(In which we see how a muscular man and an often-pregnant-in-summer woman are more similar than one might immediately think)
It was announced recently that Davina McCall is intending to leave her job as host of the TV programme Big Brother. My interest in the programme has waned in recent years (mainly due to the escalating and ever-more transparent attempts by the production team to manufacture conflict and drama, and the increased number of 'outrageous' characters who seem all too willing to parade their insecurities and social ineptitudes onscreen, but I digress), but I think it's fair to say that even people who hate the programme would have to concede that McCall's presentation of it has been successful - ratings are good, and she seems more than capable of keeping the 'anything could happen' atmosphere going despite it all being orchestrated to fit around the advert break and the like. So, almost a model definition of the sort of work that's much admired by people who like that sort of thing.
In a handy coincidence, the film Pitch Black was on TV on (I think) Saturday night. I don't know if you've seen it, but if not, and you don't mind science fiction (some people just have an aversion to the genre full stop, and this film's unlikely to convince them to change their mind), then it's worth a look. It’s got a fun story, some creepy nasty aliens, and Vin Diesel (whose name always makes me think of a very cheap wine, like the Austrian wine/anti-freeze scare of the 1980s) gives a suitably burly and growly performance in it. Following Pitch Black and xXx, I think it's fair to say that Diesel's career didn't quite work out - from the films he appeared in, it seems they were trying to position him as a Stallone or Schwarzenegger-style action hero (even down to the similarities between 'Kindergarten Cop' and 'The Pacifier', a point I'm far from the first person to make). It didn't really pan out, though, and I believe that this was for the same reason that Davina McCall's chat show got poor ratings and was swiftly cancelled in 2006.
Quite simply, I think it's due to an entirely erroneous conclusion being reached by the people behind the scenes (and probably the agents and other publicity people), which I'd guess is the result of a thought process that runs along the following lines:
"Well, it (Pitch Black / Big Brother) goes over well with the audience, and brings in money… and the main person in it is (Vin/Diesel)… so if we find a vehicle for (him/her), then the audiences will love it. If we show it, they will come."
You can spot the mistake in that (admittedly oversimplified) conclusion, I'm sure. And I'm oversimplifying for effect, but also because the analysis of a successful creative endeavour has to be careful (especially with things such as films and TV which are the work of many hands; less so with a novel, really).
People I know who've seen Pitch Black like it because it's a solid little SF film, with an interesting 'high concept', and some moments of tension and action, and more than adequate special effects. None of the people I've spoken to about it said they liked the character Diesel plays (he's a convicted murderer, if memory serves, though I understand that they tried to make him a straightforward good guy in the almost-universally-mocked sequel), or that he gave a standout performance, or anything like that.
Similarly, when discussing Big Brother with people, Davina McCall's role is often an afterthought; she is, after all, only the host for one, perhaps two, of the seven or more shows which are on when BB is running. People who talk about BB invariably discuss the behaviour of the 'housemates' (read: contestants), the bitching and backbiting and all that. Comments about McCall are invariably about how she's pregnant again, or the questions she asked in the post-eviction interview or whatever. In no way does anyone ever seem to think that Davina McCall is an integral part of the show (we'll see if this is the case when she does leave, of course).
In both instances, I think, the success of the item is a result of a number of factors, and looking at the most obvious elements of it seems to be a mistake - the ill-fated (and unfeted) TV series 'A Year in Provence' springs to mind. It may well be that you're talking about something which can't be duplicated (compare 'The Office' with 'Extras' to see how it was not all Gervais - indeed, many people I know talked about the finale in terms of Tim and Dawn, not Brent), like 'lightning in a bottle'. Or it may simply be that there are various ingredients which make something more than the sum of its parts (compare songs written by 'Lennon' and 'McCartney' with songs written by 'Lennon-McCartney'). Like eggs or sugar or flour in a cake.
I mean, I love cake, but I wouldn't want to eat a bowl of eggs or sugar or flour. Well, maybe I'd give the sugar a go, but it would run the risk of seeming like a not-bad idea which turns out to leave one feeling vaguely nauseous or ill.
Which, incidentally, pretty much summarises the way I felt after watching 'xXx' and 'Davina'.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Monday, May 21, 2007
Friday Night Blights
When I was growing up, my Friday Nights were blighted by the television programme 'Out of Town' hosted by Jack Hargreaves. The programme always seemed to last more than its actual 30 minutes, as he talked about horseshoes and crops and whatnot. I'm led to believe he may have been a director of the ITV franchise it was shown on, which might explain why the show seemed to be recommissioned indefinitely, but that might just be bitter TV insider gossip.
Also pictured here, the logo for a well-known chicken-based foodstuff emporium, recently redesigned, but I still think they look the same.
On the other hand, you might agree with Robin Williams that Colonel Sanders more closely resembles Ho Chi Minh.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Silver (haired) Screen
Just a quick post today, but it's a thought that's been on my mind for a while...
The David Lynch film 'Mulholland Drive' was very well received by film critics, unlike the director's earlier film 'Lost Highway', despite sharing many similarities in theme and tone. 'Mulholland Drive' features more female nudity and sexuality than 'Lost Highway'.
The film 'Lost in Translation' was very well received by critics. 'Lost in Translation' features a man of advanced years spending time with a much younger woman.
The film 'Sideways' was very well received by critics. 'Sideways' features two middle-aged men going on a road trip, and having relationships with attractive women.
Would it be reasonable for me to guess that the majority of film critics are male, and probably aged over 40?
The David Lynch film 'Mulholland Drive' was very well received by film critics, unlike the director's earlier film 'Lost Highway', despite sharing many similarities in theme and tone. 'Mulholland Drive' features more female nudity and sexuality than 'Lost Highway'.
The film 'Lost in Translation' was very well received by critics. 'Lost in Translation' features a man of advanced years spending time with a much younger woman.
The film 'Sideways' was very well received by critics. 'Sideways' features two middle-aged men going on a road trip, and having relationships with attractive women.
Would it be reasonable for me to guess that the majority of film critics are male, and probably aged over 40?
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
What's In A Name?
Well, quite a lot, if you ask me.
Surely I'm not alone in thinking that they really did not think this name through quite as well as they could have?
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Blood and Sand
Okay, before I get into a long, involved, and pretty humiliating (but utterly true) tale, I want to talk about Inspector Sands. Inspector Sands, like his rank-equal colleagues Morse and Gadget, is a fictional character, but this chap appears in announcements made over the tannoys at train stations in London, basically notifying staff that a fire alarm has been set off at some location in the station. For example, 'Would Inspector Sands please report to the main ticket office, please' means that an alarm's been set off there. This, as far as I know, is a system that's only in use in London, and ironically the attempt to be covert is invariably utterly blown by the fact that the recorded voice of these announcements is really much posher than the vast majority of announcements which blare out of train station speakers, so the fact that something's up is readily apparent to anyone whose number of ears is greater than zero.
Anyway, that's all backgroundy stuff, which will come back later. I promise. Right, here we go.
For many years, I've felt that giving blood is a good thing to do. In fact, in my teen years I made plans to do it as soon as I was old enough, though that didn't actually pan out until I was at college, when I went along to a blood donor session being held at the Student Union. On arriving, I was amazed and appalled to see that the Nelson Mandela Bar had been transformed - people were lying on stretcher-type beds with tubes running out of their arms as medical-types tended to them. It looked like a set from M*A*S*H, though with solid walls. And posters for the GaySoc and forthcoming bands on the walls (remind me to tell you about the time I saw Blur for a quid). But you get what I mean.
I turned up, all ready to give the good red stuff, but it turned out I couldn't donate blood unless I'd registered, which I hadn't. Tch. So I went away, and didn't try to give blood until several years later, when I was living in Sheffield, my degree diploma in one hand and my UB40 in the other. Unlike in the USA, you don't get paid for giving blood in the UK, but I had time on my hands and AB Negative in my veins, so I thought 'why not?' and went along to a blood donor session.
I got past the registering hurdle this time, and after having my thumb pricked (insert your own Macbeth reference here) and my blood checked to ensure it was blood and not a combination of tea and liquid chocolate, and a dozen thoughts of Hancock as The Blood Donor later, I was lying down on a bed with a tube in my arm. After a few minutes, I started to feel a bit light-headed, but assumed that was inevitable, so I ignored it. A minute or so later, though, I started to feel that weird feeling in the gut you get when you're just about to throw up or pass out or both. So I let someone know and they stopped the process. Afterwards, they told me that I probably hadn't had enough to eat, and that next time I gave blood (or tried to) I should make sure I had a large meal first. Fair enough.
Some months later, I went along to try again, this time having had a good amount of food, and accompanied by an old friend (in fact, who I'm still in contact with now. Have I really known her for 25 years? Crikey). This time, in an attempt to keep myself distracted during the vampiric process, I bought along my Walkman, ready to play Bat Out Of Hell as the blood drained from my arm. I went through the same process, and laid down on the bed-thing, pressed PLAY on the Walkman, and after a few minutes, the music seemed to be getting rather distant. As long-time readers may well know, I'm a huge fan of the overblown musical work of songwriter Jim Steinman, and if any of his tunes (such as Bat Out Of Hell) starts to sound vague or quiet, you can be pretty certain it's not Jim's fault - chances are, something's up with your ears. And indeed there was with mine, as I started to feel the great grey weight of unconsciousness start to press down on me. I feebly raised an arm and said I felt unwell, and…
… well, I guess that the staff must have swarmed around me, doing their thing, because I reckon I passed out for a few seconds. When I came to, there was a cold wet cloth on my head, and the tube was out of my arm, and my friend was standing by the side of the bed-thing, looking concerned (it was only some time later that I realised she'd taken advantage of my out-of-it-ness to stick a 'Be Nice To Me - I Gave Blood Today!' sticker on my collar). After an appropriate time to recover, and a cup of tea and a biscuit, I was advised that I had low blood pressure, and that I really shouldn't try to give blood any more. Ah well.
Jump forward about fifteen years, to last night. It's been a while, I've gained weight - and, I reasoned, must have increased my blood pressure as a result - and as several people close to me have had serious (though successful) medical treatment in the last year or so, I wanted to try to donate blood by way of giving something back. So I went along, and after explaining that, yes, I had tried and failed twice before, they said I could have another go, but I was warned - a little over-sternly, I felt - that the bloodbags are quite expensive, and they just have to be thrown away after people like me fail to make a donation, this would be my last chance. Three strikes and you're out, it seems.
Time has passed and technology has developed, so this time I had an mp3 player with me (still the Walkman brand, I'm quite loyal when I find something that works) as I laid me down on the stretcher-bed. The needle went into my arm, I pressed PLAY, and as Tubular Bells (I'm not proud, it was on random) started to play, I concentrated on breathing deeply and clenching and relaxing a fist on the arm with the tube in. And everything went as it should.
For about three minutes. Then I started to feel a weird tingling in my gut, and my head started to feel a bit foggy. Now, I know that one of the reasons you faint is because of the blood rushing from your head to the other vital organs, so I guessed that my stomach felt almost like I had dysentery (unfortunately, something I've experienced) because something was wrong. So I guessed something was up, and said as much to the nearest attendant. And this is where things got really rather strange, and then awkward.
"Cold Square!" she shouted, and suddenly there were four of them all round me. One of them taking the tube out of my arm, another putting a cold flannel on my forehead, and one lifting my legs whilst another put a large wooden block under my feet. And I thought (here's where the foreshadowing pays off): What the hell does Cold Square mean? Must be code, like Inspector Sands or something.
I swear to you, that's what I thought - though another thought quickly barged its way to the front of the consciousness queue, as the feeling continued to tingle in my stomach, and I thought: Oh my god. I really, really want to fart.
So I clenched my sphincter - not that easy to do when you're trying desperately to remain conscious - and gritted my teeth and promised myself that I would not, repeat not, fart when I was the surrounded by four medical professionals.
"He's all right," one of them said. "Just needs to rest a few minutes."
"He still looks quite tense," another noted, with some concern.
"Are you all right?" one asked, leaning into my field of vision.
