Posts
Right, excuse the awful title, this is basically about the brand spanking new series of extended, reality, job interview show The Apprentice which is focusing on business(wo)men who have lost out in the recession. From unemployed graduates to failed entrepreneurs, the new series boasts an extensiev array of downtrodden, desperate candidates. So, as victims of the cruel cycle of business, surely this year's collection of candidates will display a good deal more humility and quiet determination? Well no. It would appear that despite the numerous failings and setbacks, the new contestants are the usual bunch of appalling, arrogant arseholes.
A 21 year old telecoms entrepreneur introduces himselves as "Stuart Baggs - the brand", another, Christopher Farrell, conveniently hid a weapons conviction and the fact that he was currently on bail for alleged fraud, yet another draws comparisons between herself and a Lamborghini (expensive, flashy and ultimately pointless given the laws in this country, presumably). It's the usual ragtag bunch of crisp-suited egotists and delusional, Machiavellian capitalists, with the odd loveable idiot thrown in for good measure.
Actually let's go back to Farrell, an ex-Army sniper who claims that he carries over his 'killer instinct' into the world of business (and apparently his personal life given some of the allegations made by his former wife in the article). Should there be a backlash about his involvement in the show? After all, most successful businessmen are fraudsters. Just look at Madoff and Conrad Black and... oh, hang on...
As I was writing this article, my attention was drawn (by the excellent Tom Searle, no less) to this candidate. Not quite sure how he aims to prove that he originally invented the bendy bus (possibly in the same way that I, as a young man, wrote a sketch about Captain Oates that I later found out basically covered the same ground and one written by Lee and Herring when I was a mere slip of a lad). The factfile goes on: 'Sacked from his first job making ice-cream at Haagen Dazs,' (it doesn't say why but presumably they let you take home one tub to eat in front of the telly whilst weeping profusely) 'Alex later found his forte in telecommunications'. I'm not entirely convinced that telecommunications counts as a 'forte', regardless of the fact that at least 3 of the other candidates also list this (just before the bit where it says they're unemployed).
Essentially, it looks a cracker of a series. A genuine criminal, a brilliantly delusional 21 year old and an equally misguided man sacked by Haagen Dazs are just the tip of the iceberg. Roll on next Wednesday as the wisened finger of truth shatters its first, already largely recession-ruined, life.
Thursday 30 September 2010
Wednesday 29 September 2010
Theory...
To paraphrase a great quote, the problem with writing comedy is that it takes up all your time. Sitting at a desk and trying to come up with funnies is a lot of harder than it sounds. Even if you're a regular Oscar Wilde in conversation, when attempting to come up with comedy that will work in an isolated context in front of any number of strangers, you will experience no end of despair, exhaustion and general annoyance. Add to this the fact that you have to be able to create new material and perform old material regardless of what's happening in your life and how you're feeling and you're left with a fairly complicated art form (yeah, this is one of those needlessly pretentious posts).
When writing comedy for, say, a sitcom or a play you can think of a few jokes that arise from the premise and situation and then frame the story around them, you can focus on the narrative and hope the jokes bloom organically from it or you can do the same gag for 30 years. Ideally you will have a combination of the first two (and possibly the third, if all else fails). In many ways attempting to formulate a stand-up set is very similar. Ideally a theme will run throughout the set (although this isn't always apparent) and each gag/one-liner/anecdote will link back to it. Alternatively, you can deconstruct these conventions and create comedy from the pencilled in workings of a gag that you forgot to rub out.
Musical comedy, in my experience, often reaches the point where you have one brilliant line and a tune but no real structure. Instead of taking the Leonard Cohen route of writing poetry and then fitting them to music, I usually just come up with the one cracking couplet and a jangly chord sequence and graft from there. I'm sure that more accomplished musical comedians have a far superior working method to mine.
Essentially, the main point of this is that writing comedy is very hard and it's exceptionally easy to take good comedy for granted, so, if nothing else, have a think about the work that goes in to that knob gag or that bit where someone told a lie about a current member of government. Or don't. It might ruin it for you. I don't know.
When writing comedy for, say, a sitcom or a play you can think of a few jokes that arise from the premise and situation and then frame the story around them, you can focus on the narrative and hope the jokes bloom organically from it or you can do the same gag for 30 years. Ideally you will have a combination of the first two (and possibly the third, if all else fails). In many ways attempting to formulate a stand-up set is very similar. Ideally a theme will run throughout the set (although this isn't always apparent) and each gag/one-liner/anecdote will link back to it. Alternatively, you can deconstruct these conventions and create comedy from the pencilled in workings of a gag that you forgot to rub out.
Musical comedy, in my experience, often reaches the point where you have one brilliant line and a tune but no real structure. Instead of taking the Leonard Cohen route of writing poetry and then fitting them to music, I usually just come up with the one cracking couplet and a jangly chord sequence and graft from there. I'm sure that more accomplished musical comedians have a far superior working method to mine.
Essentially, the main point of this is that writing comedy is very hard and it's exceptionally easy to take good comedy for granted, so, if nothing else, have a think about the work that goes in to that knob gag or that bit where someone told a lie about a current member of government. Or don't. It might ruin it for you. I don't know.
Tuesday 28 September 2010
Mooks...
Yes, the Spooks series blog will happen... for nothing if not appalling laziness and lack of inspiration on my part. If you don't watch it, then I like to think that this is an able substitute. (If you missed part one of the blog, it can be found here)
I'll start with This Week's Topical Touchstone as it played an enormous part in the episode. Oil barons and crises dominated the 60 minutes, as the spies attempted to foil an attempt on the life of morally questionable Robert Westhouse. As it happened, last week's theory about Beth being killed off was brushed aside before the credits (a lot of action pre-credits in Spooks, if it was American ((or Downton Abbey)) there would almost certainly have to be adverts after the opening titles...) as, despite being involved in a lift-based bloodbath she was able to snaffle a phone from a dead man's hand and get back up for some espionage action once Lucas arrived on the scene.
After the credits finally arrived we were treated to a quick title screen simply saying "Lucas" an indication that this episode would be one of those convoluted affairs so beloved of big budget American dramas where we experience events from multiple perspectives (though technically Kurosawa's Rashomon deserves the credit/blame). The episode was very complicated as we discovered that not only did Westhouse have his own assassin on hand to counter the attempt on his life but the assassins responsible for the lift massacre were in fact attempting to kill Beth, who had sold out the brother of one of the killers to the authorities.
This was all explained from 3 different viewpoints with some other bits of action thrown in. We got to see Harry get his hands dirty again as he halted Westhouse (who had also planned a coup in Nigeria... did I mention that?) in his tracks. He nabbed a briefcase full of... something (I wasn't quite paying attention at this point and was duly punished for it) and headed for the door. Meanwhile the Nigerian assassin (the original one tasked with killing Westhouse before all the other assassins turned up) aimed his gun at the door, tasked with killing the briefcase-holder. We moved into slow motion and I prepared to eat last week's words only for Beth to run into the frame and knock her boss behind a conveniently placed vehicle.
Back at HQ (they still put up where it is on the screen... surely an appalling move for a secret service...) Lucas persuades Harry to retain the services of mildy untrustworthy Beth in return for accepting the role as Section Commander (there was no haggling over pay and Lucas wasn't required to go on an ICT course). Elsewhere our hero Mr. North found time to search through some trinkets from the days before his visit to Deed Poll and, as it happens, he had been involved with Laila Rouass of Footballers' Wives and Primeval fame (she was a doctor in this... a bit like in Primeval... but a proper doctor... with a stethoscope and things...). She wasn't overly pleased to be reacquainted but then popped up again towards the end of the episode, so you make of that what you will...
Next week, the ever-present, acronymical threat of the FSB rears its ugly head and the Deed Poll business gets out of hand...
Line(s) of the Week
'... he's been to the Ukraine more times in the last 3 months than is healthy.' Harry (or something to that effect) (It's also worth noting that Harry will probably appear here every week. He gets the best lines and Peter Firth delivers them so, so well)
I'll start with This Week's Topical Touchstone as it played an enormous part in the episode. Oil barons and crises dominated the 60 minutes, as the spies attempted to foil an attempt on the life of morally questionable Robert Westhouse. As it happened, last week's theory about Beth being killed off was brushed aside before the credits (a lot of action pre-credits in Spooks, if it was American ((or Downton Abbey)) there would almost certainly have to be adverts after the opening titles...) as, despite being involved in a lift-based bloodbath she was able to snaffle a phone from a dead man's hand and get back up for some espionage action once Lucas arrived on the scene.
