Today I watched Eddie Murphy give a fantastic performance in 1992's Political-comedy The Distinguished Gentleman...
...Now I know what you're thinking - politics-Murphy? Surely a match made in caricature hell? BUT he truly excels at showing his ability to play multiple characters (before he became reliant on lame prosthetics). Chiefly because he's playing a politician attempting to canvass as many votes as possible. Thus being forced to climb the greasy political pole and charm the constituents means Murphy has to pull all manner of personas out of the bag, but all in the one character. Less is almost always more Eddie.
So here he is, a black politician attempting to appeal to voters by promising change....sound familiar? see for yourself:
To find 3 hours and 20 minutes of sprawling American melodrama, that grips to the last syllable, should be endorsement enough for any theatregoer (and trust me when I say I'm often a reluctant one). But this show has beefy portions of both ingredients required for stage entertainment: great performers, and an A grade script.
The story surrounds a family reuniting in the ancestral homestead to deal with the disappearance of their boozy patriarch. The awesome dollhouse of a set is so impressive it almost acts as the central character (upstaged only by the endless conveyor belt of pills and liquids consumed by each character!)
It's the kind of play that seems to have been out of fashion for an age "The Great Familial American Epic". Yes it's set in a dust-bowl town just like the old fashioned type BUT Ma and Pa's shack has been slightly "pimped" since Eugene O'Neill's day (to reflect the true affluence of the baby-boomers).
And so this trad-but-new American patchwork quilt of intergenerational badinage is woven before your very eyes. Imagine a family reunion where you're permitted to say exactly what you want, to whomever you wanted, no holds barred, gloves off...Welcome to the liberating candour of Osage County. Marvellous
Radio 4 with its beeps and cherished tones, fills my life with aural central heating.
Fantastic comedies from The Boosh, to The League of Gentlemen have all started there. So it's always worth a look. Tuesday nights at 11:00 Danny Robins Music Therapy really succeeds in warming my cockles. I wholly suggest you get on it NOW (before it blows up, and while it's still on iPlayer). There's rapping about traffic wardens, Beardyman beatboxing the shipping forecast, just click on the link already, stop wasting your life....
"A melodic Jeremy Kyle, but without the latent sense of evil"
Lord knows I love Pop as much as the next lad; but if I'm truly honest my hearts desire is not always of the "Jack Penate, Lily Allen, Peter Bjorn & John, MOTD goals of the month" level of acceptability. Here are my deepest darkest Pop secrets laid bare:
1. Comedy Hip-Pop
Breezy - I Get Drunk
50 Pence - In The Pub
I include Garage-Pop like "Babycakes" in this genre as well as those arbiters of good taste Goldie Lookin Chain. There's just something in the lack of pretensions and it's cheekiness, that I find so British. To do so within a pomp-filled "Urban" genre is twice as refreshing. Keep it up.
2. Paedo-Pop
Jo Jo - Too Little Too Late
I like that other one too, Hilary Duff. They try so hard to pull off whatever look/sound is in vogue that very second, and their songs are so squeeky clean it's like some kind musical colonic irrigation. And yes they gyrate, and yes they look about 12, "one for the dads" I guess you might say. Jo Jo even has song entitled "How To Touch A Girl"...don't ask
3. The Fake Ushers
Chris Brown - With You
Mario - Let Me Love You
Ne-Yo - Sexy Love
For a while, in true old fogey-style, I thought this was actually just the same dude impersonating Usher. Then I realised that Mario looked slightly more Somalian. I love these guys. They've all got an airtight formula. Honey sweet melodies for the ladies - fantastic production - and a few twiddly dance moves thrown in for good measure - sold!
4. Real Usher
Real Usher - Make Love In This Club
Real Usher - Burn
These two are both rock-solid Pop-gems as far as I'm concerned. I can never remember whether it was him or Peter Andre who got their six-pack out first? But either way Andre seems like a decent sort of bloke nowadays, whereas Usher is a blatant cockface. So I guess that only goes to show, whatever you do in life, try to keep your R&B output mediocre at best.
5. Straight Bluntin'
James Blunt - Carry You Home
Time to stop pretending I like black music. This guy gets a lot of stick, and a lot of leggy ladies. Perhaps there's some correlation methinks? Stop playa hating, Blunt is the superlative guilty pleasure, everyone else groans when his tunes come on, but I secretly rejoice.
A few days ago was the 30th anniversary of the Star Wars Holiday Special. A deep well of disturbing cheapness and gimmickry, that holds the unique power of being able to instantly ruin the love of Star Wars for whomever watches it.
Here is the two hour ordeal condensed into 5 (still agonising) minutes:
And watching that on YouTube led me to discover another downright odd clip...
