And I Have Promises To Keep

Well, my time is my own once again, and so I shall make good on the promises I made in my previous post...

Firstly, here's a frankly worrying picture from 'Jimmy Olsen - Superman's Pal issue 85'. Okay, so it was published some decades ago, but that is just not right.

Secondly, you may remember that on May 30 I stated - in a typically dismissive fashion - that Facebook is just a middle-class version of Myspace. And then on June 25 it was reported that a long-term study had suggested that...yes, you guessed.

And thirdly and finally in terms of keeping promises and talking about a personal matter, I'm very pleased to confirm that m'lady Jules and I are engaged. Those of you who've been reading the blog for a while will have noticed the references to her as 'my beloved' and 'the light of my life' and the like, as I've always been wary of the blog turning self-indulgent... or at least more self-indulgent than it already is, in terms of me waxing rhapsodic about Jules at such length that I break the internet or something. But, to put it simply, she's an incredible woman, who somehow manages to combine intelligence, looks, and a sense of humour. I didn't mention the engagement previously as it wasn't entirely public knowledge, but now it is and we're having engagement drinks and the like. I will, of course, post about any silly events involved in the run-up to the wedding (next year), but I'm probably going to spare you posts about choosing wedding caterers and the like... probably.

A Post That Does Little More Than Tread Water

Hey, at least I'm honest.

Anyway, still not quite free enough to post properly, though hope to do so on Sunday evening.

And by way of proving it's lack of time and not inclination that's led to my radio silence, I can assure you of three things I wish to post soon:

1. A frankly startling picture of a man enjoying an inappropriate relationship with an oversized item of foodstuff, worryingly aimed at a younger audience;

2. Proof - if proof be need be - that I'm ahead of the game when it comes to stating the truth, especially in an offhand and dismissive fashion; and

3. Confirmation of an aspect of my personal life which many of you might already know, but which I've kind of skirted around in online terms

Obviously, I'm keenest to talk about item 3, but let's face it, you really want to see the picture referred to in 1, don't you?

Yep, I thought so.

Gon Out Backson Bisy Backson*

A variety of things are keeping me from posting at the moment, so I'd respectfully point your attention to the list of blog-links at right, where you'll find many amusing and insightful clusters of words to keep you entertained whilst I'm uncharacteristically quiet.

Bus silence isn't necessarily a bad thing, as Debussy, Depeche Mode and Luigi Russolo knew. And as 'Codename V' puts it so memorably in the (original graphic novel version of) 'V for Vendetta':
"...silence is a fragile thing. One loud noise and it's gone. Noise is relative to the silence preceding it. The more absolute the hush, the more shocking the thunderclap".

Granted, saying that kind of builds up the expectation that my next post (probably in a few days' time) will be something arse-kickingly great, but I simply couldn't resist the temptation to post that quote.

*If you don't recognise that phrase, I'd respectfully suggest that you (as Gillian McKeith might homonymically agree) pay a bit more attention to Pooh.

Notes From A Small Gathering

Not much time to post tonight, as I spent my non-working hours at a BBC Writers' Workshop (I know), but I have to note - before it slips my mind - that I was far from the only person there scribbling in a Moleskine notebook.

I've written before about how I like to use a slightly swanky notebook and pen when I'm writing - sympathetic magic, perhaps - and it was interesting to see how I'm not alone in this.

Whether this kind of faith in (or reliance on) little trinkets of writer-ness is in any way justified, I wouldn't want to say, but it's pretty clear that I'm not the only person to have splashed out a bit of cash on stationery in the hope that maybe it can't hurt...

It Wasn't Acceptable In The '80s, And It's Not Acceptable Now

As I may have mentioned before, I used to work in a bookshop when I was a teenager. It was a chain called Sherratt & Hughes, who are now (after several more name and ownership changes) better known as Waterstones. This was all about twenty years ago, which makes it pretty much the time of the publication of Salman Rushdie's novel 'The Satanic Verses'.

The shop was (and indeed still is) in Sheffield, which meant that we were close enough to the book-burning in Bradford for it to feel slightly frightening, and though as a weekend staff member I had far less to do with the whole situation than many of the other staff, it still felt like a serious issue. The stance of the bookshop at the time was that we wouldn't be stocking the book, but if customers wanted to order it, we'd fulfil those orders, though the books would be stored behind the Customer Orders desk, where they were wrapped in carrier bags. The idea was that it wouldn't be seen as immediately inflammatory, and that people who wanted to get the book could do so. As far as I know we didn't have anyone come into the shop and cause a fuss either way, so I guess this was a pretty good approach in practical terms.

