Game of Thrones has nothing on Roseanne

I'm happy to admit it, I am addicted to Game of Thrones. Can't wait for the next episode. The blood, the gore, the graphic sex, the Machiavellian twists and turns.

Until a few weeks ago author George R.R. Martin's epic A Song Of Ice And Fire series of books meant nothing to me. My son is the Warhammer devotee in the family, I'm strictly Sopranos and Mad Men - until now. I'd seen the trailers on Sky Atlantic but didn't take much notice. It looked like a sword and sorcery series and as I've been avoiding Merlin since episode two (too much modern day sensibility for me) I just didn't see this doing anything for me.

How wrong can you be.

From the opening scene of the re-shot pilot Game of Thrones gets better and better. It's been described as Lord of the Rings with sex - that's just lazy. This is a world where much is different from what we know but much more is the same. It looks great, it boasts an array of fine actors and the writing draws you in.

I'll come back to it at some point - and if you're not watching catch up if you can, it really is superior stuff.

If you don't fancy Game of Thrones but you like titanic battles with much blood spilled you might like to catch up with the war of words raging between Roseanne Barr and veteran sit-com writer Ken Levine.

It began with Roseanne's interpretation of what 'really' happened on her sit-com in the New York magazine - you can read her original article here

Ken Levine commented on his blog
If you don't know Ken Levine he's a writer who along with his partner David Isaacs has penned some of the best episodes of Cheers, Frasier and M*A*S*H. He's been in the industry for years but has never worked with Ms Barr.

Roseanne read Levine's comments and  followed up with this on HER blog

I have never been in a room with either but, given the choice, I know which room I'd choose. Like Game of Thrones I am waiting for the next installment.

Things That Get In The Way of Writing

Summer. A bad time of year for me. Always has been. The Big Problem I have with Summer is that it brings too many distractions.

Brought up on Cricket I can't help but watch and listen to far too much of the great summer sport - and as someone who really only enjoys playing golf with the sun on my back that time of year is here again.

But it isn't just sport, a few weeks ago, with the sun shining, I picked up my paint brushes and started painting landscapes. Yesterday I had some pictures at a sale and four were bought. That gives me a kick. My mind shifts to a bohemian existence, walking a sun-drenched beach in rolled-up white linen trousers, listening to the cry of gulls and finding interesting pieces of driftwood. Wow those artist have it good don't they?

So, between the art and the sport and the garden - I didn't mention that but every year about this time the garden exerts its magnetic draw - this is a bad bad time for this writer.

And then there's Facebook.

And Twitter.

And This Blog (a little neglected as of the past twelve days! sorry)

And great new music to listen to.

And maybe doing a little more broadcasting...maybe.

When it comes to 'things that get in the way of writing'  the list is long. I'll sit down after I've had my second cup of earl Grey...and read the paper...and the magazine...and Empire magazine...and Broadcast...

I'll go for a walk, clear my mind.

I'll go for a walk and work out those plot points.

I'll sit on a bench and watch people pass by, making up stories for them.

Ill watch Mr Blackbird and his wife in the garden for just another minute - and then I'm going to sit down to write.

I'll take  a bath.

Take and shower.

Just listen to the end of this radio phone-in...

Make a few calls.

Harass my agent.

There are SO MANY movies I'm behind on my list - I'll watch this one now and then...

I know I'm not alone. If they ever do away with the word Writer 'Procrastinator' will do fine. And it's always worse for me in the summer. I try to get as much done in Autumn and Winter and Spring as possible because I know Summer will do its level best to lead me astray. Which is why I for years I couldn't understand how anyone ever wrote anything in Los Angeles. They should have put Hollywood in Manchester, all that rain, I'd be up there churning out screenplays.

Then I took my laptop to Portugal and finished a screenplay looking at a swimming pool. I told myself I was at last cured. I COULD write in the sunshine. Summer could be as productive as those other months.  But in my villa, by the pool, on the Algarve - with limited Internet access - I was protected from The Great Temptations. The sport, the paints, the garden, the golf - everything else.

Fact of the matter is - I have to lock myself away, stare at that little blinking cursor and forget that it's June, July or August and pretend it's October, November or December.

But it doesn't stop me making more cups of tea than I need...and watching that Blackbird...and making calls.