"Yeah," I said, slightly breathlessly, "I'll be fine once I catch my breath." But if you hang round you won't like what you'll be breathing in, I thought. Please go away.
They left me for a few minutes, and the wooziness passed, and - more importantly, to be honest - so did the need to break wind. I laid there and breathed deeply, until I felt all right. After a bit longer, they sat me up and gave me some water and said that, for some reason, my body just reacted really badly to having blood removed, and that I really shouldn't try to give blood any more.
Fair enough, I said, and slowly made my way home, where my beloved asked me how it had gone.
"I had an issue," I said - our code for 'it all went catastrophically wrong' - and then I told her everything. She listened as I told her what had happened, nodding and hmming in all the right places, but then when I told her about straining to keep the fart in, she laughed, and then laughed some more, then tried to hide the fact that she was laughing by going into the kitchen, but I followed her and found her bent double by the sink, red with the effort of holding back the laughter, and looking like she might soon need medical attention herself.
Anyway, in conclusion, I can't give blood. But if you can, you really ought to.
Just make sure you eat a hearty meal before you go to a donor session. Sausage and chips or something. But skip the baked beans, just in case.
Anyway, that's all backgroundy stuff, which will come back later. I promise. Right, here we go.
For many years, I've felt that giving blood is a good thing to do. In fact, in my teen years I made plans to do it as soon as I was old enough, though that didn't actually pan out until I was at college, when I went along to a blood donor session being held at the Student Union. On arriving, I was amazed and appalled to see that the Nelson Mandela Bar had been transformed - people were lying on stretcher-type beds with tubes running out of their arms as medical-types tended to them. It looked like a set from M*A*S*H, though with solid walls. And posters for the GaySoc and forthcoming bands on the walls (remind me to tell you about the time I saw Blur for a quid). But you get what I mean.
I turned up, all ready to give the good red stuff, but it turned out I couldn't donate blood unless I'd registered, which I hadn't. Tch. So I went away, and didn't try to give blood until several years later, when I was living in Sheffield, my degree diploma in one hand and my UB40 in the other. Unlike in the USA, you don't get paid for giving blood in the UK, but I had time on my hands and AB Negative in my veins, so I thought 'why not?' and went along to a blood donor session.
I got past the registering hurdle this time, and after having my thumb pricked (insert your own Macbeth reference here) and my blood checked to ensure it was blood and not a combination of tea and liquid chocolate, and a dozen thoughts of Hancock as The Blood Donor later, I was lying down on a bed with a tube in my arm. After a few minutes, I started to feel a bit light-headed, but assumed that was inevitable, so I ignored it. A minute or so later, though, I started to feel that weird feeling in the gut you get when you're just about to throw up or pass out or both. So I let someone know and they stopped the process. Afterwards, they told me that I probably hadn't had enough to eat, and that next time I gave blood (or tried to) I should make sure I had a large meal first. Fair enough.
Some months later, I went along to try again, this time having had a good amount of food, and accompanied by an old friend (in fact, who I'm still in contact with now. Have I really known her for 25 years? Crikey). This time, in an attempt to keep myself distracted during the vampiric process, I bought along my Walkman, ready to play Bat Out Of Hell as the blood drained from my arm. I went through the same process, and laid down on the bed-thing, pressed PLAY on the Walkman, and after a few minutes, the music seemed to be getting rather distant. As long-time readers may well know, I'm a huge fan of the overblown musical work of songwriter Jim Steinman, and if any of his tunes (such as Bat Out Of Hell) starts to sound vague or quiet, you can be pretty certain it's not Jim's fault - chances are, something's up with your ears. And indeed there was with mine, as I started to feel the great grey weight of unconsciousness start to press down on me. I feebly raised an arm and said I felt unwell, and…
… well, I guess that the staff must have swarmed around me, doing their thing, because I reckon I passed out for a few seconds. When I came to, there was a cold wet cloth on my head, and the tube was out of my arm, and my friend was standing by the side of the bed-thing, looking concerned (it was only some time later that I realised she'd taken advantage of my out-of-it-ness to stick a 'Be Nice To Me - I Gave Blood Today!' sticker on my collar). After an appropriate time to recover, and a cup of tea and a biscuit, I was advised that I had low blood pressure, and that I really shouldn't try to give blood any more. Ah well.
Jump forward about fifteen years, to last night. It's been a while, I've gained weight - and, I reasoned, must have increased my blood pressure as a result - and as several people close to me have had serious (though successful) medical treatment in the last year or so, I wanted to try to donate blood by way of giving something back. So I went along, and after explaining that, yes, I had tried and failed twice before, they said I could have another go, but I was warned - a little over-sternly, I felt - that the bloodbags are quite expensive, and they just have to be thrown away after people like me fail to make a donation, this would be my last chance. Three strikes and you're out, it seems.
Time has passed and technology has developed, so this time I had an mp3 player with me (still the Walkman brand, I'm quite loyal when I find something that works) as I laid me down on the stretcher-bed. The needle went into my arm, I pressed PLAY, and as Tubular Bells (I'm not proud, it was on random) started to play, I concentrated on breathing deeply and clenching and relaxing a fist on the arm with the tube in. And everything went as it should.
For about three minutes. Then I started to feel a weird tingling in my gut, and my head started to feel a bit foggy. Now, I know that one of the reasons you faint is because of the blood rushing from your head to the other vital organs, so I guessed that my stomach felt almost like I had dysentery (unfortunately, something I've experienced) because something was wrong. So I guessed something was up, and said as much to the nearest attendant. And this is where things got really rather strange, and then awkward.
"Cold Square!" she shouted, and suddenly there were four of them all round me. One of them taking the tube out of my arm, another putting a cold flannel on my forehead, and one lifting my legs whilst another put a large wooden block under my feet. And I thought (here's where the foreshadowing pays off): What the hell does Cold Square mean? Must be code, like Inspector Sands or something.
I swear to you, that's what I thought - though another thought quickly barged its way to the front of the consciousness queue, as the feeling continued to tingle in my stomach, and I thought: Oh my god. I really, really want to fart.
So I clenched my sphincter - not that easy to do when you're trying desperately to remain conscious - and gritted my teeth and promised myself that I would not, repeat not, fart when I was the surrounded by four medical professionals.
"He's all right," one of them said. "Just needs to rest a few minutes."
"He still looks quite tense," another noted, with some concern.
"Are you all right?" one asked, leaning into my field of vision.
"Yeah," I said, slightly breathlessly, "I'll be fine once I catch my breath." But if you hang round you won't like what you'll be breathing in, I thought. Please go away.
They left me for a few minutes, and the wooziness passed, and - more importantly, to be honest - so did the need to break wind. I laid there and breathed deeply, until I felt all right. After a bit longer, they sat me up and gave me some water and said that, for some reason, my body just reacted really badly to having blood removed, and that I really shouldn't try to give blood any more.
Fair enough, I said, and slowly made my way home, where my beloved asked me how it had gone.
"I had an issue," I said - our code for 'it all went catastrophically wrong' - and then I told her everything. She listened as I told her what had happened, nodding and hmming in all the right places, but then when I told her about straining to keep the fart in, she laughed, and then laughed some more, then tried to hide the fact that she was laughing by going into the kitchen, but I followed her and found her bent double by the sink, red with the effort of holding back the laughter, and looking like she might soon need medical attention herself.
Anyway, in conclusion, I can't give blood. But if you can, you really ought to.
Just make sure you eat a hearty meal before you go to a donor session. Sausage and chips or something. But skip the baked beans, just in case.
LINK: Wedding Album
I may have mentioned the name Alan Moore several times in the blog, and the reason for this is simple - he's an immensely talented writer, and (having met him on about half a dozen occasions, I can honestly say), a jolly nice chap too.
Last Saturday, Mr Moore married his long-time companion, the also very talented artist Melinda Gebbie, at a wedding, which, from the looks of these photos on the blog of the jolly-talented-too writer Neil Gaiman, was a lot of fun indeed. Yay!
Last Saturday, Mr Moore married his long-time companion, the also very talented artist Melinda Gebbie, at a wedding, which, from the looks of these photos on the blog of the jolly-talented-too writer Neil Gaiman, was a lot of fun indeed. Yay!
Monday, May 14, 2007
See, I’m Not Just Making This Stuff Up
Just in case you thought I was being a bit trainspottery about this, the issue was raised by Charlie Brooker in a national newspaper over the weekend (and Brooker knows a great deal about TV).
In his article he provides this link to the BBC’s new standards on closing credits, which I have to say seem to completely embody everything I ranted about last week.
Your licence fee at work.
In his article he provides this link to the BBC’s new standards on closing credits, which I have to say seem to completely embody everything I ranted about last week.
Your licence fee at work.
Friday, May 11, 2007
REVIEW: 'The Naked Jape' by Jimmy Carr and Lucy Greeves
Say what you like about Jimmy Carr, co-writer of this book, he works hard; I don’t just mean that he appears to have cloned himself in order to present loads of panel shows and ‘Top 100’ shows on channel 4, but I know from personal experience that he works at it – I used to dabble with stand-up, and on almost every occasion I did a gig about six years ago, Carr was also there. I’ll freely admit that I don’t really care for much of his material (it’s all a bit calculated for my tastes), but I’ll cheerfully doff my cap to his work ethic.
Anyway, this book, co-written by Carr and long-time friend Lucy Greeves, sets about analysing jokes and how they work.. It’s a bold aim, and one that they pull off with a fair degree of success, to my mind.
They look at the actual nature of what physiologically causes laughter, how various jokes are constructed, what makes a person want to become a comedian, and the usual issue of whether comedy is invariably laughing at someone or something. I wasn’t entirely convinced by one of the chapters – on ‘ironically offensive jokes’ – as it felt like too much of a get-out for Carr’s material, really (as Stewart Lee pointed out, if you can legitimately claim that Jim Davidson’s nicked a joke of yours and used it in his act, and it doesn’t stand out a mile, you might want to reconsider your material).
Still, that’s a small-ish complaint, and there’s a lot to enjoy in this book (not least the fact that – for the first time in my reading about him – they as good as say that Peter Kay doesn’t do jokes so much as a kind of shared cheerful experience; something which I feel is very true indeed). Even if you’re not interested in the arguments and observations being put forward, the foot of each page has a joke on it, and the chapters are ‘followed ’ by examples of jokes of the style being discussed. Making it like an amalgam of a serious analysis and a joke book, as it were.
If you’re interested in comedy, either as a spectator or would-be practitioner, there’s a lot of good stuff in this book, and so I’d recommend it. Though the current hardback (yes, the form I read it in; I know, look at me with my posh books) and the forthcoming paperback both have a drawing of a nude Carr on the front cover, making it rather embarrassing to read in public.
Anyway, this book, co-written by Carr and long-time friend Lucy Greeves, sets about analysing jokes and how they work.. It’s a bold aim, and one that they pull off with a fair degree of success, to my mind.
They look at the actual nature of what physiologically causes laughter, how various jokes are constructed, what makes a person want to become a comedian, and the usual issue of whether comedy is invariably laughing at someone or something. I wasn’t entirely convinced by one of the chapters – on ‘ironically offensive jokes’ – as it felt like too much of a get-out for Carr’s material, really (as Stewart Lee pointed out, if you can legitimately claim that Jim Davidson’s nicked a joke of yours and used it in his act, and it doesn’t stand out a mile, you might want to reconsider your material).
Still, that’s a small-ish complaint, and there’s a lot to enjoy in this book (not least the fact that – for the first time in my reading about him – they as good as say that Peter Kay doesn’t do jokes so much as a kind of shared cheerful experience; something which I feel is very true indeed). Even if you’re not interested in the arguments and observations being put forward, the foot of each page has a joke on it, and the chapters are ‘followed ’ by examples of jokes of the style being discussed. Making it like an amalgam of a serious analysis and a joke book, as it were.
