Showing posts with label BBC. Show all posts
Showing posts with label BBC. Show all posts

Friday, 11 December 2009

Se Fendre La Pipe


In my final year at school, the dramatists made the journey to Sydney for a holiday course at NIDA (National Institute of Dramatic Arts). All thoroughly enjoyable, and enormously fun for us seventeen year-olds. Every evening we would see a play of sorts, some very good, others tedious to the point of soporific. By far the best evening was a Comedy Store, I know few of us had ever laughed so hard, nor probably will I do so again.

That was in 2005 and in the last four years I have wanted to see more comedy, but the opportunity never seemed to arise. Or possibly the lack of motivation! However, in the last week I have seen three comedy shows, almost evening out the mean to once per year.

The first was to see Dylan Moran, a favourite of mine since I was twelve and first came across Black Books. Thankfully those tickets were posted by a friend on Facebook, who had foolishly got her dates wrong. Within a week they were mine. The only problem then became finding somebody who had heard of him (an idea that is complete anathema to me), and was free on a Saturday evening. At the last minute, a friend's brother answered the call. And Moran was really very good. Essentially playing his character from Black Books, one wonders how much acting was required for the role. For me, half the hilarity is in his lovely Irish lilt, half lost in his half empty glass of wine. It was surprisingly thought-provoking, too, as he attempted to persuade us all to pursue more pleasure in life. I think he thought the journey becomes easier by escaping London, which could well be right. He advocates a life fallen into, stumbled across and as numbed as possible by alcohol. And why not?

The second was to see Frankie Boyle, the controversial Scot who makes sure the editors at the BBC have their work cut out for them. This was a properly intimate performance at the Riverside Studios in Hammersmith. Probably little more than fifty people in the audience to see him preview newer material. Foolishly I sat right in the light in the second row, in his direct eye line. Now I am hardly politically-correct, and I love the edited Boyle, but so much of his material was... Shocking! He kept referring to his typed notes, which gave him a very casual air, and then he came to his section on "Abuse for Hecklers". Nobody had really heckled thus far, so as I was directly in front of him, he pointed at me and told me to heckle! My father would have been perfect, but all I could manage was a rather flustered "Oh erm, get off!" I don't even remember what the abuse was, but I'm sure my cheeks were blushing permanently the rest of the night. He was quite ill-prepared and I'm sure he couldn't wait to leave. I was picked on later, and this time I do recall what he said, but modesty prevents me from repeating anything!

Unbeknownst to us, the following preview act was Russell Howard. I love Russell, his humour is so innocently schoolboy-ish, his use of voice and constant movement are just so endearing. To me at least. I always enjoy watching him on t' telly. I think possibly it's the whole West country thing, a place I hold very dearly in my heart. At any rate, him previewing material straight after Frankie Boyle - not an opportunity to be missed! Of course it was all sold out, but the same had been said of Boyle's show, and there were certainly empty seats. So we waited, sitting by the river, watching the traffic crossing the beautiful Hammersmith Bridge. Returning to the studio minutes before the show was scheduled to start, we did our very best puppy dog faces, and lo and behold! Two tickets for Russell Howard. What luck! I practically danced into the studio, though swiftly stopped as I felt the whole audience's eyes upon me. How embarrassing. I mean, not really, but nonetheless, after my verbal abusing by Boyle, I was quite keen for a lower profile this time. Oh he was fantastic though! After such bleak, black humour; the bright, energetic joy that Howard brought was just magical, and he has cemented himself as one of my favourites. I will certainly recommend people see his tour.

Heading home with a most uncomfortable jaw, but in a delirious, Cloud Nine-esque way, it was another reminder to me of the importance of spontaneity, of always asking, and of not giving up. Frightfully cliché I do realise, but I suppose they are called clichés for a reason!

Friday, 23 October 2009

Answer Time

Well done BBC. However, I think it's rather easy for a sophisticated, left-leaning, Question Time-watching audience to vilify Nick Griffin. Frankly, it isn't necessary as he scores spectacular home goals the second he speaks. (Hurrah, sporting metaphor!)

I doubt that much of the QT audience has ever even contemplated voting for the BNP. It would surprise me if many of its core voters could describe the programme in any detail. And I think that what happened on the television this evening is part of the problem.

