Scholes Sends City Crashing

Before Saturday's Manchester-derby The Telegraph's Henry Winter said "if you can't write eleven hundred words about this match you don't deserve to be here".

Quite how he was going to send his editor anything near north of a thousand words must have left him sweating in the Mancunian sun: large periods of this game were devoid of much, if any, quality.

Much of the pre-match focus was, quite rightly, on whether City were at once going to extinguish United's hopes of an unprecedented fourth successive title and reassert themselves as favourites for the coveted fourth spot.

For ninety-two minutes it looked as though they would at least prevent their Salford-based rivals from getting anything out of the match.

But you can never write off champions, least of all Manchester United.

With Chelsea travelling to White Hart Lane in the days evening kick off, United knew that only a win could keep the title hopes burning at Old Trafford. Ferguson had already described the match as the most important derby of his career and the atmosphere at Eastland's stood testament to that.

The opening twenty minutes were as frantic as you'd expect from teams with something to play for. Both started brightly, making early attempts to get into the others' penalty area. A couple of early slips from Nemanja Vidic could have proved costly had City's attackers, namely Emmanuel Adebayor, anticipated the ball.

The first effort came from Darren Fletcher, given the nod, as was Darron Gibson and Paul Scholes, over the underperforming Michael Carrick, whose twenty yard drive crept wide. Scholes, United's perennial servant, also drove wide soon after when his high standards demanded better.

City's only chance of the half fell to Carlos Tevez, whose curling free kick was held onto by a diving Edwin Van De Sar. The Argentinian was his usual vivacious self but was quickly hunted down by United when in possession. In fact this was the tale of an uneventful first half, the only chances of which fell to Wayne Rooney and Ryan Giggs, both of whom should have at least tested Shay Given.

An over-crowded midfield ensured that neither side were going to carve out chances and as a result City nor United took charge of the game.

The tide changed, ironically, when United swapped the half-fit, inefficient Rooney for United fans' favourite scapegoat Dimitar Berbatov. The striker's flaws have been well publicised but he offers the United forward line something different, if not entirely successful.

His peculiar strength on the ball means he is able to slalom past players, dragging some out of position and when he was introduced with twenty minutes remaining United started to look threatening.

City were now playing for the draw, hopeful they could catch United out on the counter attack and it almost paid dividends. Craig Bellamy shot wide when he should have squared the ball to Carlos Tevez, Patrick Viera could have capitalised on Van Der Sar's fumbled catch and Gareth Barry bizarrely opted to look for a penalty rather than shoot.

Inevitably the decisive blow came in injury time, a weapon that United have used to defeat City twice already this season. Referee Martin Atkinson, who controversially awarded 7 minutes of stoppage time in the reverse fixture in September, indicated 3 minutes were to be added to the full ninety.

As Patrice Evra picked the ball up high in the City half he picked out a wandering Paul Scholes on the penalty spot who planted an unchallenged header low into the bottom right corner. Quite how Scholes, who had dominated the games play, managed to allude City's defenders and tracking midfield revealed a lack of concentration that renders City as outsiders for a Champions League spot.

In one of the defining derbies it was Ferguson who had again silenced his 'noisy neighbours' but it was one of the golden generation who would be writing the headlines.

English Sides Surrender Semi's...For Now

When the quarter and semi final draw was made last month it was widely expected that at least one English side would make it through to the penultimate round.

As the final whistle blew at Old Trafford lasnight, however, none remain.

For the first time since 2003 there will not be an English representative in the Champions League semi final. Football correspondents will no doubt say this mark's the beginning of the descent for the Premier League and that foreign teams have overtaken our own.

The truth is that this week revealed flaws in Arsenal and Manchester United.

Both teams found themselves in uncomfortable positions prior to kick off. Arsene Wenger's men, despite their well earn't draw last week at the Emirates, had to go to the Camp Nou and either win or gain a greater score-draw than their Spanish counterparts had achieved 6 days earlier.

United on the other hand lost 2-1 in the first leg and also suffered a late injury to the scintillating Wayne Rooney. An injury that had cost them dearly against Chelsea at the weekend and rendered him only half fit, but not entirely obselete, for the visit of Bayern Munich.

As it turned out, Arsenal, for all their attacking prowess in the domestic league, were made to look amateur by a slick, superior Barcelona and an Argentinian magician and United gambled away their place in the semi final.