For the record, my stance on the issue of the book is pretty straightforward, and probably won't come as a surprise; as far as I'm concerned, Rushdie has a perfect right to write whatever he wants, about Islam or any other subject. The freedom to express oneself is a very fundamental one, and no-one should feel cowed into self-censorship by threats of violence or any other kind of intimidation. This applies just as much to any other religion, or indeed political ideas: as far as I can see, there is no reason - ethical or legal - why anyone should be restrained from saying whatever they want, in verbal or written form. This includes the freedom to cause offence, as far as I'm concerned - because an equal freedom to disagree naturally applies as well. And that's how discussion and debate and learning all work together, as does being civilised and adult about things - as opposed to just shouting and threatening.

So, if Rushdie wants to write a book which could be interpreted as offensive to one religion (and I'll get into that in a moment), he's entitled to do so. If Dan Brown wants to write a book which offends Christians, there's no reason he shouldn't (as I've no doubt said before, I find The Da Vinci Code offensive on literary grounds, but that's another issue - still doesn’t mean I don't think he should be allowed to write or publish, mind). If someone wants to write a book attacking everything I believe, then again, they should be fully entitled to do so, without me shouting at them and threatening to kill them. Because, amazingly enough, I'm actually able to accept that there are people walking around who have different ideas to me.

Speaking of the specifics of The Satanic Verses; I'm able to do that, because I've read the book. I'm not suggesting that you should attempt to read the book before deciding whether you feel Rushdie was right or wrong to have written it - though a lot of people seem to have decided 'he was asking for it' on the basis of what they've been told about the book, which seems questionable to me - but I do think that the people who are so offended by it should make an attempt to read it, rather than simply going on what they've been told by religious leaders. Going back to the start of the fuss surrounding the book, I find it very hard to believe that every religious figure voicing an opinion actually read the entirety of an 500-page hardback book written in a sprawling Magic realism style, with characters and places changing names and aspects from chapter to chapter… which was, as far as I know, only available in English at the time. I suspect a lot of people are going on what they've been told about the content of the book, which is often a mistake, as people tend to lie - especially to exaggerate or minimise the degree of offence involved (and in that I include myself - I have an agenda here, obviously, so I recommend you read the book and decide for yourself).

Just to make this absolutely clear, I believe in unfettered freedom of expression, and the right for people to make their own minds up about what they want to read or see or listen to or whatever. This extends to books on shelves, programmes on TV and radio, art being created, films being made, articles being written, whatever; in fact, I'd go so far as to say that the kind of items which are likely to offend my beliefs and sensibilities are those which I most think deserve to be aired. I'm not so vain as to think I'm right all the time, nor to think that I know best for other people all the time. That's human vanity, which we need to move beyond - and as a species, we certainly need to stop claiming to have some greater power on our sides when it comes to this kind of discussion.

Given that, I think it was very wrong indeed that a fatwa was issued against Rushdie in 1989, and only right that the Iranian government said it no longer supported the fatwa in 1998.

All this, of course, is swirling round my mind as the fuss about Rushdie rears its head once more, as he's been given a knighthood in the Queen's Birthday Honours, for his services to literature. Leaving aside whether you think this is right (and I think, for context, it's worth bearing in mind that June Sarpong was made an MBE in the New Year Honours), a number of people seem to have interpreted the action as a deliberate insult to Islam, and we seem set to rehash the same debate all over again - though this time with the backdrop slightly changed, as Islam and acts of violence have unfortunately become linked in the minds of many people (which is in no way reflective of true Islam, of course - no more than shooting doctors outside abortion clinics is following the teachings of Jesus). And I'm sincerely hoping that we won't start to hear people sounding more iffy about Rushdie's right to write whatever he wants this time round.

I mean, people are utterly free to say whatever they like about the subject (and indeed any other), but in doing so, they have to bear in mind that they're exercising exactly the same right which they're seeking to quash in Salman Rushdie. That's not irony, it's hypocrisy, and we should all be free to point it out.

