MEET ABBOTT AND COSTELLO

 

Bud Abbott And Lou Costello were not only famous for their vaudevillian double act but they also starred in a successful Comedy franchise that in volume, exceeds the Carry On movies. The couple made a number of films between 1940 and 1956; that’s a staggering 36 in 16 years.

Starting out on the stage then radio they became the most popular comedy team of the 1940s and 1950s, and the highest-paid entertainers in the world during World War II so it was logical for them to go into the movies

Their co-stars were many and varied and included famous names like Charles Laughton, The Andrews Sisters, Dick Powell and Adele Jurgens. They most notably starred in a number of Horror Comedy Movies alongside such Pre-code stars as Boris Karloff, Lon Chaney JR, Bela Lugosi. These films not only featured the famous Hollywood monsters but had those recognisable faces playing parts.

The Invisible Man, Frankenstein, The Wolf Man, Dr Jekyll And Mr Hide and The Mummy were all met by the iconic duo along with Ghosts, Pirates, Aliens, Killer Apes and Ghouls.

Much of their horror output is considered close to being cannon by horror fans, with Abbott And Costello Meet Frankenstein getting the most kudos.

It's a fine line to have genuine horror in horror comedy but these two managed it

Abbott And Costello were not as surreal as their predecessors The Marx Brothers, nor as versatile as The Ritz Brothers  but their cinematic output was watched by many and formed a major part of post war filmgoing experience in the states. 

The closest to them in terms of profile were Bob Hope And Bing Crosby and their "Road To..." movies were a staple for many years. The difference being that they were stars in their own right. Bud & Lou came as a pair.

They were the last of the wisecracking comedy acts of the era that relied on slick routines and old school experience, they were followed on the big screen by much broader comedy in the shape of The Three Stooges and Martin & Lewis.

These Abbott And Costello movies represent a kind of purity in concept; "let them do their thing and the rest will take care of itself"

BRAND X

 

The United states was built on the four Gs; Greed, Guns, Genocide and Grift, that's maybe why grifters find their way there. Just look at the man in charge of the country and his entourage of shameless charlatans.

The image of the brave frontiersman and the wagon train of settlers is an idealised view of the  old west, it tells of adventure and endeavour, of  wholesome values in the face of adversity and manifest destiny.The reality is a moustachioed man in a black suit and tall hat driving a wagon loaded with snake oil.

The Carpetbagger rather than the Cowboy, the Huckster instead of the Homesteader, the Con Man not the Cattle Rancher, the Grifter bamboozling the Grafter.

The landscape, 300 years later, remains very much the same in the USA as Pastors, Influencers, Spiritual Advisors, the leading lights of MAGA and the Manosphere abound and drain the finances of the gullible and the greedy.

We've seen Louis Theroux expose the graft and allow his subjects to be hoist by their own petard, we've seen Trump shout down dissenters and a variety of his coterie in avoidance heavy interviews.

The latest shameless Grifter to face the court of public opinion, before having to face an actual court, is the overly verbose Russell Brand, who now loves in America. His appearance on Piers Morgan's Uncensored was by equal measure excruciating and jaw dropping. Brand rambled and pontificated, diverted and misdirected, his grasp of reality seems slender but one can't help but detect a large dollop of cynical manipulation from Brand.

The former 'Shagger Of The Year' referenced Hitler, Veganism, Carnivores, Israel, Consent, Prison, Bear Grylls, Covid, Robert Kennedy, Uncle Tom Cobley and all in his rambling semi-coherent responses to Morgan's questions.

The cherry on the unsavoury Brand cake was both embarrassing and extremely funny. If you like the sort of humour see in Larry David's Curb Your Enthusiasm Brand's two minute search, through the Bible that he seems to carry everywhere, for a meaningful quote would have been right up your street.

In that moment Brand came across like a unused Sacha Baron Cohen character channeled through the lens of Tom Stoppard.

To say that Brand imploded is an understatement. It must be clear to all that his recent TV appearances have coincided with the release of his new Booky Wook. This is classic Grifter misdirection; just look at Trump staging assassination attempts to detract from the bigger story.

Brand is under the microscope for alleged criminal offences of an extremely dark and concerning nature and his conversion from atheist, then Buddhism to now being a Christian has to be viewed with suspicion. His Grifter credentials have been well and truly exposed and the bottom line for him is that for all his self conscious "look at me Iv'e swallowed a dictionary" act, he comes across as wholly unlikable and thoroughly guilty.

It seems very much that Brand sees a way to stay out of jail with his conversion and meandering words about guilt, accountability and, cant but he may have ruined his chances.

The Grift, does not make one invincible, it only insulates as long as you don't give the game away; his appearance on Morgan's show to promote his book did indeed cause Brand to expose his grift in all it's cynicism.

OFF THE WAIL!

Did anyone need a new Michael Jackson Biopic? Haven't we all heard all there is to (legally) be heard about him? 

Michael Jackson peaked with the Off The Wall album, an album with writer, performer, musicians and producer at their peak. Thriller, despite its unprecedented success, was the begining of the end of Michael Jackson as a soul artist and turned him into a pop star. 

"Bad" further took him away from the roots of The Jackson Five and then his output veered from the bizarre to the mediocre as his appearance and image deteriorated into a cliche. Dangerous and invincible featured mawkish lyrics that the Archies would baulk at but the irony is that he reached peak popularity, a popularity across the globe in places where 'naffness' does not register in the same way. The hysteria that accompanied his public appearances was one step away from the reception a cult leader would receive.