After the credits finally arrived we were treated to a quick title screen simply saying "Lucas" an indication that this episode would be one of those convoluted affairs so beloved of big budget American dramas where we experience events from multiple perspectives (though technically Kurosawa's Rashomon deserves the credit/blame). The episode was very complicated as we discovered that not only did Westhouse have his own assassin on hand to counter the attempt on his life but the assassins responsible for the lift massacre were in fact attempting to kill Beth, who had sold out the brother of one of the killers to the authorities.
This was all explained from 3 different viewpoints with some other bits of action thrown in. We got to see Harry get his hands dirty again as he halted Westhouse (who had also planned a coup in Nigeria... did I mention that?) in his tracks. He nabbed a briefcase full of... something (I wasn't quite paying attention at this point and was duly punished for it) and headed for the door. Meanwhile the Nigerian assassin (the original one tasked with killing Westhouse before all the other assassins turned up) aimed his gun at the door, tasked with killing the briefcase-holder. We moved into slow motion and I prepared to eat last week's words only for Beth to run into the frame and knock her boss behind a conveniently placed vehicle.
Back at HQ (they still put up where it is on the screen... surely an appalling move for a secret service...) Lucas persuades Harry to retain the services of mildy untrustworthy Beth in return for accepting the role as Section Commander (there was no haggling over pay and Lucas wasn't required to go on an ICT course). Elsewhere our hero Mr. North found time to search through some trinkets from the days before his visit to Deed Poll and, as it happens, he had been involved with Laila Rouass of Footballers' Wives and Primeval fame (she was a doctor in this... a bit like in Primeval... but a proper doctor... with a stethoscope and things...). She wasn't overly pleased to be reacquainted but then popped up again towards the end of the episode, so you make of that what you will...
Next week, the ever-present, acronymical threat of the FSB rears its ugly head and the Deed Poll business gets out of hand...
Line(s) of the Week
'... he's been to the Ukraine more times in the last 3 months than is healthy.' Harry (or something to that effect) (It's also worth noting that Harry will probably appear here every week. He gets the best lines and Peter Firth delivers them so, so well)
Monday 27 September 2010
The Habbit...
Yeah, I know I'm getting an awful habit of being busy and not really doing adequate blog posts. Don't blame me, blame life.
Here's an article about The Hobbit to tide you over...
Here's an article about The Hobbit to tide you over...
Friday 24 September 2010
Friday Pictorial the Twenty Fifth: Songwriting
I'll apologise for this. It's 18 minutes long and doesn't even get to the original point I was trying to make. Too long, some would say (bastards, goldfish etc.) and it can't all be funny, can it? Also catch this one before the inevitable court case arises. You can say 'I saw that before he was bludgeoned to death by Hollywood lawyers'...
And yes, I do know it's 'Allied Carpets', thank you.
And yes, I do know it's 'Allied Carpets', thank you.
Thursday 23 September 2010
A Keg of Ideas...
Twitter is marvellous really. It can draw your attention to all sorts of remarkable things you'd never otherwise hear about. Today's remarkable thing is IdeasTap, a sort of social network for pretentious creative types like myself. It boasts a whole host of writing briefs, opportunities and even funding! Yes, funding! (it's like the grail for us - meaning that when people go "why are you wasting your life?", you can go ((in a Humphrey Ker character voice)) "um, well I just got some funding, actually, so it's not even your business or anything anyway, so shut up, you're not my mum." Or something along those lines).
The problem lies in the fact that as a young pretentious creative, one has a tendency to imagine that one is the only exciting playwright/comedy prodigy in a sea of awful 'edgy' allegorical theatre/Jack Whitehall. This myth is rather extensively debunked by checking the profiles of other people following opportunities, almost all of whom are the same age (or younger!) and have had a good deal more success. Naturally, I lay the blame for this directly at the feet of Thatcher and her "oh, why don't we just nationalise the schools, surely that won't create even more of a educational lottery" rationale. Anyway, this is making me sound far needier than I intended...
I'm not sure what the point of today's blog is, particularly, except to perhaps reiterate the difficulty of the industry for which my skills set bests suits. Bloody typical, eh?
The problem lies in the fact that as a young pretentious creative, one has a tendency to imagine that one is the only exciting playwright/comedy prodigy in a sea of awful 'edgy' allegorical theatre/Jack Whitehall. This myth is rather extensively debunked by checking the profiles of other people following opportunities, almost all of whom are the same age (or younger!) and have had a good deal more success. Naturally, I lay the blame for this directly at the feet of Thatcher and her "oh, why don't we just nationalise the schools, surely that won't create even more of a educational lottery" rationale. Anyway, this is making me sound far needier than I intended...
I'm not sure what the point of today's blog is, particularly, except to perhaps reiterate the difficulty of the industry for which my skills set bests suits. Bloody typical, eh?
Wednesday 22 September 2010
Be A Good Sport...
Yesterday I hit a new low as a football fan. My beloved team was the victim of what is known (appallingly) in the trade as a 'cupset' as they lost to lower league opposition with an alarming display of profligacy and indolence in front of goal, spurning several hat loads of chances and going out with a whimper in a penalty shootout.
Life as a fan is never easy (unless you support Manchester United or Chelsea, in which case it's more comparable with being an Eton-educated Oxbridge graduate and wondering whether you might just be able to get into a position of power in the current government). You suffer appalling lows as your ragtag collection of overpaid mercenaries show no passion or desire and then you reach ecstatic highs as your heroes show tremendous heart to set up a plucky win against a team funded by an entire Arab country. It's never boring. Heartbreaking, infuriating, coronary-inducing, but never boring.
The season as a whole has been dire, commensurate with the state of Delhi's Commonwealth Games, really - shit flowing through the halls and a bridge collapsing (alright... even I don't really know what that last bit means). Mostly, the point is that there's a fine line between just keeping things interesting and forcing supporters to the brink of despair. The Commonwealth Games organisers are 'confident' that everything will be sorted out. Albeit a confidence not shared by the numerous big name athletes that have pulled out, the general public or even the organisers' spouses (probably). The footbridge collapse yesterday could not have come at a worse time, just as losing to Brentford on penalties could not have come at a worse time (although that would be true at any time). Just when the Delhi organisers needed to prove that they could get it together and deliver a memorable games they were given a ludicrous accident that certainly made it 'memorable', just not for the reasons that everyone had been hoping for.
Fingers crossed that by December the halls won't be flooded with excrement and a serviceable bridge (with no concerns over structural integrity) will have been erected.
The only positive? At least I'm not Titus Bramble.
(For non-sports fans he's a calamitous defender... and now a rapist... apparently)
Today's blog was brought to you by the letter 'P' for Ped Mcpartland and the tweet that started it all...
Life as a fan is never easy (unless you support Manchester United or Chelsea, in which case it's more comparable with being an Eton-educated Oxbridge graduate and wondering whether you might just be able to get into a position of power in the current government). You suffer appalling lows as your ragtag collection of overpaid mercenaries show no passion or desire and then you reach ecstatic highs as your heroes show tremendous heart to set up a plucky win against a team funded by an entire Arab country. It's never boring. Heartbreaking, infuriating, coronary-inducing, but never boring.
The season as a whole has been dire, commensurate with the state of Delhi's Commonwealth Games, really - shit flowing through the halls and a bridge collapsing (alright... even I don't really know what that last bit means). Mostly, the point is that there's a fine line between just keeping things interesting and forcing supporters to the brink of despair. The Commonwealth Games organisers are 'confident' that everything will be sorted out. Albeit a confidence not shared by the numerous big name athletes that have pulled out, the general public or even the organisers' spouses (probably). The footbridge collapse yesterday could not have come at a worse time, just as losing to Brentford on penalties could not have come at a worse time (although that would be true at any time). Just when the Delhi organisers needed to prove that they could get it together and deliver a memorable games they were given a ludicrous accident that certainly made it 'memorable', just not for the reasons that everyone had been hoping for.
Fingers crossed that by December the halls won't be flooded with excrement and a serviceable bridge (with no concerns over structural integrity) will have been erected.