Wenger's team had faced an uphill struggle and were further exacerbated by the injuries to Cesc Fabregas, Andrei Arshavin and William Gallas, neither of whom made the starting XI. This meant that Wenger operated a lone Nicklas Bendtner, hopeful that his midfield would compensate for the lack of strikers.

Wenger's squad though is thin on quality. Tomas Rosicky was woeful and looked fatigued early on, Theo Walcott hasn't re-emerged from his famous night in Zagreb and there remains a lack of quality replacements in defence. This as well as Bendtner's poor consistency.

Wenger has won many plaudits for the way his team play in the domestic league - Pep Guardiola, his European conqueror, has praised Arsenal's style - but become easily bullied against physical teams. The results against Chelsea and then Manchester United this season show that Wenger needs to instill a pragmatism into his squad, one where winning ugly is as much of an art as winning beautifully.

In defence of Arsenal, they were beaten by a Barcelona vintage that could dominate European football. Guardiola's team spread play with such energy and nimbleness it's difficult to see beyond them as victors in Madrid this year.

In contrast, United have won at least two of their three last championships, not to mention a Champions League, through graft and experience.

Ferguson has become increasingly dependent on players like Darren Fletcher and Ji Sung Park for big matches at the expense of a second striker. This emphasises two things: that without Wayne Rooney United lack goalscoring impetus, and their midfield hasn't the combination of flare and determination of yesteryear.

The sending off of Da Silva - for an foul reminiscent of the one he committed on Craig Bellamy in the Carling Cup semi final - also highlighted the risk that inexperience can cause. Ferguson, however, needs to put his faith in youth eventually to replace the diminishing contributions of Ryan Giggs, Paul Scholes and Gary Neville - the last of 'Fergie's Fledglings'.

A smile as wide as The Channel will beam across Michel Platini's face this morning at the prospect of a multi-national final four and perhaps, for the sake of football, this should be something to embrace if not entirely coveted.

But make no mistake, the English will be back.

Review - Shutter Island

Like any great artist Martin Scorsese knows how to create a feeling. Whether it be New York's suffocating angst in Taxi Driver or the constantly humming volatility in Goodfellas, the (finally) Oscar winning director is a master with the emotive paintbrush.

Shutter Island, then, is Scorsese's darkest film to date both aesthetically and in tone. But once you scratch away at the bleak canvas we're left feeling rather empty.

Undoubtedly inspired by some of Scorsese's favourite Noir, Shutter Island is at it's most basic level a detective film centered around the disappearance of a 'patient' Rachael Solando from the seemingly inescapable mental institution on the remote Shutter Island.

Boston detective Teddy Daniels (DiCaprio) and new partner Chuck Aule arrive on the island and immediately surrender their firearms to obey protocol. They meet Dr. Crawley (Ben Kingsley) who insists the is at their disposal throughout the investigation. After a storm wrecks havoc on the island's power and inevitable, the missing Solando turns up not once but twice and after a meeting with an old friend Daniels, crucially, starts to doubt his own existence.

As the plot twists and then turns Scorsese, master storyteller that he is, draws out our own doubts through Daniels' behaviour and flashbacks (the only way we learn about Daniels' traumatised past) to his time liberating a Nazi death-camp in WWII. This raises intriguing questions: why did Daniels want this case? Who is Laeddis? What happens in Ward C?

Nearly all of the accumulated loose ends become clearer after an unravelling that probably reveals a little too much over too many minutes. This is where the film dissipates slightly and becomes a little more Hollywood than you'd expect from a film maker of Scorsese's heritage.

The performances in Shutter Island help capture the menace of the film. Leonardo DiCaprio is completely compelling as Daniels and portrays his fragile state of mind convincingly. The finest point coming when Daniels doubts his own partner. Shutter Island could mark DiCaprio's finest performance with Scorsese at the helm.

The supporting cast, however, aren't outshone by DiCaprio. Mark Ruffalo plays Chuck with a charming laddish-ness, one that makes the latter stages of the film tougher to digest but not entirely surprising. Ben Kingsley brings subtlety and composure to Dr. Crawley, a man whose professionalism is tested only when he almost loses his raison d'etre.

Stylistically Shutter Island wonderfully captures the insecurities of the protagonist in nightmarish noir. Expressionist angles, shady characters and snappy dialogue are all there but the film lacks some of Scorsese's typical vivacity. As a result the rug isn't ever completely pulled from underneath you: it's fairly obvious where this is going.

Even the climax, a Sunset Boulevard-esque trip which differs from Dennis Lehane's source novel, doesn't have the effect it should. Instead when the end credits roll we're left not really knowing how to feel.