Just Discovered

Just discovered this cartoon. From a Radio Times of a thousand years ago.
My daughter wanted to know what I was covered in. Ah, the glories of tape - and vinyl.

Radio: There IS Another Way

I sat behind a microphone and presented a radio show last night for the first time in over two years. I had a ball; there's a certain riding-a-bike thing that kicks in and takes over. I've always felt comfortable presenting radio shows, never intimidated or nervous. I feel I can be myself, say things without fearing the heavy hand of an oppressive station management on my shoulder - even when the heavy hand of the oppressive management was doing its best to push me into the ground. Sod 'em. When I'm on the air, my name is over the shop. I don't want to be just another dull voice.

Some have been kind enough to say I'm a natural behind a mic, that's kind of them, I suppose I feel that way too, I certainly feel comfortable. What I can't do is banal (which possibly explains why I haven't done much broadcasting in the past two and  a half years). So much of what comes out of the speaker these days is aimed nowhere, at no-one. It's non content. We've all heard it - all those best music mix stations where the DJ is there to press a button and play seven in a row and then read a card and then press another button and play another five 'hits'.

But my biggest gripe is with stations where the presenter is supposed to be more than a juke-box monkey. Those stations where presenters have the opportunity to actually create something on the radio worth LISTENING TO. More often than not they take the easy road to Banalville and opt to give us tit-bits of celebrity trivia - true or not - culled from the Internet and glossy mags. time-checks and weather forecasts masquerade as content. For the most part this is information that no-one needs in their life. They don't put a spin on it, they don't find a line to cap it and they don't do anything to make it entertaining.

Is it the fault of the presenter of the person who hired them? I blame both. Seldom do they have the luxury of a producer producing content. For some reason radio high-ups have got it into their brains that what the public want is the safest product possible - and we all know where safe leads, yup here we are in Banalville again, hop off the bus folks and take a good look around. Nothing here, oh well, at least no-one was offended. Stop it! I'M offended. When I buy a car I want the best product possible - I don't want something made of foam.

Cuddly Ken

But there is a generation of presenters out there who have only heard it done that way. They weren't around to hear Kenny Everett using the FULL capability of radio to make his shows. They didn't hear the pictures Ray Moore conjured up at 6 in the morning and the sainted Wogan's style is a thing of the past. It's no excuse - go find out about the history of your medium - in the past you find the future.

No-one shows them how to make a connection, How to talk through the speaker and connect with the person listening at the other end. Radio is unique, you may have an audience of millions or hundreds of thousands but you're only ever really talking to one person. When I hear presenters addressing their listeners as though they were talking to an audience I shake my head - "Hello, everyone" should be banned. You are talking to one person and that person wants you to be brave - if it's a news programme you have to ask the question they'd ask, if it's entertainment radio entertain them - and never ever explain a joke.

The good ones shine - usually by doing all the things that management tell them not to.
A friend, a fine young broadcaster, got a note the other day to say he had to tell folk it was a joke when he'd read a funny email - just in case they thought it was true. Dear God. We are witnessing the end of comedy - certainly the end of irony.

Can you imagine what this idiot would do if he were set in charge of comedy production somewhere. Every sit-com would be made to flash a message on screen after every joke to remind people that "This is a humorous situation, no factual content should be inferred by the last comment". "Dr Frasier Crane is not really a Psychiatrist" "Tony Soprano is a fictitious imagining".

I once 'found' a secret cave 'under' my chair in the studio. With some echo and dripping water sound effects we explored the cavern and found all manner of stuff. What would that edjit  have made of that? I'd probably have been told to get on my bike and never return.  But I also know that I'd rather have a man/woman on the radio with some imagination that some dry, time-checking, vacuous tart happy to stay safe. 

It's time we took to the streets with flaming torches before the glorious possibilities of radio are destroyed.

Putting The Lead Character's Name In The Title

All good things come to an end - and some bad things go on forever, just look at the TV listings. Some of my favourite shows get cancelled after one of two series, some things I loathe and detest have gone on and on and on and on.

ITV have just got around to announcing it will no longer show further episodes of Taggart. ITV and STV have been at loggerheads over the series for some years - you can read about it elsewhere, the details of that dispute don't concern us here, save to say it's over for the Scots cops.