The only positive? At least I'm not Titus Bramble.
(For non-sports fans he's a calamitous defender... and now a rapist... apparently)
Today's blog was brought to you by the letter 'P' for Ped Mcpartland and the tweet that started it all...
Tuesday 21 September 2010
Military Intelligence...
Yesterday saw the return of excellent espionage-fest Spooks, meaning that today I don't have to rely on 'the news' to write a blog. Huzzah. I know that various other outlets offer series blogs, opinions and reviews of Spooks, but this is the only one with wild tangential ramblings and little or no actual professional journalistic standard.
We were given a frankly terrifically jam-packed opener, where more took place before that credits sequence than I actually remember happening in some of the entire earlier series. Essentially, Ros (who got blown up at the end of last series - Nope? Me neither... it all seems such a long time ago...) only managed to attract 5 people to her funeral prompting Harry into a crisis of conscience. "Do you ever feel like you can't go on?" He asked Ruth, seemingly unaware of the luck he's experienced being the only main character to survive from the first series. But surely good old Harry wouldn't tender his resignation to the new home secretary later in the episode, would he? Ruth then presented him with the bombshell that Robert Glenister's marvellous home secretary had all the while been in the employ of Nightingale (shady corporation behind much of the action in the last series), prompting everyone's favourite MI5 knight of the realm to pay him a visit with some 'special' whisky. Death by whisky, arguably one of the greatest methods Spooks has ever served up.
After the credits we found Lucas North, who'd traded his sharp-lined dark shirts for a grubby khaki jacket and an accent, aboard a ship, tasked with the assassination of a top Al Qaeda (or 'AQ' as the 'professionals' call them) chief (no, not that one). He had a chat with ship's captain Dimitri (from Russia via Romford... as it happens, because he was a spy too) but before he could carry out his orders the ship was boarded by, yes, Somali pirates. Which reminds me...
Tangent #1
The topicality of Spooks is marvellous, as well as the Somali pirates there were some nice references to the Coalition thanks to the brilliantly odious new home secretary, played by the excellent Simon Russell Beale and his slightly uneasy initial relationship with stalwart of the old guard Harry. I'm surely not the first to point out that Spooks' equal parts glamorous and gritty portrayal of life in the Secret Service is perhaps a little unrealistic -at no point does Lucas North accidentally leave some crucial documents on a train, Tariq is able to reel off reams of bizarre technobabble uninterrupted by workplace discrimination and main characters are dispensed with faster than you can yell 'don't open the door, Rupert, there's a car bomb' at your telly - however, it's able to get away with providing a frankly terrifying vision of a London constantly under attack from nefarious baddies, computer hackers, ex-spies, ex-mentors of spies and environmentalists because of the flecks of topicality that it drip-feeds each episode with.
Well, the Somali pirates threw a spanner in the works. Remember that Russian prostitute played by whatsherface out of Hallam Foe and Art School Confidential that I conveniently hadn't mentioned up until this point? No, of course you don't. Anyway, she's a spy too... well, private contractor called Beth who then helps Lucas to break away from the captives and eventually escape to an airfield, leaving Dimitri to face the remaining pirates and stop them from making it to Plymouth where they planned to splatter the Queen with exploding boat debris, which he did. However said explosives had mysteriously disappeared when he went to check them, along with some submersibles (what we used to call submarines when I was a boy... except sort of robot submarines... choc full of plastic explosive). The Queen splattering was a decoy! Beth turned up in the middle of all this, basically to ask Harry for a job, prompting some more brooding from Lucas. The big news however was that explosive submersibles had breached the Thames Barrier (tick off Thames Barrier -again - on your National Security Risks bingo card) were on their way to Westminster as we speak.
The only way to stop them (after threatening an unbudging teenage hacker at gunpoint failed) was for Harry to make exactly the kind of terrible decision that had prompted him to tender his resignation in the first place. Beneath the Houses of Parliament lay an EMF bomb that would knock out all electronics within a kilometre's radius. Ruth reminded him it was a last resort and would knock out all computer systems in that area. "So the country will have to struggle on without internet pornography and Minesweeper for a couple of hours. Do it." Drawled Harry, the spirit of Ros' classic 'I am not impressed by anything' rhetoric living on despite her immolation. Ruth then pointed out that it was all computers again, for instance pacemakers and life support machines. "Bugger!" Harry's face seemed to say. Nevertheless, he gave the order. Cue befuddled Londoners staring at their kaputt mobiles on Westminster Bridge.
Wowzers trousers, all that action, surely no more major revelations can be made in this episode, right? Wrong! Harry told the home secretary to tear up his letter of resignation, providing Peter Firth a stay of execution for another year (that's worth 7 in Spooks years, mind). Elsewhere, Lucas bumped into a man who'd had a stroke who called him 'John' prompting a mortified look reminiscent of Armitage's classic turn as Guy of Gisborne, very much the real star of BBC's Robin Hood. The stroke victim then dropped a briefcase at Lucas' feet and left.
Bloody hell, eh? Revelations all round. What does Beth know? Is she really going to be killed off next week as the preview suggests (bloody preview spoilers... tsk...)? John? What's all this about John?
Well, frankly I wouldn't be surprised if it was just a curveball and he'd just gone to Deed Poll...
Line(s) of the Week:
We were given a frankly terrifically jam-packed opener, where more took place before that credits sequence than I actually remember happening in some of the entire earlier series. Essentially, Ros (who got blown up at the end of last series - Nope? Me neither... it all seems such a long time ago...) only managed to attract 5 people to her funeral prompting Harry into a crisis of conscience. "Do you ever feel like you can't go on?" He asked Ruth, seemingly unaware of the luck he's experienced being the only main character to survive from the first series. But surely good old Harry wouldn't tender his resignation to the new home secretary later in the episode, would he? Ruth then presented him with the bombshell that Robert Glenister's marvellous home secretary had all the while been in the employ of Nightingale (shady corporation behind much of the action in the last series), prompting everyone's favourite MI5 knight of the realm to pay him a visit with some 'special' whisky. Death by whisky, arguably one of the greatest methods Spooks has ever served up.
After the credits we found Lucas North, who'd traded his sharp-lined dark shirts for a grubby khaki jacket and an accent, aboard a ship, tasked with the assassination of a top Al Qaeda (or 'AQ' as the 'professionals' call them) chief (no, not that one). He had a chat with ship's captain Dimitri (from Russia via Romford... as it happens, because he was a spy too) but before he could carry out his orders the ship was boarded by, yes, Somali pirates. Which reminds me...
Tangent #1
The topicality of Spooks is marvellous, as well as the Somali pirates there were some nice references to the Coalition thanks to the brilliantly odious new home secretary, played by the excellent Simon Russell Beale and his slightly uneasy initial relationship with stalwart of the old guard Harry. I'm surely not the first to point out that Spooks' equal parts glamorous and gritty portrayal of life in the Secret Service is perhaps a little unrealistic -at no point does Lucas North accidentally leave some crucial documents on a train, Tariq is able to reel off reams of bizarre technobabble uninterrupted by workplace discrimination and main characters are dispensed with faster than you can yell 'don't open the door, Rupert, there's a car bomb' at your telly - however, it's able to get away with providing a frankly terrifying vision of a London constantly under attack from nefarious baddies, computer hackers, ex-spies, ex-mentors of spies and environmentalists because of the flecks of topicality that it drip-feeds each episode with.
Well, the Somali pirates threw a spanner in the works. Remember that Russian prostitute played by whatsherface out of Hallam Foe and Art School Confidential that I conveniently hadn't mentioned up until this point? No, of course you don't. Anyway, she's a spy too... well, private contractor called Beth who then helps Lucas to break away from the captives and eventually escape to an airfield, leaving Dimitri to face the remaining pirates and stop them from making it to Plymouth where they planned to splatter the Queen with exploding boat debris, which he did. However said explosives had mysteriously disappeared when he went to check them, along with some submersibles (what we used to call submarines when I was a boy... except sort of robot submarines... choc full of plastic explosive). The Queen splattering was a decoy! Beth turned up in the middle of all this, basically to ask Harry for a job, prompting some more brooding from Lucas. The big news however was that explosive submersibles had breached the Thames Barrier (tick off Thames Barrier -again - on your National Security Risks bingo card) were on their way to Westminster as we speak.