And that, in essence is what he became; the leader of a cult.

A cult leader with trite dance moves, terrible clothes and a face that transformed into that of an extra from Dawn Of The Dead.

His sweet soulful voice became a series of screams, shouts and vocal spasms punctuated with asthmatic gasps. he went from glorious warbler to grotesque wailer 

I am not going all in on his behaviour documented or otherwise as I feel this is a path well trodden, its the music, the once wonderful music that he made. The talent was always there and when he was good, oh, how good he was.

I won't be going to see "Michael" starring Jaafar Jackson as I don't feel the need to revisit the post Off The Wall years as this seems to be the main thrust of the film. I'd rather listen to songs from his his earlier mercurial career. Michael jackson is an America tragedy as far as I am concerned and that tradegy started when he decided to stop being a great Soul artist but "the King Of Pop"

I leave you with a reminder of the real magic-

https://youtu.be/euJQMVKHIj4?si=gqQHgFsMPFhaqTi-

LOVING LOVE ON THE SPECTRUM

 

Every once in a while, dear reader, a cynic such as I has to admit to the fact that our cousins across the Atlantic can deliver a televisual shmaltz fest that is neither excruciating nor crass.

This one has it all; the gentle but uplifting pianos, the soft-focus composition, an eye toward a shot that would make a good cover for a self-motivation book and a large dollop of syrupy sub text.

But, and here’s the thing, it’s glorious.

I am talking about Netflix’s Love On The Spectrum, and I am not ashamed to admit that I am hooked. Such is my addiction (if you will) that I have watched all four seasons, completing the latest in three days.

The premise is simple, and we have seen a version before with Channel 4’s The Undateables which veered into some debatable territory given the disabilities of some of the subjects, we are introduced to a set of young American men and women who are on the wide and wonderful Autistic spectrum, searching for love.

Yes, that one thing that unites us all regardless of our circumstances; we all want love.

What is most striking is how supportive their families and friends are. Of course, this sort of programme will have been produced to the nth degree but there are some things you can’t fake. They see the humour and joy in how their children and friends interact with the world and above all show a real sense of encouragement and care.

The main characters of the show have their journeys followed throughout the four seasons, we see the lows and more importantly the highs as they search for “the one”.

It’s easy to forget that by virtue of being on the spectrum the rules and customs of dating, which are hard enough for most people, can be jungle paths to navigate for them. Often, they decide that they have found that special person after 5 minutes, sometimes extended silences take place and we will them to break it with a question or even a smile.

Among the stand out stars of the show are James, the rapid talking font of knowledge with the Hawaiian shirts and mullet, Madison, a charming young woman who has a good grasp of what makes her different, Tanner ever smiling with a heart of gold Abbey, who is full of boundless optimism tempered with reflective moments, the indefatigable Dani who is looking for a man who both loves illustration and is up for some intimacy and Connor who dreams of a bygone England and is supported by his family and in particular his wonderful mother Lise.

The beauty of the show is in the honesty of it's stars their words of wisdom and their capacity for great humour and wonderful soundbites. The off screen film crew, led by show creator Cian O’Clery, that follow their subjects exploits are to be commended as they never patronise or exploit their subjects, rather they are an unseen presence offering comfort and optimism.

What started out as an Australian show soon moved locations to the USA where it has found a loyal audience and thas received seven Emmys. It is supported by Autism organisations and has helped both educate and entertain.

The film makers allow the love seekers to break the fourth wall and this insight is valuable in helping us to understand their trials and tribulations.

Yes the show serves a serious educational point but above all it is very very funny. Funny in a "laugh with' way and because we grow close to the subjects we feel protective towards them.

They stumble and fall in their quest for a life partner but they ultimately believe that cupid’s arrow will find its way to them. I won't spoil it by saying how many arrows land but you find yourself hoping that Cupid has good aim.

If you want an uplift in these dark times then I recommend that you get on the love train and see what life is like on the spectrum.

"LET THEM HATE ME, SO LONG AS THEY FEAR ME"-Caligula

Caligula (Gaius Julius Caesar Augustus Germanicus, 12–41 AD) was the third Roman emperor (37–41 AD), known for his rapid descent from a promising, popular leader into a paranoid, tyrannical, and extravagant despot.

It’s a mad, mad, mad, mad world, particularly where the 47th President of the United States is concerned. Everyone remembers him having a pop at Meryl Streep, who he called average; Streep is unquestionably one of the great actresses of all time. His attack on Bruce Springsteen was another moment of extreme stupidity. Whether or not one likes Springsteen’s music, general consensus points to him as being something of a rock N Roll legend.

Of course, he’s criticised Barrack Obama (has there ever been a greater downgrade in, basically anything than that between the 44th and 45th POTUS?), he’s criticised countries, voting bodies, swathes of journalists, broadcasting companies and many more too numerous to mention.

Now he’s targeted the Pope. Yes, the Pope. You don’t have to be a Catholic to baulk at this, it’s not about religion for me; I’m sure that there are many arguments for organised religions hiding some darker truths.

This is about diplomacy and a basic grasp of the way in which one behaves in public office.