If you’re interested in comedy, either as a spectator or would-be practitioner, there’s a lot of good stuff in this book, and so I’d recommend it. Though the current hardback (yes, the form I read it in; I know, look at me with my posh books) and the forthcoming paperback both have a drawing of a nude Carr on the front cover, making it rather embarrassing to read in public.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
REVIEW: Hot Fuzz
I’m rather late in reviewing this film, I’ll cheerfully admit, but in my defence it vanished from my local fleapit after a surprisingly brief time, though thankfully it re-appeared over the Bank Holiday weekend, giving me a chance to see it on the big screen. Just in time for Review Week here on m’blog.
And I’m glad I did; as you may well know, this film is from the same team as the romantic zombie comedy (‘romzomcom’) Shaun of the Dead, but is their spin on the buddy cop film, with an English angle.
Top policeman Nick Angel (Simon Pegg) is transferred from London to the sleepy West Country village of Sandford. However – and as you’d hope unless the film was going to feature 90 minutes of adrenaline-fuelled grass-keeping-off-reminder action – things are not what they seem.
Comparisons with the team’s previous film are inevitable, but I have to say that I think that Hot Fuzz is the better film; the plot’s stronger – and impressively twisty – and whilst there aren’t as many straight-out jokes (though there are a lot of good gags), the overall look of the film is more confident (check out those scene transitions – racing through events in a kind of visual bullet-point effect, for want of a better phrase), and the action sequences are very good, not least for being in such an unlikely setting.
Pegg carries the film very well, and his friend Nick Frost does well as the inevitable ill-matched partner, though the eye’s inevitably drawn to the rest of the cast, featuring as it does a host of well-known British actors: Timothy Dalton all but twirls his moustache, whilst Jim Broadbent, Edward Woodward, Bill Nighy, Martin Freeman, Steve Coogan and Olivia Colman are just a few of the ‘ooh, look, it’s them’ moments in the film. Oh, and Bill Bailey. Twice. With a very silly way of telling him apart (oh, watch the film, you’ll see what I mean).
Overall, then, a very good film indeed, and whilst it veers into action territory towards the end, it’s got enough human interest and jokes (not to mention in-jokes) in it to stop it being a ‘boy film’, despite it paying homage to such classics as Point Break and Bad Boys 2. Definitely worth seeing on the big screen, and more than likely worth watching repeatedly at home, as I’m fairly sure there’ll be extra jokes to spot on re-viewing. Very much recommended.
And I’m glad I did; as you may well know, this film is from the same team as the romantic zombie comedy (‘romzomcom’) Shaun of the Dead, but is their spin on the buddy cop film, with an English angle.
Top policeman Nick Angel (Simon Pegg) is transferred from London to the sleepy West Country village of Sandford. However – and as you’d hope unless the film was going to feature 90 minutes of adrenaline-fuelled grass-keeping-off-reminder action – things are not what they seem.
Comparisons with the team’s previous film are inevitable, but I have to say that I think that Hot Fuzz is the better film; the plot’s stronger – and impressively twisty – and whilst there aren’t as many straight-out jokes (though there are a lot of good gags), the overall look of the film is more confident (check out those scene transitions – racing through events in a kind of visual bullet-point effect, for want of a better phrase), and the action sequences are very good, not least for being in such an unlikely setting.
Pegg carries the film very well, and his friend Nick Frost does well as the inevitable ill-matched partner, though the eye’s inevitably drawn to the rest of the cast, featuring as it does a host of well-known British actors: Timothy Dalton all but twirls his moustache, whilst Jim Broadbent, Edward Woodward, Bill Nighy, Martin Freeman, Steve Coogan and Olivia Colman are just a few of the ‘ooh, look, it’s them’ moments in the film. Oh, and Bill Bailey. Twice. With a very silly way of telling him apart (oh, watch the film, you’ll see what I mean).
Overall, then, a very good film indeed, and whilst it veers into action territory towards the end, it’s got enough human interest and jokes (not to mention in-jokes) in it to stop it being a ‘boy film’, despite it paying homage to such classics as Point Break and Bad Boys 2. Definitely worth seeing on the big screen, and more than likely worth watching repeatedly at home, as I’m fairly sure there’ll be extra jokes to spot on re-viewing. Very much recommended.
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
REVIEW: 'The Thirty-Nine Steps' by John Buchan
Welcome to Day Two of Review Week, where I’ll be upfront with an issue of ignorance before getting into my review of this book. This slender tome came recommended by a friend, who said it was a classic ‘Boy’s Own’-style romp. And I kind of knew, but I don’t really know, what he meant by this.
A quick Google turns up this, which suggests that my interpretation of it was about right. But it’s odd that it’s still being used four decades after the paper itself has ceased publication; I suspect that the use of the phrase is something that will, like the readers of Boy’s Own, die out in time. If not, it’ll be intriguing, as it’ll suggest that people are happy to use a phrase which derives from something they know little about. It would be like me using the word Proustian, when my only concept of Proust comes from that Monty Python sketch. Oh, hang on, I do that, don’t I ? Damn.
Anyway, lest I turn this into a big ramble about me, like a proper reviewer, let’s talk about Buchan’s book, featuring the recurring character of Richard Hannay. There are spoilers ahead, so don’t say I haven’t warned you.
If your expectation of The Thirty-Nine Steps comes from the film versions with people hanging off the hands of Big Ben (or St Stephen’s Tower, if you prefer), well, be prepared to be disappointed. The plot involves Hannay, an everyman sort of chap, getting embroiled in an espionage situation, and then legging it from London to Scotland.
Maybe I’m too keen on the city where I live, but I have to admit that the middle section of the book didn’t really hold my interest very much – Hannay spends most of his time hiding in the wilds of Scotland, adopting a variety of suitably rural disguises to evade the people chasing him (fisherman one chapter, gamekeeper the next, that sort of thing). I found this a bit dull, really, and certainly didn’t get much sense of his pursuers being close at hand. In the final section of the book, Hannay returns to the city, and the nature of the spies’ plot is revealed, but by then I was suffering from a bit of a case of not-really-bothered-itis, to be honest.
I don’t know if the other books involving Hannay are less repetitive, and a bit more spy-centric and less bucolic, but I must admit that I don’t really feel any inclination to find out. The narrative’s quite likeable in a way, and the book’s really very short, but overall it felt more like a historical item than a book which spoke to me as a present-day reader.
A quick Google turns up this, which suggests that my interpretation of it was about right. But it’s odd that it’s still being used four decades after the paper itself has ceased publication; I suspect that the use of the phrase is something that will, like the readers of Boy’s Own, die out in time. If not, it’ll be intriguing, as it’ll suggest that people are happy to use a phrase which derives from something they know little about. It would be like me using the word Proustian, when my only concept of Proust comes from that Monty Python sketch. Oh, hang on, I do that, don’t I ? Damn.
Anyway, lest I turn this into a big ramble about me, like a proper reviewer, let’s talk about Buchan’s book, featuring the recurring character of Richard Hannay. There are spoilers ahead, so don’t say I haven’t warned you.
If your expectation of The Thirty-Nine Steps comes from the film versions with people hanging off the hands of Big Ben (or St Stephen’s Tower, if you prefer), well, be prepared to be disappointed. The plot involves Hannay, an everyman sort of chap, getting embroiled in an espionage situation, and then legging it from London to Scotland.
Maybe I’m too keen on the city where I live, but I have to admit that the middle section of the book didn’t really hold my interest very much – Hannay spends most of his time hiding in the wilds of Scotland, adopting a variety of suitably rural disguises to evade the people chasing him (fisherman one chapter, gamekeeper the next, that sort of thing). I found this a bit dull, really, and certainly didn’t get much sense of his pursuers being close at hand. In the final section of the book, Hannay returns to the city, and the nature of the spies’ plot is revealed, but by then I was suffering from a bit of a case of not-really-bothered-itis, to be honest.
I don’t know if the other books involving Hannay are less repetitive, and a bit more spy-centric and less bucolic, but I must admit that I don’t really feel any inclination to find out. The narrative’s quite likeable in a way, and the book’s really very short, but overall it felt more like a historical item than a book which spoke to me as a present-day reader.
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
REVIEW: 52
Through a happy coincidence, the final issue of this comic shipped in the USA last Wednesday. Or, as they call it over there, 5/2. Coincidence, or something more sinister? No. It is a coincidence.
Anyway, 52 was, for US-based DC Comics, something of an experiment; instead of one issue shipping once a month, 52 was a year-long weekly comic, with the same writers and breakdown artist, as well as a variety of recurring pencillers and inkers. Given that a large number of comics from DC (and, to a worse extent, their market rivals Marvel) have been shipping at a less-than-monthly rate in recent years, there was inevitably a fair amount of scepticism amongst comic retailers and readers alike as to whether the weekly frequency would be maintained. And if it was, what kind of quality would we be looking at?
Overall, though, 52 was pretty good. Set in a world where the three main heroes (Batman, Superman and Wonder Woman) are absent, the story - notionally told in real time, like the TV series ‘24’ - showed the DC universe from the perspective of a cast of less-well-known characters, though of course some of the villains remain the same - Lex Luthor, for example, tries his best to exploit the absence of Superman. The story had a broad canvas, veering from the alleys of Gotham to the far reaches of outer space, and as such did a pretty good job of keeping my interest, though some weeks were inevitably better than others.
There were quite a few mysteries that ran through the series - the identity of new character Supernova (I guessed that one), the Elongated Man's search for his dead wife (I did not see the twists there coming, and liked the revelations), and overarching it all, though only really apparent in the last six weeks or so, the mystery of which DC villain was trying to manipulate events to their own benefit.
This latter point led to the re-establishing in DC Comics of the 'multiverse' - a series of 52 alternate Earths existing in parallel with each other. I don't pretend to understand the way it's all meant to work - I'm not that bothered as long as there's consistency, and not slavish adherence to continuity - but I have to admit I don't truly understand what DC see as the benefit here, both in storytelling terms and in terms of luring new readers. Unless, of course, they're going to make it simple for newcomers to know that on (say) Earth-10, there's no Superman, or there is but he’s made of Fuzzy Felt, or whatever.
You either have to make the stories very easy to understand (often not the case at the moment, unfortunately), or ensure new readers are so very keen to know more that they're happy to go to the effort of figuring out the multiverse thing (not really something DC should rely on, to my mind). Maybe DC will publish some cheap, or even free, primer on their universe, I don't know. It would certainly be a good idea, as the comic-buying market is increasingly limited already, and this restricted marketplace could just be amplified by the fact that the comic stories now take place in one of 52 alternate universes, and you need to be able to figure out which.
Still, it did pretty well for them in terms of sales and interest, which was a good thing in the short-term. Especially as sales on some new titles have been near-disastrous (the Flash relaunch, for example), and the aforementioned scheduling problems have plagued the whole DC line, with fill-in issues aplenty and even creators dropped mid-storyline to take on a new team in the hopes of getting things back on a monthly basis (I'm looking at you, Wonder Woman).
52, then. A pretty good read, but in my humble opinion, far from a good thing in terms of attracting new readers.
Anyway, 52 was, for US-based DC Comics, something of an experiment; instead of one issue shipping once a month, 52 was a year-long weekly comic, with the same writers and breakdown artist, as well as a variety of recurring pencillers and inkers. Given that a large number of comics from DC (and, to a worse extent, their market rivals Marvel) have been shipping at a less-than-monthly rate in recent years, there was inevitably a fair amount of scepticism amongst comic retailers and readers alike as to whether the weekly frequency would be maintained. And if it was, what kind of quality would we be looking at?
Overall, though, 52 was pretty good. Set in a world where the three main heroes (Batman, Superman and Wonder Woman) are absent, the story - notionally told in real time, like the TV series ‘24’ - showed the DC universe from the perspective of a cast of less-well-known characters, though of course some of the villains remain the same - Lex Luthor, for example, tries his best to exploit the absence of Superman. The story had a broad canvas, veering from the alleys of Gotham to the far reaches of outer space, and as such did a pretty good job of keeping my interest, though some weeks were inevitably better than others.
There were quite a few mysteries that ran through the series - the identity of new character Supernova (I guessed that one), the Elongated Man's search for his dead wife (I did not see the twists there coming, and liked the revelations), and overarching it all, though only really apparent in the last six weeks or so, the mystery of which DC villain was trying to manipulate events to their own benefit.
