Stewart Lee v Michael McIntyre

The comedian Stewart Lee has launched a bitter attack on comedians who use writers. His anger for Michael McIntyre is well know, according to Stewart Lee McIntyre's observational routines are like spoon feeding his audience warm diarrhoea. His act is, literally, shit. Hmmm, harsh.

Stewart Lee is a clever man. A clever, funny man, cleverer than many of his contemporaries but not always as funny and certainly not recognised by the public in the way Lee Evans or Michael McItyre are. It sometimes feels like Stewart Lee really doesn't like this.

I've interviews Stewart Lee a couple of times on my radio show. He comes across as a thoughtful, intelligent, deep individual who has a knack for mining the absurd and a way with words. He's sometimes called 'the comedians comedian'. That probably irks him, the last man to be gifted with that title was Bob Monkhouse. Heaven knows what Lee made of Monkhouse, who wrote much of his own stuff but also used several other writers.

Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle - his most recent television show - is a wonderful thing. I enjoy it immensely, Lee is a very clever stand up. Two things: 1. the show is script edited by Chris Morris, which given Lee's abhorrence of anyone else's voice (ie another writer) infecting the pure thoughts of the stand up seems at odds with his philosophy and 2. It's very very clever but it's not always very very funny.

There, I've said it.  He's not always hilariously funny. But here's the thing - that doesn't matter. What Stewart Lee has going for him is an intellect that allows him to explore areas other people don't - but not always in a funny way. Between the punch lines there are lots of other words that are aimed at making people think but not necessarily laugh. And that's fine.

But. Sometimes I want to laugh. Really laugh. Out loud.

If I want to laugh like a drain at less intellectually demanding material, consistently funny material, over an hour - or more - then I'll go see someone like Michael McIntyre or buy his latest DVD. And while I'm watching I m not thinking 'he didn't write that bit', that's not a pure comedic thought that kept him up last night as he polished it into a sparkling nugget of hilarity.

I don't buy this 'purity of thought' argument.

The first time I met Stewart Lee he was being targeted by religious groups for his so-say blasphemous libretto to Jerry Springer: The Opera. The BBC were worried they'd have to smuggle him into the studio past the outraged people with placards, there to hiss at him, spit and threaten - some people had got very hot and bothered about the swearing and the depiction of Christ. Lee had answers to all their objections. He intellectualise their concerns and shot them down in flames. Les Dawson (who wrote most of his own stuff) never had to run the gauntlet, did that make him less funny?

I can't say I enjoyed Jerry Springer: The Opera. It seemed to me to be swamped by so much swearing the cussing just got in the way, I found it repetitive (of course it was, that's what Operas are!!) I know, but I got (oh dear) bored with it. Didn't make it to the end. I know, I am a pygmy in a land of intellectual giants but I didn't find it funny. And I know - because so many people told me so - I should have been rolling in the aisles. Well, one man's meat is another man's bicycle.

Enough people disagreed with me to make Jerry a short lived sensation. Stewart Lee prodded and poked and did something original. And that's what he strives for - originality. God bless originality.

But.

If you're paying to see your favourite comedian you want him or her to be funny. Very funny. And for the guys who regularly do big tours that means they have to collaborate - goddamit use writers!!!!

Since the 80's and the rise of the alternative comedian we want our stand-ups to be funny and thoughtful, we want a political edge, non racist or sexist routines that shed light on the human condition. The best of the post 80's comics are very good - many are ordinary. I'll say it again, what most people want when they pay to see a comedian is a laugh - many laughs, a shower, no tsunami of laughs.

Some would argue there is a difference between a stand-up and a comedian, the latter more of a performer. In the end they are both trying to get a laugh and if some of those laughs are generated by writers what's wrong with that. How does that sully the words in their mouths?

The idea that a comedian who 'performs' other people's material - specially written for them as apposed to gags ripped off from other comics as was the case pre 80's - is somehow the lowest form of life on the circuit is frankly bollocks. Great comedians have collaborated with writers for years.
Dave Allen - the grandaddy of alternative comedy used writers - here was never a funnier man.

Morecambe and Wise use writers - don't tell me they were sketch comedians, they trod the boards for years and incorporated specially written material into their live act.

I've just read a columnist who says she 'misses the comics who offer sincerity as well as laughter'. Why does speaking someone else's words have to be insincere? You think all those sincere politicians are writing their own speeches? Duh.

I don't believe any old writer can write for any comedian but I've written for a number and the material that works best is that which fits their persona as well as their mouth.