Mind you, when the commander-in chief of the United States Armed Forces says “I’m not a big fan” you know you must be doing something right

This elected (twice) leader is now entering “my horse is now Secretary Of State territory” his ramblings grow more and more bizarre; his dictatorial behaviour is more and more 1984. When a journalist asks an uncomfortable question of him, he merely admonishes them with a “fake news” or “you’re a terrible journalist” shutting down disinters is a tried and tested way for despots to consolidate power.

Then there are the visuals. Where to begin on these photoshopped pieces of outrageous hubris. It’s almost as if he’s created an art form that is equal parts Team America World Police symbolism and that plastic religious tableau’s you see in the pound shop. His sense of architecture and choice of fonts is also the stuff of lunacy. The man has the visual acuity of a Liberace on drugs.

The fact that the American public have yet to tar and feather him and run him out of Washington DC tied backwards on the back of a donkey is amazing. The men in white coats with huge butterfly nets have yet to been seen entering the Whitehouse nor has a Fletcher Christian emerged to cast him at sea in a metaphorical lifeboat with his entourage.

The” leader of the free world’ is now the eccentric bloke who lives down the road that you see wandering around at midday in his pyjamas talking to himself and chasing pigeons. The only difference being that that bloke doesn’t have access to an arsenal of nuclear weapons; the worst thing he could do would be defecating in your front garden, not blowing up the world.

Common sense dictates that he's got to go, and that can’t happen soon enough, but while there are a large number of Americans who actually believe that he is some sort of saviour genius type. 

The wait continues, who will his next target be, David Attenborough?

CHANNEL 4

 

Channel 4’s Purpose and Vision

Our Purpose To create change through entertainment

We aim to create change in the wider world through all of our activities: from TV, to streaming, social media and film – and our day-to-day roles at Channel 4. It’s the impact that Channel 4 has on society, on viewers, on British culture, on the creative industries and on the wider economy. It’s why Channel 4 is – and will continue to be – different. 

Channel 4 was initially a groundbreaking channel. Invested in new comedy with the Comic Strips Presents, in Brookside they had a soap with real integrity, a serialised drama that explored issues that others dared nor to.

Their documentary output was terrific with the likes of Dispatches and cutting edge tackling global and social issues with remarkable clarity. They catered for football with James Richardson’s Gazetta, in which he languidly sipped an espresso on an Italian palazzo whilst bringing us the latest news on Serie A and it's superstars. Nicky Horne bought us the glamour and choreographed violence of the NFL. 

Jonathon Ross did for Channel 4 what Alex Cox did for the BBC with Videodrome and alerted us to the wonderful world of cult cinema. John Waters, Russ Meyer, David Lynch and more were introduced, interviewed and embraced by Ross.

Their Music shows like the Tube were live and exciting. They introduced British audiences to American talent like Bill Hicks.

Youth TV was also on the menu with Network 7, The Word and the Girlie Show which were all irreverent and had a great sense of chaos. There was also some interesting late night content, much of it live and dangerous. 

Channel 4's Comedy output is extraordinary with the long running Peep Show, the genius levels of Brass Eye and Nathan Barley, the bizarre Jam. Sacha Baron Cohen and Ricky Gervais burst forth to global stardom from the 11 O'Clock Show and Phoenix Nights introduced many to Peter Kay. Vic Reeves and Bob Mortimer, Sean Lock and Harry Hill also got exposure from the channel as did Jo Brand and Mark Thomas.

Given that comedy is the most subjective of all the arts I can say that The IT Crowd, Father Ted and the Inbetweeners left me cold, while acknowledging they were huge hits but the channel took chances where comedy was concerned.

They even gave the viewer a voice with Right To Reply, where we saw many a producer taken to task and having to face the music.

Then they discovered that reality TV cost less and gave better opportunities for advertising and went all in on it. There is an overload of reality TV in general on most channels and their 'home' shows are consistent and are good comfort watches but Channel 4 can often dip into ITV2 territory when it comes to relationship TV.

Channel 4 arrived at the right time and challenged the established TV stations. Was it always going to be groundbreaking? no, that's not a realistic expectation, but the best of Channel 4 was some of the best of British Television content.

OLD MOTHER REILLY

What If I described a 1939 Britain film whose lead character is a socialist woman of the people fighting against slum landlords and big business that is looking to destroy community and a gathering point for the working classes. Her political journey takes her from the soapbox to the lofty heights of Parliament as cabinet minister for strange affairs.

This is a film about a woman seeking social equity for the poor, downtrodden and unemployed during the early days of World War One.

I am, of course, talking about Old Mother Reilly MP(1939) Dir Oswald Mitchell.

Old Mother Reilly was a huge star in Britain during the 30s and 40s and starred in 16 films that entertained and kept up the morale of the British public and post war into the early 50s

In the tradition of music hall, she was played by Arthur Lucan (1885-1954)  with his wife appearing often as his daughter Kitty. Like contemporaries such as Will Hay and Arthur Askey Lucan had a loyal following and each new film was well received by movie goers if not critics.

Old Mother Riley found herself in a number of situations such as searching for Jungle treasure, facing off against Vampires and Ghosts, gate crashing high society, enlisting in the army, turning detective, joining the circus and becoming a headmistress. All of the escapades were delivered with a sense of innocence and great fun.

 

Mother Riley MP is perhaps the Citizen Kane of Old Mother Reilly films in that it uniquely delivers a strong social message and this allows the usual cast to have some content to sink their teeth into.