The only way to stop them (after threatening an unbudging teenage hacker at gunpoint failed) was for Harry to make exactly the kind of terrible decision that had prompted him to tender his resignation in the first place. Beneath the Houses of Parliament lay an EMF bomb that would knock out all electronics within a kilometre's radius. Ruth reminded him it was a last resort and would knock out all computer systems in that area. "So the country will have to struggle on without internet pornography and Minesweeper for a couple of hours. Do it." Drawled Harry, the spirit of Ros' classic 'I am not impressed by anything' rhetoric living on despite her immolation. Ruth then pointed out that it was all computers again, for instance pacemakers and life support machines. "Bugger!" Harry's face seemed to say. Nevertheless, he gave the order. Cue befuddled Londoners staring at their kaputt mobiles on Westminster Bridge.
Wowzers trousers, all that action, surely no more major revelations can be made in this episode, right? Wrong! Harry told the home secretary to tear up his letter of resignation, providing Peter Firth a stay of execution for another year (that's worth 7 in Spooks years, mind). Elsewhere, Lucas bumped into a man who'd had a stroke who called him 'John' prompting a mortified look reminiscent of Armitage's classic turn as Guy of Gisborne, very much the real star of BBC's Robin Hood. The stroke victim then dropped a briefcase at Lucas' feet and left.
Bloody hell, eh? Revelations all round. What does Beth know? Is she really going to be killed off next week as the preview suggests (bloody preview spoilers... tsk...)? John? What's all this about John?
Well, frankly I wouldn't be surprised if it was just a curveball and he'd just gone to Deed Poll...
Line(s) of the Week:
'Don't think I won't kill you because you're a teenage girl.' Lucas
'I'm suitably ennobled.' Harry
Monday 20 September 2010
News, What News...
There's an appalling lack of bloggable news today. The Guardian website offers live-text for the Lib Dem conference and London Fashion week, pictorials of Oktoberfest and a video about tigers being capable of mating in the mountains of Bhutan. None of which can particularly be anatomised in 500 to 1000 words of ideally witty prose.
So, what to talk about, if not Clegg's Faustian pact, overflowing litre steins of Export Juergenbrau, ridiculous clothes and nobbing tigers? Well, not a lot really... erm... did you all have nice weekends? I made several thoroughly underappreciated jokes on Twitter (perhaps future civilisations will look back on them and deem them worthy of laughter) and embarked on attempting to drown myself in even more writing projects (a grand total of 2 sitcoms, 1 full length play, 3 one-act plays, 1 graphic novel, 1 radio drama, 2 short films at last census).
Sometimes life and the news outdo themselves and contrive to serve up a story about a dangerous mental winning a Mid-Term Primary or bear getting trapped in a car, yet today there is no such luck. We were given a list of people who earn more than Cameron by Auntie Beeb (in the Public Sector, not just in life in general) and top of the pile sat Sir Jock Stirrup, awarded a meaty £288, 700 a year, presumably for being the only MoD chief to actually be a fictional character from a Monty Python sketch.
In sports news, while diving to catch a well-hit Afridi 6 (admirable commitment), a MCC member of managed to stack it into some substantial metalwork. All in good fun, eh? Otherwise they wouldn't show the replays, right? Wrong! He looked as though he'd lost a fight with a grizzly and grinned at the TV cameras as his bloodied face was dabbed with a friend's hanky, clearly dying inside. The lesson here? Never try. Particularly if TV cameras are involved.
So, what to talk about, if not Clegg's Faustian pact, overflowing litre steins of Export Juergenbrau, ridiculous clothes and nobbing tigers? Well, not a lot really... erm... did you all have nice weekends? I made several thoroughly underappreciated jokes on Twitter (perhaps future civilisations will look back on them and deem them worthy of laughter) and embarked on attempting to drown myself in even more writing projects (a grand total of 2 sitcoms, 1 full length play, 3 one-act plays, 1 graphic novel, 1 radio drama, 2 short films at last census).
Sometimes life and the news outdo themselves and contrive to serve up a story about a dangerous mental winning a Mid-Term Primary or bear getting trapped in a car, yet today there is no such luck. We were given a list of people who earn more than Cameron by Auntie Beeb (in the Public Sector, not just in life in general) and top of the pile sat Sir Jock Stirrup, awarded a meaty £288, 700 a year, presumably for being the only MoD chief to actually be a fictional character from a Monty Python sketch.
In sports news, while diving to catch a well-hit Afridi 6 (admirable commitment), a MCC member of managed to stack it into some substantial metalwork. All in good fun, eh? Otherwise they wouldn't show the replays, right? Wrong! He looked as though he'd lost a fight with a grizzly and grinned at the TV cameras as his bloodied face was dabbed with a friend's hanky, clearly dying inside. The lesson here? Never try. Particularly if TV cameras are involved.
Friday 17 September 2010
Caption Competition the First...
Right, not enough time to think of/record/edit/upload a proper FriPic this week, so instead here's a wee caption competition (the Pope has become inescapable). (No idea how this will work... tell your friends, I guess)
What could perchance being going on here, followers?
What could perchance being going on here, followers?
Thursday 16 September 2010
Not the Pope o' Clock News...
Right, I'm staying true to my new philosophy and not going to say anything about the Pope or the protestors or anything. After all, I'm not a Jeremy Vine phone-in...
So, here's a list of minor news stories to stop you all from breaking the precepts outlined last week.
So, here's a list of minor news stories to stop you all from breaking the precepts outlined last week.
- Yoga Bear - A female brown bear in Finland was captured on film doing a number of Yoga streches and positions in easily the most charming story you will see all week and boasts the greatest number of 'Yogi Bear' puns outside of the 1960s or inventor of the television John Logie Baird. My favourite line from the article is 'These are not beginners' postures. Yogi bear is definitely an advanced practitioner'. (Most of the credit for this story goes to Nat Luurtsema, who posted a link to the pictures yesterday.
- News of the World Paywall - Not content with simply making up their own news, every public figure's least favourite redtop is to follow Murdoch's example and charge readers for their online content. Presumably they just needed more money for hidden cameras or Ricky Hatton lookalikes or something... ahem...
- Bruce Dickinson Lands Top Airline Job - Iron Maiden singer and qualified airline pilot (I love that opening to a sentence) Bruce Dickinson has been named Marketing Director of Gatwick-based charter airline Astraeus. Favourite line from this one? "In a demanding industry he is a man who can cope with pressure," Monnery said, "whether as a 757 captain or in front of 50,000 Iron Maiden fans, or senior airline and aviation managers."
- And Finally...
Wednesday 15 September 2010
Primary Education...
As you'll remember, Or So I Thought... can never resisted delving into the baffling world of American politics from time to time and what better excuse for another vitriolic rambling than this morning's Party Primaries, in which Delaware, the state we have to thank for such revolutionaries as Henry Heimlich, inventor of the Heimlich Manoeuvre and Teri Polo, Helen Santos out of off the West Wing, elected ultra-Conservative Christine O'Donnell to a position of power.
'What's wrong with ultra-Conservatives?' I hear you cry. To which I say: "We've been through this NUMEROUS times. Have I taught you nothing?!"
To clarify, Christine O'Donnell ran on the rather audacious pro-gun, anti-abortion, anti-masturbation ticket- I can only expect that Nick Griffin is scribbling notes furiously (and, no, 'scribbling notes' is not a euphemistic expression in contradiction with that last point)- and even by Tea Party standards is a little-bit right wing. The ideology is perhaps just a little odd -Killing a foetus - WRONG, shooting another human being - FINE, Masturbating = ADULTERY - but then I wouldn't expect anything less from the Tea Party. O'Donnell, whose totally credible backers include gun-toting, blow-up politician Sarah Palin and the National Rifle Association, has won a victory that is being cheered by the Democrats too however, who see the Tea Party as an easier fight than their moderate Republican counterparts.
To be fair, they've got a point. In the article that I found out about this from (from The Guardian, of course) they refer to Tea Party supporters as 'sympathisers'. If your party members or followers are known as 'sympathisers', you're almost certainly barking up the wrong, Fascist tree. That said, if there's anywhere crazy enough to vote in Palin's gun-loving, non-masturbators, it's (*an implied tiny and very isolated section and certainly not a majority of*) America... ahem...