The Beatles wrote their own songs. Elvis didn't. So what.

I have to be in the mood for Stewart Lee. I'm always in the mood for Mike Mcintyre, Peter Kaye...and the sainted Doddy.







 

The Play Must Go On

I don't know how old the old saying 'the show must go on' is but I wouldn't mind betting it was originally uttered in Greek. Actually, it might even go back to the cave men and have nothing to do with theatre at all, "It's pissing down out there, Ug. We can't go hunting in this". "Oh yes we can, Og. The show must go on".

When it comes to live theatre you can't let the paying audience down. With 48 hours to go before George Bernard Shaw's 'Candida' hit the stage, part of the Theatre Royal Bath's summer season, one of the main actors, the always splendid David Troughton, had to take flight as someone in the family had fallen ill.
Shame, I was looking forward to seeing him. Two weeks ago he'd been a guest ago on my Sunday radio show and we'd enjoyed twenty minutes of backwards and forwards, tales of luviedom, telly and his late father, Patrick Troughton, who played the second Dr Who.

No problem, these things happen. That's what understudies are for.

There was no understudy.

You can imagine the panic. "We have a crisis!" Not like the one in Cairo, or the economic hell that is Greece, a theatrical crisis which may be small beer by comparison but one I'd love to have seen being played out. They'd been rehearsing for four weeks, everything was ready to go. This isn't like television where they learn half a page at a time, shoot and learn the next page. You have to know the whole part. All your words and the cues.

And deliver it in a believable way.

And get laughs.

Before the play began, in a moment that was more The Two Ronnies than Theatre Royal Bath,  the director appeared through the red curtain to tell the audience what had happened, the disappointment of losing David Troughton, the relief of finding someone to fill his shoes - RSC actor Christopher Godwin. And then the scary part, he said that Christopher Godwin would be carrying a script. Carrying a script, on stage, how was that going to work? Suddenly there was a shuffling of bums and nervous energy in the auditorium. Immediately my mind went to the wonderful Two Ronnies Amateur Dramatics sketch in which Ronnie Barker plays a a butcher who is a late replacement for a cast member who's gone ill. Barker reads his part from a book, losing all the intonation and misreading much of the dialogue. Hilarious, but not what was required in 'Candida'.

Curtain up and the first moments went well enough but then Chris Godwin was still backstage, you could feel the audience waiting for his entrance. Would he be reading, bumping into the furniture? "Sorry, love. I'll take read that again".

Forget it. Members of the RSC are the marines of the acting profession. Though Godwin carried a script book he hardly referred to it, he'd learnt 95% of the role in two days - two days! - and put in a terrific performance. Needless to say he got a huge round of applause at the end.

So today it's hat's off to old school English actors, making a perfectly wonderful drama out of a crisis.

Goodbye, Jimmy. James Gandolfini Dead.

"Woke up this mornin..." as the theme song to the Sopranos says, but who could have imagined the  news about James Gandolfini's death at 51.

In The Sopranos he was to play the ultimate television bad guy, a character who was as complex as any ever seen on the small - or big - screen. Tony Soprano was no cliche, he was a living breathing man. A brow-beaten father, husband, philanderer, worrier, killer. That was the trick, to make Tony human.

I first noticed Gandolfini as Bear in Get Shorty, a strong arm character with beard and ponytail - but one with a heart, cradling his little girl in his arms. There's more than one side to any thug. Gandolfini knew that because he was so much more than just a bad guy actor.

David Chase, the creator of The Sopranos, wrote the series mainly through Tony's eyes. When we weren't with Tony we wanted to be. How could it be that a killer, a thug, a fashion-free Mafioso could be so compelling? Gandolfini made him so. A writer can write the word and action but an actor has to bring the twinkle in the eyes, the smile that plays across the lips, the power that suddenly burst forth. Gandolfini had that power in spades.

Contrast the mob boss scenes with those alone in a room with Dr Melfi. So often he sits there with a blank expression, like a schoolboy waiting for admonishment. Whenever he gets too close to working out what really lies at the bottom of his problems he strikes out, explodes, he doesn't want to face the immorality of what he does. Without those scenes in the doctor's office would we have cared about him quite as much, I don't think so. It gave us the insight into his inner conflict. He's a soldier. There are rules. He follows the path. Gandolfini added so many layers on top of the writing.

To be Tony Soprano was a blessing, but for some actors it would also have been a curse. How could an actor shake off that role to play others. Gandolfini did. In The Mexican, alongside Julia Roberts, he plays a gay hit man, in In The Loop he's a Lt General working inside an insane political system, in Zero Dark Thirty he's the C.I.A Director.