You're The Stray Thoughts That I Want

1. Much to my amusement, I remember this from comics I read when I was younger. At the time, I wanted to send off for the whole thing, but now... well, not so much.
2. What's that you say? Aside from startlingly regular updates to my blog, what am I writing at the moment? Well, I appreciate your interest, and since you asked, I'm currently working on a radio play, my second novel (slowly, granted), a one-off TV update of my favourite play (clue: big nose), and a 'spec script' for Frasier which is nothing of the sort given that the show's been off the air for years, but is designed to show me using other people's characters. And I have a couple of ideas for one-off film type things, which will probably have to wait until I can get people sufficiently interested in my ideas that they want to throw money my way. I mean, come on, I've got to be realistic here...
3. You may have seen Ricky Gervais advertising his new tour on TV. Obviously expensive to buy prime time advert slots, which goes some way to explaining why the script appears to have had minimal attention paid to it. Woefully unfunny, in my opinion, and several months too late to be at all topical, but they do have the taste of the end drawing nigh, to my mind. Gervais, like everyone else, was terrific in The Office, but if you look at that show in the sequence of his career (The 11 O'Clock Show, his chat show, THEN The Office and Extras), then it looks more and more like an aberration, that the stuff since then is a return to his natural form, and that the limited material in that seam has been all but mined. He has the look of a man who's painfully aware that his best work may well be behind him - which must be a terrible thing to suspect, but he does seem too content to hide behind irony whilst effectively trotting out the same old jokes at the expense of minorities and the disabled and the like. Still, with Bernard Manning now dead, Gervais has a clear run. Run, Ricky, Run!
4. I've booked to have laser surgery on my eyes in a month or so, and no doubt that will have two side-effects; firstly, that I may go quiet for a few days while my eyes recover, and secondly, that I'll probably go on and on and on about it, almost as much as I did about the Marathon. Consider this fair warning.
5. Joss Whedon, like Alan Ball, Aaron Sorkin and a number of other folks, knows about writing. And when he wants to, he can write more than just quippy plots - see here for an example. All good points, I think.
6. Concluding this linkfrenzy of a post, look at the Bat-Pod!

Saturday Night's All Right For Watching

I'm nowhere near the first person to say this, but the last four episodes of Doctor Who have been absolutely cracking television.

The two-parter written by Paul Cornell (from which the image to the left is taken) was very strong indeed, doing some genuinely new things with the character (well, if you haven't read Cornell's original novel version before, that is - you can download it for free here), and the episode 'Blink' is as good as I've come to expect from Steven 'Coupling' Moffat, who's rightly won awards for episodes in the past two series.

Saturday's episode was written by series head writer and general guiding light Russell T Davies, and whilst it wasn't as strong in its premise, the final third featured some plot payoffs from previous episodes and an unexpected return which left us on a terrific cliffhanger (even my beloved, who has previously said that she doesn't care for the programme, said "I want to watch the next episode now!"... though this may be more to do with her feelings for the actor David Tennant than anything else).

I don't know if the final two episodes of this series will hold to this standard (and there were several episodes earlier in the run which were pretty weak, such as the Dalek two-parter), but I had that delightful feeling on Saturday evening of feeling actively excited about what was happening in the programme.

Which is, of course, the trick, and one which isn't necessarily easy to pull off: making the viewer give a damn about things which, by virtue of being fictional, arguably don't matter at all. And it's all the more impressive because it's the character bits which often feel like they matter the most.

Ironically, this is the very thing which too many of the soap operas seem to lose sight of as they ramp up their various 'events' and stunts. Paradoxical that a bit of science fiction should draw its strength from being down to earth, but really, that's as it should be - if we don't care about the people who are at risk in the made-up series of events, the fact their planet's about to explode is hardly going to pass the all-important 'So what?' test, is it ?

Whisky Tango Foxtrot, As They Say

I'll cheerfully admit that I nicked this from the blog of John Finnemore, but I think it needs wider circulation, because... well, I mean, what the hell?

I can't really think of anything witty or mocking or sarcastic to say because the picture says it all, doesn't it? Not so much a thousand words, more all of them.

But, as I say: what the hell?

Take A Guess Who These Chaps Are

No, go on, have a guess.

Any idea? No, I'm not surprised.

But, according to the BBC website, these are the folks who've been cast in a musical telling the story of the split-now-4/5-reformed pop group Take That.

Amazingly, the musical does not have the blessing of members of the group.

I can't imagine why.

Blam! Splat! Comics Aren't Just For Kids!

1992 : Hard Boiled, by the comic art expert (and later designer of the Matrix films), Geof Darrow.



And then, here in 2007, the cover to the new comic by Kyle Baker. Thing is, Baker's a terrifically talented comic writer / artist too.

Actually, I doubt it's a swipe, but I wanted to point out the similarity anyway (chances are there's a Frontline Combat cover from the old EC comics which predates this layout anyway).

"...and that's our show!"

