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.
Friday, May 11, 2007
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.
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