He even appeared on screen in the down and dirty musical Romance and Cigarettes - Tony Soprano sings! There was much more to him that one role.

When I first saw The Sopranos, the night it debuted here, I knew I was watching something special. I followed the show through the twists and turns of every episode, every series until the enigmatic ending that still has fans divided. To all of us who watched and loved the show Gandolfini's portrayal of  "T" was unmissable. We'll miss him.

A man with so much talent dies at 51, a tragedy but as Tony would say, "Whadyagonnado..."

S Is Not For Superman

 Well, who'd have thought it, turns out the S isn't an S at all and it absolutely doesn't stand for Superman. Nice new suit, no sign of the red pants outside the trousers, not that they ever were trousers but that was the old gag, "if Superman's so smart, how come he wears his pants outside his trousers". Now he doesn't. I guess he smartened up. Though I read they tried the red pants, tried them all ways apparently. Couldn't make them work, not for today's sophisticated 14 year olds. No sir.
What we need this reboot around is an altogether darker blue suit and a really rich red cape and no pants. he's smarter remember. Oh, is he?

Saw the Man of Steel yesterday - if it's such a big hit how come the cinema was about a fifth full? - I digress.  From the word go I got a bad feeling. That feeling I get when actors eyes are moving around in close ups when they should be still, perfectly still.

I learned that from Sir Michael Caine. He knows a thing or two about close ups and was in that other DC comics hero movie, Batman, the one directed and produced by Chris Nolan, who wears a suit on set but not a dark blue one with a cape. Nolan produces here and shares a story credit, Zack Snyder gets to direct. Unfortunately Russell Crow has never had the benefit of an acting lesson with Michael Caine, his eyes were everywhere and boy did he do a lot of ACTING in this movie.

It all kicks off on Krypton - like so many Superman origin movies before - the planet is doomed, about to blow, Jor El has got to send his kid off into space to...oh hell, you know how it goes. Did we need twenty minutes of this or was it just down to the fact that with the Crow on board you've got give the great bearded one ample opportunity to waggle his eyes and look concerned. I can confirm he did both - but we didn't need it - or the four winged flying dragon thing he used as a taxi.

So, the El kid gets booted off to Earth while General Zod - yes it's THAT Superman plot again - gets all antsy about protecting the bloodline of the Kryptononians ( I have no idea what they're called, they can't be Kryptonites, that's the green rock stuff - of which there was NO sign in this movie so they must be saving that up for the next one when they'll drag Lex Luthor's ass back cos Zod and Lexy-baby are the only two antagonists allowed in a Superman movie by law). Anyway, Zod and his sidekicks get frozen and are propelled into space prison in what looks like rocket powered dildos. Huh? Did no-one notice, or did they put that in just so the twelve year old boys could fnar fnar.

They could have done all this Krypton stuff in five minutes. But then it wouldn't have been so dark. And Dark is what they're going for here. You can hear the pitch now - "Worked for Batman, it'll work for Superman"

Except...

It doesn't.

No really, believe me. Nolan's Batman was a joy. But Bruce Wayne is a guy with gizmos and a cave-full of personal issues to wade through.
Superman is a god. He's indestructible - it's there in the title: Man of Steel. Once he's gotten used to the idea that he's different from all the other kids - and again, did we need this hammered home four or five times? - once he's used to that then his job is to save people and be the all American hero - but how can anyone best him. Hence the Zod plot. That's why Lex and the Kryptonite awaits.  

For what seemed like an hour we are treated to ol' Suppy and Zod smashing through buildings that then collapsed, exploded, imploded, shattered, twist and eventually turn to dust. They have fist fights neither could win cos they're both 'men of steel' so no matter how hard either one hits the other neither is going down.

So, while all that's going on lets flip a few hundred cars on the streets of Metropolis while people look up and wonder - instead of running the fuck away. I would, wouldn't you?

Here's the good bit, young Clark and his human mom and dad, his adoptive parents in Kansas, on the farm,  Kevin Costner and Diane Lane. Shot like an indie movie the flashback are the only real sections that involve us with characters we might feel something for. I don't know about you but CGI stunts are getting old pretty fast. WE KNOW IT'S NOT REAL so less is more.

What I really wanted was Joss Whedon to have directed and written this. Those guys at Marvel understand the single most important thing when it comes to superpeople films - they have to have humour. Have to. Absolutely. Without humour what have you got...oh yeah, Man of Steel. Barely a quip in the whole movie. Batman got away with it because Batman was a drama dressed up as a superhero movie - but Bruce Wayne has no superpowers and nor do any of his enemies.