This latter point led to the re-establishing in DC Comics of the 'multiverse' - a series of 52 alternate Earths existing in parallel with each other. I don't pretend to understand the way it's all meant to work - I'm not that bothered as long as there's consistency, and not slavish adherence to continuity - but I have to admit I don't truly understand what DC see as the benefit here, both in storytelling terms and in terms of luring new readers. Unless, of course, they're going to make it simple for newcomers to know that on (say) Earth-10, there's no Superman, or there is but he’s made of Fuzzy Felt, or whatever.
You either have to make the stories very easy to understand (often not the case at the moment, unfortunately), or ensure new readers are so very keen to know more that they're happy to go to the effort of figuring out the multiverse thing (not really something DC should rely on, to my mind). Maybe DC will publish some cheap, or even free, primer on their universe, I don't know. It would certainly be a good idea, as the comic-buying market is increasingly limited already, and this restricted marketplace could just be amplified by the fact that the comic stories now take place in one of 52 alternate universes, and you need to be able to figure out which.
Still, it did pretty well for them in terms of sales and interest, which was a good thing in the short-term. Especially as sales on some new titles have been near-disastrous (the Flash relaunch, for example), and the aforementioned scheduling problems have plagued the whole DC line, with fill-in issues aplenty and even creators dropped mid-storyline to take on a new team in the hopes of getting things back on a monthly basis (I'm looking at you, Wonder Woman).
52, then. A pretty good read, but in my humble opinion, far from a good thing in terms of attracting new readers.
Welcome, Willkommen, Bienvenue, iHola!
…Which is to say, welcome to Review Week. Yes, faithful readers, every day this week I'll be posting a review, as my desk and notebook are frankly clogged with notes to self, exhorting me to share my thoughts on various media with the eagerly-awaiting internet.
Do bear in mind, though, that here in Blighty this week began with a Bank Holiday, so today is the first working day of the week, and thus the first blogging day of the week. Oh, don't look at me like that, you know you're as amazed as I am about how regularly I've been posting, one day fewer isn't much...
Anyway, what are you lingering here for? Cast your eyes upwards to see my ill-informed opinions on something I obviously couldn't do one-zillionth as well!
Do bear in mind, though, that here in Blighty this week began with a Bank Holiday, so today is the first working day of the week, and thus the first blogging day of the week. Oh, don't look at me like that, you know you're as amazed as I am about how regularly I've been posting, one day fewer isn't much...
Anyway, what are you lingering here for? Cast your eyes upwards to see my ill-informed opinions on something I obviously couldn't do one-zillionth as well!
Friday, May 04, 2007
Loser Guys*
A wee while ago (February 20th, if you want to check the archives) I ranted about a woman who claimed she wanted to become a Footballer's Wife or Girlfriend. I said then - as I still feel now - that this is a pretty appalling approach to living, as it'a almost like chickening out of working for a living and expecting to be supported by someone else.
Now, it might be argued that my derision partly stems from the fact that - by virtue of my gender I'm less likely to be supported in this way. And I'd agree you might have a point, if it wasn't for the fact that I increasingly hear tales from my female friends of men who are just as bad.
In recent months, I've heard some frankly appalling tales of men. So appalling that I think bullet points are appropriate lest I get lost inside some multi-claused and triple-parenthetical sentence and lose the sense of what I'm saying.
I have, then, been told about men who:
-Have not washed for a fortnight
-Have stayed at home and expected their partners to support them
-Have refused to even discuss the possibility that contraception might be their responsibility
-Have taken out loans against shared property, or taken sums from an offset mortgage account, without informing their partner (who has been co-owner in all these circumstances)
-Have peered over their beer belly at their partner and berated them for 'putting on a few pounds'
-Have complained so much about their partner being away at work that their partner has given up the job, or (in the case of work which took them away from home during the week) changed jobs to be able to get home to him quicker
-Have decided that cooking, washing and tidying are all the woman's responsibility
-Have blinked in ignorance at the idea that they might occasionally carry shopping bags or luggage for their partner
-Have worn the same clothes for a week
-Have not bought presents for birthday or Christmas or other occasions over a period of years
… amongst other things. Now, you might argue that this sort of thing is partly the woman's fault for tolerating that kind of behaviour - and there might indeed be a scintilla of truth to the song 'Chicks Dig Jerks' by Bill Hicks - but it often rears its head after the relationship's up and running, with the chap dropping the pretences (and perhaps even pretensions) that he put on as part of his 'courting behaviour', which is sneaky as well as pathetic, to my mind.
So, lest you think I'm some kind of sexist who thinks only women are capable of idiotic behaviour, or of thinking that the world owes them a living, I assure you I'm not; men can be just as pathetic - in fact, arguably more so, as they often try to mix this kind of loser behaviour with a weird kind of macho bluster. I'm actually very free of prejudice - I don't care if you're gay or straight, male or female, black or white, able-bodied or not, atheist or Shinto, whatever; if you act like a moron, I'll say as much.
Though in a way, the existence of these loser guys gives chaps like me, who want to be decent, a bit of a clue; all you have to do is see what they do, and do the exact opposite, and you should find your relationships go along all right.
*To be sung to the tune of the chorus of 'Stupid Girls' by Pink.
Thursday, May 03, 2007
Look Away NOW, For Pity's Sake, LOOK AWAY...
...well, don't say I didn't warn you.So, Scooch and Blair there.
To my bitter and jaded mind, the captions featuring phrases like 'never popular','vacuous and obviously manufactured',and 'cynically targetted to appeal to the widest audience' just write themselves.
Picture from the ever-readable Popjustice. Used without permission, but I like to think they'd understand.
Credit Where It's Due
As you've no doubt noticed, there's a tendency on TV nowadays to talk over the closing credits, or distract from it in other ways.
I know this has been going on the USA for some time (I saw an episode of Seinfeld where the closing action was reduced to about 2/3 of the screen whilst some other gubbins scrolled along the bottom of the screen - even as the closing credits for Seinfeld were running on the 'inset', thus forcing the viewer to look at one or the other), but this sort of thing's moderately new to the UK.
It's used to varying degrees - BBC1, ITV and Five are pretty happy to do it, cheerfully talking over the closing titles of almost any programme with closing credits, though BBC2 and Channel 4 seem a tad more hesitant, especially with films. Equity kicked up a fuss about the 'squashing' of credits a few years ago (2003, I think it was), on the grounds that the small type made it impossible for actors and other cast and crew members to be identified, and that they were thus losing out on work. Not entirely sure that this argument holds up on a practical level in these internet days, but I can see what they're driving at.
The argument that TV channels make about trimming, slicing, squashing or otherwise diminishing the closing credits, as I understand it, goes something like this: in tests, an overwhelming majority of people polled (something like 60% or more) were found to start turning over once the credits started rolling. The argument thus goes that the channel needs to act to capture the audience's attention and keep them watching - hence the inserted clips from the programme coming next, or a voice-over to tell you what's following, or even a clip from the following episode of the show you've just watched to remind you when next it's on.
Now, at the risk of creating a straw man in terms of this subject, I have to say that I've never found any of the arguments at all compelling; in these Sky and Digital days (with the latter set to become mandatory over the next decade or so*), it's never been easier to find out what's on and coming next on any given channel (with an onscreen guide at the flick of a button), or to find out when the next episode of a programme is. So I don't buy that argument.
Nor am I convinced by the need to show me a clip from the following week's programme - in fact, I find it dispels any sense of drama. If I see that Doctor Gregory House has tripped over his cane at home and cracked his head on the lino and has passed out with nobody to help him, that's a cliffhanger that'll draw me back. I don't want to then be given a forty-second edit of the next episode in which House is clearly up and about and doing fine. It defeats the purpose of having such an element to the script, and as one who dabbles with words myself, I can only imagine how annoying it must be for the writers involved to find that someone at the TV channel feels that they have better instincts about drama than they do.
Okay, so I've loaded that example rather by referring to a US show (bear in mind my comments about this being more prevalent in the USA), but it still holds true for Casualty, The Bill, and many other drama series on UK TV. In fact, on Tuesday night, at the end of EastEnders on BBC1, unless I'm very much mistaken, they showed a clip from Thursday's episode of the series, and reminded the viewer that it was on again on Thursday night.
Now, to me, this seems to be extracting the urine at a very high level. EastEnders has - with very few exceptions - been on Tuesday and Thursday since its inception a couple of decades ago, so it's not going to be a surprise to anyone watching it on Tuesday that it'll be on Thursday as well. The trailer did nothing to let the viewer know what was on next on BBC1, and as well as ignoring the work put into the episode (that is, in trying to draw back the viewer with a wish to know more) by the crew, it effectively patronised the viewer by telling them something they almost certainly knew already.
I have to say that I don't care for the whole 'squeezing' of credits and the like, mainly because it just looks tacky and rating-grabbing, but also because it seems to be symptomatic of the whole 'building a brand' nonsense which means that programmes on the BBC have their logo stamped on the titles at some point. The thing that gets me about all this is - and I've said it before and will no doubt say it again - 'building a brand' is not simply flogging stuff. To be truly involved in building a brand, you have to do the legwork, and actually create stuff from scratch. Just slapping logos (oh, sorry, I mean 'Digital Onscreen Graphics') and trailers and voice-overs and other attempts to keep my attention is not 'building' anything, it's just selling something that already exists.
And perhaps it's my contrary way, but the more someone tries to sell something to me, the more I feel the urge to take my time, attention and money elsewhere. The solution, to my mind, would be to make the viewing available so absolutely riveting that I simply wouldn’t want to turn over. But that take a bit more effort and creative endeavour, doesn’t it ?
*Not because digital will give you a better picture, of course, but because the government has decided to sell off the frequencies. Which is interesting, as it suggests they in some way own them, as opposed to being charged with a duty to look after them. Legally I'd be interested to know what the position is on this sale (as with all the privatisations of the 1980s and 1990s). It has an unsavoury feel of gamekeeper turned poacher about it to me.
I know this has been going on the USA for some time (I saw an episode of Seinfeld where the closing action was reduced to about 2/3 of the screen whilst some other gubbins scrolled along the bottom of the screen - even as the closing credits for Seinfeld were running on the 'inset', thus forcing the viewer to look at one or the other), but this sort of thing's moderately new to the UK.
It's used to varying degrees - BBC1, ITV and Five are pretty happy to do it, cheerfully talking over the closing titles of almost any programme with closing credits, though BBC2 and Channel 4 seem a tad more hesitant, especially with films. Equity kicked up a fuss about the 'squashing' of credits a few years ago (2003, I think it was), on the grounds that the small type made it impossible for actors and other cast and crew members to be identified, and that they were thus losing out on work. Not entirely sure that this argument holds up on a practical level in these internet days, but I can see what they're driving at.
The argument that TV channels make about trimming, slicing, squashing or otherwise diminishing the closing credits, as I understand it, goes something like this: in tests, an overwhelming majority of people polled (something like 60% or more) were found to start turning over once the credits started rolling. The argument thus goes that the channel needs to act to capture the audience's attention and keep them watching - hence the inserted clips from the programme coming next, or a voice-over to tell you what's following, or even a clip from the following episode of the show you've just watched to remind you when next it's on.
Now, at the risk of creating a straw man in terms of this subject, I have to say that I've never found any of the arguments at all compelling; in these Sky and Digital days (with the latter set to become mandatory over the next decade or so*), it's never been easier to find out what's on and coming next on any given channel (with an onscreen guide at the flick of a button), or to find out when the next episode of a programme is. So I don't buy that argument.
Nor am I convinced by the need to show me a clip from the following week's programme - in fact, I find it dispels any sense of drama. If I see that Doctor Gregory House has tripped over his cane at home and cracked his head on the lino and has passed out with nobody to help him, that's a cliffhanger that'll draw me back. I don't want to then be given a forty-second edit of the next episode in which House is clearly up and about and doing fine. It defeats the purpose of having such an element to the script, and as one who dabbles with words myself, I can only imagine how annoying it must be for the writers involved to find that someone at the TV channel feels that they have better instincts about drama than they do.