So, then, here are some of the shows which I'll be pitching to heads of TV channels, as soon as I get a meeting booked with them by my agent (and as soon as I get an agent):

"Pimp My Bride"
High Concept: Indecent Proposal meets O.Henry's 'The Gift of the Magi'
Scenario: Two couples compete for the wedding of their dreams in the run-up to the big day, with the groom whoring his bride for a month. The couple who gets the most money from the woman demeaning herself wins, and their big day is paid for by the show.
Possible Host/Star: June Sarpong
Suitable for Channel(s): Five Life, MTV Base
Notes: Possible follow-up show six months after the event to see if they're still married, or even on speaking terms. Could be adapted slightly to cover civil partnerships.

"Whose Sari Now?"
High Concept: Desi Through The Keyhole
Scenario: Stars from the Indian Subcontinent open their homes to a camera crew, and this footage is shown to a panel of celebrities who have to try and divine whose home it is.
Possible Host/Star: Jade Goody (or her mother)
Suitable for Channel(s): BBC Three, Zee TV
Notes: Theme tune should be easy to organise. Concept might be slightly limited due to bad-pun-derived nature of show, so no more than six series should probably be made.

"Caprice and Whimsy"
High Concept: Quantum Leap with Porcelain miniatures and cheesecake
Scenario: 'Model' Caprice is speeding one day when she is stopped by the police. She argues with the arresting officer, not realising he has magic powers, and he shrinks her down to a small size and banishes her to Whimsy on the Why, a town comprised of porcelain miniatures made by Wade Pottery. She has to make amends byrighting wrongs - solving crimes, providing veterinary assistance to the porcelain animals, etc, until such time as the magical policeman decides she can return to normal size. He is, however, a man of changeable mood, thus providing another level of meaning to the show's title. Oh, and when Caprice shrinks, she can no longer find clothes to fit, so spends the majority of the episodes in her underwear.
Possible Host/Star: Caprice Bourret, a green-screen studio
Suitable for Channel(s): ITV4, Men and Motors
Notes: Possible tagline for promo posters - 'Life on Bras'. Low wardrobe budget requirement. Possible hurdle if Wade pottery not co-operative (re-work as 'Hornby and Hornby [Decreased]', with novelist living in train-based setting)? Caprice probably available, though will require services of a driver until 25 August 2007 (expense needs to be factored into series budget).

...I know, I know, I'm the Glen A. Larson of the new millennium. I shall, of course, ensure I get the appropriate on-screen credits.

Earwitness Testimony

As you may well have seen in the news, the top two floors of a building here in London collapsed yesterday afternoon around 4pm. No fatalities, thankfully, and people in nearby buildings - such as myself - were evacuated.

However, despite the various claims being made on interweb news sites about how the shower of debris was preceded by an explosion, I just want to go on record as one who both has a good memory and also heard the event, as saying that there was no sound of an explosion at all, but rather a thunderous sound of bricks or similar falling to earth, which is pretty much what happened.

I don't want to sound unkind, but given that, within minutes of the event, the BBC website featured claims about 'witnesses hearing an explosion', I'd suggest some people need to figure out exactly why they were rewriting events so very quickly to introduce elements which were entirely absent from the actual event.

Building up their parts in the story, I fear, but this is what happens all too often when something unpleasant happens - people seem all too keen to annex themselves to tragedy in some way, even if it is, let's be honest, nothing to do with them.

Do I sound harsh or unkind? Maybe, but it's been suggested that we rewrite memories of past events to fit our current emotional needs, and if that's true, who are these people who need to change their recollection of an event within mere minutes of its occurrence? They're clearly not mentally healthy, and we certainly shouldn't be listening to them.

Eagle-Eye Cherry Has Nothing On Me*

Another in my series of pedantic spottings of things which are probably not worthy of note, but...

Given the precision with which Messrs Fry and Laurie delight in using language, and the fact that P.G. Wodehouse is respected by both those chaps and many millions of other folks the world over (including me) for the skill with which he uses words as well, is it not a little unfortunate that they appear to have pluralised the man before adding the possessive apostrophe on this DVD cover?

Tsk, and indeed, tsk.

*I recall the disappointment with which I noted that this musician, despite his optimistic name, frequently wears glasses.

Um, is it just me, or ...

As you know, I wouldn't normally post at the weekend, but I thought I'd break with tradition to ask: am I the first person to ask if the current advert from PC World features an obscenity?

You can barely make it out in the jpeg here (but see below for a link to a clearer version), but in the top row of the album covers on the screen, fifth one along (just above the Mutya Buena cover) the cover with the orange and purple words seems... well, it seems to be telling the viewer of the ad to go away in no uncertain terms.

It could be me just looking for filth, but are we looking at a prank played by a far-from-gruntled employee here?

I've uploaded a slightly more visible version of the above shot to my webspace - go here to have a look, and let me know what you reckon. Naturally, I like to think I'm the first person to spot this, but of course if I'm just imagining it (it could well be an album cover I'm not familiar with), please let me know... if not, should I give PC World or the Advertising Standards people a call, do you think?

