Ill Informed TV Reviews: I...

Right, here's a sort of accidental idea I've had whilst shambling around today- review TV shows, having missed the first 3/4 or so. Basically, I caught the tail end of Cookery School, Channel 4's answer to the BBC's cook-off monopoly, if the question was "can you make a sort of low-rent Masterchef in what appears to be a brick high-rise in Acton?"

Now Cookery School is much like an ordinary school: There's an overwhelming pressure placed upon the students and at the end of tomorrow's episode someone gets evicted... Oh hang on, that's not schools, is it? That's reality television... always get those two mixed up. Not schools at all really. (Well, maybe after Gove's finished tinkering: "Once you've bought and funded your own free school, you can kick the weakest students out at the end of every week...")

I watched the last quarter as the 'students' were tasked with cooking risotto with mussels and then chastised in front of one another by chef Richard Corrigan (out of off of Great British Menu) and 'cookery mentor' (or 'chef') Gizzi Erskine. Graduate (it's what we call them now that none of them can get actual jobs) Bram (who knew people weren't only called that in the 19th century?!) was complimented on the texture of his risotto. Clearly there was a bit of history with Bram, as Corrigan was forced to reconsider his opinion of his cookery abillities. Bram, clearly a bit of a 'character', did an impression of Corrigan, explaining that he expected the Irishman to deride his humble rice dish when in fact he had let out a gutteral "mmmmm", in the post-cookery interview segments that take place on the balcony, complete with black, spiralling fire escape stairs as if the students had all popped out for a cheeky fag break.

It's the classic format. Plucky amateur cooks try and make it big and learn a few things along the way. Like Masterchef. Except not really Masterchef, shh, what did you go and mention Masterchef for?! Well, I guess it's because Masterchef have a flash new studio complete with Time Commanders-esque surveillance balcony for Gregg and John to eye the incompetence of the contestants like dodgy food emperors at an amphitheatre. "Tougher challenges" claims the voiceover... and yet I thought that Imperator Greggus Wallacius had decreed that "cooking doesn't get tougher than this" every episode for about 4 whole previous series.

Anyway, the thing about Cookery School is that it's almost a throwback to the late nineties, early noughties heyday of Channel 4, where BBC formats were slightly altered and then shoved in brick studio space in Hounslow. Who can forget the seminal RI:SE or... you know... the educational things they used to do... sort of edgy stuff... about sex and drugs? Even the camera work is reminiscent of that Golden Age of television where top media luminaries like Kate Lawler and Mark Durden-Smith could run the rule over the day's news in an edgy early morning formats... no, not like Daybreak, even edgier (if you can imagine such a thing...).

But, I only saw the last 15 minutes, so the first bit could have been shot as a Bergmanesque character study of some tragic but loveable amateur cooks set in Malmo. I don't know. Next: Outcasts, the last 15 minutes of Episode 2... possibly.

I'm Spartacus, I'm Spartacus (Blood and Sand)...

I know, I've been neglecting you lovely people with all my talk of politics (boring) etc. So today I've decided to return to what I know, namely 'taking the piss out of television'.

Ok, I caught Bravo's Spartacus: Blood and Sand in my mildly delirious, dehydrated, post-rehearsal haze and well, well... where to start? I'll confess that I missed the first episode (although at no point did this seem to matter). Our hero Spartacus has ended up in gladiator school. He's given a bath (which apparently consists of a man pouring water over you with a ladle) and some of the senior gladiators explain the ropes. "It's the truest form of brotherhood" proclaimed the bastardy one (something mildly hilarious about saying this, wang swinging in what appears to be the Roman equivalent of a locker room full of jocks). It's horseplay ahoy. "This gladiator's been killed, the useless fuck, ha ha ha ha ha" "Work harder, cunty cunterson, or I'll sit on your face" and "Want some food, eh? Well, you shits, you can eat it off the floor" are just three of the quotes that I've made up because I can't actually remember any real ones, but you'll just have to take my word for it that a lot of the dialogue is basically that with different swear words and situations... and wangs... too many wangs.

John Hannah plays the Peter Ustinov role and bless him, he's trying his best, but Ustinov he ain't (but then neither is anyone) but he does at least attempt something towards gravitas on-screen. This reminds me of another point. I'm not entirely sure why this has been made. As far as TV goes this is a kind of stylised sub-'Rome' and as far as the Spartacus story goes, we already have a perfectly serviceable film. The script is ludicrous with more "cunts" than a German football league (by which I mean 'Kuntz' is a not uncommon surname, rather than any kind of personal attack) and it veers wildly from attempts at 'period' dialogue to what you'd hear from a youth in an underpass if you told him that he looked ridiculous with his trousers around his knees and he should bloody well put his hat on the right way, shouldn't he...