Okay, so I've loaded that example rather by referring to a US show (bear in mind my comments about this being more prevalent in the USA), but it still holds true for Casualty, The Bill, and many other drama series on UK TV. In fact, on Tuesday night, at the end of EastEnders on BBC1, unless I'm very much mistaken, they showed a clip from Thursday's episode of the series, and reminded the viewer that it was on again on Thursday night.
Now, to me, this seems to be extracting the urine at a very high level. EastEnders has - with very few exceptions - been on Tuesday and Thursday since its inception a couple of decades ago, so it's not going to be a surprise to anyone watching it on Tuesday that it'll be on Thursday as well. The trailer did nothing to let the viewer know what was on next on BBC1, and as well as ignoring the work put into the episode (that is, in trying to draw back the viewer with a wish to know more) by the crew, it effectively patronised the viewer by telling them something they almost certainly knew already.
I have to say that I don't care for the whole 'squeezing' of credits and the like, mainly because it just looks tacky and rating-grabbing, but also because it seems to be symptomatic of the whole 'building a brand' nonsense which means that programmes on the BBC have their logo stamped on the titles at some point. The thing that gets me about all this is - and I've said it before and will no doubt say it again - 'building a brand' is not simply flogging stuff. To be truly involved in building a brand, you have to do the legwork, and actually create stuff from scratch. Just slapping logos (oh, sorry, I mean 'Digital Onscreen Graphics') and trailers and voice-overs and other attempts to keep my attention is not 'building' anything, it's just selling something that already exists.
And perhaps it's my contrary way, but the more someone tries to sell something to me, the more I feel the urge to take my time, attention and money elsewhere. The solution, to my mind, would be to make the viewing available so absolutely riveting that I simply wouldn’t want to turn over. But that take a bit more effort and creative endeavour, doesn’t it ?
*Not because digital will give you a better picture, of course, but because the government has decided to sell off the frequencies. Which is interesting, as it suggests they in some way own them, as opposed to being charged with a duty to look after them. Legally I'd be interested to know what the position is on this sale (as with all the privatisations of the 1980s and 1990s). It has an unsavoury feel of gamekeeper turned poacher about it to me.
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
(No) Good Advice
I saw this poster outside a running-related exhibition.Now, I know it's talking about long-distance running, but let's face it, we all know this advice could be applied to most situations in life.
LINK: New and Improved
Well, as promised, I've updated my London Marathon sponsor page, to reflect the fact I've actually done it.
Please go here to sponsor me - it's not too late...
Thanks!
Please go here to sponsor me - it's not too late...
Thanks!
Sunday, April 29, 2007
Unoriginal Soundtrack
There’s a lot of fun to be had whilst traveling in London, and my newest hobby is listening to the music which other passengers play through their mobile phones.
Now, some might say that playing mp3s through a speaker half the size of a postage stamp (with all the tinniness of a 1970s transistor radio blaring out Radio 1 on Medium Wave) is rather rude. An intrusion, perhaps, on the private space of other passengers, challenging them to say something and risk making a scene.
I disagree. It’s free music – plus, you have to conclude that the person playing the music, doesn’t think it’s a tube or bus journey, oh no, uh-uh. Your trip, obviously, is a music video. Yes, all the other passengers are extras in the drama of their lives, and so it needs a soundtrack.
There is, of course, a bit of a worry in that much of this music is utterly inappropriate to travelling – most of it’s hip-hop or R&B, in my experience – which rather suggests that the player of the music is perhaps trying to do too much, and even attempting to change their whole environment.
You see, most of the videos accompanying these songs take place at dimly-lit parties in spacious homes, on beaches where thong-wearing women shake their booty, or in clubs with migraine-inducing lightshows and glass-topped bars. Those are just examples, but my point is: these videos rarely take place on public transport.
Granted, some of them feature open-topped cars or limousines cruising along the streets, but they are – correct me if I’m wrong – not set on the number 30 bus, or a Northern Line tube. So playing the soundtrack to suggest that you see the bus journey as something from 50 Cent’s film, or a Jay-Z video, is a bit off the mark, isn’t it ?
In fact, it’s a bit delusional really, and I do rather worry that by playing music which doesn’t even vaguely match with the immediate setting, these folks might (even subconsciously) make themselves aware of how their life isn’t actually at all like that of their musical idols. And that might make them feel a little sad.
Then again, the vast majority of other passengers had probably already concluded that these phone-toting folks were pretty sad anyway, though for rather different reasons.
Now, some might say that playing mp3s through a speaker half the size of a postage stamp (with all the tinniness of a 1970s transistor radio blaring out Radio 1 on Medium Wave) is rather rude. An intrusion, perhaps, on the private space of other passengers, challenging them to say something and risk making a scene.
I disagree. It’s free music – plus, you have to conclude that the person playing the music, doesn’t think it’s a tube or bus journey, oh no, uh-uh. Your trip, obviously, is a music video. Yes, all the other passengers are extras in the drama of their lives, and so it needs a soundtrack.
There is, of course, a bit of a worry in that much of this music is utterly inappropriate to travelling – most of it’s hip-hop or R&B, in my experience – which rather suggests that the player of the music is perhaps trying to do too much, and even attempting to change their whole environment.
You see, most of the videos accompanying these songs take place at dimly-lit parties in spacious homes, on beaches where thong-wearing women shake their booty, or in clubs with migraine-inducing lightshows and glass-topped bars. Those are just examples, but my point is: these videos rarely take place on public transport.
Granted, some of them feature open-topped cars or limousines cruising along the streets, but they are – correct me if I’m wrong – not set on the number 30 bus, or a Northern Line tube. So playing the soundtrack to suggest that you see the bus journey as something from 50 Cent’s film, or a Jay-Z video, is a bit off the mark, isn’t it ?
In fact, it’s a bit delusional really, and I do rather worry that by playing music which doesn’t even vaguely match with the immediate setting, these folks might (even subconsciously) make themselves aware of how their life isn’t actually at all like that of their musical idols. And that might make them feel a little sad.
Then again, the vast majority of other passengers had probably already concluded that these phone-toting folks were pretty sad anyway, though for rather different reasons.
Friday, April 27, 2007
Other Intelligent Magazines Are Available
If you can't get enough of my wordsmithing, you might want to make your way to a newsagent and buy the latest edition of the Fortean Times (issue 223, coverdate June 2007), in which I have a review published on page 62.
No, I'm not going to tell you what I'm reviewing, you'll have to buy the magazine to find out. Not that you'll find that a punitive thing, it's always a good read.
No, I'm not going to tell you what I'm reviewing, you'll have to buy the magazine to find out. Not that you'll find that a punitive thing, it's always a good read.
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Girls Who Love Boys Who Do Boys Who Think Stray Thoughts
1. Given their output and its success, it occurs to me that the TV production company Kudos might well be the modern equivalent of ITC. Whaddaya think?
2. Bored? Then why not recite the opening chant of Toni Basil's 'Mickey'over the start of Avril Lavigne's new single 'Girlfriend'? I think you'll find it a perfect match, though I'm not necessarily saying it's an ideal use of your time.
3. Very frighteningly, the Home Secretary has warned that the UK could be subject to an electrical attack from terrorists. No more details appeared to be forthcoming, but as the reference was made in a speech in which he justified the budget for the Home Office, I'm sure it was honest and true and not just scaremongering. In fact, thinking about it, I distinctly recall watching a documentary about just such an attack being launched on London,which gave more detail about the mechanics of an electrical attack than the Home Secretary. The documentary, I seem to recall, was called Goldeneye.
4. Quite a lot of reviews of the new series of Peep Show (currently running on Channel 4) have referred to it being tainted by the advertisements which the stars did for Apple computers. I've seen a couple of billboard posters for these, but as they have a web address at the bottom, and I'm not willing to actually do the advertisers' work for them, I haven't seen any of the ads. And nor am I interested in seeing them (though I gather they run as cinema adverts as well, but generally I try to avoid adverts as much as possible). Consequently, my viewing of Peep Show (which I like a lot) is unaffected by knowledge of the cast's work in adverts. A little knowledge is indeed a dangerous thing, it seems, or at least a fun-spoiling thing. And incidentally, I didn't see as much scorn poured on Olivia 'Sophie in Peep Show' Colman for her role in the AA adverts a couple of years ago... but perhaps some kind of chivalry is at work here? How gallant.
5. I'm sure many of you want to audition to be a new member of the PussycatDolls. Well, here is the form for you to enter the reality show to do so. Good luck in becoming a member of their poledanci- er, I mean burlesque group.
6. The Columbine shootings, of course, were the fault of Marilyn Manson. The film Old Boy was to blame for the Virginia Tech killings, apparently. Certainly easier to blame music and film for it, rather than face the more complicated possibility that lax gun control and a diminished sense of community and social responsibility might be involved. And here, Christopher Hitchens shows a restraint and objectivity about the event which is as welcome to me as it is absent from the general reporting and reaction. A terrible thing to have happened, but it is not made any better by thinking at anything less than our highest level of intelligence about it. Indeed, that's just the sort of thinking which is needed to prevent it happening again.
7. And of course the UK entry for the Eurovision Song Contest this year won't win. The song by Scooch is such a cynically deliberate attempt to play up the camp cheesiness which has become 'ironically' associated with Eurovision in recent years, it deserves to get slated, or better ignored.Particularly since last year's winner was so utterly unlikely (and, let's be fair, did rock a fair bit), and unlike a typical Eurovision song. Pah. It's Jemini all over again, isn't it ?
2. Bored? Then why not recite the opening chant of Toni Basil's 'Mickey'over the start of Avril Lavigne's new single 'Girlfriend'? I think you'll find it a perfect match, though I'm not necessarily saying it's an ideal use of your time.
3. Very frighteningly, the Home Secretary has warned that the UK could be subject to an electrical attack from terrorists. No more details appeared to be forthcoming, but as the reference was made in a speech in which he justified the budget for the Home Office, I'm sure it was honest and true and not just scaremongering. In fact, thinking about it, I distinctly recall watching a documentary about just such an attack being launched on London,which gave more detail about the mechanics of an electrical attack than the Home Secretary. The documentary, I seem to recall, was called Goldeneye.
4. Quite a lot of reviews of the new series of Peep Show (currently running on Channel 4) have referred to it being tainted by the advertisements which the stars did for Apple computers. I've seen a couple of billboard posters for these, but as they have a web address at the bottom, and I'm not willing to actually do the advertisers' work for them, I haven't seen any of the ads. And nor am I interested in seeing them (though I gather they run as cinema adverts as well, but generally I try to avoid adverts as much as possible). Consequently, my viewing of Peep Show (which I like a lot) is unaffected by knowledge of the cast's work in adverts. A little knowledge is indeed a dangerous thing, it seems, or at least a fun-spoiling thing. And incidentally, I didn't see as much scorn poured on Olivia 'Sophie in Peep Show' Colman for her role in the AA adverts a couple of years ago... but perhaps some kind of chivalry is at work here? How gallant.
5. I'm sure many of you want to audition to be a new member of the PussycatDolls. Well, here is the form for you to enter the reality show to do so. Good luck in becoming a member of their poledanci- er, I mean burlesque group.
6. The Columbine shootings, of course, were the fault of Marilyn Manson. The film Old Boy was to blame for the Virginia Tech killings, apparently. Certainly easier to blame music and film for it, rather than face the more complicated possibility that lax gun control and a diminished sense of community and social responsibility might be involved. And here, Christopher Hitchens shows a restraint and objectivity about the event which is as welcome to me as it is absent from the general reporting and reaction. A terrible thing to have happened, but it is not made any better by thinking at anything less than our highest level of intelligence about it. Indeed, that's just the sort of thinking which is needed to prevent it happening again.
7. And of course the UK entry for the Eurovision Song Contest this year won't win. The song by Scooch is such a cynically deliberate attempt to play up the camp cheesiness which has become 'ironically' associated with Eurovision in recent years, it deserves to get slated, or better ignored.Particularly since last year's winner was so utterly unlikely (and, let's be fair, did rock a fair bit), and unlike a typical Eurovision song. Pah. It's Jemini all over again, isn't it ?