For ten years years the craggy-faced Mark MacManus played the title role of Jim Taggart; he was not a man to cross.  Glenn Chandler's scripts were a delight, he'd created three-dimensional characters that worked within a format, he'd presented us with some beautifully crafted stories and set the whole thing in Glasgow. In 1983 when it first appeared, the Scots cop show was superior drama.

Then, in 1994, in the middle of filming an episode, Mark Macmanus died (they covered it up (!) by saying he was in endless meetings). And that, you'd think, would be that. But no, not only did they keep going with the series - promoting side-kicks - but they also kept the name. Jim Taggart was dead but Taggart went on being called Taggart. It was a brand people understood, why change it?

I don't know if people would have deserted the show if they'd re-branded - the stories were still compelling, the subsidiary characters worked well and blossomed into the stars of the show. The marketing men would have had their say - perhaps Glenn Chandler saw no reason to change the name, I just don't know. It has continued for another seventeen years or so, it seems that continuing to call it Taggart didn't hurt it one little bit.
The fact that I stopped watching a show named after a character that no longer appeared in it didn't hurt them one jot. For me Taggart was about the man as much as the procedural, without the man it could be a perfectly good cop show but not the one I wanted to watch.

Imagine you're making a show called Sherlock Holmes and the actor playing the great man dies - do you continue the series with Dr Watson and promote Mrs Hudson from housekeeper to Detective? The stories stay the same, except the cocaine-snorting, violin-playing sleuth is replaced by the apple dumpling-baking, sideboard-dusting Mrs Hudson whose hitherto steel-trap mind has been overshadowed by...hang on, are you buying this? No. Exactly. Whatever Taggat was after the death of Mark McManus it blatantly was not Taggart. How could it be.

But it is not the only example on British television of a series with a character's name in the title continuing after that character has disappeared from the series. Step forward Blake's Seven. Actor Gareth Thomas - who played Blake - walked. No more Blake and now there were six. The BBC continued to use the title Blake's 7. Fans of the show waited for Blake's return....they are still waiting.

Would they have kept going with Columbo without Peter Falk, Hannah Montanna without Miley Cyrus, Two and A Half Men if Charlie Sheen had a melt-down ? Strike that last one.

I've been walking around with a character in my head for the best part of fifteen years. Every now and then I take him out and noodle with him and think I can make his world play and then find a reason why it might seem hackneyed or cliched or not the right time to pursue the project. The thing is the title is the main character's name. And that name tells us so much about the man.

He began as a down-at-heel detective, kicked out of the police after being wrong accused of...do I need to write any more cliches? The thing is, he's grown as I've grown. The cliches have gone, he's now a fully rounded character - and I know exactly who he would be played by: a forty five year old Paul Newman.

When I first came up with him Newman was in his seventies so without a time-machine this one was never going to work. But Newman continues to walk through the stories I've created for him offering THAT smile and flashes of THOSE baby-blue eyes. I can barely bring myself to think of him as anyone else but if he is ever going to see the light of day he'll have to work in another actor's shoes - and the reality is that once I find an actor to do it my man will take on that actor's shape and voice and thoughts of Mr Newman will disappear. Remember that Sylvester Stallone was originally going to play Axel Foley in Beverley Hills Cop, now who can imagine anyone else in that role except Eddie Murphy.

My point is that although I've carried this character around in MY head for fifteen years, fleshing him out, making him real, he's not in anyone else's head and until he's properly realised by an actor he won't be.

If I ever get to the point where he becomes a viable script there's no way I'm going to say to a producer - we can't do it without Paul Newman.

And do I put his name in the title, in the knowledge that if he becomes a huge hit and then dies those around him could keep the flame burning while I milk the cash cow? You betcha. My show dies with him.

The National Movie Awards - WTF

Rupert Grint - 'The Best Actor In The World'

Tonight in the UK ITV screens something called The National Movie awards. These 'awards' are the bastard son of The National Television Awards which has been a ratings success for the channel. I don't watch the TV awards becuase they are bullshit. The Movie awards don't even get into that category.

Tonight, for your delectation, you will be offered the chance to see Due Date (awful, avoid, avoid avoid) go 'head to head' - don't you wish something would go toe to toe for once? - with the Adama Sandler/Jennifer Aniston alleged comedy Just Go For It and Paul - a misjudged misfiring of the Simon Pegg/ Nick Frost partnership . If one of them doesn't win Best 'Comedy' it will go to 'Little Fockers' - the franchise that makes money hand over fist but has sent De Niro's credibility to the bottom of a dark well.