'What's wrong with ultra-Conservatives?' I hear you cry. To which I say: "We've been through this NUMEROUS times. Have I taught you nothing?!"
To clarify, Christine O'Donnell ran on the rather audacious pro-gun, anti-abortion, anti-masturbation ticket- I can only expect that Nick Griffin is scribbling notes furiously (and, no, 'scribbling notes' is not a euphemistic expression in contradiction with that last point)- and even by Tea Party standards is a little-bit right wing. The ideology is perhaps just a little odd -Killing a foetus - WRONG, shooting another human being - FINE, Masturbating = ADULTERY - but then I wouldn't expect anything less from the Tea Party. O'Donnell, whose totally credible backers include gun-toting, blow-up politician Sarah Palin and the National Rifle Association, has won a victory that is being cheered by the Democrats too however, who see the Tea Party as an easier fight than their moderate Republican counterparts.
To be fair, they've got a point. In the article that I found out about this from (from The Guardian, of course) they refer to Tea Party supporters as 'sympathisers'. If your party members or followers are known as 'sympathisers', you're almost certainly barking up the wrong, Fascist tree. That said, if there's anywhere crazy enough to vote in Palin's gun-loving, non-masturbators, it's (*an implied tiny and very isolated section and certainly not a majority of*) America... ahem...
Tuesday 14 September 2010
Where's the Beef... Oh She's Wearing It...
Apparently some people have only just noticed that Lady Gaga is off the wall mental. To cut a long story short, the diminutive songstress turned up to MTV VMAs (which, to be fair has a track record for this sort of thing with, only last year, Kanye's God Complex becoming just too powerful to allow Taylor Swift to accept an award in peace) in a dress made out of meat.
Meat, of course, being the primary tailoring material for centuries... oh, hang on, no it isn't. You don't wear raw meat to an awards ceremony, you mentalist, this isn't a Tom Green film. Naturally PETA have blown their motherflipping top over this. Now, I must confess that I don't subscribe to the vegan thing, I don't have superpowers (we all love referential comedy...), but even I can tell that wearing a meat dress is a pretty stupid idea. Not least because it's highly unappealing to look at and I can only imagine that feeling the cold flesh of mutilated animal against your skin isn't the most pleasant sensation in the world.
Now, no-one would expect Lady Gaga to turn up in something normal (which ironically would actually be a much more effective and impactful statement), hell, next time she might just cut her losses and turn up wearing a hollowed out deer, however I can't help but feel that perhaps she could have considered maybe silk or, if you simply must go down the food route, tapioca or something.
Also, pretty much all her songs sound the same. A fact highlighted particularly well by any montages of her songs performed on dreadful TV talent shows. I mean they're catchy, but not to my taste really... and they all sound the same. This is in no way a personal attack on Ms. Gaga (I'm now refusing to use her honorific title), in fact I remember reading a brilliantly insightful and frank interview by Caitlin Moran that displayed Gaga as personable, self-deprecating and very human indeed, however I don't understand why she couldn't have popped into Tesco, say, and bought a cheap and cheerful little number not hacked and stitched from the flesh of a sentient being.
Meat, of course, being the primary tailoring material for centuries... oh, hang on, no it isn't. You don't wear raw meat to an awards ceremony, you mentalist, this isn't a Tom Green film. Naturally PETA have blown their motherflipping top over this. Now, I must confess that I don't subscribe to the vegan thing, I don't have superpowers (we all love referential comedy...), but even I can tell that wearing a meat dress is a pretty stupid idea. Not least because it's highly unappealing to look at and I can only imagine that feeling the cold flesh of mutilated animal against your skin isn't the most pleasant sensation in the world.
Now, no-one would expect Lady Gaga to turn up in something normal (which ironically would actually be a much more effective and impactful statement), hell, next time she might just cut her losses and turn up wearing a hollowed out deer, however I can't help but feel that perhaps she could have considered maybe silk or, if you simply must go down the food route, tapioca or something.
Also, pretty much all her songs sound the same. A fact highlighted particularly well by any montages of her songs performed on dreadful TV talent shows. I mean they're catchy, but not to my taste really... and they all sound the same. This is in no way a personal attack on Ms. Gaga (I'm now refusing to use her honorific title), in fact I remember reading a brilliantly insightful and frank interview by Caitlin Moran that displayed Gaga as personable, self-deprecating and very human indeed, however I don't understand why she couldn't have popped into Tesco, say, and bought a cheap and cheerful little number not hacked and stitched from the flesh of a sentient being.
Monday 13 September 2010
Saturday Night at the London Palla- Oh, Hang On...
Britishness is a curious thing, tricky to quantify exactly. I know where I am on a scale of weeping at Elgar's Nimrod to putting little flags on a white van, but the two aren't necessarily mutually exclusive, yet (and allow me to be painfully middle class for a moment- although I've already given that away by admitting to the whole Elgar thing ((I just have something in my eye is all))) is there perhaps anything that presents pure concentrated Britishness quite like the Proms and, more specifically, the Last Night of the Proms. Who could argue with the flag-waving and everyone joining in (each in his or her own key ((Tom Lehrer references for the win)) of course) with Elgar's magnificent arrangements of Parry's 'Jerusalem' and 'Land of Hope and Glory'?
Well, I'll tell you who could argue with that: Bruce Forsyth and Tess Daly, that's who. For, on the very same evening as the Royal Albert Hall shook to the thundering chorus of Pomp and Circumstance March No. 1 in D Major, BBC Television centre shook to the thundering chorus of clumsy footing and celebrity clapping as another team of hapless but enthusiastic amateurs took to the floor for the launch of the new series of Strictly Come Dancing. Alright, so the events that I've listed didn't exactly coincide per se, but it sounds much more exciting this way. I should also point out that this 'launch' of Strictly Come Dancing came 3 weeks before the actual series begins and mostly resembled a PE class where Ann Widdecombe was inevitably picked last.
The roster was revealed, featuring such pop culture luminaries as Paul Daniels and Goldie, to a series of increasingly laboured gags and then paired off predictably with the show's professionals (that's 'predictably' as in the pairings were predictable, rather than them obviously being paired with professionals as opposed to say goats or members of the BNP) over what seemed like about 5 or 6 hours, with the pauses usually reserved for results shows used here simply before reading out a name in a bottom-clenchingly infuriating waste of airtime. Instead of those pauses we could have had more dances choreographed by the new team of old favourites like 'that one that won with Ramprakash' and 'the other guy, you know, the blonde one' where people drop from the ceiling on wires to swing jazz versions of pop-rock.
I say predictable pairings, by that I mean that as soon as I heard Widdecombe was involved, it was patently obvious that she would be given to Anton, who I can only assume did something to massively upset the production staff somewhere around the second series and has carved out a living as a sort of carer for the celebrities with the most left feet. I also had a suspicion that male duffer of the series Paul Daniels would be inflicted upon Ola, after her triumph last year, that proved well-founded. After each group of 3 or so pairings, Brucie would hand over to the judging panel for ludicrous conjecture from Len about 'surprise packages' and 'good pairings' based on nothing but the brand new celebrities' abilities to walk down stairs without breaking an ankle, nonsensical, superlative silliness from Bruno, camp cynicism from the maestro Craig and well, a look from Alesha that suggested she was just happy to still be there being, as she is, in no way a qualified professional dancer/choreographer.
I'll offer my own staggeringly unfounded speculations right here, right now -
Well, I'll tell you who could argue with that: Bruce Forsyth and Tess Daly, that's who. For, on the very same evening as the Royal Albert Hall shook to the thundering chorus of Pomp and Circumstance March No. 1 in D Major, BBC Television centre shook to the thundering chorus of clumsy footing and celebrity clapping as another team of hapless but enthusiastic amateurs took to the floor for the launch of the new series of Strictly Come Dancing. Alright, so the events that I've listed didn't exactly coincide per se, but it sounds much more exciting this way. I should also point out that this 'launch' of Strictly Come Dancing came 3 weeks before the actual series begins and mostly resembled a PE class where Ann Widdecombe was inevitably picked last.
