Oscars

So, it's all over for another year. The statues were handed out the speeches were made. Applause, applause, applause.

As a Brit I have two choices how I watch - stay up and go right through the night, or record and watch later. Well, what would you do?

Recording means I can skip the ads...and the walk ups...make it tighter so it zips along. Except Oscar never zips along. This year he stumbled along like an 84 year old on a zimmer frame.

Nowhere in my dreams have I ever dared to think about being the recipient of one of those little golden men, it ain't gonna happen, it's not on the radar. But I have been to other awards ceremonies where I've been nominated and also won things. Let me tell you this - you spend all day waiting for your category to come up and then it's over and done in the blink of an eye, moments if your lucky, a minute or two if you're a star.

Awards ceremonies generally suck. Was that always the case? Maybe I've just grown bored with the notion, I'm sure the presenters were funnier in days gone by, the recipient speeches sharper, better thought out. Thank God for Christopher Plummer this year, a man who'd thought about what he wanted to say, said it, got a laugh and went off smiling.

And Meryl too. She done good too. But best make-up for The Iron Lady - winning over harry Potter? What? Don't ask me.

Most of what transpired on Oscar's big night this year was...dross! There, I've said it. It was not a good show.

And can someone tell me why Angelina Jolie thought that standing on stage posed like some kind of skeletal hooker was a good thing?

Billy Crystal chalked another mark on the presenting duties wall, nine times! He's been good in the past - which is where his career is, and where most of his jokes this year would sit better. Seen it, done it Bill. Look, I've laughed along with Billy but when you come out glistening like a white billiard ball, pumped that full of botox you can't furrow your brow any more I start wondering where the self-awareness has gone?

So many gags fell on deaf ears this year - better to be deaf, you didn't have to hear them, they stank so bad. I had to open my window to let the stench out after Robert Downey Jr and Gweneth Paltrow did their 'hilarious' skit to announce best documentary. Jeez Louise! This is Hollywood, where you have the pick of every comedy writer in town and they go with that? Sheesh.

There were no surprises, all awards went pretty much with the betting - except Girl With The Dragon Tattoo beat Hugo to Best Editing. Otherwise the bookies lost nothing. Not a red cent.

When we came out of the cinema after seeing The Artist I said 'That could win the Oscar for best picture' I said that. Predicted it, all those weeks ago. Me and everyone else who came out smiling. It is a wonderful picture, shame only four people in the US have gone to see it. What do they know, Transformers 950 just took 4 billion dollars.

So that's it for another year. the dresses have gone back, the suits, the shoes - you didn't think the stars actually bought those did you? All is done and dusted for another year. What I shall treasure from this years ceremony is the look on Gary Oldman's face as time after time the marvellous Tinker Tailor... lost out to inferior movies. But then, do little golden statues matter?

You bet they do.

Downton Abbey v Upstairs Downstairs

Downton Abbey has taken the television world by storm whilst poor old Upstairs Downstairs - which began it's second 'series' on Sunday - is in some people's eyes the the unwanted bastard interloper.

A lot of the critics who approached Downtown's first series with noses held higher than Maggie Smith's Dowager Countess have since fallen for its charm. They emerged from Lady Sybil's coattails this week to pronounce Upstairs Downstairs not a patch on the Abbey. Hmmm. For me, is the other way around.

Downton is melodrama, riddled with cliches and plot holes, historical inaccuracies and cardboard cut out villains. On the other hand what Heidi Thomas has created, in her reawakening of Upstairs Downstairs, is a more thoughtful, dramatic piece that draws heavily on pre WWII history shedding an authentic light on late 1930's England.


And that might be the problem.

One has the construction of soap opera - albeit very well dressed,shot and acted - whilst the other is an out and out historical drama. DA is an entertainment - fluff - short scenes that almost all end on a tiny cliffhanger but let's not be snobbish about it, people love it. Love it to bits.

Okay, Upstairs Downstairs has missed several tricks, despite being the better of the two shows dramatically. Julian Fellows plundered the old Upstairs Downstairs in coming up with his Downton Abbey and in doing so he recognised that far from being battered old stereotypes the characters the public loves are pretty much the ones who inhabit the Abbey. Damn it, DA's Lords, Ladies, Maids, Footmen and Butlers are just more...colourful. But then this is his world, he's a lord married to one of the Queen's Ladies in waiting. If anyone should be able to write about class devide it should be him. Having said that the continual hob-nobbing that goes on between the Earl of Grantham's family and the servants who butter their toast and pick up their knickers is quite unbelievable, as many have pointed out.