In the Fantasy section Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part I slugs it out with The Chronicles of Narnia: The Voyage of the Dawn Treader - notice how long the titles are for fantasy films - TRON: Legacy and, wait for it, Jack Black's 'brilliant' reimagining of Gulliver's Travels. Oh Boy.


In the Performance of the Year category, Oscar winner Colin Firth will go up against Oscar nominees Jeff Bridges for his turn in True Grit, Geoffrey Rush in The King's Speech, Helena Bonham Carter in The King's Speech, Oscar winner Natalie Portman in Black Swan, Jesse Eisenberg in the Oscar winning  The Social Network along with... Nick Frost and Simon Pegg for Paul. There are others nominated but I've just lost the will to live. Pegg and Frost, best performance for Paul?. Ney, ney and thrice ney. A billion times ney. Worst performance by two much loved actors maybe.

But the category that is in danger of making my head explode is for Best As Yet Unreleased Picture or as they moniker it Must See Movie of the Summer. I have no idea how this works but in a category that is all about puff and hype the final Harry Potter, the fourth Pirates of the Caribbean, the second Hangover and I don't know what number X-men prequel have all been nominated. 
What? How can something that hasn't been released win an award? We're being asked to vote on which is the most anticipated? They should call it the I'm Wetting My Knickers to See Award.

Whatever these awards are about it sure as hell isn't anything to do with recognising outstanding achievement in film - Oscar wipes his brow, Phew. Where is Inception, where is The Fighter? Where is The Kids Are All Right, and Winters Bone. Nowhere because these awards for people who watch TV and don't go to the movies. .

Here's a quote lifted from The National Movie awards comments page which sums up where these trinkets stand:
"Everyone should totally vote for Rupert Grint, to me, he is the best actor in the world... Vote for Rupert, straight away! He deserves it for doing such amazing performances in Harry Potter, Cherrybomb, Driving Lessons, Wild Target, and Thunderpants! Rupert Grint all the way! Come on guys! VOTE VOTE VOTE!
Yep, Rupert Grint the Best actor in the world. Thunderpants.

Move over De Niro, you only have yourself to blame. How can I look anyone in the eye and argue that you made some of the best films ever when you are now known to a generation for the fucking Fockers!

If you're watching tonight, good luck, enjoy. I shall be washing the hair I haven't pulled out. 

Seve - A Sporting Legend

So, the great man, Severiano Ballesteros, has died. Seve lit up the world of golf like no-one else in my lifetime. Sure, Tiger can lay claim to more titles but Seve won his with a smile on his face. That's not to say he didn't grit his teeth and stick out that Spanish chin when he needed too. He had almost magical powers over that little white ball, he could talk it through the wind and onto the green. He was a natural.

He didn't just inspire a generation, he inspired his country and the whole of Europe. The kid who climbed the wall of his local club to sneak onto the fairways knew what he wanted to do and boy did he do it.

To mockingly call him a car-park golfer is to misunderstand the way he played. His flashes of brilliance were sometimes tempered by wayward shots that would necessitate another flash of brilliance. He was never dull to watch and had a game that so many would dearly love, though sometimes it seemed that his will got him round in under par..

I've been playing this stupid game since I was in my twenties. It's a much loved hobby. More than a social occasion - I like to win, who doesn't - but not the burning passion that it was for the great man. To be that good you have to be dedicated - and have that little bit of something special. I don't know where that comes from. Some say God. But what kind of God would give Seve that talent and then throw brain cancer at him?

I prefer to think that the something special comes from within the person. Even as he faced his darkest hour he could still will himself on; no-one thought he'd make it as far as he did.

He wasn't by the book, he was a self-taught master. A few years ago the BBC used him as a roving reporter at The Open. He wasn't much of a reporter he was too interested in the golf. But I'll never forget the moment when - after a viewer had emailed a question about why golfers wear a glove - Seve was asked the question: "Why did you wear a glove".
He shrugged, "I saw everybody else wearing one". It was the same with all his golf. He didn't need to know why, he just did.


A true great, an inspiration to so many and someone who only ever needed one name: Seve.