I digress, from what I can tell almost everyone in the Roman Republic spoke with slight Antipodean accents (this is never explained), foreplay was effectively sorted out by servants (particularly if it involves Xena: Warrior Princess) and don't get me started on the Legionnaires wearing Lorica segmentata in that period... (I know, I've turned into my Dad. What of it?) It's also worth noting that Spartacus: Etc. subscribes to the 'the bigger your six-pack, the more you're compensating for your acting ability' school of performance. (Also see: 300)

The story is spread criminally thinly, the performances (with the exception of John Hannah) could keep a carpenters stocked for years, the script is frankly ludicrous and the gratuitous sex and violence are... well... gratuitous and yet it is actually quite entertaining. If only for sitting and tutting at it (some of the dialogue is laughable... we're talking Twiglet ((the first one, not New Moon)) laughable here). I'm reliably informed by people far wiser than me (Charlie Brooker) that it gets better towards the end, though I imagine much of the charm will be lost if it even approached competence.

It's worth a look though, particularly if you're a teenage boy who doesn't understand the phrase 'homoerotic subtext'.

Redemption...

Ok, time for another review (sorry about all this serious academia, I'll be funny again later... promise).

'Hype' is a word that dominates the game industry and few games have generated so much of it in recent memory as the latest offering from Free-Roam innovators and creators of the GTA series, Rockstar Games. With Red Dead Redemption, the team attempts to bring the thrill of the great Westerns to your living room/bedroom/wherever you happen to stash your console. This is The Good, The Bad and The Ugly and you're The Man With No Name. Well, that's not strictly true, you're John Marston, reformed outlaw attempting to bring his former brother in arms to justice.

The opening cinematic and the mission that follows is worthy of any Western and sets the scene wonderfully. In Exodus in America, Marston arrives in Blackwater on a steamer as melancholic minor chords play out the dying heartbeat of the West and dramatic guitar stings build the tension. A Ford Model T is lowered from the boat by crane and Marston, accompanied by two agents from 'The Bureau' strolls to the station, past streetlights and shop fronts. This is 1911. This is the swansong of the West. This is Red Dead Redemption.

Needless to say, there are plenty of stylistic nods to the greats. The slow-motion 'Dead-Eye' (one of the very few elements retained from its 2003 predecessor 'Red Dead Revolver') gives a Peckinpah-like quality as stylised viscera bursts forth from whichever fools were unlucky enough to cross John Marston, Bill Elm and Woody Jackson do their very best impression of Morricone for the game's excellent original score and the duels and cinematics could be straight from Leone's Spaghetti Westerns. That said, one comparison that I haven't seen drawn so often is with John Ford. Ford understood that it was the West itself that was the star of any picture. When riding on one of the game's specially mo-capped horses to a location like Manteca Falls, one gets the breathtaking, awe-inspiring views that Ford so loved. Every time you decide to break from the trails and have a look around you'll find another picturesque spot. From Ojo del Diablo to Tall Trees, each location could be straight from an Ansel Adams book. In the way that Adams' photography made me hunger for the dusty trails and the whitewashed missions, so Red Dead Redemption's sumptuous landscapes make me wish the scrub of New Austin and the rocks of Nuevo Paraiso were real.


Graphically it is stunning, no doubt about it. The character models themselves suffer a little in comparison to those in exclusive titles such as Uncharted 2 and God of War III but are raised enough from GTA to keep us satisfied. The gunplay is weighty enough to give a sheen of authenticity without hampering its enjoyability, although this leads me to another point. One of the things that sets Rockstar titles apart from the rest of the sandbox market is its dedication to the creation of a fully fleshed-out world. RDR's world is one in which wolves and coyotes howl at night, scampering along the road looking for unwary travellers, in which men bump into each other in the street and a heated exchange follows and in which you're called out in the street to face the challenge of any two-bit bandit who wants you to make 'em famous. You don't have to follow Marston's plotline. Instead you can hunt game for meat and pelts, gamble in a number of inventive and original ways, all with fairly intuitive controls, hunt for treasure or simply explore the vast landscape.

It's the polished free-roam experience that is the Rockstar trademark, I remember purchasing GTAIV and completing the nannying introductory missions and watching the in-game TV channel for a good half an hour, it was that good. Similarly in RDR I played Horseshoes against a ranch-hand for a good 20 minutes and was rewarded with $2. I was ecstatic. Similarly, Rockstar always delivers a cast of colourful characters, here we have everyone from reluctant US Marshal Leigh Johnson to hard-drinking stereotype Irish, via Snake-Oil hucksters, retired gunfighters, shady government agents, feminists and revolutionaries. The script has some clever exchanges and witty dialogue though can on occasion appear a little bloated. It's not Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, but it's pretty good.

