacally at Jones: “It’s a fucking albatross, isn’t it?” The deathless climax to "The Parrot Sketch" is noticeably muted. Incidentally, they exit with "The Parrot Sketch" which morphs magically into "The Cheese Shop" (no bouzouki player, sadly) and an encore of “Always Look On The Bright Side Of Life” – their “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction”. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kdlxqgRWCCM The Pythons are seasoned live performers, of course. In their pre-Python days, they were members of either the Footlights (Chapman, Cleese, Idle) or the Oxford Revue (Jones, Palin); their earliest forays on screen (The Frost Report, At Last! The 1948 Show, Do Not Adjust Your Set) all took place in the days where television was effectively a live medium. As such, they embraced the idea of taking Python out on stage – there’s three live albums to show for it – so what we see here at the O2 is very much in keeping with established traditions. Presumably, there’ll be a DVD and live album to document this run of shows, too. Whether or not it’s definitely the end – after the run ends, the Pythons claim, they will run down the curtain and join the bleedin’ choir invisible – remains to be seen. But the sight of grown men in dinner suits singing a song about the llama in dodgy Spanish accents remains an unalloyed pleasure. MONTY PYTHON LIVE (MOSTLY) WILL BE BROADCAST LIVE IN CINEMAS ROUND THE WORLD ON JULY 20

It is hard to tell where Neil Young and what we can just about call Crazy Horse end their main set in Hyde Park, Saturday night. "Rockin' In The Free World" has spluttered to a conclusion, of sorts, and the band appear to have left the stage. Then, you notice Young remains amidst the debris, pointing agitatedly at the word printed across his new t-shirt: "EARTH". For the previous two hours, Young has confounded his audience once again. Last summer, Crazy Horse's tour was a compellingly fractious affair, built around mammoth "Psychedelic Pill" noise jams that presented Young as creatively uncompromising, far from afraid of alienating some of his fans (You can read my review of the great 2013 O2 show here). This year, the show starts in broadly similar fashion: 15 magnificently wallowing minutes of "Love And Only Love", followed up by ten of "Goin' Home", plucked from the oblivion of "Are You Passionate?" and not, perhaps, one to gladden the hearts of the casual onlookers at this British Summertime festival in central London. Even in the turmoil and longueurs of "Love And Only Love", though, there's a different energy and focus, driven as it is by Rick Rosas, a slightly more conventional bassist than Billy Talbot, in recovery from a mild stroke. The onslaught is leavened, too, by the presence of two backing vocalists, Dorene Carter and YaDonna West, whose repeated exhortations to "Break it down" provide further structure for Young and Frank 'Poncho' Sampedro's ambulatory paths. There's a good comparison to be made with the electric portions of the "Chrome Dreams II" tour in 2008, when Rosas again provided the security and Pegi Young and Anthony Crawford, on backing vocals, added a degree of emotional ballast. It's not a compromise, exactly; more a way in. Another "Ragged Glory" song follows, "The Days That Used To Be", played with a lightness of touch that accentuates its kinship to "My Back Pages". Soon enough, though, the show takes an uncharacteristically populist turn. For those who bemoaned the lack of 'hits' on the Alchemy tour, you can only hope they gave it another go this year. "After The Gold Rush" leads the charge, delivered at an engagingly sprightly pace, and then there's a beautiful "Only Love Can Break Your Heart" (Sampedro excelling on upright piano), an acoustic singalong of "Heart Of Gold", "Barstool Blues", "Cinnamon Girl", "Rockin' In The Free World". Not the solid comforts of Young's Stateside acoustic shows earlier in the year, perhaps, but not 30 minutes of "Walk Like A Giant", either. For those of who love 30 minutes of "Walk Like A Giant", mind you, there's still plenty to dig into. As ever with Young, it's impossible not to try and parse his setlist and performance to tell where, after "A Letter Home" and the acoustic shows, he might be heading next. Does that heartening exhumation of "Goin' Home" mean that the turn-of-the-millennium Crazy Horse session from which it came, "Toast", might finally see the light of day? Why has Young chosen to pluck "Separate Ways" - a nuanced, almost jazzy performance - from the mid-'70s wasteland of abandoned albums? Is "Archives Volume 2" is finally nearing completion? And what of Young's new "EARTH" shirt, on sale at the merch stands? When Young points to the shirt and the band hastily reconvene around him, it is to crunch into the night's solitary new song, "Who's Gonna Stand Up And Save The Earth?", whose machine-gunned riff opens up into something quite spectacular, a fiery compatriot to "Fuckin' Up" with a momentum only slightly derailed by an awkward, churchy chorus reminiscent of "Be The Rain" from "Greendale". Extrapolating wildly from this righteous anti-fracking anthem, from the gentler but still aggrieved "Hole In The Sky" which surfaced on last year's tour, and from rumours of another album in the works, it might not be a stretch to imagine a forthcoming ecological concept album. Whatever, the continued potency of Neil Young is a wonder to behold, not least when he manages to transform what could