The colour in Upstairs Downstairs was mainly supplied by Eileen Atkins and Jean Marsh. Eileen Atkins jumped ship before the second series citing differences in opinion over her character's development whilst poor Jean Marsh (Rose from the original 70's series and the housekeeper in the new one) suffered a stroke and had to be written out. Both these actors were instrumental in creating the original series and their absence from the new series leaves two gaping holes. 

I read one reviewer this week who criticised Upstairs Downstairs for not be funny enough! Come on, there wasn't a better line on televison this week than Pritchard the butler commanding "Place this hot water bottle 18 inches from the bottom of Lady Agnes's bed, slightly to the left."Whilst the show isn't trying to be funny it has it's moments of humour - but it wouldn't hurt to have a few more lighter moments and some more intrigue. 

I shall stick with Upstairs, let's see what this full series brings.

Strictly Gershwin

On Valentine's night I got a real birthday treat, a seat to see a great show - Strictly Gershwin, presented by English National Ballet at the Hippodrome, Bristol.

Whoa, hang on there big fella - Ballet? Really?

Yep.

I can't pretend I know much about the subject beyond seeing the Red Shoes/Black Swan/one previous outing to see ENB's Cinderella and all those extended ballet equences in Gene Kelley Movies. I know nothing. Technicaly I am an ignoramus. I react to what I see on a purely instinctive level. And what I saw here was magical.

What was so wonderful about this show was there was so much to react to. Great orchestra, great dancing - no fabulous dancing - ballet, tap, ballroom - and one added little gem.  I grew up playing the trumpet so my eyes always scan the tumpet section first - and sitting in the first trumpet seat was Mike Lovatt. I could barely contain myself - I know I was there to see the Ballet but Mike Lovatt is a hero of mine. His brilliant playing has graced countless movie soundtracks including the James Bond films ‘Tomorrow Never Dies’, ‘Die Another Day', ‘Chicago,’ ‘Beyond the Sea’, ‘Charlie and the Chocolate Factory’, ‘Madagascar’, and Tim Burton’s ‘The Corpse Bride’. His solo trumpet and Cornet was featured in the George Fenton score for ‘Mrs Henderson Presents.’

He also plays with the John Wilson Orchestra who for the past three years have been the must see Orchestra at the BBC proms.

So now the night is working on lots of levels - not least of which is the music the orchestra is playing: Gershwin. George Gershwin was my way into classical music. The jazz melodies chimed with my early preferences. Rhapsody in Blue was glorious, it opened doors to other composers, other eras.

I can praise it no higher than saying this is as good a show as I've ever seen - and I've seen a few. It's currently on tour in the UK an if you get the chance to see it it's worth selling your furniture, your house and your children to get a ticket. Okay, maybe not the house.

Valentines Day - Movies and Massacres

Valentines day gets muddied for me because it's also my birthday.
When I was a kid the St Valentines Day marketing machine had yet to get into full swing. I remember watching the iconic children's TV show Blue Peter as they 'told the story of how St Valentine's day came into being' accompanied by a montage of hand drawn pictures - where is that kind of TV now!!! And then they showed us how to MAKE a Valentines card - I'm not even sure that you could  buy one in the 60's.

The whole point of the Valentine was to send it to someone you Secretly Admired WITHOUT signing it. It would get them guessing and the next time you were around that person you could smile in a knowing way and she/he might put two and two together. Oh, such innocent times.

Nowadays the card shops are full of red Valentine cards/balloons/mugs/cuddly toys/plastic roses/dangly key ring things/badges (Be My Valentine)/bags/wrapping/inflatable sheep. "For my Husband/Wife/Girlfriend/Boyfriend/Ex/Next/Newsagent. Every possibility is covered. I've just watched a news report where the Duchess of Cambridge (Kate) was handed some flowers by a little girl who said 'Happy Valentines Day'. All meaning has disappeared.

Me, I'd like a card with some gangsters on.

St Valentines Day was the day in 1929 when seven mobsters were gunned down as part of an on-going war of the hoods between Al Capone and Bugs Moran. It also featured in Billy Wilder's 'Some Like It Hot'. It's the event that puts struggling musicians Tony Curtis and Jack Lemon in jeopardy. Once the gangsters know the boys have witnessed the killing they have to be silenced. Quipsters though they may be, Curtis and Lemon don't hang around long enough to try and talk their way out.