No Chin-Stroking Here

I don't read Word magazine that frequently, but the latest issue contains a brief article on Michael Chabon, an author who I have a lot of time for (his book The Adventures of Kavalier and Klay won the Pulitzer, and deservedly so; it was very well written indeed), and I found myself smiling and almost wanting to punch the air and shout 'Yes! Yes! Yes!' as I read the following assessment of Chabon and some of his fellow american writers.

For me, Andrew Harrison absolutely nails it when he says:
"What used to be dismissed as middlebrow - the adventure novel by the 'real' writer, the sci-fi story that wants to win the Booker - is unquestionably becoming the man event in new fiction. Next to it our British fiction staples, all rocky middle-class marriages or west London novelists wrestling with their writer's blocks, look meek and unambitious."

I've been promising myself for a while that I'll post something about writing, and my increasingly-strongly held opinions about that subject, but I think we all know that means a lengthy and meandering post. So, in the meantime, please let the short quote above act as a short taste of things to come, and one which made me feel, to paraphrase the comment attributed to C.S.Lewis in Shadowlands, that I was not alone.

To Catch A Thief

In the 1999 film Bowfinger, successful comedian Steve Martin wrote the screenplay in which he co-stars with equally successful comedian Eddie Murphy.

In the BBC TV series Hustle (first aired 2004), a group of con artists specialise in carrying out scams on the rich. This usually involves stealing jewels, antiques or cash, but the approach also appears to extend to promotional taglines.

Finishing Line

All right, this is the last time I’ll mention it, and I’ll be removing the widget from the column to the right at the end of the week, but if you haven’t yet sponsored me for the London Marathon (which I did finish, honest), please don’t hold back from doing so.

There’s a link on the Justgiving widget to the right, which takes you to my sponsor page – recently revised to provide a picture of me actually running – where you can sponsor from the comfort of… well, wherever you happen to be at the moment. I hope it’s comfortable, anyway, that’d certainly help you be in the right frame of mind to donate.

Many, many thanks to those of you who’ve sponsored me already – I thank you, and Phoenix House, the charity I did it for, thanks you too. You are on my ‘nice’ list.

Won’t mention this again, I promise (which, for some of you, might be such welcome news you suddenly feel like donating money)…

From Brain to Blog to Page to mp3

Well, those of you with memories might well recall that, back in March of this year, I was jolly pleased to be part of Shaggy Blog Stories, a book for Comic Relief. I haven’t reviewed it here because of the obvious conflict of interests, but I liked it a lot (for the other 99 contributions, I mean, not mine, I’d read that one before).

Anyone, the not-evil genius behind it, Mike of Troubled Diva has gone and convinced 14 of the contributors to turn it into a podcast, and as a shameless self-publicist with access to a recording studio, I’m part of it.

So, the Shaggy Blog Stories Podcast is now available to buy and download here. It’s over an hour long for a mere £2, of which 80% goes to Comic Relief, but if you’re not sure if you want to buy it, then you can listen to a free two-minute preview (again, at this page), which includes mad-out-of-context snippets from the readings, including mine.

Unsurprisingly , I urge you to buy it – the book’s very funny, but if you’re one of these people who has no time for books and prefers to download ringletones onto your Nintendo J-Pod, this will be a way for you to have a laugh, contribute to a worthy cause, and hear my dulcet tones, all at the same time.

Huzzah!

Ironically enough, ‘logos’ is a word with many meanings, mostly linked to religion and philosophy

So, that there is the logo (or at least its current incarnation) for the London Olympics. Not too impressive, I feel, and I'm far from the first person to say it.

If you look online and elsewhere, you'll see loads of people commenting on it (and for my money Marie at Struggling Author has probably most succinctly nailed the problems with it), but as a London resident and opinionated swine, could I hold off from spouting forth about it ? No, I could not.

It isn't a very pretty logo at all, and it does look like a bit of graffiti or similar, and I have to say that I think this is the problem with it; the accompanying press releases seem to emphasise the way it's meant to appeal to the young, and once you start talking like that, you almost invariably end up being patronising, or at the least, lacking any sense of conviction or certainty about what you're up to. Decision by committee and all that.

And that logo looks like a rather pointed and cynical attempt to garner some kind of street cred with a faux-edgy design (unfortunately at a time when a lot of pop musicians are almost tilting back towards a smoother, almost big-band sound and look - I'm thinking particularly of Beyonce and Christina's stuff here), and it feels like a teacher or aged relative trying to relate to the kids - if it's done without the intention being clear, it might work, but when you point at something and say 'look kids, we're cool like you are! Well wicked!', it just gets cringeworthy.