REVIEW: Avenue Q
This musical's been running in London for about eight months now, I think, since crossing the Atlantic. As long-time readers of the blog may recall, I have an aversion to musicals, though this has been rather diluted by positive experiences in recent times......and Avenue Q was another good musical. Touted as South Park meets Sesame Street, it's the frankly silly tale of a puppet called Princeton moving onto the titular (stop that, it's a real word) street, where he meets other puppets such as Kate Monster and the Bad Idea Bears (their motto: "More drinks! More fun! Yaaaay!"), and humans including Gary Coleman (yes, he of Diff'rent Strokes fame, though not played by the real chap). And that's pretty much it in terms of plot, really.
Which isn't a problem at all, it rolls along cheerfully with songs called 'Everyone's A Little Bit Racist Sometimes' and 'The Internet Is For Porn',and a lot of jokes, and even the odd dance number, not to mention a frankly torrid bedroom scene featuring two of the puppets. It's a lot of fun, and technically a hell of an achievement as well - the puppeteers are also the voice performers, with several of them playing multiple characters, which sometimes means that there are scenes where they're having conversations with themselves, but this just makes it all the more impressive, to my mind.
The songs are amusing, and they're well sung, and the interaction between the characters and puppeteers alike is frequently very funny indeed (once or twice I think they were laughing themselves).They're currently running a weeknight deal on tickets for the show, with prices as low as £10. We had these tickets, and they bumped us up to the Stalls, which meant we had a great view, probably one that should have cost three times as much, and who's to say that isn't likely to happen to you? Could well be the case, and certainly worth the gamble, I'd say.
In case it isn't clear yet, Avenue Q is a good night out, and I highly recommend it.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
London Marathon 2007
So, then, this is what I've been going on about for months. It took place last Sunday (22 April). This is going to be a fairly self-indulgent and lengthy post, really, so be prepared.It was, as you may well know, the hottest London Marathon in its history,and apparently over 5000 people needed treatment by the medical folk on the route, but I was lucky in that I didn't need a stretcher or anything like that. I was rather lacking a stretch, though - all right, I'll explain.
As you may well know, I live in East London, so it shouldn't have been a problem to get to Greenwich. It was, though, as the DLR broke down and was suspended - as this press release concedes, though I'd dispute the claim staff were on hand to help, they were notably absent at Canary Wharf.
Anyway, I, like many other people, had to go to another station and get another train, all of which ate up my cleverly-and-indeed-thankfully-included extra time, and so I arrived at the park in Greenwich at about 9.40, five minutes before the start.
I pinned on my race number 43842 (for just one day I was not a free man, I was a number), slung my kit bag onto the truck allocated to take it to the finishing line (handy), and started to make my way towards the Red Starting line. It was, by then, gone 9.45, and so I had to join the end of the crowds without time for a proper stretch. Yes, that was bright.
Anyway, I got under way at a steady old pace, and was chugging along okay -quite emotional over London Bridge (doesn't matter how often I see the landmarks of this city, they always fill me with a childlike glee), and even felt all right at the point where the course loops back on itself and you take the psychological hit of seeing runners coming the other way, knowing they're about eight miles ahead of you (rather demotivating, so I tried to look away).
As I drew close to Canary Wharf, though, I ... well, I guess I hit 'the wall', though it felt more like a blood sugar crash (prior to training for the London Marathon, a frequent occurrence in my life, after breakfasts of waffles and maple syrup), so I stopped running, and walked a bit. Still pretty speedy walking, and I wasn't breaking either of my rules for distance running (no stopping, no slashing).
I'd completed the half-Marathon in March in just under 2.5 hours (and that involved running in strong wind and hail), so thought that I should be able to complete the full thing in something like five hours at most. Maybe it wasthe heat, maybe the walking wasn't as fast as I thought, but as I came past the Tower of London on the home-ish stretch, it was well over five hours,and obvious to me that I'd have to get a move on to finish in under six hours. Hmph, but better than not completing at all - a reality for many runners who I saw being helped by the St John's Ambulance people. So I tried to get a move on.
And get a bit of a move on I did, past the ever-increasing crowds (whose shouts of encouragement to others made me wish I'd had room to put my name on the front of my running vest as opposed to the back), through the frankly surreal Blackfriars Underpass, where the hundreds (thousands?) of discarded Lucozade Sport sachets created a weird grotto-like underlighting, and on to the Embankment, along to Big Ben.
I'd been listening to comedy stuff most of the way round - a good distraction from niggles and twinges and the lazy voice at the back of thehead reminding me of how I don't actually HAVE to run a marathon - but as I came to the Houses of Parliament, I pressed the button on my music player to switch on my favourite running accompaniment: 'Two Tribes' by Frankie Goes To Hollywood (the Annihilation Mix, I think), and I got my second wind.Well, 79th wind, maybe, but you know what I mean.
And so I chugged round the last mile or two at a good pace, even overtaking some people, which was a bit of a boost for my ego, and then I turned the corner in front of Buck House and saw the Finishing line, about 200m ahead of me. It's often hardest when the end is in sight, and this certainly felt like the case here, and the last few weary steps felt a bit like that thing in dreams where you're trying to run away but can't, but I knew I was moving as I could see it on the big screens by the side of the Finish.
Then I was over the line, and they removed my timing chip (it was laced onto my shoe, and means they can track when I passed the start and finish lines) and gave me a medal and a goody bag and then I realised that oh my goodness me I really had done the London Marathon. A full third slower than I'd hoped, but it was done nonetheless, and I felt really rather emotional about the whole thing. Which had taken me 5 hours and 52 mins. Crikey.
And then the love of my life met me in the Runners Meet and Greet Area and hugged me and kissed me and said she was proud of me and took me home for a cup of tea and a large slice of chocolate cake which she'd made specially...but that's a tale for another time, if ever.
So, in short order, the smiley and frowny aspects:
SMILEY
- Finishing it. Growing up, I was more cerebral than physical (not that you'd know from my online nonsense), and so running the London Marathon is something I would not have foreseen myself doing. So that's one in the eye for my past self, or something.
- Not getting seriously injured or anything like that - sunburn on my forehead, yes, and some definite chafing of my thighs, but my nipples remained resolutely un-frictioned.
- Finishing, I later found out, mere seconds behind Floella Benjamin,one of my childhood TV icons. Didn't see her, didn't talk to her, didn't even know about it until the next day, but it amused me nonetheless.
- The atmosphere. The cliché is true, it's a very jolly event, with people lining the route, and music blaring from pubs and bands by the side of the road.
- The woman who was in front of me for several miles having her name on her T-shirt, and that name being the same as that of my beloved, so that members of the crowd would shout out her name, and remind me of who was waiting for me at the end of it.
- My friend Chris running alongside me for 200 yards when I failed to spot him and his family. Oops, but it was great to have a familiar face keep pace with me. Thanks, matey!
- The medal. It's a sturdy thing, and something for the grandkids to flog on eBay when I'm wormfood.
- The chap dressed as Indiana Jones who was being 'pursued' by a boulder all the way round. I saw him and wondered if it was some kind of reverse Sisyphus thing (see, even at 20-odd miles my mythological knowledge remains as good as that of ... er, Indiana Jones), and then realised what it was. Very classy.
- The lady in the crowd who handed me three jelly babies just at the time I needed it most - when my blood sugar levels had dropped like a stone.What a nice sort she was.
- The kids in the crowd who stuck out their hands to be 'high-fived'by passing runners. Even, to my great and utterly immature amusement, by the man running for a leprosy charity.
- The priest outside the Catholic church in Greenwich who sprinkled water on us as we passed by. I resisted the temptation to fall to my knees, screaming 'aaaaaarrrgh! Curse you, Nazarene!', as he was smiling in a frankly chummy fashion.
- St John's Ambulance folks for being there when needed. Not by me,but every time I passed a prone person on a stretcher under a space blanket,I knew that it could easily have been me...
FROWNY
- The chap who died shortly after completing the Marathon. Young man,and a fitness instructor, I hear, which must have meant it was even more of a shock for his family. That is very nasty.
- DLR, obviously, for screwing up on the day as they did. Doesn't bode well for the Olympics, does it?
- Taking as long as I did. Ah well.
- The bloke carrying round a cross. Just plain creepy, I felt - and I think having bottles of water strapped to the underside of the horizontal bar rather undermined the point, to be honest.
- On which theme, the people outside churches who were shouting at us as we passed by. I think they were exhorting us to stop, and redirect our efforts towards God, or something. Which made me wonder why they didn't stop shouting at strangers and go and help in a soup kitchen or something, but there you go.
- Discovering - the next day - that I'd been slower than Nell McAndrew. I'd been expecting that, as she's a known runner, but I was slower than Nell when she was running the Marathon WITH HER MUM. A good 20 minutes slower than them, I gather. Boy, that looks bad, doesn't it ?
- Realising from the T-shirts of my fellow runners just how many charities there are. I can't help but wish there were fewer charities because they were not needed...
Which brings me to the inevitable end point of this entry, and one you're probably sick of me making by now, oh good and faithful readers, but I think you'll understand if I say it once more with feeling: if you haven't yet sponsored me for the Marathon, please, PLEASE think about doing so - there's a totaliser (like on Blue Peter) on the right hand side of this page, and if you click on it you can go straight to my sponsor page (which I'll see if I can update to reflect the fact that I've completed it), which is all safe and secure and saves me hassling you for money in person.
If you need proof I did it, of course, drop me a line at therunningman@johnsoanes.co.uk, and I'll be happy to send you a thumbnail of me with the medal, just after I'd crossed the finishing line. But do be aware that such a request does mean you have to sponsor me at least £10, for doubting me in such a cruel and hurtful way. Sniff.
So, don't make me cry - sponsor me.... Ta!
A LINK to a REVIEW
Not often I get to use two of my self-created categories in one post title, but anyway, this is a review I did recently for Waterstones.
They sent me the book free, and I got to keep it, which rather made me feel I could have been more positive about the book, but that would have been dishonest. I'm not scathing about the book, but as you can tell, it's not something I recommend you bother with.
They sent me the book free, and I got to keep it, which rather made me feel I could have been more positive about the book, but that would have been dishonest. I'm not scathing about the book, but as you can tell, it's not something I recommend you bother with.
LINKS: Superman and Super-Soldier
Superman died in 1993. Kryptonite is discovered in 2007. Surely some mistake?
Captain America died in 2007. But was arrested shortly thereafter. Shurely shome mishtake?
Captain America died in 2007. But was arrested shortly thereafter. Shurely shome mishtake?
He's Alive! He's Not Dead! Alive? Yes! Dead? No! He's A-live!*
Yes, it HAS been a while, hasn't it?
Still, I have lots of reasons - the main ones being that I was out of the country for some time, and thus away from the keyboard, and the other being the last session of the marathon training, which I like to think was narratively foreshadowed by the incessant references to it here, so please don't pretend to be surprised.
So, the break is over, and as I should now - at least in theory - find myself with a bit more spare time on my hands, I'll see about posting more often.
Therefore, a deep breath... hold ... and onwards.
*With apologies to Chris Morris and the DTI
Still, I have lots of reasons - the main ones being that I was out of the country for some time, and thus away from the keyboard, and the other being the last session of the marathon training, which I like to think was narratively foreshadowed by the incessant references to it here, so please don't pretend to be surprised.
So, the break is over, and as I should now - at least in theory - find myself with a bit more spare time on my hands, I'll see about posting more often.
Therefore, a deep breath... hold ... and onwards.
*With apologies to Chris Morris and the DTI
Sunday, April 01, 2007
Not nice to see you, it seems
Now, I appreciate that not everyone cares for the talents of Bruce Forsyth, but this sign near Hyde Park does seem a bit heavy-handed.
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Only connect (or in this case, hyperlink)
Over at Toast and Honey, Olivia’s done a very good job of summarizing two – one, two – arguments currently being put forward about modern literature.