The roster was revealed, featuring such pop culture luminaries as Paul Daniels and Goldie, to a series of increasingly laboured gags and then paired off predictably with the show's professionals (that's 'predictably' as in the pairings were predictable, rather than them obviously being paired with professionals as opposed to say goats or members of the BNP) over what seemed like about 5 or 6 hours, with the pauses usually reserved for results shows used here simply before reading out a name in a bottom-clenchingly infuriating waste of airtime. Instead of those pauses we could have had more dances choreographed by the new team of old favourites like 'that one that won with Ramprakash' and 'the other guy, you know, the blonde one' where people drop from the ceiling on wires to swing jazz versions of pop-rock.
I say predictable pairings, by that I mean that as soon as I heard Widdecombe was involved, it was patently obvious that she would be given to Anton, who I can only assume did something to massively upset the production staff somewhere around the second series and has carved out a living as a sort of carer for the celebrities with the most left feet. I also had a suspicion that male duffer of the series Paul Daniels would be inflicted upon Ola, after her triumph last year, that proved well-founded. After each group of 3 or so pairings, Brucie would hand over to the judging panel for ludicrous conjecture from Len about 'surprise packages' and 'good pairings' based on nothing but the brand new celebrities' abilities to walk down stairs without breaking an ankle, nonsensical, superlative silliness from Bruno, camp cynicism from the maestro Craig and well, a look from Alesha that suggested she was just happy to still be there being, as she is, in no way a qualified professional dancer/choreographer.
I'll offer my own staggeringly unfounded speculations right here, right now -
- Patsy Kensit - Will be one of those ones who's either really good or really rubbish.
- Gavin Henson - Might just be too big a rugby player to be good at celebrity dancing. Good feet for a big lad, though.
- Tina O' Brien - Oh yeah! I remember her out of off of Corrie.
- Jimi Mistry - He'll do well... I've seen The Guru...
- Ann Widdecombe - Could be painful, but she's no X-Factor-class mug without an iota of self-awareness. She knows exactly what she's doing. Sadly, this isn't Celebrity Big Brother and 'game-plans' won't get you anywhere if Anton can't swing you around his head like a cape.
Friday 10 September 2010
Friday Pictorial the Twenty Fourth: Memoirs
Let's face it, none of you have actually read the Blair memoirs, right? Yeah, but have you actually read them? Hmm? Didn't think so. Don't worry though. I've bitten the bullet and digested the text for you in this handy video.
Ooh Yeah! Satire! *fist pump*
Ooh Yeah! Satire! *fist pump*
Thursday 9 September 2010
Why Can't We All Just Get Along...
Twitter people will know that I spent a hefty percentage of yesterday banging on with some idealistic pseudophilosophy, but given that Pastor Terry Jones is still intent on burning the Koran on 9/11 *sic* (don't know why he can't just go back to doing the 'bishop on the landing' sketch) and a radical Muslim leader calling for retaliatory US flag burning (should be grateful it's not retaliatory US citizen burning), clearly the world has learnt nothing from several millennia of Eastern and Western philosophy. This means it's about time for Or So I Thought... to lay down some precepts of its own.
The First and most important precept is that regardless of other people's beliefs/religions/philosophy, Or So I Thought... and its readers shall not attempt to belittle or indoctrinate (apart from Scientology... that's fair game). The best example I can use to illustrate this is that I don't like Hip-Hop, I don't 'get' Hip-Hop but I'm not going to tell someone that likes it that they're living a lie and should face the empirical fact that AOR is better, because no actual good can come of it. Which brings us neatly to:
The Second is that the illusion of empiricism has caused too much philosophical hate and, as compelling as empirical evidence is, it does not automatically give its subscribers a right to be maladroit about it. Heavily linked to the first, this precept is again designed to stop people antagonising people of different belief systems. The most important tenet of this philosophy is choice. If a person is happy with the choice they've made philosophically, telling them that they're wrong, thrusting evidence, no matter how definitive, in their faces and forcing them to lose any faith they once held in anything (there being a God, there being no God, there being multiple gods etc.) is simply not going to solve any of the world's problems, many of which have in fact been caused by non-adherence to this precept.
The example most prescient here is the rather militant branch of Atheism that has emerged in the last few years. Several figures (I won't mention names) have developed somewhat of a cult of personality around themselves and have made themselves, or in some cases have inadvertently become, a god to their followers and have since used the excuse of empiricism as a shield for self-righteousness and the belittling of others. Now, I'm not saying for a moment that Atheists are more culpable than any other philosophy (Christianity has been guilty of this a number of times throughout history, ditto Islam and in Modern History perhaps the Gaza conflict is an apt example, all of which think that they have evidence too), however they ('they' is a word I'll use a lot. I'm yet to find a satisfactory school of philosophy) are the most recent example and, even then, in no way am I referring to all Atheists, but rather a select group. Naturally Evolutionary Science should be taught in schools and not Creationism, however in a good deal of writing and broadcasting there's a tendency to take a stance of aggression and sanctimony (I'm sure they'd hate the irony of many of the nouns and adjectives that I've used throughout this piece). There's a difference, albeit a fine one, between letting empiricism speak for itself and using it as an excuse for the abasement of others.
In extreme layman's terms- just because you're right, there's no need to be a dick about it.
The Third is that conflict in the name of this or any philiosophy is wrong. What happened to the good old days of wars for resources... like oil and... oh...
On a serious note, historical conflict based on simple greed or territorial disputes instead of forcing one's philosophy on another group of people and therefore subjugating them, in which the aforementioned reasons are invariably given as an excuse (Crusades, Nazis etc.), were far less embarrassing for all involved. (See: Alexander the Great, Napoleon, etc.)
In Summary:
1) The Philosophy of Respect - Treat all other philosophies with respect. Life is far too short to ruin other people's happiness and the knowledge that you've done so but are right will be of little comfort in this ultimately futile existence.
2) The Illuisory Shield of Empiricism - Empiricism is worthless if it cannot be delivered with tact. Think of the humility and savoir faire with which Darwin presented his evidence and strive to do the same.
3) The Disrepute of Philosophical Conflict - The rights and wrongs of one and another's philosophies should never be considered a satisfactory rationalisation for conflict.
Phew, to quote the brilliant Nick Mohammed's Mr. Swallow - "It's not very funny this bit, is it?!"
Samuel E Robinson has an AS level in Philosophy, but a Masters in Pseudophilosophy from the University of Life... ahem...
The First and most important precept is that regardless of other people's beliefs/religions/philosophy, Or So I Thought... and its readers shall not attempt to belittle or indoctrinate (apart from Scientology... that's fair game). The best example I can use to illustrate this is that I don't like Hip-Hop, I don't 'get' Hip-Hop but I'm not going to tell someone that likes it that they're living a lie and should face the empirical fact that AOR is better, because no actual good can come of it. Which brings us neatly to:
The Second is that the illusion of empiricism has caused too much philosophical hate and, as compelling as empirical evidence is, it does not automatically give its subscribers a right to be maladroit about it. Heavily linked to the first, this precept is again designed to stop people antagonising people of different belief systems. The most important tenet of this philosophy is choice. If a person is happy with the choice they've made philosophically, telling them that they're wrong, thrusting evidence, no matter how definitive, in their faces and forcing them to lose any faith they once held in anything (there being a God, there being no God, there being multiple gods etc.) is simply not going to solve any of the world's problems, many of which have in fact been caused by non-adherence to this precept.
The example most prescient here is the rather militant branch of Atheism that has emerged in the last few years. Several figures (I won't mention names) have developed somewhat of a cult of personality around themselves and have made themselves, or in some cases have inadvertently become, a god to their followers and have since used the excuse of empiricism as a shield for self-righteousness and the belittling of others. Now, I'm not saying for a moment that Atheists are more culpable than any other philosophy (Christianity has been guilty of this a number of times throughout history, ditto Islam and in Modern History perhaps the Gaza conflict is an apt example, all of which think that they have evidence too), however they ('they' is a word I'll use a lot. I'm yet to find a satisfactory school of philosophy) are the most recent example and, even then, in no way am I referring to all Atheists, but rather a select group. Naturally Evolutionary Science should be taught in schools and not Creationism, however in a good deal of writing and broadcasting there's a tendency to take a stance of aggression and sanctimony (I'm sure they'd hate the irony of many of the nouns and adjectives that I've used throughout this piece). There's a difference, albeit a fine one, between letting empiricism speak for itself and using it as an excuse for the abasement of others.
In extreme layman's terms- just because you're right, there's no need to be a dick about it.