The obvious reference point for contemporary audiences is Mrs Brown's Boys but this is an unfair comparison. The later lacks charm and thinks its smarter than it is, Old Mother Reilly's appeal is the sense of connectivity, the underdog triumphing against the odds. Whilst it's fair to say that this franchise lacks some technical quality, the Old Mother Reilly Cinematic Universe is well worth a visit for some good old fashioned fun. 

OF MAN AND MAGAZINE

 

If you sit quietly in a chair for long enough your mind starts to wander and you begin to find your internal dialogue asking questions. Case in point; who buys magazines anymore? when popping into the newsagent to buy a Lottery ticket, a bottle of water or some chewing gum we bear witness to a wall of magazines, magazine's that seem to cover every area of interest. The top shelf is a mainstay, but don't most people access their naked people via the internet? The TV guides are many and varied but does the ritual of biro and reading glasses circling the upcoming programmes still exist?

Lifestyle magazines, those tomes dedicated to narcissism shine brightly on the shelves enticing with a hollow promise of a glimpse into the lives of the rich, the famous and the ubiquitous. Fashion flashes it's flashy facade from the covers of the high profile titles that speak of glamour and envy, a chance to look at what £2000 buys you at the Gucci flag store.

The kids, what about the kids? Here you go, magazine's a-plenty with cheap gifts stuck on the covers and trading cards to entice.  The eye level placement reaches out to young fingers and many a parent has bought one of this light pamphlets fior the sake of keeping the peace.

Gender specific magazines, Cars and Motorbikes, Fishing, Golf, Cinema, Puzzles all are catered for all are welcome.

There is still, thankfully a place for Private Eye, Time and Newsweek along with other mags that require a degree of concentration

I long ago gave up buying the likes of Empire, Arena, The Face , GQ and the like, religiously. It felt like some sort of style  statement to have a pile of magazines on display, but in reality they were just gathering dust. I would sit and read these magazines in my quiet chair and find articles of interest and items to dream about owning, but the reality was that the publishers knew exactly what they were doing, I was the audience for these particular magazines that catered to my interests and fed my aspiration. 

Now that everything is available on the internet I wonder if there is a future fr magazines but maybe like other things, physical media will make a omeback and those shelves will be empty, not because of lack of interest but because of demand.

AUTOMATON FOR THE PEOPLE

 

 "Three Laws of Robotics"  1) A robot may not injure a human or allow a human to come to harm through inaction; 2) A robot must obey human orders unless they conflict with the First Law; 3) A robot must protect its own existence, unless that conflicts with the First or Second Law-Isaac Asimov

It has dawned on me that we are living in an age of robots. Not the shiny retro Robby The Robot but the Skynet version.  AI puts the AI into antisocial, the intelligence into the unintelligence. It’s increasingly hard to differentiate between what is real and what is Memorex, but could it be the T800 version from Terminator 2 Judgement Day?

I’ve seen self-drive cars in the flesh, I’ve witnessed delivery bots and drones in the sky, I’ve had long conversations with a droid and argued with an automaton.

Welcome to the age of the android.

Self-check outs, card readers, code scanners, Ocado and Deliveroo have changed the landscape, and at what cost? Human interaction is clearly the casualty.

But is AI a good thing? Some might say that it is, that it simplifies day to day tasks, that it gives us all more free time. But what do we all do with that free time; waste it, is generally the answer. More free time for scrolling clicking and creating content, which in itself feeds into the AI world. It’s a vicious circle.

We don't need more free time unless we know how we want to use that free time. If we consider reading a book, going for a walk, fixing one's bike, painting the spare room, having a couple of pints or starting to learn German as a good use of free time then at least that indicates a plan. But in this modern world it seems to me that free time is an issue, it forces one to make choices, it creates a situation where to do nothing seems like a waste, but doing nothing is in itself a decision to do something.

We won't go down the art route, that is to say, I am opposed to AI as a tool to create or supplant all art forms, let's keep them out of it.

Robot love anyone? Let's view them as enablers of our leisure rather than masters of our destiny. Let's treat them as our servants and not our masters, our helpers not our hinderers.

We are stuck with the robotic landscape so we better get our heads around what we can gain from our new electronic pals.

CONTENT FC

 

What's on the box?

The late 1980s and the 90s were really the year zeroes for football being seen as a means to entertain outside the confines of the game itself and game analysis. Kevin Allen’s documentary about Italia 90 was something of a landmark and showed the fans as the stars. This led to producers grabbing the ball and utilising the lad culture that, far rom being organic was a media creation in response to the New Man tag of the '80s. This was defined by Sean O' Hagan in his landmark article New Lads (1991) in Arena 27. "Give the people what they want" can be a dangerous strategy 

In the studio-

1992-Soccer Saturday

1994-Soccer AM

1994-Fantasy Football

The largely forgotten

1997-Under The Moon

1998-Friday Night's All Wright

2003-FashTV

But before all of them was

1991-Standing Room Only

Which was foreshadowed by Kevin Allen's World Cup Video Diary Italia 1990

And there was the Drama which started early in football’s journey from the Thatcher demonised product it was presented as, to returning to being the people’s game

1984-Scully

1989-The Manageress

1992-Born Kicking

1997-Dream Team

Which took us into the 00s and beyond and the “rise” of the internet (or should that be the “fall”) which has led to the current situation of football content saturation.

David Baddeil has, rightly, criticised the modern day content creators that form the Manoshpere for their ridiculous world view but it could be argued that these are the children of the culture that he was very much a part of. Football was intrinsically linked with lad culture in the 90's, Cool Britannia and all that.