Combined with all this ill-judged and ultimately flawed stuff about aiming to appeal to the kids, though, is a bunch of nonsense about branding and the like - here's a sample from Seb Coe:

"This is the vision at the very heart of our brand. It will define the venues we build and the Games we hold…"

Sounds almost impressive, doesn't it ? Well, if you think that brandspeak means anything, maybe. As it is, what he says means nothing at all, and doesn't even make sense - so the logo is the vision at the heart of the brand, is it ? And that means that the core of the vision is … um, quite ugly? Or what? I don't know. And heaven forbid that this vision should define the venues that are built - I live in London, and I'd rather we didn't have a spate of ill-considered, angular and primary-coloured venues being built. And god knows what he means about it informing the Games that take place - maybe shot putt and javelin will be put aside in favour of the Women's Marathon Stickle-Brick Championships or something? I have no idea.

And that's my point: the language being used is nonsensical adspeak, the kind of marketing waffle which is used to hide the fact that there's not really been a lot of thought or effort been put in to the end result. Rather like a lot of modern art, it's said with the implied assertion that if you don't get it, you're somehow at fault, which isn't really the case, as the thing about branding is that a lot of it works backwards, seeming to believe that if you design a nice logo or whatever, people will automatically feel some affection for the item in question. Not so. The reason why logos for Coke, Disney, Apple or whoever have some kind of resonance for the viewer is because they've already got a body of work or popularity behind them, and the logo is the front-end or public face of that. I'm not well-versed in the art of semiotics and the like, but I understand that there's a distinction which is drawn between the signifier (here, the logo) and the signified (the item it symbolises).For the Chaos Magicians amongst you, that's a sigil.

This is where symbols come from - people wear crosses or Stars of David or Crescent Moons and Stars on chains because it's a shorthand for a series of ideas which have meaning for them. These symbols - and they're invariably wordless like the Nike Swoosh or the Apple apple (hmm) - are a shorthand for something people have some kind of like for. You can't just design a logo and think it's going to make people like the product if it doesn't work or entertain or whatever. Which is the mistake in the notion of 'building brands' - the people who actually make the computers or the clothes or the films or whatever are the ones who build something, the marketers just flog stuff. They're glorified barrow boys, no matter how much they try (like an untalented or unimaginative artist) to hide it under a barrage of fancy-sounding (though ultimately hollow) terms.

I semi-digress, but to summarise: the 2012 Olympic logo and its accompanying video (which looks positively migrainous to me) hardly appear like £400,000 worth of effort (the cost, apparently - I'd love to see that bill broken down into its component parts), the talk about attracting the young people strikes me as patronising (so god only knows what the yoof of today will make of it), and the brand-speak is vapid and meaningless. Oh, and despite what MPs and the like keep saying, I won't be fooled and call it a brand - it's a logo, and an ugly one at that.

Though I do like the hubristic way they've put a little 'TM' to the right of it all, to ensure we know it's a Trademark. Don't worry, 2012 Olympic folks, I don't think anyone's going to try to pass off that logo as their own work. Thinking about it, though, if I ever decide to give solitude and celibacy a try I might bootleg the logo and put it on a t-shirt, to be sure of repelling people.

Introducing The Clothes Line According To...

Debenhams on Jasper Conran there.

Their Ironymeter needs its batteries replaced, I fear.

Far-from-Reality TV

So, unless I misread it, the situation is this: following the furore over racism in Celebrity Big Brother earlier this year (when three women were accused of racist bullying towards another woman), the producers have decided it would be wise to have an all-female array of contestants in the civilian version of the show (at least initially), to avoid that kind of conflict happening again.

Makes perfect sense to me. But then again, me am from Bizarro world.

Is he in Heaven? Is He in Hell?

No, but I'm back now.

I seem to recall it's a curse/blessing to 'live in interesting times'. I am doing just that, and thus the complete and utter breakdown in my all-too-recently avowed intention to post in line with the number of working days in the week

Don't complain, though, am back now, and will post repeatedly this week, if not today.

In the meantime, why not hop over to The Writing Factory? M'colleague has redecorated and is updating with interesting stuff like a man repossessed. The link is in the column to the right...

Just get out of my Facebook

Why, it only seems like last week when I was saying that The Apprentice is just Big Brother for middle-class folks. And that's probably because it was last week.