The Third is that conflict in the name of this or any philiosophy is wrong. What happened to the good old days of wars for resources... like oil and... oh...
On a serious note, historical conflict based on simple greed or territorial disputes instead of forcing one's philosophy on another group of people and therefore subjugating them, in which the aforementioned reasons are invariably given as an excuse (Crusades, Nazis etc.), were far less embarrassing for all involved. (See: Alexander the Great, Napoleon, etc.)
In Summary:
1) The Philosophy of Respect - Treat all other philosophies with respect. Life is far too short to ruin other people's happiness and the knowledge that you've done so but are right will be of little comfort in this ultimately futile existence.
2) The Illuisory Shield of Empiricism - Empiricism is worthless if it cannot be delivered with tact. Think of the humility and savoir faire with which Darwin presented his evidence and strive to do the same.
3) The Disrepute of Philosophical Conflict - The rights and wrongs of one and another's philosophies should never be considered a satisfactory rationalisation for conflict.
Phew, to quote the brilliant Nick Mohammed's Mr. Swallow - "It's not very funny this bit, is it?!"
Samuel E Robinson has an AS level in Philosophy, but a Masters in Pseudophilosophy from the University of Life... ahem...
Wednesday 8 September 2010
The Twenty...
So, the Barclaycard (ahem) Mercury Music Prize was awarded to last night to The XX, a band with songs so good that they were the sountrack to the 2010 General Election (second 'ahem' of the sentence). But instead of definitively answering which album was the best of last year (which, to be fair, the Mercury has never managed yet anyway), the Awards instead threw up more questions.
- What was up with Nihal last night?
- Seriously. Dark Brown shirt and jacket with BLUE JEANS? What?!
- He did some accents too. Why?
- He then said "I think the XX is an album already on everyone's coffee tables." Hmm?
- Are they? I don't think they are.
- Who keeps their albums on a coffee table?
- Midlife crisis? (It would explain a lot)
- Why didn't Mumford & Sons win?
- Again, a serious question. Why?
- How come KT Tunstall is immune to Lauren Laverne's contagious pregnancies? It claimed Miranda Sawyer during the course of the evening but not the Scottish singer/songwriter. Why?
Tuesday 7 September 2010
Why Cowards Is at the Centre of the Comedy Universe...
Many of you will have seen Him & Her last night, the new bedsitcom from Stefan Golaszewski, the Alan Bennett of his generation (I will make that strapline catch on, mark my words). A beautifully observed study of two unemployed twentysomethings in their flat, it perfectly showcases what I rather pretentiously christened the 'Cowards School of Theatrical Comedy' (I know, I'm an arty arse, but Rick Edwards retweeted it, so I plan to spread this term for the current epoch of British comedy).
Stylistically, the Cowards School creates comedy from the juxtaposition of Mike Leigh-esque realism and the brilliantly absurd. This permeates the performance poetry of Tim Key, the songs of Tom Basden and the writing of both Stefan Golaszewski and Lloyd Woolf and its influence is spreading fast. More comparable with short plays than sitcom episodes or sketches (best observed in Him and Her and the beautiful The Caravan sketch involiving the lottery ticket from Cowards). The style is not limited to the quadrumvirate of Cowards however and encompasses the work of a wider selection of related comics/actors/filmmakers (though more often than not, the line can be followed back to Mssrs. Basden, Golaszewski, Key and Woolf) including Joe Wilkinson, Diane Morgan (now performing as sketch duo Two Episodes of MASH, their most recent show directed by Golaszewski) Alex Horne, Jonathan van Tulleken, Mark Watson, Jonny Sweet, Nick Mohammed, Rick Edwards and many more. Indeed Edwards' 'The Boot Sale', as featured in the Virgin Media Shorts shortlist, is another prime example of the style (starring Wilkinson, Morgan and Basden and directed by van Tulleken), with its bittersweet tale of man finding hard to let go (Further Reading/Listening: Key's 'All Bar Luke') .
Each project is a veritable 'six degrees of separation' that leads back to Cowards or one of its practitioners (see diagram A) and yet the BBC did not recommission the television programme of the troupe that started it all. We were given 3 brilliant episodes, but no more (though their two superlative radio series' are available as audiobooks ((which I never think is the correct term for this kind of thing really))). All four members are individually endeavouring to further the spread to great acclaim as well. Edinburgh award winner Key has a book and an vinyl album of his poetry available later this year, Basden's play 'Party', also adapted into a series for Radio 4 recieved highly favourable reviews and featured some very bright comedy talent (including the wonderful Jonny Sweet and Nick Mohammed), Golaszewski's plays (Stefan Golaszewski Speaks About A Girl He Once Loved and Stefan Golaszewski is a Widower) recieved huge plaudits and Him & Her deserves the same praise and, after a break to focus on writing and acting, Woolf is returning to his highly original stand-up.
I have been challenged on my comment regard Golaszewski as 'the Bennett of his generation', but I find it a perfectly valid comparison. Both portray brilliantly observed characters laid bare, for all their failings and strike a careful balance between pointed, witty humour and pathos. While the language and voice may differ, the ideas conveyed and the methodology are far more similar than one may imagine from a superficial glance.
DIAGRAM A
A quick study into my earlier claim (note that not all potential permutations and links are included ((lazy, not enough paper etc.)))
So, here's to Him & Her, to Golaszewski and to the Cowards School of Theatrical comedy. Long may it grace ours screens/radios/stages.
Stylistically, the Cowards School creates comedy from the juxtaposition of Mike Leigh-esque realism and the brilliantly absurd. This permeates the performance poetry of Tim Key, the songs of Tom Basden and the writing of both Stefan Golaszewski and Lloyd Woolf and its influence is spreading fast. More comparable with short plays than sitcom episodes or sketches (best observed in Him and Her and the beautiful The Caravan sketch involiving the lottery ticket from Cowards). The style is not limited to the quadrumvirate of Cowards however and encompasses the work of a wider selection of related comics/actors/filmmakers (though more often than not, the line can be followed back to Mssrs. Basden, Golaszewski, Key and Woolf) including Joe Wilkinson, Diane Morgan (now performing as sketch duo Two Episodes of MASH, their most recent show directed by Golaszewski) Alex Horne, Jonathan van Tulleken, Mark Watson, Jonny Sweet, Nick Mohammed, Rick Edwards and many more. Indeed Edwards' 'The Boot Sale', as featured in the Virgin Media Shorts shortlist, is another prime example of the style (starring Wilkinson, Morgan and Basden and directed by van Tulleken), with its bittersweet tale of man finding hard to let go (Further Reading/Listening: Key's 'All Bar Luke') .
Each project is a veritable 'six degrees of separation' that leads back to Cowards or one of its practitioners (see diagram A) and yet the BBC did not recommission the television programme of the troupe that started it all. We were given 3 brilliant episodes, but no more (though their two superlative radio series' are available as audiobooks ((which I never think is the correct term for this kind of thing really))). All four members are individually endeavouring to further the spread to great acclaim as well. Edinburgh award winner Key has a book and an vinyl album of his poetry available later this year, Basden's play 'Party', also adapted into a series for Radio 4 recieved highly favourable reviews and featured some very bright comedy talent (including the wonderful Jonny Sweet and Nick Mohammed), Golaszewski's plays (Stefan Golaszewski Speaks About A Girl He Once Loved and Stefan Golaszewski is a Widower) recieved huge plaudits and Him & Her deserves the same praise and, after a break to focus on writing and acting, Woolf is returning to his highly original stand-up.
I have been challenged on my comment regard Golaszewski as 'the Bennett of his generation', but I find it a perfectly valid comparison. Both portray brilliantly observed characters laid bare, for all their failings and strike a careful balance between pointed, witty humour and pathos. While the language and voice may differ, the ideas conveyed and the methodology are far more similar than one may imagine from a superficial glance.
DIAGRAM A
A quick study into my earlier claim (note that not all potential permutations and links are included ((lazy, not enough paper etc.)))
So, here's to Him & Her, to Golaszewski and to the Cowards School of Theatrical comedy. Long may it grace ours screens/radios/stages.
Monday 6 September 2010
NewsRamble...
Here I tackle the sensitive issues of major news stories with little or none of the levels of maturity or insight that you'd expect or even actually desire from topical blogging...
Friday 3 September 2010
This is My Excuse, Tell Me Yours...