To be honest, I think both sides have some merit, but in the spirit of this blog’s new-found commitment to the funny, I offer the following jape about the nature of modern writing (caution, contains language and ideas of a frankly immature and simplistic nature):
Interviewer: So, you’re a modern novelist. What does that mean in terms of your average day?
Writer: My day? Well, to give an example, I spent most of this morning wrestling with my novel, about a novelist who’s writing a book about a novelist with writer’s block. And this afternoon… well, to be honest, I spent most of the afternoon beating myself off.
Interviewer: Tell me, how are you able to distinguish between those two activities?
…Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, I’m here until Sunday. Don’t forget to tip the bar staff.
To be honest, I think both sides have some merit, but in the spirit of this blog’s new-found commitment to the funny, I offer the following jape about the nature of modern writing (caution, contains language and ideas of a frankly immature and simplistic nature):
Interviewer: So, you’re a modern novelist. What does that mean in terms of your average day?
Writer: My day? Well, to give an example, I spent most of this morning wrestling with my novel, about a novelist who’s writing a book about a novelist with writer’s block. And this afternoon… well, to be honest, I spent most of the afternoon beating myself off.
Interviewer: Tell me, how are you able to distinguish between those two activities?
…Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, I’m here until Sunday. Don’t forget to tip the bar staff.
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Down with the music of today
As one who, despite being over 30, prides himself on being very much down with the kids and all the music that they love so much, I try to make sure I keep up with what's new and happening. Yes I do, stop giggling. I'm not a total square, you know - why, I even know that Top of the Pops isn't on a Friday night any more. See? Not so out of date after all.
Anyway, this means that I often sit in my favourite armchair, puffing on my pipe and wearing my comfiest slippers as I watch MTV Base (I jest, of course - smoking's a filthy habit). And whilst watching large numbers of music 'vidz' (as I believe the kidz tend to call them), I've noted certain recurring themes in many of the songs.
And so, for those of you out there who don't have the time to watch youth television because you're too tired, too square, or just too busy watching nature documentaries and home makeover shows, I've compiled the following list, which summarises the categories into which the vast majority of popular songs now tend to fall.
(Please note that I'm talking here about hip-hop and R'n'B. I find much urban music to be delightfully urbane, and unlike many of my contemporaries, a little bump 'n' grind doesn't make me grind my teeth.)
The categories are as follows:
Anyway, this means that I often sit in my favourite armchair, puffing on my pipe and wearing my comfiest slippers as I watch MTV Base (I jest, of course - smoking's a filthy habit). And whilst watching large numbers of music 'vidz' (as I believe the kidz tend to call them), I've noted certain recurring themes in many of the songs.
And so, for those of you out there who don't have the time to watch youth television because you're too tired, too square, or just too busy watching nature documentaries and home makeover shows, I've compiled the following list, which summarises the categories into which the vast majority of popular songs now tend to fall.
(Please note that I'm talking here about hip-hop and R'n'B. I find much urban music to be delightfully urbane, and unlike many of my contemporaries, a little bump 'n' grind doesn't make me grind my teeth.)
The categories are as follows:
- "I'm Best". Usually a male performer, who is at great pains to tell me about his finances, his car, his preferred brand of champagne, and his success with women. Frequently threatening various kinds of violence (such as "poppin' a cap in my ass") should I disagree, he seems very certain about his status - and good for him, I say. So few people are sure of their place in the world nowadays. Despite often performing in a street setting, he does not feel the need to close his shirt, instead preferring to show off his stomach muscles, and possibly a large pendant-style jewellery item of some sort.
- "We're going to do it". Again, invariably a male artist, and one who informs the listener about the physical activities he intends to enjoy with, presumably, a woman. He's in no doubt about his attractiveness - perhaps it's this confidence which the woman in question finds so appealing - and (occasionally using very strong language) he promises to maintain this 'freaking' all night long. What an energetic fellow he is. And they say youth is wasted on the young.
- "You are not worthy". Often female soloists or close-harmony groups, telling the listener that he is unlikely to enjoy the benefits of her love. He occupies, it seems, a lower run on the social ladder, or is from an entirely unsuitable neighbourhood, though on many occasions it seems that the 'sweet love' is being withheld due to an apparent paucity of finances, 'bling', or an outdated or inappropriately thrifty vehicle or mobile phone. These songs are often sung with what I think is termed 'sass', though they do strike me as rather alarming in their implied suggestion that a lady's favours will inevitably go to the chap with most money or material objects. The thin end of a socio-politically dangerous wedge there, I fear.
- "I regret my mistake". Oftentimes, this could be mistaken for a female vocal, but it is in fact a male - or chorus of males - singing falsetto. They have, it appears, lost the affections of their ladylove due to an error of judgment. All too frequently this appears to take the form of "makin' it wit' yo' best friend" or similar, or some other misdemeanour which causes one to rather empathise with the lady's decision to cease relations. However, the chap or chaps in question give the impression of regretting their foolish error, and often prove this by lamenting in the form of a slow, high-pitched song, often performed in the street, or by the sea. In the case of groups, they invariably take turns in expressing their woe, with the vocalist explaining the sense of loss, whilst the others harmonise, or appear forlorn and gaze into the middle distance.
So there you have it. A brief primer for the uninformed as to the leitmotifs in modern youth music, and I hope it helps you to appreciate the kidz' music as much as I do.
But if you'll forgive me, I must take my leave, as I need to go and patrol my hood, as I do 24/7. Big shout out to the blogreading massive.
Will someone please tell those kids to behave themselves?
Apparently not.
It takes a court agreement, it seems.
I'm guessing the kid must have got all the maturity. Seriously, I mean all of it.
It takes a court agreement, it seems.
I'm guessing the kid must have got all the maturity. Seriously, I mean all of it.
If You've Just Joined Us, Welcome
I'm painfully aware that a number of new readers have been drawn to the blog due to its being linked in relation to www.shaggyblogstories.co.uk, and as that book was very much about the funny, I shall try to hang on to that newfound audience by upping the humour content.
Hopefully that won't mean lots of self-consciously 'LOL!!!!111!!!' style posts. If we're lucky, it'll probably mean gratuitous sarcasm and sniping, plus puns. And maybe some points that actually have some kind of intellectual resonance.
No, you're right, let's not hope for too much...
Hopefully that won't mean lots of self-consciously 'LOL!!!!111!!!' style posts. If we're lucky, it'll probably mean gratuitous sarcasm and sniping, plus puns. And maybe some points that actually have some kind of intellectual resonance.
No, you're right, let's not hope for too much...
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Buy, Buy, Buy: Comic Relief Book Featuring Your Humble Blogger
Techie problems prevented me from posting about this sooner, which is a bit annoying as I am very excited about this (still, might be for the best, as the post I would have made at the time I found out would have been incoherently full of yays and yees)! ----------------------------------------------------
Bloggers publish book for Comic Relief.
100 bloggers have published a book to raise funds for the BBC's Comic Relief appeal on Friday 16th March.
'Shaggy Blog Stories' features hilarious contributions from Richard Herring of 'Fist of Fun' fame, BBC 6Music presenter Andrew Collins, comedian Emma Kennedy, and James Henry, scriptwriter from Channel Four's 'The Green Wing'.
Authors Abby Lee, David Belbin, Catherine Sanderson and The Guardian's Anna Pickard have also contributed pieces to the book.
The vast majority of contributions, however, are the work of many of the lesser known and unfamiliar heroes of British blogging; going under pen names such as Diamond Geezer, Scaryduck, Pandemian and Unreliable Witness.
Also contributing to 'Shaggy Blog Stories', and hoping to raise funds for the Comic Relief Appeal is London-based writer John Soanes.
The book is the idea of blogger Mike Atkinson who writes the 'Troubled Diva' weblog. 'Shaggy Blog Stories' features comic writing from not only the cream of British blogging, but also the best up-and-coming and undiscovered writers publishing their work on their own websites.
Giving himself a "ridiculously short" seven days from idea to finished product, Atkinson admitted that he was overwhelmed with the response, which gleaned over 300 submissions for publication.With a pool of talented writers, and the latest publishing-on-demand technology, Shaggy Blog Stories bypasses the usual snail-paced publishing industry, and offers a mail order service to customers who will receive their finished copy within days of placing their order, and only a couple of weeks after the original idea.
"Blogging creates complex, worldwide networks of friendship and contacts on the internet", says journalist Alistair Coleman, one of Shaggy Blog Stories' contributors. "By creating a buzz about this book, we can reach out to hundreds, thousands of readers who'd be willing to part with a few quid for this very good cause. Mike's got some excellent writers on board here whose work deserves a wider audience. Everybody wins."
For details of how to order the book, visit http://www.shaggyblogstories.co.uk.
100 bloggers have published a book to raise funds for the BBC's Comic Relief appeal on Friday 16th March.
'Shaggy Blog Stories' features hilarious contributions from Richard Herring of 'Fist of Fun' fame, BBC 6Music presenter Andrew Collins, comedian Emma Kennedy, and James Henry, scriptwriter from Channel Four's 'The Green Wing'.
Authors Abby Lee, David Belbin, Catherine Sanderson and The Guardian's Anna Pickard have also contributed pieces to the book.
The vast majority of contributions, however, are the work of many of the lesser known and unfamiliar heroes of British blogging; going under pen names such as Diamond Geezer, Scaryduck, Pandemian and Unreliable Witness.
Also contributing to 'Shaggy Blog Stories', and hoping to raise funds for the Comic Relief Appeal is London-based writer John Soanes.
The book is the idea of blogger Mike Atkinson who writes the 'Troubled Diva' weblog. 'Shaggy Blog Stories' features comic writing from not only the cream of British blogging, but also the best up-and-coming and undiscovered writers publishing their work on their own websites.
Giving himself a "ridiculously short" seven days from idea to finished product, Atkinson admitted that he was overwhelmed with the response, which gleaned over 300 submissions for publication.With a pool of talented writers, and the latest publishing-on-demand technology, Shaggy Blog Stories bypasses the usual snail-paced publishing industry, and offers a mail order service to customers who will receive their finished copy within days of placing their order, and only a couple of weeks after the original idea.
"Blogging creates complex, worldwide networks of friendship and contacts on the internet", says journalist Alistair Coleman, one of Shaggy Blog Stories' contributors. "By creating a buzz about this book, we can reach out to hundreds, thousands of readers who'd be willing to part with a few quid for this very good cause. Mike's got some excellent writers on board here whose work deserves a wider audience. Everybody wins."
For details of how to order the book, visit http://www.shaggyblogstories.co.uk.
For the background story on the creation of Shaggy Blog Stories, take a look at http://www.troubled-diva.com.
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...So, you’re possibly wondering, which did I contribute to this staggeringly worthwhile endeavour? I’m not gonna tell ya, nuh-uh. You’ll have to buy the book and find out.
It’s raised over £1700 as I type this, so why not buy a copy and help push that total over £2000? Given the list of other contributors, it should be a good read, and it’s for a darned good cause.
Laughter, and for a good reason? Not to be sniffed at, I'd say...
It’s raised over £1700 as I type this, so why not buy a copy and help push that total over £2000? Given the list of other contributors, it should be a good read, and it’s for a darned good cause.
Laughter, and for a good reason? Not to be sniffed at, I'd say...
Spotted in Covent Garden on St Patrick’s Day (Sat 17th March)
Even leprechauns have to move with the times, it seems.I like to think he was calling someone on his mobile to make sure that his pot of gold was undisturbed while he was out drinking.
Happy (belated) St Pat’s Day to all my Irish readers.
And also all the leprechauns reading this, of course.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Look at my widget. You know you want to.
Well, the niftyish box in the column to the right is the Justgiving Widget, and provides an ongoing update as to how close I am to raising the target amount in sponsorship for the London Marathon.
Clever techie stuff, yes?
Anyway, with just over 5 weeks to go, I'm not too close to the target of £1500, so if you're reading this and haven't sponsored me yet, please consider doing so...
Thanks!
Clever techie stuff, yes?
Anyway, with just over 5 weeks to go, I'm not too close to the target of £1500, so if you're reading this and haven't sponsored me yet, please consider doing so...