And in January or so, I was saying about how I didn't like Myspace (mainly because the pages are so ugly and slow to load, but also because the whole business seems oddly self-serving and pointless at the same time)… and lo and behold, the commuter-belt version of it seems to be impinging on my consciousness (and, of course, my Inbox).

Look, my darlings, I love you dearly, but I really don't want to be added to your list of Facebook friends. As far as I can tell, it's just a suburban version of myspace, with some 'networking' aspect thrown in, and I'm sure you can imagine how I feel about that.

I'm dead easy to track down on the interweb - just type my name in Google* and I'm usually on the front page - and you can e-mail either via this page or my web site (address to the right), or at BahHumbugToThisNewTechnologyISay@johnsoanes.co.uk .

I'd much rather you do that than make me have to sign up to some website-thingy. And, you know, in a way, I think you would too, rather than trying to make me join a strangely purposeless club...

*Other search engines are available. Though, in my experience, not necessarily as good.

A complicated approach to marketing, I have to say

I can only conclude that Woolworths have made this very specific reduction on the basis that if you think it's a notably good deal, you really need to buy the item in question.

Speak Your Brains*

Well, never let it be said that I don't listen to reader feedback. The general consensus on Review Week (May 8-11) was that people didn't like it. Fair enough, I’ll try to space out the reviews a bit more, and you'll be pleased to know that (as the government might say) there are no plans at present to repeat the all-Review format.

One comment was that the reviews tended to be of things people might not be familiar with, and I’d have to say this is deliberate; I do this because I want to point to things which people might otherwise overlook, and also because I tend to approach the media buffet with a broad plate*, so I like to think this blog is nicely varied in its reviews - books, films, comics, musicals etc Indeed, the observant amongst you will have spotted that I usually make it clear in the first paragraph (if not sentence) exactly what the item being reviewed is in terms of medium. You hadn't spotted that? Ah, all part of my aim to make things more accessible.

Oh, and one of the comments was that reviews of books would be nicer if they were accompanied by an image of the book cover. Good point, I'll do that in future.

I've upped the frequency of posting in the last month or so, and my general aim is to post five new items every week - generally one a day during the working week, but there's obviously some variation in that. This is because some people said they didn't think I posted often enough. You may consider me suitably chastised, if not necessarily chaste.

*Yes, there is a Day Today subtext to this post. Today's recommended viewing, if you will.

Source Of The Apprentice

At a meal the other day with some people I didn't know very well, they were talking about the TV show The Apprentice. I haven't watched the programme very much (I usually find myself catching bits of it and finding it difficult to understand why Alan Sugar's seen as this successful businessman - doesn't most of his money come from property now rather than active business?), but not necessarily knowing what I'm talking about doesn't usually bar me from passing comment, as this blog actively demonstrates.

Which is why I asked the following question: "Isn't The Apprentice just a middle-class version of Big Brother?"

That remark rather bought the conversation to a halt, I'm proud to report, but I rather suspected there it was more than just me being snide. And when I watched The Apprentice last night (for the first time - and it'll be the last), I couldn't help but think there was indeed many a true word spoken in my semi-jest.

Points of similarity being:
- The contestants live together
- They're set tasks which dictate whether they remain in the game or not
- Much of the show focuses on the personality clashes and 'characters' (as does the conversation about the show)
- They have to pack their bags when they're at risk of being kicked out
- The results are decided in a capricious, borderline cruel, way (one by a public vote, the other by Sugar and his two colleagues)
- The outcome is prefaced by a good deal of padding and reiteration, which I guess is meant to produce tension
- Let's face it, both programmes attract the kind of contestants you wouldn't really want to know in real life

So I won't be watching it again (same for Big Brother this year, I suspect). Interestingly enough, the original US version, featuring Daniel Clamp*, has been axed due to lack of interest, whilst the UK version rattles on, a bit like the way 'The Upper Hand' outlived its transatlantic parent.

And anyway, it featured loads of padding - oh, sorry, I mean panning - shots of Canary Wharf and Docklands, which I can see from the balcony of my penthouse flat any time I choose. Tch.

*Not seen Gremlins 2? You really should, John Glover is brilliant in it, as is the Fire Alarm. See it, and see what I mean.

Strange Bedfellows - Part 2 of 2

(In which we meet two men from different continents and generations, and speak of how both now say more by speaking less)

There was a time - probably about the time that he wrote and starred in LA Story - when I believed that Steve Martin might, conceivably, be the funniest man alive. He'd made some terrific comedy films (The Jerk, Dead Men Don't Wear Plaid, and of course The Man With Two Brains), rewritten my favourite play Cyrano de Bergerac for a modern audience and into a modern setting to considerable success (Roxanne), and had a history as a stand-up comedian which sounds unlikely to us now. Playing Madison Square Garden, and releasing an album half-comprised of banjo playing? Crikey. Colour me impressed. And I liked LA Story quite a bit too, so well done Steve.