Basically, I've been quite busy sorting out the backlog of Edinburgh stuff and not had much time for amusing thoughts to come from my brain. I also have a sneaking suspicion that that the microphone on my laptop or perhaps just Audacity (which I use for VO recording) is knackered.
For these reasons, there'll be no FriPic today (cue mass outpourings of grief and the chucking around of phrases such as 'what is he like?!' and 'more procrastinating?!') I'll try and have things sorted for next Friday. Apologies.
In the meantime,
Stay classy.
Moomins.
For these reasons, there'll be no FriPic today (cue mass outpourings of grief and the chucking around of phrases such as 'what is he like?!' and 'more procrastinating?!') I'll try and have things sorted for next Friday. Apologies.
In the meantime,
Stay classy.
Moomins.
Thursday 2 September 2010
Continued Edinburgh Musings...
So after a frankly brilliant 3 weeks at the Fringe, what did we learn, kids? Well, aside from learning that fame is somewhat like Twitter (the already famous/well-followed get more famous/well-followed exponentially, but the minorities or cult figures struggle to carve out any influence - See: millionaire and American youth Bo Burnham), we (by which I mean 'I') learnt that I would definitely love the whole 'comedian' spiel - to the extent where I've already run up a Powerpoint presentation (my lameness knows no bounds).
We also learnt that free drinks are indeed possible, though not always consistently. (Have since meditated that the whole 'free drink' period occurred mostly when I was on my own. Sympathy drinks, I suppose).
Another key fact was that comedians, on the whole, are very nice people with a lot of time for their fans.
Several wider facts: Murdoch's greed is insatiable. Not content with charging for the Times Online, everyone's favourite Mr. Potato Head made flesh Rupert Murdoch decided to pull Sky Sports News from Freeview to add a new SSN HD channel. Yes, that's right, high definition for two people sat in a studio. Not since the forefront of the day's technology or 'gadgets' was thrust into, out of an entire force, a dimwitted police 'inspector' has their been a more drastic, collective pissing of resources up the walls of television.
I say 'several', I have become sidetracked and consequently forgotten what the rest of the points were. They may come back to me, they may not. We just don't know...
We also learnt that free drinks are indeed possible, though not always consistently. (Have since meditated that the whole 'free drink' period occurred mostly when I was on my own. Sympathy drinks, I suppose).
Another key fact was that comedians, on the whole, are very nice people with a lot of time for their fans.
Several wider facts: Murdoch's greed is insatiable. Not content with charging for the Times Online, everyone's favourite Mr. Potato Head made flesh Rupert Murdoch decided to pull Sky Sports News from Freeview to add a new SSN HD channel. Yes, that's right, high definition for two people sat in a studio. Not since the forefront of the day's technology or 'gadgets' was thrust into, out of an entire force, a dimwitted police 'inspector' has their been a more drastic, collective pissing of resources up the walls of television.
I say 'several', I have become sidetracked and consequently forgotten what the rest of the points were. They may come back to me, they may not. We just don't know...
Wednesday 1 September 2010
A Well Groomed Fringe... The Third and Final
This one dedicated to Hoffi for her birthday (yup, it's a birthday dedication week). Right where were we...
- Karaoke Circus: (This was between Herring and Pappy's but I missed it out because I'm writing this from the ones I put into the Fringe app and KC wasn't listed on there) - Basically a fantastic evening had by all. A real party atmosphere permeated through Prince's Street Gardens where we'd arrived massively early. There were some terrific performances, my personal favourites, I think, being Thom Tuck's 'National Express' (if ever a singer was better equipped to take on the theatrics of the Divine Comedy...), Justin Edwards and Gus Brown's heartfelt (and dare I say well-rehearsed rendition) of Youssou N'Dour's '7 Seconds' featuring blistering falsetto from Edwards and astounding French rapping skills from Brown and Andrew Collins' identical to the record version of 'I Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloor', if only for him announcing "turned out nice again" at the end.
- Key's Album Launch: Right, back to the canon. Again we all turned up early, early enough to see Key, Horne and Mohammed (fulfilling the role of violinist in this instance) arrive at Avalanche records. The launch itself was fairly short, but included several poems, the 'Egg' sketch and David O'Doherty's interruption causing Key to tear up one of his playing cards. Another one of those classic 'only in Edinburgh' moments. Key signed my copy of the album and graciously did the same to my copy of 'Tutelage' which I had lugged to Avalanche in a record bag. Lovely guy.
- Stewart Lee: Lee, a comedian's comedian, was testing material for a new tv series which included some fantastic routines about Adrian Chiles, a vast segment of callbacks and absurdities regarding charity and some fantastic lies about meeting David Cameron in univeristy. He was selling merch at the back of the gig at the end and I snapped up a copy of his book which had been consistently recommended to me during the weeks, which the man himself signed and I read a large chunk of on the train back from Edinburgh attempting to ignore some anti-social Sheffield children.
- Gutted: The latest offering from Ward and White was excellent fun. Following a girl's revenge against the husband that murdered her parents, Gutted delivers big laughs and tandout performances from the Penny Dreadfuls as men of varying heights and Colin Hoult doing a magnificent Alec Guiness in Kind Hearts and Coronets sort of turn, leading a strong ensemble cast of talent. The songs are jaunty and the piece revels in schadenfreude and black comedy. I can safely say it's the most I've ever enjoyed a musical and therefore I bestow upon it the title of 'Best Musical. Ever. In the History of Arts. Ever'.
- Seann Walsh: There's been much hype surrounding the Brighton-born comedian, touting him as one of the future stars of comedy and it's safe to assume that a fair few more appearances on Mock the Week will materialise. As for his live material however, he delivers a solid hour of observational, witty rantings. Mixing Lee Evans-style slapstick with Dylan Moran levels of cynicism and general disenchantment with life. The show was however stolen by a wheelchair-bound man. Discussing the travelators at airports and the redundant warnings of "caution, you are approaching the end", he theorised that some idiot must have fallen off it to necessitate such an announcement. The man raised his hand and explained that he'd toppled backwards whilst trying to do a wheelie, prompting the audience to fall into fits of laughter and Walsh himself to sink to the floor wrapt in serious giggling.
- The Horne Section: My second Horne Section of Edinburgh and my third overall was naturally hugely enjoyable. The Magnets (who my friend's dad had engineered a debut album for) produced some excellent a capella stylings, Paul Foot delivered a bamboozling list of 'disturbances' that left the audience as confused as they were amused, Key was as implacably hilarious as ever (his song is still one of the best things I've ever seen). Appallingly, I can't remember who else was on the bill for this one (I think there was another act- leave a comment if you can help). EDIT: It was Pete Firman, providing wonderfully flawed magic. (Thanks to Zoe)
- John-Luke Roberts: A clever show built around the murder of a captive offstage. Serial killer Roberts delivers some marvellous whimsy and pre-prepared insults ('you wear mediocrity like a favourite jumper' etc.) and a hilarious public service video about contraception. A strong debut.
- Keepers: Psychical theatre. When put together, two of the most terrifying words in the English language. However Keepers was a thoughful and cleverly-staged meditation on the lonely existence of two 19th century lighthouse keepers. The tension ratchets up and during a heavy storm things take a turn for the worse, creating an interesting, for want of a better comparison, Weekend at Bernie's scenario (curse my limited frame of reference...). It jumps the shark during a bit about flying and there's a slight continuity error but it's forgiven for its bold portrayal of a fascinating subject and the inclusion of an on stage musician and foley artist who got an as big, if not bigger, round of applause at the end for his brilliant work.
- The Horne Section: Here it was, the final Horne Section of Edinburgh. The end of my Edinburgh adventure, but it did not disappoint. Alex promised a gala evening and duly delivered quality act after quality act. Key, The Magnets, Josie Long, David O' Doherty, Al Murray (in a drumming capacity) and finally Tim Minchin! Minchin improvised a jazz improv epic interspersed with a ad hoc Key poem about cheese. I'm always blown away by the man's sheer piano chops. The Horne Section is a show so good that Jimmy Carr and this year's darling of the Fringe Bo Burnham just turned up to stand at the back and watch. 'Nuff said.
- Bo Burnham: Winner of the 'Spirit of the Fringe' award. Apparently the Spirit of the Fringe is being young, already rich and from the internet. Not so sure about that one...
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