Where we have inevitably ended up is with a proliferation of faces popping up having an opinion about the beautiful game and that opinion is generally a controversial one as controversy generates clicks and as we have learnt; clicks create cash.

Those early days during which we saw Anfield '89, Italia '90 and Euro '96 created a naive but quite exciting television landscape and we lapped up all the football talk within it.

Now, like most things, we are bloated and jaded with an unending identity parade of people chasing their 15 minutes of fame off the back of the game that is loved by many but also  exploited by many, and I'm not talking about those voracious piglets at the top of the pyramid sucking at Association Football's teat, I'm talking about those scuffling for scraps and they are more and more prepared to say anything as long as they don't go hungry.

THE DESCENT OF MAN

Louis Theroux: Inside The Manosphere is a programme that is both deeply disturbing and hilarious in equal measure. Louis meets the Neanderthals would have been a good alternative title given the outpourings of the subjects he meets. The language of theses online oafs is soundbite and conflict, shock as a means to an end, cant as currency.

We saw all the trappings of the Manosphere Misfits, the chunky expensive gaudy watch, the groin strangling tight trousers floating above the bare ankles, the ostentatious cars the sculpted facial hair, the Norman Wisdomesque jackets straining at the buttons and of course the muscles, there have to be muscles. We also saw a coterie of young women who seemed to almost have been hypnotised into admiration, so much so that they seemed happy to receive constant verbal abuse.

I had no knowledge of the people that Louis met with but they all fitted the stereotype you would expect, brash and lacking self-awareness but also extremely suspicious of having their pomposity pierced, wary of not being seen as supermen, but for what they actually are under the sheen of braggadocio.

To these characters if it doesn’t happen online it doesn’t happen at all, the fact that they are all well versed in controlling the narrative via editing and uplifting stupid comment is very dangerous as they seek to spread their toxic world view. 

Their use of facts to support their so called philosophies is tenuous at best, one put forward the 'fact' that women do not contribute anything to the Miami architectural landscape, despite the fact that 23% of Architects in the US are women. Another supported the scientific 'fact' that a woman's previous partners leave their DNA in a woman's system; this was said with genuine belief, thankfully Louis shot this ridiculous statement down in flames.

Another bloke who goes by the name of Sneako, Thicko would have been more apt) blamed the Jews for, well everything. The Satan Worshipping cabal that controls everybody matrix style and bizarrely Sam Smith. The Matrix was a recurring theme among the paranoia, the red pill and finger gestures were all part of the schtick, but I wonder if any of them considered the fact that The Matrix was created by two transgender women? doubtful.

When Louis finally met the mother of the man he spent most of his time with, the ludicrously named HSTikytoky he encountered initially a woman who seemed a positive force and did not agree with her son's views on women, but soon reverted into the enabler she clearly is once the going got tough and uncomfortable questions were asked by Theroux. HST, confronted by too much truth became a 14 year old boy and simply resorted to make calling, all of which was being recorded by a sinister friend lurking in the doorway.

The take away from all this? it's not as complex an issue as one might think, the teenage boys who lap up this content will probably move on to other things, people will get bored of the pretend Alpha Males and as tastes change they will inevitably become yesterdays news. Let's hope so, as their messaging is not just anti women and anti Jew it's anti human. These aren't men, they are boys living the Lord Of The Flies, but with tight homo erotic clothing

"I'VE GOT A BAD EALING ABOUT THIS"

The thing about American film makers is that they have the propensity for producing remakes of classic British comedy movies, particularly the uniquely British Ealing comedies. We’ve had the ham fisted, otherwise excellent Coen’s version of the Ladykillers transposed to New Orleans. A killer cast manages to trample on the grave of the superb original. Let’s face it Tom Hanks comedic talents aren’t built for measured performances.

School For Scoundrels is a charming and very witty comedy of manners with Terry Thomas at peak Terry Thomas and Ian Carmicheal as the downtrodden good guy who learns to be better. The 2006 remake is everything that the original is not. It’s clodhopping in its humour; it replaces subtlety with infantile jokes and is neither a homage nor a reinvention; it would have done better to be titled “Dude Where’s My School?”

Which brings us to the latest abomination masquerading as a fresh take on a classic. Kind Hearts And Coronets, which is for many, the apex of Ealing films. The 1949 original starring Alec Guiness in seven roles delights in its deliciously dark humour and its commentary on the class system. It is masterfully paced and expertly written and performed; How To Make A Killing isn’t.

The grinning charm free presence of Hollywood’s new golden boy come everyman Glen Powell is a bizarre choice for the lead in this tale of murdering your way to the top and any shred of empathy that the audience had for Dennis Price’s Louis D’Ascoyne Mazzini in the original is replaced by antipathy for Powell’s Beckett Redfellow (that’s a screen name worthy of Cronenberg).

Even the generally excellent Margaret Qualley can do little to inject any depth into this Ivy League romp. The modern Hollywood method is to inject a bit of sex and some pop culture references to replace the spirit of Ealing, that was more about verbal intercourse than the other kind of  intercourse.

To be fair to our Atlantic cousins the UK is also adept of making cack handed updates such as The Awful St Trinians movies of the early 200s starring some decent British journeymen/women actors and up and comers of substance but also the ‘celebrity’ likes of Russell Brand, Sarah Harding and Cheryl Cole, and the excruciating Whisky Galore. But they do at least retain a shred of some of the core values of the originals.