As we all know - and if you don't, shame on you, go and find this film immediately - their way out was to dress as 'Dames', join an all girl band and take a train heading for Florida. I don't know how many times I've watched this movie over the years but it never gets tired. Curtis and Lemon are on top form, Marilyn Munroe was never better.

So forget the chocolates and the roses and the Simpson's novelty Homer-Valentine underpants, the perfect Valentine's present for me? A night in with a magical Billy Wilder film.

They Don't Make 'Em Like They Used To - But Sometimes They Do

It's the kind of blog title that would suggest this is an article about The Artist - it's not. Though the Artist proved that you could re-invent something thought to be long dead and give it a knowing twist without coming over all post-modernist and too knowing. It may be a thing of fluff but it's also a thing of wonder. With the momentum it's gained over the past months at various awards ceremonies I'd say it's a very good bet for Best Picture at the Oscars.

But, hang on this isn't a piece about The Artist, I wanted to draw your attention to The Lincoln Lawyer, last years adaptation of the book by Michael Connolly. Screenwriter John Romano did a terrific job in turning this into a little gem. A gem of the old school. No car chases, CGI, running gun battles or  helicopters,  just a good old fashioned plot with some great twists.

I missed it when it came out and caught it on TV last night; Matthew McConaughey has never been better. He's always had a look of Paul Newman about him but here he turns in a solid gold performance that is all his own. McConhaughey plays a defence lawyer who works all the scams to turn a fast buck. His office is his Lincoln car (registration number NTGUILTY). When told it looks a mess inside he quips, 'The maid comes Tuesday'. It's the kind of sassy comeback I like and this is peppered with them. He knows all the angles and the angels too - there's a nice subplot involving the local chapter of Hell's Angels.

What makes it joyful is a plot so tight you couldn't squeeze a cigarette paper through the cracks. It's one of those films that takes you on a ride where you think you know what's going to happen and then it flips your expectation. The 'big question' most writers would put at the end of the piece is answered half way through. McConhaughey's client is a scumbag but it's how he manipulates the system that makes the whole thing sing.

In Hollywood parlance this feels a bit like Lew Archer meets Quentin Tarantino meets The Verdict. From what I can make out it got good enough reviews and made some money. I'd like to see more. At last Mr M may have found himself a character worth repeating, this could open the door to a franchise.

Originality Is Non-Existent...

The great film-maker Jim Jarmusch said: ‘Nothing is original. Steal from anywhere that resonates with inspiration or fuels your imagination. Authenticity is invaluable, originality is non-existent’.

And for those of us digging at the creative chalk face that's true. Each vein we hit seems to be one that someone has plundered before. We can barely work any idea without getting that feeling that 'I'm sure I've seen this somewhere...'. Which is of course the moment when we have to stop, down pen, cease clicking the keys and reassess our stories.

However much we attempt to wallpaper over the cliches once you hit Cliche Town in a script the streets start clearing, the viewers click away.

And yet to see some drama  and comedy on TV these days you'd almost imagine it was the writer's job to deliver a succession of tropes and lines so worn down they are smooth from the pounding. Why is that? I refuse to believe any writer goes in with a notebook full of hackneyed ideas. Heads of This and That tell us - demand - that it is the new and fresh stories that get bought. My arse. If one channel has something the other channel wants one just like it - and then they tell us their product is nothing like the other. Denial. Don't believe them. Remember, people who run television don't watch it. Oh, they get across a landmark series by watching bits, but they don't watch like a viewer watches. Too many spread sheets and number crunchers.

But original programmes do get through, escape the searchlight beam of Stalag Mediocre, climb the fence and break out into the world. Once there they are cheered and applauded for being different - until someone then decides they want one just like it, and so it goes.

The Danish political drama Borgen may not be original - you can argue The West Wing got there first - it may have taken some inspiration from other political dramas but it has a kind of authenticity that I love. I have no experience whatsoever of Danish coalition politics yet this show grabbed me in the first half hour of episode one. I believe the country is run by four people and Danish television news is staffed by six. Doesn't matter, it was real. By the end of episode ten I was completely hooked.I can't wait for series 2.

How can a tiny country like Denmark with a small population, a tiny pool of actors, writers and producers suddenly be showing the sharks in the infested waters of UK and American television how to do it?

That is what I - and I'm sure many others are unpicking at the moment. But if we unpick it and use it it won't be original.