Attacking this group of people for their "un-PC" views is unconstructive and ignores the fact that it is a significant number of people who share this view. What is the natural instinct when one is being "backed into a corner"? I think it will only increase their support base. The mainstream has given the BNP a major PR coup, because none of them really (Baroness Warsi excluded) tackled the main issue that garners Griffin support: his stance on immigration. I believe the vast majority abhors racism, but I am sure many find it difficult to discover their neighbourhood is no longer what it was.
There is, of course, nothing inherently wrong with this change. But it is human nature to fear the unknown. The fact that so many embrace it is clearly a positive sign. At any rate, it would be hubristic to ignore the views of such a large number of people, though Baroness Warsi did appear to offer a much more legitimate alternative in the Tories. They must be utterly overjoyed at having her as a spokeswoman, though her electoral failure then subsequent "promotion" does provide more ammunition for the BNP and it's anti-mainstream party propaganda.

As Bonnie Greer said (albeit during the hilarious 'Let's not talk about the BNP for 5 minutes' period), "That's called Democracy. It ain't pretty, but it's the least evil we human beings can make." I rather think that sums up the whole debate. Hmm?

Tuesday, 20 October 2009

Emma

Now that it has the name...

I have been thoroughly enjoy the BBC's latest Austen adaptation, Emma. Perhaps it is a sign of my age that I am enjoying the 'modern' feel. Which is odd because I have always viewed myself as a purist. Quite conservative and all that. I think it's possibly more to do with a burning desire to return to a life at Highbury.

Oh bother the biscuits have all gone! I turned my back not 10 minutes ago, too. And La Roux is playing. Oh dear La Roux, such... joy. Or joie, I suppose. I don't think the name very fair, The rusty one is actually two. It should really be Les Roux, just to be fair to whatshisname. Though possibly he isn't redheaded. Oh dear.

In Emma (and oddly I do this for many period pieces), I have tried to decide which character I should be. Obviously I couldn't decide. I think none really, but I just like the idea of swanning about in riding gear 24/7. I am on that note hoping to go riding next month. One has to plan these things, you see! And actually I have realised how long it has been. Quite long.

Presently I am of Reduced Circumstance. It makes things difficult, but I am sure I don't need to remind people struggling on the supposed tail-end of the recession. At least most of you have somewhere to live. I currently do not, and it really is a pain. Generously, I have been allowed space underneath a roof, and with the current weather I am enormously grateful. But how awful to have live in the shadows of gratefulness. So straitjacketing. And to constantly feel indebted. Possibly that makes me more of a Miss Bates type. How dull! I truly hope not. Constantly tittering about endlessly, insufferably trivial subjects. Ho! Well at least the dour middle-aged woman part rings false.

And I like to think I have done some interesting things thus far, am significantly more worldly than many far older than myself. Then again what does that matter? It is all so highly subjective. I am frequently accused of snobbery. The bearer of 'hatred'. It is probably justified, but the face-value is just that, isn't it? Underneath my cold, uber-middle class exterior there does lie something... less Frigidaire at the vest least. I do like italics.

I think what my aim in starting this was to begin a retrospective upon myself. Just for my own benefit. At least here the thoughts will not clutter various notebooks and Moleskines. Because there are many. And countless doodles as well. My, I am good for timewastery.

Because of my RC, I also have an abundance of free time. Time for which I have lots of good ideas, but nothing will get done without the necessary motivation. I will try to implement some sort of regime, but who is it accountable to? Oh yes, such a handsome chap too. But therein lies the danger. I have often though about writing, but fell at the first hurdle. The beginning. Even at school my essays would not get off the ground without an introduction. That does sound obvious, but many people would complete the main body of work first, before finishing at the beginning. Ah confusion.

Many bloggers seem so effortlessly cool in what they write, why do I sound like a bizarre mash-up of Mrs Thatcher and The Famous Five? Well I soldier on regardless...


Today I noticed from the window by my desk an odd cigarette shaped thing, spouting smoke from its summit and creating a rather eerie setting for the Newburgh Quarter. Naturally I went to investigate before lunch. (Which was entirely delicious - Aubergine Burger with sweet potato chips at Mrs Marengo's on Lexington St in Soho. Naughtily indulgent considering the RC but so worth it. And it sated a craving for sweet potatoes I've had all week.) Turns out the cigarette was a thermometer in a rather shrewd publicity game. The upshot being that whatever the London temperature, that would be your discount on purchases in the shop. Above average temperatures notwithstanding, I don't envisage a sudden heat wave leaving Soho dehydrated and mal-coordinated (I suppose that role has been filled), and therefore much more prone to buying more luxury fashion items. But I must admit, I quite liked the idea.

I'm sure it's been done (possibly several times), but I don't think it detracts at all. So best of luck. And equally to the consumer should the mercury rise above 15*.

So to embrace said mercury (about 8* I think), I say adieu.

Cheerio!