There is one word that any Hollywood producer should bear in mind when a remake of a classic British Comedy is suggested and that word is “Don’t”

YOUR OWN FINANCIAL JESUS

 

"Make not my father's house a place of merchandise"(John 2:15-16, Mark 11:15-17)

When the going gets tough the not so tough get religion. Christianity as a shield from reputational damage is the new Rock ‘N’ Roll. My view on organised religion is pretty straight forward, whatever makes you a better person is a good thing. Do unto others etc but also let others live their lives peacefully how they choose.

False sincerity is par for the course these days and this style of facing up to things is now almost mandatory. 

Accusations of rape; “I’ve found Jesus”

Allegations of Paedophilia: “Christ is my saviour”

Suggestions of impropriety: “Praise the lord”

We have seen many take that line in recent times, from politician to celebrity and from content creator to troublemaker, but undoubtedly the main Christ-Finder is POTUS. In the face of adversity this man clutches at his bible (A book of which he clearly knows little of the content) and his minions acclaim his as God’s chosen one.

Let’s say for arguments sake that God does exist and he created all the wonders of the world, I would say the chances of him selecting DJT as the anointed one are, shall we say, wafer thin, at best.

Let’s face it an obese, delusional orange nincompoop is hardly qualified to be chosen by any higher power, even if God was having a bad day.

The way in which some of the worst people on the planet suddenly find God or use whichever quote from the bible that suits their agenda is a modern-day phenomenon that is beamed directly into our heads from screens large and small. They think they are spreading the word, but what is the word? It seems to me that the word is (to quote Gordon Gecko) “Greed, for lack of a better word, is good"

‘Greedy Grifters Get God’, could have been the headline of this post because, for me, that kind of sums it up. I don’t have any religious leanings but what I would say is that this breed of 21st century Holy Hypocrites must cause those that quietly go about their believing in a personal way, sleepless nights, as they see more and more of them muscling in with intentions that are as transparent as they are cynical 

Shouting it from the rooftops is fine by me as I can choose not to listen and when it’s done with sincerity one can appreciate the sentiment, but the modern day God Grifter is using the Word Of God© as a barrier that they hope natural justice won’t be able to climb over

ENTER THE GRIFTER

We are, it seems, living in an era of peak grifting. An era in which the Bible is an accoutrement, where sincerity is a badge and integrity is a T-shirt, at best.

Our friends across the Atlantic have mastered the art of the grift, especially in the corridors of power and associated corridors of right-wing thinking. Grieving widowhood has taken on a new sheen of opportunity grasped and a ‘play to the audience’ mentality.

Accusations of sexual misconduct, impropriety, paedophilia and other indefensible crime are defended by Bible clutching rhetoric. Amazing that finding Jesus is so easily adjacent to pending trials. 

Misogyny is an earner. Camps where misguided men spring up weekly, where they are willingly indoctrinated into the cult of toxicity. 

The conduit of the grift is, of course, social media, a route to the viewers’ bank balances and a way in which to spread the word (usually a ‘word’ based on bombast and balderdash)

The leader of the not so free world is the master of the grift and his example seems to validate those other shameless grifters. If POTUS can shill all sorts of dodgy products and protect the interests of the elites then that makes lesser grifts okay for many. The Orange Oaf's ultimate grift was becoming president twice, he achieved this by pitching snake oil like a side show geek. 

Redacted documents, NDAs and payoffs protect the grifters and deaths in suspicious circumstances are warnings to keep your head down.

If you can grift a (supposed) assassination attempt for profit you can grift anything and Donald's acolytes do so with enthusiasm and impunity

Us British have embraced the grift too, from lothario comedians with god complexes to members of the Royal family and would be politicians we are rapidly catching up on the way of the grift.

Everyone seems to be a it, grifting the night away on the back of gullIbility and a lack of critical thinking.

To paraphrase something a famous man once said "You can grift some of the people all of the time, and all of the people some of the time, but you can also grift all of the people all of the time" 

HORROR IN THE YEAR 2026

Eventually all sub-genres of horror go mainstream. Zombies are part of modern language and regularly appear on small and large screens. There is even Zombie media aimed at children. Vampires are abundant in teen fiction and many of the actors playing them are heartthrobs. Frankenstein’s Monster’s latest big screen iteration is a rather tall and handsome chap with an eye for the ladies. Cannibals are now suburban couples with domestic problems and killer Aliens have a heart of gold.

Mad science has become a reality and can be seen in up market shopping malls and at the Golden Globes and the Met Gala, not to mention Trump’s cabinet.

Body Horror has gone from being possibly the most controversial horror sub-genre to receiving critical acclaim.

The old style Universal /Gothic Horror characters have also been making a comeback in recent years. We’ve already seen new versions of The Invisible Man, Nosferatu, Dracula, Frankenstein, Renfield, with The Bride and Werwulf to follow. 

The franchise Horror model rumbles on with Halloween, Scream, Predator, Final Destination, Alien and a number of other long running properties.

The horrors of the real world numb us to a great deal of content that we are exposed to. The world of fictional horror is perhaps the most imaginative of the arts and allows for expansive ideas and stories which can take us away from the grind of negative news.

Why is Horror in such a healthy state right now? It could be that in these unstable, dangerous, anxiety provoking and downright strange times, fictional horror is a light relief.