In the meantime for those who hark to the hackneyed, the unbelievable and the resolutely cliched there is a drama, in it's third series on British TV, that shows, for some, originality is non-existent: Whitechappel. It began with a good idea and is now so far down the road of implausibility it is hilarious to watch - if you can bare to watch at all.

Happy Birthday Mr Dick

Charles John Huffam Dickens is two hundred years old today. Well he isn't, patently, no-one is meeting him down the pub for a few pints before going out clubbing. He may have shuffled off his mortal coil in 1870 but today anyone who remains in the consciousness the way Dickens does after two hundred years has to be special. He remains the most revered novelist of his time.

But do we read him?

Over Christmas the BBC presented us with another version of Great Expectations to go with the many other versions of Great Expectations that have gone before. A Christmas Carol remains an all time favourite for many people but have they read it or have they seen one of the many film versions or the the stage musical, or the updated Bill Murray comedy 'Scrooged'?

Everyone knows the story of Oliver Twist but does our knowledge of the story come from watching the film or TV adaptations (the last one was so politically correct I could barely watch). Then there was Bleak House, have you read it or did you seen the brilliant Andrew Davies adaptation of a few years back.

Just a couple of weeks ago the last unfinished novel, The Mystery Of Edwin Drood,  found its way onto TV with a very plausible ending - though I doubt it was the one Charles Dickens had in mind. Very good it was too. But have you read it?

What I'm saying is the majority of those of us who say they love Dickens do so because of the films and television adaptations not because we've all been busy reading the books.

I was given A Christmas Carol and David Copperfield as an eleven year-old boy. I devoured the former and struggled through the latter. Not because Copperfield is particularly impenetrable but because my Dickens novels came printed on flimsy paper in a font so small it was almost impossible to read more than half a page at a time before going blind. I struggled on, through Great Expectations, later Middlemarch and Bleak House - but that it's. I saw Harry Secombe in 'Pickwick'. I saw Ron Moody as Fagin in Oliver. I've seen loads of Dickens but I've only read a few.

My son found him almost impossible to read - and he reads a LOT. Yet his stories survive and work so well when dramatised. I've a notion he'll be around - and relevant - for another two hundred years but I'm not so sure it'll be because people are reading him.

Call The Nostalgia

With politicians from all sides sniping at him Conservative Prime Minister John Major didn't exactly have an easy time in the top job. His cabinet was split on Europe - and other things - he referred to those on his side of the house who were ganging up against him as 'bastards' (I'm sure many a Prime Minister has uttered the same words, but with Major we got to know about them). ITV's satirical masterpiece 'Spitting Image' depicted him as a grey man who wore his underpants on the outside. It was a time when Politicians were thought of as the scum of the earth - not unlike now. It was a time of gloom, crashing financial markets, soaring interest rates.
Against this background a television show captured the public imagination. Simple stories simply told. The darling Buds of May offered weekly tales about Pop and Ma Larkin and their numerous offspring, nothing too demanding, nothing too funny, nothing overly dramatic and yet this confection appealed to viewers in their millions. Huge audiences sat down to watch The Darling Buds of May each week. But why?
Downing Street, never very up on what's on the telly, sent for the tapes. Surely there could be something in this show they could tap into.

But Darling Buds was froth. There was nothing the spinmeisters and statisticians could get a grip on.

Yes, it had 'Del Boy', David Jason fresh off the success of Only Fools, yes it had a very pretty Welsh actress, Catherine Zeta Jones, in her first major role but what was at the heart of the formula. How could the politicians tap into this mix?

My theory about Darling Buds has always been nostalgia and sunshine. It tapped into an England that barely ever existed but one that we all love the notion of. And the sun shone, 99% of the time.

Skip forwards to 2012. A coalition government, headed by a Conservative Prime Minister, beset by Euro sceptics and unloved by the great unwashed. Austerity abounds, times is tough, we live under the shadow of a world going to hell in a handcart.

What are people watching in the millions? A Sunday night drama about bicycle-riding Midwives working in the East End of London in the 1950's - who live with Nuns. 'Call the Midwife' doesn't depict anything too dramatic, nothing too demanding, yes, there's a sprinkling of humour - but not too much and not much in the way of sunshine. But the nostalgia card is a powerful thing. Instead of sunshine we have babies.

In times of trouble we like to look back not naval gaze. Downing street won't need to send for the tapes this time. They can watch on the BBC iPlayer - and wonder how they can tap into the shows success.