As Superman Henry Cavill is fine and dandy. With a few amusing lines he'd have been better - but no one on the planet would ever look better in that suit. Amy Adams - wonderful actress, if you haven't seen it, go see The Fighter - does what she can with Lois Lane but she gets saddled with some god awful lines ("I'm a Pulitzer Prize winning journalist" yeesh) and doesn't have that much more to do than a Dr Who assistant from the 70's. And please, could someone explain to the makers the effect G-forces have on the human body before the next outing. Lois scooped up and flown away at seven times the speed of sound might look a little more ruffled than she is here.

When I saw Christopher Reeve in Superman The Movie I was twenty years old. It gave me a lump in my throat, thrills, laughs and a wonderful cinematic experience. When he catches Margot Kidder as Lois as she falls he looks into her eyes and says, "I've got you". She looks into his and says, "Yeah, but who's got YOU?" I cared about them. Sorry but I didn't care about the Man of Steel.

By the way, the S on his chest isn't an S at all. It means...hope.

Hope the next one's better.

Minnion Bumps Into His Boss On The Stairs

Another brief glimpse into the world of Michael Minnion, radio show host.

He bumps into his boss on the stairs. His boss is engrossed with his brain training DS game.

Michael: (cheery) Morning.

Boss: Um?

Michael: Spring's on the way.

Boss:  Really, do we have that any more?

Michael: It may not seem like Spring but...

Boss: They should rename the seasons Wet and Dry. And More Wet. Have three instead of six.

Michael: Six? Actually...

Boss: Seriously this is a good idea. We should do a phone-in. Who does the phone in?

Michael: Uh...I do.

Boss: Really? How did that happen? Ok, well, we can change that.

Michael: You want me to do a phone in on re-naming the seasons?

Boss: No, of course not.

Michael: That would be a pretty stupid...

Boss: Not you. We could get someone with...gravitas, someone who can empathize with a listeners who's up to his knees in water.

Michael: We've been talking to those people for months. Some sad stories.

Boss:  I'm not talking about sad stories. You need to be more upbeat with these people, don't let them come on and whine. I hate whiners.

Michael: They've lost all their possessions, some have no insurance.

Boss: Encourage them to sing, do a limmerick.

Michael: About being flooded.

Boss: Get them to Tweet it. In fact get everyone to tweet, what is this phone thing anymore. We don't live in the 15th century. Phones are so 15th century.

Michael: Actually...

Boss: Tell them we have a prize, a yacht, money.

Michael: There's a prize for the best limmerick about being flooded?

Boss: Yes, yes. Just say that.

Michael: But that's misrepresentation.

Boss: (looks into Minnion's soul) Do you always wear jeans?

Michael: yeah, most days.

Boss: Don't.

What Were We Watching in 2012

The Olympic and Paralympic Games cloud my vision, I can barely see back before them, though my memory retains a vague recollection that a hot Spring had people from the Environment agency handing out hose-pipe bans and warning we'd need three months solid rain if the aquifers were to be replenished. 

Never grant these men their wishes again. 2012 was the year it poured. The aquifers are now overflowing and still it rains. 

Even most sceptics were won over by the summer of sport, not just by the quality of the achievements but also by the way in which the BBC managed to pull together and get it right. All the BBC, TV and Radio and those never to be left unmentioned web pages where we can get more information about the race we've just watched. What more can a web page add to Mo? 

This is the same BBC that got the Royal Flotilla coverage of the Queen's Jubilee year so wrong and later went on to turn a gun on itself with its treatment of the Jimmy Savile Newsnight story and later accusations leveled at a senior politician. One step forwards, two steps back.

The Olympics were about extraordinary athletic achievement and spectacle. I'm trying to forget Radio 1's Trevor Nelson, telling me during the opening ceremony, 'see that bloke in the crowd there? He's my mate!'. Dear god. Not content with his lame-brain inanities at the beginning of the Olympiad the Beeb had the temerity to wheel him out for the closing ceremony too. 

But oh that opening ceremony. Danny Boyle you made us proud to be British and we all thought we'd have to watch it from behind the sofa, like we used to Dr Who. Surely it would be one long cringe; how wrong could we be. Did I miss Danny's knighthood or is he a refusenik like Alan Bennett, "Thanks but no thanks, I'm ok as I am". 