A few years before this, various people I knew had been singing the praises of Ben Elton, though I didn't really know him; he was on Saturday Live, a TV show I didn't watch, though I saw it round at a friend's house and thought 'meh'. I did, however, hear him do 'The Train Set' routine as part of Comic Relief (the one that features the refrain 'double-seat, double-seat, gotta get a double-seat"), and thought it was very funny indeed, so I was more favourably inclined, and as the years went on and I enjoyed The Man From Auntie and Blackadder on TV, and even saw him live (with stomach-paining results), I came to feel that, much as one might find some of his verbal tics faintly irritating, Ben Elton might well be one of the finest comedians working in the UK.

If memory serves, Elton got into performing stand-up because he wanted the material he was writing to actually see some kind of outlet, and when he reached a certain point of exposure, he kind of turned back to that by moving into writing novels. His first, published in the late 1980s, was Stark, a pretty good ecologically-themed tale, even if some sections felt a bit like stand-up material shoehorned into prose form. Since then, he's followed that with a novel every year or so, the most recent of which is (as far as I know), Chart Throb, about TV singing talent contests. And on the basis of his most recent TV series, 'Get A Grip', though it was obviously a very poor format and the need for his co-presenter to be there was less than nil, I'm rather inclined to think that the novel is where Ben's skills probably lie nowadays (I'm deliberately ignoring his forays into the world of musicals, because I haven't seen any of them, and because I like to think they're just a stupid aberration in terms of his output; kind, perhaps, but they're so strangely off the map for his work that I can't even begin to understand what made him say yes, unless it was bucket loads of money).

Steve Martin, too, has published a number of books; his first, Cruel Shoes, was a very slight item published in the late 1970s when his stand-up was making him famous; it's funny, but reads very quickly. Strictly speaking, his next couple of books weren't novels as such, being collections of his plays ('Picasso at the Lapin Agile and other plays') and short comic writings ('Pure Drivel'), but his first proper novel, Shopgirl, struck me as very strong; short and to the point, it was quite sparse as well, and generally lacking in the fluffiness that Martin's recent films have all involved. His second novel 'The Pleasure of My Company', is just as good, and again very different in tone from his recent silver screen outings.

And this is the thing, really - since LA Story, I've found Steve Martin's films to be more mainstream ('Housesitter', for example) to the point of losing any interest for me, and the remakes of existing characters (Bilko and Clouseau) are as inexplicable to me as Ben Elton's decision to do musicals. Unless Steve Martin's writing it as well ('Bowfinger' being the most recent example I can think of), the idea of him being in a film now holds little draw for me. Whereas the news that he's got a new book out actively interests me. And the same is true for Ben Elton, whose books are generally very good indeed (the last line of 'Popcorn' is, I think, one of the best comments on the whole 'violence in films' debate I've ever heard).

So these two chaps are, to my mind, bedfellows in that their recent work is arguably a return to their starting positions (Martin started out writing material for The Smothers Brothers; not people I've actually seen, as - like Gilligan's Island - they don't seem to have made it across the pond) - that is, as writers. Specifically in the novel form, which is one of the more pure artforms there is, as (unlike with, say, films) the number of people involved in the process is minimal, and may indeed be one person operating alone in the case of total creative freedom.

Ironically - and interestingly - both Martin and Elton deal with some pretty weighty and uncomedic subjects in their novels (people with social deficiencies, reality TV, drugs, and the like), but manage to make them both gripping and amusing, and often provide insights into things which contemporary 'serious' and 'literary' novelists seem less willing to tackle - or at least to tackle as accessibly.

I've often maintained that the ability to make a joke at speed about something shows you've assimilated the incoming information and processed it and found the wrinkles and quirks in the situation and framed a response, which suggests a greater speed of mental processing. Which might be why those whose stock in trade is seen as the funny and amusing could be a useful source of solid and genuine insight. I could be wrong, but I think there's something to this, and I think it's why both Elton and Martin are better off - and so is the audience - utilising their obvious talents in this way. It's not an expected turn of events, or career path for either of them, to be sure, but I think it's ultimately for the best.

After all, as Neil Gaiman wrote in 'Sandman: A Midsummer Night's Dream', "It is a fool's prerogative to utter truths that no-one else will speak".

Strange Bedfellows - Part 1 of 2

(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'.

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.

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?

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?

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

Advertising is, of course, an art form in its own right

Is it just my imagination, or..?

(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!