Thanks!
Sacked X-Factor Judge Writes Novel...
... but cover designer decides to make it resemble another book on the shelves.
Thursday, March 08, 2007
I'd rather have a full bottle in front of me...
... than a full frontal lobotomy, as the saying goes.Anyway, this is something I saw and took a (slightly blurry) picture of this evening, at the corner of Oxford Street and Tottenham Court Road, here in the ever-fascinating city that I call home.
Two people dressed as bottles of Corona lager, complete with slices of lime.
On a Thursday evening in London, with shoppers and traffic passing by, as if nothing unusual was occurring. Naturally.
Monday, March 05, 2007
LINK: Kopyright Liberation
Conservative MPs David Cameron and Boris Johnson were, it turns out, members of The Bullingdon Club. This group for toffs has something of a reputation for drunken property destruction, and a number of newspapers recently printed a picture showing the group as it was when they were members.
For reasons which I’m not entirely clear on – they might be political or financial, both or neither – the owners of the photo have now stated it shouldn’t be used by the media.
Which, in the days of the interweb, is more easily said than done - here is a copy of the picture, as stored on the Flickr website by writer James Henry (whose blog is always worth a look, in my opinion).
Crikey, this www lark’s certainly one in the eye for the man, isn’t it?
For reasons which I’m not entirely clear on – they might be political or financial, both or neither – the owners of the photo have now stated it shouldn’t be used by the media.
Which, in the days of the interweb, is more easily said than done - here is a copy of the picture, as stored on the Flickr website by writer James Henry (whose blog is always worth a look, in my opinion).
Crikey, this www lark’s certainly one in the eye for the man, isn’t it?
Thursday, March 01, 2007
REVIEW: Wicked
This musical has been playing in London for a while now, after being very well received in the USA. This is a slightly belated review, as I saw it on Valentine's Day - as any cheapskate in a relationship will tell you, nothing says romance like Black Magic. Ahem.Given that a large number of musicals currently playing in London are based on the work of well-known groups (Abba, Queen, Boney M), or on known plotlines (Mary Poppins, the Lion King, Spamalot), Wicked arguably swims against the current tide, as it's a new story... albeit one linked to an established franchise; it tells the history of the Witches in L Frank Baum's Oz series.
The green-skinned Elphaba (hope I've spelled that right - it's meant to be derived from the first syllables of Baum's name), who eventually becomes the wicked Witch, and her opposite Glinda the Good, are shown as having known each other since an early age. However, instead of Elphaba being evil from the start and Glinda as nice as pie all along, things are shown to be a fair bit more complicated - and it's hard not to sympathise with the way Elphaba turns... well, yes, to the Dark Side.
And that phrase, and its inevitable associations, fits - there are several very good moments when events slot into place, creating circumstances and characters that are recognisable from the Wizard of Oz film, and the neat way that things come about creates an appropriate sense of sickening inevitability - notable by its absence from the recent Star Wars 'prequels', I feel, though both sought to tell the tale of a good person turning bad.
In fact, the 'prequel' description is rather inaccurate, as Wicked provides not only the history of various characters in the known Oz story, but it runs alongside it and indeed continues after Dorothy's departure, showing new takes on known events, so in its way the story is more of an extrapolation or revelation of unseen events (in the same Tom Stoppard's 'Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead' shows us more about the two characters from Hamlet, and the events run alongside the play by that Shaxbard chap).
But, you're probably asking by now, is it any good? The answer, to my mind, is a definite yes. The music's strong - particularly when it comes to Elphaba's songs of upset and annoyance ('Defying Gravity' and 'No Good Deed Goes Unpunished' are ones which stick in my mind even a fortnight later), and the staging is very good indeed - as you can see from the photo above, there's a mechanical dragon which looms over the stage (and occasionally does more than merely loom), Oz the Great and Terrible looks both of those things, and the final part of the first half was so effectively done it sent a tingle down my spine . The cast - of whom I'll freely admit I only recognised Miriam 'Caramel Bunny' Margolyes - all put in sturdy performances, and all showed that they could belt out a tune and hold a note where it was required (what is technically known as 'singing'. I think), and deliver a sad line or joke as well.
Given that it has plot elements of a phoney war, manufactured scapegoats, and victimised minorities, it'd be all too easy to suggest that Wicked is influenced by the events of 11 September 2001, but as the novel (by Gregory Maguire) upon which the musical was based was written in 1995, I don't know how much stock I'd put in that sort of claim. Then again, page and stage are very different places, so maybe there's something to it. Regardless, the way that things in Oz are shown to have a darker side is cleverly done.
You have to bear in mind that I don't like musicals (simple reason for that: I'm all about the story, and most musicals either ignore story as much as possible [Show Boat*], or seem all too willing to let the tale grind to a halt to shoehorn in another song'n'dance number [Chicago*]), but I found this a lot of fun - it's good to look at, and the music is solid, and the story's interesting. Definitely recommended, and in what may be a first for me, a musical that I would happily see again.
*Yes, I've seen both of these. A previous employer took me (and various clients) to see them as part of a corporate evening out. So I speak from experience - those are two evenings of my life I won't be getting back.
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
LINKS: The Uses Of Literacy, and Its Dangers*
- As many of you may know, when I was a teenager I had a Saturday job in Waterstones (well, Sherratt & Hughes, but nowadays they’re known as Waterstones). Obviously, as I like books and reading, it was an ideal job for me, and it gave me the opportunity to read the back covers of many classics and then pretend I’d read the books themselves, all the better to cultivate an air of sophistication and get the right sort of friends. Now, it seems, an enterprising chap has written a book that helps you feign a knowledge of great literature. Likely to be pretty popular in that it’ll save lots of people from wasting time reading things which they’d otherwise turn up their noses at, I’d imagine.
- As many of you may know, when I was a teenager I read a lot of graphic novels (well, comics, but nowadays they’re more commonly known as graphic novels). Obviously, I read books as well, but it gave me the opportunity to stay indoors and away from sunlight, all the better to cultivate an air of putrefaction and gather a limited number of friends. Now, it seems, an enterprising firm has created a range of scents that help comic readers feign a knowledge of soap and water. Likely to be pretty popular in that it’ll save lots of people from wasting time washing in order to prevent themselves becoming someone who everyone would otherwise turn up their noses at, I’d imagine.
*Apologies to Richard Hoggart
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Hand in Glove
Now, it might just be my childish way of thinking, but is it really appropriate that this alley is right next door to a large building owned by HM Customs and Excise?Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Marathon Man
What's that, to the left? Why, if it isn't a picture of me running a half-marathon last year. What's that you say? Half-marathons are easy? Well, funny you should say that...I'm running the London Marathon on April 22 this year, in aid of Phoenix Futures, the people for whom I've previously walked on hot coals and glass (yes, yes, I know). They've very kindly given me one of their few 'golden ticket' places, so I want to repay their kindness by getting them lots of lovely money to help them with their good work.
So if you can help, I'd be very grateful indeed. You can sponsor or donate online here, which is totally secure and safe, and you can give even more with the magical Gift Aid tax-thing.
If you have any questions at all, please drop me a line at therunningman@johnsoanes.co.uk - and yes, if you want to come along and cheer or jeer, you can do that..
I'll be referring to this a LOT in the next couple of months, as I really want to reach (if not exceed) the target I've set, so don't be at all surprised if this isn't the last blog entry on this. I'll add a link in the column to the right as well, and indeed I may be adding some kind of totaliser-gadget to this page as well, so we can see how much money has been pledged, like the Blue Peter appeals which they used to do when I was young (and still do, I think).
Anyway, please sponsor or donate if you can. I promise all of the money goes to a worthwhile cause - I've been lucky enough to meet one of the people who Phoenix have helped, and even to a hardened cynic like me, it was incredible to see how pleased he was that his life had changed, and that instead of the drugs ruling his life, that he was now back in control of his life, and proud of the direction he was heading.
So please help if you can. Thanks!
Stray Thoughts I Taw A Puddy Tat
- Rather alarmingly, I heard someone on TV the other day saying she was a 'would-be WAG' (that's Wife and Girlfriend, for those of you who - rightly enough - don't want to start using journalistese in conversation). So her aim in life was to be the wife or girlfriend (I can see why that acronym's never caught on), presumably of a footballer or someone in a similar financial position to give her money to spend on clothes and shoes and so on. I say that this is alarming because ... well, surely it isn't a good thing that people are actively planning to be a hanger-on to someone else this way? Is this any kind of goal to have? It sounds much more like a Plan B (well, one would hope Z, really), to resort to only once you've actually made an effort to achieve something with your life in your own right, as opposed to just going "ah well, I'll let someone else give me money in exchange for..." well, exactly. It's the thin end of a wedge which makes me distinctly uncomfortable.
- Recent experiences have suggested to me that Myspace and the like can become horribly incestuous 'environments', and in some cases can become a bit too much like a substitute for a phone call or a meet-up with a cup of tea. Oh, I'm not kidding, some people can get seriously daft about it all. And this chap appears to have reached a similar conclusion, really...
- Really enjoyed the mixing on DJ Food's "Raiding The 20th Century", which is an hour-long music mix containing some frankly unlikely merging of well-known tracks, linked by commentary from Paul Morley (who coined the title in the early 80s as a project for he and Trevor Horn to work on - sadly, it never came to anything). But it's a fascinating item, especially the Nirvana-Destiny's Child mash-up (as I believe the young people call such a thing). You can find it at a variety of places on the interweb to download as an mp3 - here's where I downloaded it, though a quick Google will show you other places. I strongly recommend that you give it a listen - it's fun, but also feels a bit like a historical document...
- Oh look, the first letter of the preceding paragraphs gives us the three Rs - who said that my blog wasn't educational?
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
LINKS: Bill Hicks was right about Marketing and Advertising, it seems
It’s about time for this, quite frankly. Only a slightly more dubious qualification than those ‘MAs’ which people at Oxford and Cambridge get given as a matter of course and with no further study, to my mind, but of course I’m an academic snob. Though I prefer to call it ‘maintaining standards’.
And though this is rather old, it’s a startling and appalling insight into the methods and sometimes the depths that firms will go to in order to ‘build brands’ (read: flog stuff).
And though this is rather old, it’s a startling and appalling insight into the methods and sometimes the depths that firms will go to in order to ‘build brands’ (read: flog stuff).
Friday, February 09, 2007
My Silly Feelings For Snow*
As London recovers from a fall of frozen water from the sky, bizarre and never seen before in the month of February, and the transport systems react with dismay and amazement, I can't help but be reminded of the famous(ish) letter which W.S.Gilbert (of '... and Sullivan' fame) wrote to the Times of 28 September 1897.
To see what I mean, merely imagine every reference to 'Saturday' to be a reference to snow in the following:
"In the face of Saturday the officials of the company stand helpless and appalled. This day, which recurs at stated and well-ascertained intervals, is treated as a phenomenon entirely outside the ordinary operations of nature, and, as a consequence, no attempt whatever is made to grapple with its inherent difficulties.
To the question, "What has caused the train to be so late?" the officials reply, "It is Saturday"--as who should say, "It is an earthquake."
... over a century has passed, and it appears the situation has, like the trains themselves, hardly moved forward a great deal.
*Apologies to Peter Hoeg
To see what I mean, merely imagine every reference to 'Saturday' to be a reference to snow in the following:
"In the face of Saturday the officials of the company stand helpless and appalled. This day, which recurs at stated and well-ascertained intervals, is treated as a phenomenon entirely outside the ordinary operations of nature, and, as a consequence, no attempt whatever is made to grapple with its inherent difficulties.
To the question, "What has caused the train to be so late?" the officials reply, "It is Saturday"--as who should say, "It is an earthquake."
... over a century has passed, and it appears the situation has, like the trains themselves, hardly moved forward a great deal.
*Apologies to Peter Hoeg
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
Lies, Damn Lies, and...
This claim was on the packet of some printable labels I was using at work the other day.How do they know? I mean, unless they're giving away half a free arm with the labels, how on earth could this statistic be even remotely verifiable?
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