My Fifteen Minutes with Ken Russell

Five years ago I interviewed Ken Russell.

I was under no illusions, it had been a while since the 'wild man' of British cinema had made a film but that didn't stop him be outrageous in what he did and said. I was prepared, I'd done my homework, I'd discovered a way in.

Did I mention it was a live interview on daytime radio. Hmmm. We all knew we were playing with fire - but that warm glow draws us in. Ken and I were in the same studio, as is the case with many a radio  interview he was in a satellite studio somewhere.
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I began by taking him back to his early life in Southampton where his father had a boot shop. Next door to his shop there was another, selling surgical goods. I'd discovered that this was owned by Benny Hill's dad.  So we got off to a good start talking surgical limbs and Benny Hill.

He warmed up nicely and there were no signs of the wild man. He was chatty enough, I kept kept the banter going as we began to talk about his films; the early black and white explorations of great composers made for the BBC, the bigger later films that courted attention, high praise and criticism. I've always loved The Boyfriend, a quirky take on a show business story and we talked about that.

I recall he started to tell a story about being touched up by a scout master at a screening of Pinocchio but I think I managed to steer him away from that one. 

Then I made my big mistake. I didn't see it coming, how could I. The question was innocuous enough:

"What advice do you offer young film makers?" I asked in my Bambi innocence.

Back came the reply.

"I tell 'em to fuck off!".


Whoa!

That brought things to an abrupt end. I made some fumbling apology and that was the end of our encounter. My producer was straight on the phone to his people, there was a blazing row...What had started so well ended poorly. Much like his career.

When I heard of his death yesterday I thought back to that day. I think I'd lulled dear old Ken into a place of safety, he was enjoying himself too much. He was relaxed, happy to come up with some outrageous puns. His guard was down and he'd probably completely forgotten he was live on air in the middle of the day. I wonder if he would have offered the same answer if we'd been in the same studio. Maybe - after all he was the wild man of British cinema.

Slow, Slow - Slow, Slow, Slow. The Cafe Opens It's Doors.

Sky 1's much heralded new comedy The Cafe began its run last night with two episodes back to back. It's not  a bad way to launch a new comedy, if you like the first chances are you'll stick around for the second; a good way to get to know new comic characters, a good way to keep the audience.
The Cafe is written by Ralf Little (The Royle Family) and Michele Terry (Reunited, Extras). It's directed by Craig Cash who worked with Little on The Royle Family, that sublime slice of uneventfulness. If you come to this expecting laugh out loud moments and a comic plot involving the local Somerset yokels (the show is set on the prom at Weston Super Mare) the show's slow burn won't be for you.

Nothing wrong with slow burn, wasn't I just extolling the virtues of the device a few days ago when talking about giving drama series space to breathe. But when it comes to comedy it's a fine line to walk. The writers - both play characters in the show - have elected to go for those things that real people say. We all steal from real life but dialogue needs to carry more than the odd ball mutterings of real folk to propel a story forwards - unless of course there is no story.

The Cafe revels in being anti-plot. We're offered the tiniest of crumbs by way of story: a florist who can't say what he really feels about the cafe owner so 'says it with flowers', a young woman who gazes out of the Cafe's window looking for inspiration for her first children's book, the care worker who has almost bought a car - he's got the car magazine and the air-freshener -  the human statue looking for love, a city slicker back on home turf because his mum's in an adjacent care home. Best of all, for me, were the old married couple played by Brian Murphy and Marcia Warren - theirs were the only exchanges that really sparkled - and it relies on exchanges. Not much happened over two episodes, though the Final Demand letters being hidden in a drawer by Cafe owner Carol (Ellie Haddington) point to storm clouds down the line. The characters are all fine, what's missing is any kind of story engine to get them going.

In previewing this show I talked to a member of the Production staff on my Radio show on Sunday - Weston Super Mare is on our patch, it's a place I know well, people I know well. Describing The Cafe's humour he used the words, warm and gentle. He is not wrong. It has a warmth about it, a familiarity of family and peers and it most certainly is gentle. Maybe too gentle, is it brave or foolish to begin a new comedy show with eighteen seconds of silence? Do audiences say " Did you see the Cafe last night, the way they opened with eighteen seconds of silence - brilliant!". Writers, the director, actors may consider it a brave thing to do but if you've just got the kids off to bed, you've sat down for the first time today and there's still the nagging worry about where the next shilling is coming from do you want a long realistic silence to open this much trailed new comedy show - or do you want a laugh?

I enjoyed the setting and I can see the possibilities for these characters. If you're willing to stay with the slow burn you may be rewarded - I'll be back for another slice but it'd better warm up a bit because The Cafe is a comedy and you and I have every right to expect some laughs not just wry smiles.

Will it find an audience? I don't know; perhaps television audiences these days are happy with warm and gentle, then again perhaps, in these austere times, what we want is something to take us out of ourselves, something a little bigger, brasher - full on funny.

I don't know why Adam Sandler makes me feel the way I do about him, apparently I'm not alone. The only AS film I've ever been able to watch all the way through was Spanglish but that had nothing to do with watching him.

Here is a wonderful video - what YouTube was meant for. George C Scott 'watches' the trailer for another lame Sandler movie.

The Killing II

The Killing II

 I am such an old fashioned guy. This manifests itself in many ways; my love of old comedy shows - Dick Van Dyke, Bilko - my love of neatly crafted plots, my dislike of any music that sounds more like a security alarm. Now I discover that it's actually old fashioned to watch a television show. I mean really watch. Apparently I should be watching whilst updating my Facebook, playing games on my phone – sorry, mobile communications device, beam me up, Mr Scott – whilst listening to some indie scream on my ipod.
Well, sorry, this old fashioned guy likes to watch, give a show my full attention. Okay, there may be the distraction of a warming cup of Earl Grey, several biscuits and, on a Sunday, the entirety of the national press strewn before me and around me as the 4 o'clock football match plays on the TV but generally those shows I choose to watch are those I like to give my full attention to.
So, when it came to the Danish series The Killing, which returned to BBC4 this weekend in a double episode, subtitles were no problem. Because I watch. What those subtitles may have done to people who prefer the less dedicated approach to viewing, the juggling with various other bits of technology as described above, is to make them watch too. The thing about a Danish show for an English speaking viewer not versed in the mother tongue of Hans Christian Anderson is that to follow the plot you absolutely have to read what's there on the screen. And in reading we pay closer attention. Maybe we should make a few of our more elegant shows in foreign languages - just to focus the viewer's mind a little more sharply.
I'd put the first series of The Killing in my top three shows of the year - I came to it late and caught up with the repeats stripped across four weeks. This compressed showing, 6 nights a week, was brilliant. I couldn't wait for ten o'clock each night to find out what twist the next episode would provide. The parallel storylines of a local election and a local murder were intertwined so carefully you never knew where the thing was going but - unlike Lost - it headed towards a finale that satisfied on all levels.
However, the show wasn't written or plotted in entirely before fiming commenced. The writers were working on the storyline and scripts as the show was going out. To be fair, much American writing follows the same pattern but here in the UK I can't imagine a broadcaster committing to a twenty episode series on the basis that 'this happens and this happens and we'll find our way to a conclusion'.
The Killing was and still is more than just a plot. It is as much a character study as it is a detective story, though the thrills here are more cerebral than car chases and gun battles. Like so many admirers of the show I suggest anyone viewing lock away all other possible distractions because Saturday nights from now until Sarah Lund finds her man - or woman - are going to be compulsive watching.