This will certainly be a treat for the small community of people who are simultaneously obsessed with Zinedine Zidane and Star Wars:
A big tent that used to be called The Millennium Dome will host a £5million stage version of the chariots and togas classic. They plan to turn the whole arena into a Circus Maximus to recreate the party vibes of this:
That's right, just what the people of London have been screaming for: sand, chariots and overblown circus nonsense. Featuring a cast of 600 actors and animals. Including "lions, tigers, eagles" and...ermm "chickens".
Producer Franz Abraham says:
"It will have the speed of a musical, the depth of great theatre, the power of a rock concert, and the visual opulence of a Hollywood blockbuster"
I was almost a bit skeptical for a second there Franz, until I heard about those chickens. Put me down for VII seats in block XXV of the Augustus stand. I'll make sure my togas clean that night.
It's largely for fear of encouraging an army of clones, but I have thusfar shied away from divulging my precise garm related leanings in the months since I began this blog.
But frankly I've now decided to throw caution to the wind; at least it'll be a good way of earmarking how ahead (ahem!) or behind trend I am. Or indeed, getting over all that bullshit, and just telling people where to get nice clothes.
Just remember you read it here first.
Two Tips for Winter Menswear:
1. Old Town Clothing
They could probably hear my sigh of relief all the way in Holt, Norfolk. Real clothes! Let me exclaim once again: REAL CLOTHES! These guys make real clothes, for boys and girls, at real prices. Definitely one of those "why hasn't anybody thought of this before" moments? Congrats.
Holt is not far from Sheringham as mentioned in my (Not Teddy) Sheringham blog. You can pop into their lovely looking shop, or order online from Old-Town.co.uk
2. Uniqlo
I know this is hardly revelatory, and the Pantone Series is a few seasons old, but everything about Uniqlo seems to have got that little bit better this season. Better underwear, dirt cheap merino knits (for a 1/5th of what Smedley costs!), and Cashmere in truly amazing colours. Plus they've got massive new range of coats that includes the delectable Chesterfield (pictured) as well as a reworking of last year's puffa. You know it makes sense.
I'm going to stop now, for fear of giving all my secrets away,
A week ago I had to fly back from NY earlier than expected. My plan to bask in the Stateside election day euphoria of Obamania was scuppered by an immovable filming date in London. It's alright though, doesn't look like I missed much...
For those of you that are just coming out of a coma, or are just being born, here is a little info on the most powerful man in the world, wittily delivered by Jeffrey Lewis.
Aaanyway I missed all that fun stuff, as I had to rush home to Blighty. Airlines being what they are: aka businesses, not environmental campaigners. They ensure that it's not only cheaper to buy a whole new flight rather than change an exisitng one, but also all one way tickets are double the price of a return ticket (who cares about emissions anyway?). I was left with Air India as the only option, vastly outstripping the competition price wise.
Price Wise.
Yes price wise this airline certainly can offer you a decent "deal". But as far as the experience for the average traveller, the most optimistic word I could use would be "unique".
Air India's only USP seems to be the fact it is Indian. In other words, it's hostesses can speak Hindi, they serve a very decent Korma (were this a review of airline food they'd almost certainly receive 8/10!). People who couldn't possibly dream of flying without a totally Indian flight crew love this airline. Therein lies the secret to the surreal nature of flying with them.
The majority of the clientele of an Air India flight are a) elderly and b) Indian. That's not Indian in a Sanjeev Bhaskar, Nitin Sawney kind of way. But Indian in 3rd Class rail journey from Calcutta kind of way.
After 3 Hours of delays in JFK they finally announced the flight, by rote of the fact that so many people didn't speak the lingo. The faithful just stormed the gate. Pushing and shoving and creating such anarchy, the only person gateside who spoke Hindi (a lowly porter) had to stand atop the gate and calm people down. I saw someone clutching a rag to their eye shouting at a member of groundstaff, while someone in a wheelchair got pushed over!
At Virgin Atlantic (my regular carrier) I'm used to this kind of vibe:
Whereas Air India+3 Hours Delay was more akin to this kind of vibe:
They even do their best to maintain the great indian tradition of the Caste system. Whereas normal airlines do their best to minimise any "them and us" rivalries between the smug bastards up in first and the sweaty plebs (including me) in cattle class. Air India proudly announce upon landing that "all first class and business passengers will be allowed to leave first, everyone else should remain in their seats" - "you horrible untouchables, how dare you try and leave the plane before your superiors" was presumably uttered just out of earshot.
As we landed in Heathrow and I was asked to "de-plane", I have to admit I was more than a little relieved.
I hope this doesn't sound vitriolic, really it isn't. I love India passionately, having travelled it's breadth twice, I just didn't need the anarchy of downtown Delhi 4:45 Express inflicted on me as I travelled across the Atlantic.
There's a time and a place for chaos, and for coming face to face with the bewildering social behaviours of another culture, it's just not at 30,000 feet.
Bless em' they did their best, but it was just all a bit shit really
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