have been a contractually expedient tour into something which is both conventionally satisfying and full of tantalising possibilities, both new and old. Beyond those monolithic solos (and that final searing flourish after the choral "Yeah! Yeah! Yeah" in "Cinnamon Girl" is better than ever tonight), it's the range he displays tonight, the delicacy and nuance which underpins "Separate Ways", which is most striking. After "Who's Gonna Stand Up And Save The Earth?", there is time for one more, 20-minute song - a version of "Down By The River" that might rank as the deepest I've ever witnessed, for the dramatic highs and lows, the graceful tension, the jazzy space and nuance which is introduced into Young, Sampedro and the staunch Rosas' tight little face-offs. In spite of all the whims and tangents, it's at this point that a thought occurs about one of Neil Young's most enduring skills - how his shows, his ever-evolving songs, manage to be wildly unpredictable but, at the same time, hugely reliable. If you were there, or at any other of the European shows, please drop me a line: uncut_feedback@ipcmedia.com. Follow me on Twitter: www.twitter.com/JohnRMulvey SETLIST 1. Love And Only Love 2. Goin' Home 3. Days That Used To Be 4. After The Gold Rush 5. Love To Burn 6. Separate Ways 7. Only Love Can Break Your Heart 8. Blowin' In The Wind 9. Heart Of Gold 10. Barstool Blues 11. Psychedelic Pill 12. Cinnamon Girl 13. Rockin' In The Free World Encore: 14. Who's Gonna Stand Up And Save The Earth 15. Down By The River Some previous things I’ve written about Neil Young in the past few years… A review of the 2013 London O2 show Americana Horse Back Psychedelic Pill Le Noise Chrome Dreams II Live at Hammersmith Apollo, 2008 Fork In The Road

There is a telling scene early on in Boyhood that gets to the heart of what makes Richard Linklater’s new film so remarkable. It takes place at the book launch for Harry Potter And The Half-Blood Prince, where Linklater’s main character, Mason, and his friends queue up dressed as their favourite JK Rowling characters, eager to devour the latest exploits of the boy wizard. While Linklater’s film similarly follows the life of a young boy from six to 18, there are no magical adventures accompanying this particular journey towards adulthood. Linklater has fashioned a film about the ordinary details - painting the house, getting a haircut, bowling nights with dad - and accordingly, the episodes of a boy’s life are measured not by otherworldly events but instead by a thread of small moments. Shot in 39 says across a 12 year period, Boyhood is certainly Linklater’s most accomplished experiment yet in an eclectic career that includes the freewheeling Slacker, lo-fi animations like Waking Life, School Of Rock and the Before… trilogy, which also followed a core group of characters through various points in their lives. What partly makes Boyhood such an achievement are the mind-boggling logistics of the undertaking. The time transitions are seamless, the details shift fluidly, the passing of the years marked by clothes, hair, music, mobile phone technology. And of course the principals themselves, who quite literally transform in front of us: Ellar Coltrane as Mason, Lorelei Linklater as his elder sister Samantha, Patricia Arquette as their single mother Olivia and their father Mason Sr (Ethan Hawke), who drifts in and out of their lives. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IiDztHS3Wos Olivia moves her children from town to town around Texas. Much of the film’s narrative is concerned with the decisions she makes - the men who begin with so much promise but who solidify over time into something else - and the impact these have on Mason and Samantha. But Linklater avoids making judgments and steers clear from dramatic set pieces, while characters that play prominent roles in Mason’s life vanish as we jump forward in time. Linklater’s concern is how these challenges ultimately shape Mason and his family. There are few moments that feel conspicuously plot-driven; the vibe is natural and free-flowing. Incidentally, Arquette is excellent as the determined Olivia, supporting her kids in the face of persistent setbacks. Hawke has an equally complex role, growing from arrested adolescent to respectable family man: an erratic figure who nevertheless is unequivocal in his love for his children. Lorelei Linklater - the director’s daughter - is equally watchable as Samantha, growing from the young Mason’s annoying elder kid sister to good friend as the film comes to a close. Mason’s transit from boyhood to adulthood provides the film’s narrative spine. Brilliantly played by Coltrane, Mason’s life is a series of quiet moments of disillusionment that you suspect he will carry deep into adulthood. The tenets of Philip Larkin’s “This Be The Verse” are clearly delineated here. Young Mason starts off as an open-faced blank canvas - the first time we see him, he’s lying on his back staring at clouds - and he enters adulthood as an inquisitive, quietly unconventional dreamer. One of the most resonant scenes - and there are many - occurs quite early on. Mason and his father are crashed out on couches at Mason Sr’s, Hogwarts still fresh in the young boy’s mind. “Dad,” he says, “there’s no real magic in the world, right? Right this second, there's like no elves in the world?" Mason Sr replies: “No, technically. No elves.” Taken cumulatively, these moments contain the movie’s magic.