In a game like this it is about providing an experience, wish fulfillment, if you will. It certainly fulfilled my wishes. When it hit me was in a mission in the first area which, not to give too much away, involves the use of a gatling gun in a fort. In that moment I was Pike from The Wild Bunch. In fact The Wild Bunch is another excellent point of reference for this game and shares a number of characteristics, not least timeframe but also weaponry and personnel (you'll see what I mean when you reach Mexico).

All in all the experience is nothing short of epic. In fact, it delivers the definitive Western gaming experience and raises the bar for open-world games yet further. Terrific.

The Horne Section...

Comedy and music. Two towering forms of entertainment, inextricably linked. One may point to opera, operetta, silent comedy piano scores or even Music Hall as testament to the enduring relationship between the two. Musical comedy has once again found acclaim and success with superstars such as Tim Minchin, Tom Basden and Flight of the Conchords. But to have live comedy married with a live band to create an unpredictable fusion is something that I had not encountered before.

Last night I had the enormous honour of attending the first outing of 'The Horne Section' at the Canal Cafe Theatre in London's picturesque Little Venice. Hosted by Alex Horne (hence Horne Section, see what they did there?) and backed by a selection of jazz musicians, The Horne Section aims to bring a unique experience to its audience. What I witnessed was not simply the marriage of music and comedy, but also of poetry, film, live action 'Battleships' and the supernatural. Sound exciting? Well, it really bloody was. Tremendously so.

The line-up was equally stellar, with the Edinburgh award-winning Tim Key and his Cowards comrade Lloyd Woolf. All in all it was a mouth-watering prospect and when Alex Horne emerged and broke into song, joined by his 'Sidemen' I knew innately that it would live up to my expectations. As an ice-breaker Horne announced that we, as an audience, were to play Battleships. The explanation of the game was vintage Horne and the band broke into the terrific theme tune (which has been stuck in my head for the last 24 or so hours), before the audience were split in two (as in one side versus the other, not some appalling macabre dance of death) and two team captains were elected with the task of finding a member of the opposition that matched the criteria displayed on the screen. I was called into action twice, both on name-related criteria. My first name was apparently cool (on the off chance you ever read this, thanks for that, Alex), though when it came to interesting surnames, I delivered my response with a hefty degree of trepidation and the 'quite right' hand gesture. My doubts clearly had grounding, but, to bastardise Meat Loaf, 1 outta 2 ain't bad... well, I mean, it's not great... it's... well, it's 50%, it's 50%.

It was then time to bring out the first act of the evening. I should point out that I am an enormous Key fan, all he need do is pull the 'look' (if you're already a Key fan, I hope you know to what I'm referring) and I would collapse with laughter. He gave us a quick burst of his poetry, written on the back of playing cards and recipe for 'Raspberry's Pie' (alternatively - strawberries, apples, spuds). Each of his poems is gold dust and never fail to deliver hilarity. His delivery is ace and his timing faultless, he used the band to great effect.

The second act of the night was Lloyd Woolf, in a rare gigging appearance. Again, he can do no wrong for me, I cannot understate how big of an impact Cowards had on my comedy, changing the way I thought about the conventions of sketch-writing and delivery. He talked about celebrity rumours, one which is absolutely true and you should all repeat to your friends is that, in a bid to save his ailing marriage, Sir Paul McCartney attempting to grow a new leg for Heather Mills, using the DNA of his dead wife Linda. That's one's legit... almost certainly. Woolf also treated us to a seance in which we attempted to prove the existence of ghosts by summoning the spirit of Buster Merryfield. As it happens, ghosts don't exist.

We were also treated to a stunning display of musical virtuosity in 'The Stilgoe Section', in which the band's pianist and his Ro-land keyboard asked for requests for five songs. He was given, Telstar, Beauty and the Beast, Poker Face, Dogtanian and the Three Muskerhounds and Ring My Bell. An eclectic mix but he summarily proceeded to play all five in a vast medley encompassing a number of musical styles. I was stunned by his undoubted ability and the ease at which he reeled off the numbers. Only one word can describe it - talent.

We were also treated to a short film by Tim Key, scored by the band and a humorous musical number from the band themselves, 'The Sidemen'. The Horne Section is a triumph, perhaps the best way I can think to describe it, is that it goes some way towards bringing the tone and anarchic aspects of We Need Answers into a comedy gig. There are songs, there are games and it's all jolly good fun. Alex Horne watches over proceedings with his trademark use of technology and his unique brand of stand-up, Key and Woolf were both excellent and the band added a whole new dimension to things. In short, The Horne Section is a triumph. You need to see it.