METEORITE HERE RIGHT NOW

 

 

WAITING FOR THE CHICXULUB IMPACTOR MARK II

The meteorite of stupidity is making its way across the solar system, its destination Earth. and we summoned it by our actions as a species. Its arrival has been foretold and there’s no exit strategy, no fleet of spaceships to whisk us off to a habitable planet in the Alpha Centauri system, no time machine to catapult us back in time and fix things.

What has led us to this denouement, apart from the centuries of us messing about with the planet and the denizens of the planet?

It might be that the richest (declared) man in the world is a creature with all the appeal of a shop window dummy, who is as uncomfortable in his own skin as we are looking at him. This is a man that makes the Alpha Zombie from Army Of The Dead look like a cuddly aunt. If Elon Musk was a fragrance, it would be called ‘Loathe’. If Musk was a pair of shoes, they would be caramel-coloured slip-ons. If he was a kitchen item, he would be a mug tree. This self-proclaimed richest man on the planet does nothing that aids humanity with his fortune. There are no Hospitals, Libraries or Charities in his name. He Zieg Heils and has the haircut of a Hitler acolyte all while dressing like an Undertaker who has had to dip in the bargain bin at Primark.

Maybe it’s the fact that the President of the USA is one of the most grotesque people that have ever held public office. Those that call him an Orangutan based on his Orangeness should be hauled before a judge for slander on the basis that this is a slander on Orangutans. Trump’s utterances are only matched in terms of stupidity by the ramblings of Charles Manson, but without the charm. Trump makes Genghis Khan seem like a diplomat, he is to leadership what Olly Murs is to charisma. His family and entourage are straight out of The Stepford Wives via Invasion Of The Body Snatches with a big dollop of SS experiment Camp. The sort of characters that speak up in his favour and take to stages to laud him definitely fit into a type, and that type is Ivy League Psychopath meets The Hills Have Eyes

Trump’s followers seem to have been hypnotised into a state of not being able to see the obvious. They are incapable of rational or strategic thinking and feel emboldened by Trump’s two terms to come out with the most ludicrous of world views. America has never been so close to its population being chased with giant butterfly nets than at any point in its questionable history.

Iv'e not mentioned the various wars based on ideology where stupid people are killing each other, nor have I mentioned the rise in right wing thinking and misogyny, but you get the idea

As we head towards another extinction level event, we have more insight than the dinosaurs who were the last victims back in the Cretaceous period but that counts for nothing as it would seem that those with the capacity for rationality are very much in the minority. I was thinking we could go underground but that's no good as that would lead to an era of Morlocks, the human race would devolve into, well into MAGAS!

SUNDAY ROAST

Is there a more personal preference meal than Sunday Roast?

One thing most can agree on is roast potatoes, who doesn’t love a crispy roasted spud replete with a fluffy interior? Mashed potato is a strange option if you ask me but, strangely, eats well

Roast beef is the default however for some Lamb or Chicken tickles the tastebuds, and there is also the controversial Pork belly that comes with crackling that can range from the crunchy to the chewy.

Vegetables can be a minefield, cabbage, and if so what type of cabbage. Carrots, how do you like yours? orange wheels or orange strips. Broccoli and cauliflower can split the room, so similar but more cousins than siblings.

Swede mashed, and Parsnips roasted can result in noses being turned up and the question of peas, beans (runner or Green), Sugar snap and sprouts is a controversial one and is hard to call. And what about stuffing? Packet or homemade, sage & onion or sausage meat.

Gravy, ah gravy, this can be a deal breaker. I think we’ve gone beyond Bisto and many a TV chef has published a guide to making your own delicious sauce.

Condiments. Now condiments are possibly the most problematic choice when setting the table. Mustard, French, English or German? Mint sauce, Apple sauce, Bread sauce, Cranberry sauce, the choices are endless but surely Tomato Ketchup is a bridge too far.

Oh, I nearly forgot about Yorkshire Puddings, these are generally Aunt Bessie sized light and fluffy or the size of Devil’s Tower in Wyoming as featured in Steven Spielberg’s Close Encounters Of The Third Kind, and crispy with a soft base.

“Would you like Red cabbage or Cauliflower cheese on the side” No, not for me thanks.

Let’s talk about plates or rather let’s talk about plate substitutes. Wooden boards, pieces of slate, terracotta slabs have all joined the party and I say “no, nay, never” Sunday roast should be served on a round plate, end of. 

The context of Sunday roast, for me, is the pub, the pub and a Sunday roast go together like Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrel, they go hand in hand like Morecambe and Wise, like Bill and Ben.

I’ll not go on about dessert as in reality there should be a strict choice of a good crumble, sticky toffee pudding and something with chocolate. Keep it simple

Last weekend I had the delightful experience of a Sunday roast at the Three Horseshoes in Bruton with the family, a country pub that could be the template for the rather posh country pub. Good service, lovely ambience and quaffable ale. This is what got me thinking about this great British tradition.

The pub on a Sunday afternoon, preferably with a roaring fire in the winter and a long walk completed beforehand, rounded off by a hearty Sunday roast is part of what has made this country great. Just add the tipple of your choice and ‘bliss’.

Bottom line is everyone has their own version of Sunday roast and a bespoke service would be the dream, but, in lieu of that a visit to your regular pub of choice or a walk on the wild side to a new recommendation is a great way to spend a Sunday 

WHATEVER HAPPENED TO THE BLONDE BOMBSHELL?