Would you turn down a gong? As New Year's and Queen's Birthday Honours come around I find myself wondering why we perpetuate these arcane medals. Not that I'm ever likely to be called to the palace, but should the manila embossed envelope arrive I'd have to write back a pithy note saying, "I'll pick up mine when Danny Boyle picks up his". 

There was so much to look forward to twelve months ago. The world had it's eye on us and we  didn't disappoint.

On  the box Mrs Brown took hold as the new sit-com sensation - I remain to be convinced. Most big laugh still rely on the inclusion of the word 'fuck' to get the laugh.

A raft of American shows continued to hold my attention. Justified, Boardwalk Empire, Homeland - though the latter in its bid to become a franchise had some horribly clunky moments and may drift even further from the tension of the fine first series when it returns for series three. 

Game of Thrones was good rather than great but delivered a terrific series ending episode.  

 If you haven't been watching Treme it's time to catch up. New Orleans in the aftermath of Katrina seemed a strange option for The Wire creator David Simon's next project but it's approach is a delightful weaving of human stories.


One actor who suddenly appeared from  nowhere was Bobby Cannavale who played the psychotic Gyp Rosetti in Boardwalk Empire and an only slightly less psychotic doctor in Nurse Jackie. The latter is a treat, a drama masquerading as a comedy. It delights with ever episode.

Finally, Mad Men remains a joy. Despite the show being off air for more than twelve months it returned with a confidence that only a show presided over so tightly by one mind can achieve. Mathew Weiner's compelling meditation of the shifting cultural tides of mid 20th century America is just extraordinary. It shows us what we were and what we now are without ever telling us. The best example of writing one could ask for - but then I'm biased. 

Minnion Meets his New Boss

The following conversation was recorded and sent to me by Michael Minnion, radio show presenter of many years who recently met his new boss.

New Boss: Hi, you must be Martin.

Minnion:    Michael.

New Boss: So...(avoiding eye contact) what did you want to see me about?

Minnion:    You asked to see me.

New Boss: Yes, it's good we get to know each other.

Minnion:    You've been here six weeks.

New Boss: I've been listening.

Minnion:    I hope you like what I do.

New Boss: I don't like, I love what you do.

Minnion:    (taken aback) Really.

New Boss: I haven't heard a whole show...

Minnion:    Oh.

New Boss: You're not the only show on the air.

Minnion:    No but...

New Boss: Tell me something, and be honest...do you think it's getting a bit stale?

Minnion:    The station?

New Boss: Your show.

Minnion:    I thought you said you loved what I do.

New Boss: You mustn't take these things literally. I was speaking generically.

Minnion:    Sorry, you've lost me.

New Boss: You're figures are very good. Figures are very, very important.

Minnion:    We've doubled the numbers of the previous guy.

New Boss: Numbers aren't everything. He wasn't very good was he.

Minnion:    He did the show for twelve years, the audience loved him.

New Boss: If he was that good why did he leave?

Minnion:    He was killed in a car accident with four other people.

New Boss: I want you to think about your show.

Minnion:   I hope I do that all the time. I work hard on the content.

New Boss: I'm not talking about the content, Martin, I'm talking about the texture.

Minnion:    O...K...so that's what...exactly?

New Boss: Pretty self-explanatory.

Minnion:   Actually I'm not sure I understand.

New Boss: Come on Martin, do I have to explain everything.

Minnion:    Michael.

New Boss: could you stop interrupting. Imagine I'm a listener.

Minnion:    You're a listener...

New Boss: I'm driving along in my 7 series BMW, the one that pushes the boundaries with flowing lines and fabulous handling. (stares out the window)

(long pause)

Minnion:    (coughs) You're driving...

New Boss: Um? Yes. Driving. When I have you on in the car I want to be able to reach through the radio and touch you.

Minnion:    Metaphorically.

New Boss: Literally. What will I feel?

Minnion:    Feel?

New Boss: What do you feel like. Are you rough, smooth, sticky, porous. You need to consider the listener.

Minnion:    I do. Always. But what has...

New Boss: I'm not talking about those listeners who listen to you now. I'm talking about all the listeners who aren't listening to you. What are you providing for them?

Minnion:     How can I provide something for people who aren't listening to me?

New Boss: (hand up) Please, don't bring attitude into this office.

Minnion:    If they're not listening...

New Boss: ...if they're not listening it's because you're not giving them anything to listen to. Work on it. OK? (hits intercom) Emma, what time's my one o'clock?

Minnion gets up and awkwardly backs out of the office, his head reeling.

to be continued...