Blonde:Adjective-(of hair) fair or pale yellow.

Bombshell:Noun-Informal

a very attractive person (typically used of a woman).

The original blonde bombshell was the vivacious and funny Jean Harlow who tragically died at a young age, but she was the template for what was to follow. Marilyn Monroe is the most well-known and is still, to this day one of the most recognisable people of the twentieth century, she like Harlow died at an early age. Marilyn spawned numerous imitators (or tribute acts, depending on your point of view), principal among them were Mamie Van Doren and of course Jayne Mansfield (another to tragically die early).

In Britain we had Diana Dors (Diana Mary Fluck) who had her own imitator, Sabrina (Norma Ann Sykes) and although Diana had reasonable success across the pond she remained in England and was a stalwart of the 50’s 60’s and 70’s UK showbiz scene along with appearances in Horror and sex comedies. Sabrina’s success was short lived she had a career in British comedy films, often appearing as herself and faded away from the public eye in the 70’s, going on to live to the ripe old age of 80.

But what really happened to the blonde bombshell?

Debbie Harry captured the imagination when she emerged as lead singer of Blondie in the early 70s New York music scene and in the public perception of the blonde bombshell Madonna, Anna Nicole Smith and Pamela Anderson are probably the last examples of the blonde bombshell.

The peak bombshell years were between the thirties and the beginning of the sixties, where they were prevalent as film studios got on the band wagon and bought out the hair dye for a number of starlets. 

There were of course disruptors, dark and sultry Rita Haywoth, Ava Gardner and of course Elizabeth Taylor but blondes, as the film title suggested, had more fun.

Diversity may have had a hand in their demise and of course that’s a welcome sign of changing times, and the emergence of Sophia Loren, Gina Lollobrigida and European cinema in general in the sixties, changed the landscape of what was considered beautiful. The European blondes of the sixties had very different persona’s and seemed to exhibit interesting, deeper personas. Bridgette Bardot, Catherine Deneuve and Juie Christie were the templates for the new Blonde, even the Americans in the form of Jane Fonda and Gena Rowlands embraced the new identity of the movie star blonde.

Today one of the last of the classic blonde bombshells has reinvented herself. Producing an excellent acting performance in The Last Showgirl, a far cry from her most famous film Barb Wire, and going "natural". Her appearance has been the subject of much scrutiny but what has been surprising and very much welcome, is the level of positivity directed towards her for eschewing the makeup and trappings associated with her previous identity. Pamela Anderson is a great example of just being yourself and owning it.She looks great and I look forward to more of her cinematic output.

The blonde bombshell is either a relic of another time when, more than ever, looks could take you a long way with the right set of circumstances or it simply evolved. The majority of those whose career was engineered around their blonde bombshell status were actually talented women and that has been somewhat lost in time. I guess trends in the business of beauty may change but what many of those women have showed is that talent will out.

ON THE DOUBLE

Double Trouble

The Great British double act, good, bad or indifferent is a peculiar entity. It goes back to the early days of music hall acts that transferred to radio and cinema and generally consists of a funny man and a straight man. It is a British invention and yes there have been American duos of note but the greatest double act of all time was 50% British. Here is a list of just some of the British comedy duos that have plied their trade on our screens and radios. 

• Clapham And Dwyer
• Murray And Mooney
• Cisie And Ada
• Flanagan And Allen
• Charters And Caldicott
• Cook And Moore 
• Morecombe And Wise
• Cannon And Ball
• Little And Large
• Hale And Pace
• Hinge And Brackett
• Smith And Jones
• French And Saunders
• Harry And Paul 
• Newman And Baddiel
• Lee And Herring
• Punt And Dennis
• Mel And Sue
• Trevor And Simon
• Reeves And Mortimer 
• Adam And Joe
• Mitchel And Web
• Pegg And Frost
• Horn And Corden

For many they could not survive when choosing to go it alone. For some a shot at the big time on the big screen ended in abject failure (Horne and Corden's excruciating Lesbian Vampire Killers) or tepid reception (Cannon And Ball's The Boys In Blue). The great Morecambe and Wise tried their hand at big screen outings that, while not great by any stretch of the imagination, had a certain charm. The Intelligence Men (1965), That Riviera Touch (1966), and The Magnificent Two (1967) saw the eponymous duo cast as secret agent types out of their depth and getting into scrapes.

An exception to the rule would have to be Peter Cook and Dudley Moore, their excursions into feature films were, by and large, very good. Bedazzled is an excellent comedy that focusses on the risk of temptation, in the form of Peter Cook's Satan, The Hound of The Baskerville saw them on good form and supporting parts in Monte Carlo Or Bust and The wrong Box suited their dark humour.

The great British double act has fallen upon fallow times recently. Whether that is due to public indifference or it being a dying art is unclear. What is clear is that this bastion of UK showbiz, at it's best was warm and welcoming. The duos playing out their own personal dynamic in full view.

Perhaps the last great example is Simon Pegg and Nick Frost. Their 'Cornetto" trilogy is terrific and their relationship is key in each instalment. Much like Mitchell And Webb's Mark and Jeremy in Peep Show, theirs is a love/hate relationship with the emphasis on a fatal attraction.

So here's to the great British Double act and it's re-emergence from it's cocoon via Romesh Ranganathan and Rob Beckett who embody the double act dynamic that we grew accustomed to. Maybe there will be a renaissance.