Sunday, November 14, 2004
Laugh? Never thought I'd start.
I'm not what you'd describe as a red hot raving economic rationalist, BUT ...
... when it comes to watching comedy I want my pound of flash performances and snappy writing.
Call me curmudgeonly, humourless or not on the wave-length of the current generation (©On-the-Job Billy) if you must, but having watched "Little Britain" a couple of times, this deja viewer reckons spending 30 minutes of his hard-earned time for 1 or 2 chortles seems to be a fairly poor return on his investment.
It seems that this "Little Britain" mob have cobbled together this neither fish nor foul tosh after gaining unauthorised access to "The League of Gentlemen" cutting room floor. Having meticulously untangled, sorted and glued together bins of paper shreddings, they threw out all the mildly funny bits of the cutting room flawed scripts. They then adopted the cutting edge, tried and tested end of season football club concert ball-tearer - let's dress up as sheilas. (And poofs are always guaranteed snigger territory.)
Sorry chapettes, muttony old scripts cross-dressed up as new season's lamb doesn't cut the mint sauce.
This not just a Brit bash, over the past few years there's been more than a little desperate sifting through the tailings of "Hey, Dad", "The Norman Gunstone Gunston Show" and "Aunty Jack" in the search for new Australian comedy gold.
But it hasn't been all irritation this week, and I'd like to doff me hat to the chaps who wrote the newspaper advert for the fillum "Hero". "HERO: Now showing in cinemas". Lucky I spotted the ad, silly me was just about to head off to book a seat at the local milkbar.
Think I should stick to reading books, and reporting on this week's bathtime reading means I'm going to have to mention the Waugh. He has a fine turn of phrase for a sheila does that Evelyn.
"We limeys have a peculiar position to keep up, you know, Barlow. They may laugh at us a bit - the way we talk and the way we dress; our monocles - they may think us cliquey and stand-offish, but, by God, they respect us. Your five to two is a judge of quality. He knows what he's buying and it's only the finest type of Englishman you meet out here. I often feel like an ambassador, Barlow. It's a responsibility, I can tell you, and in various degrees every Englishman out here shares it. We can't all be at the top of the tree but we are all men of responsibility. You never find and Englishman among the underdogs - except in England of course. That's understood out here, thanks to the example we've set. There are jobs that an Englishman just doesn't take."
"We had an unfortunate case some years ago of a very decent young fellow who came out as a scene designer. Clever chap but he went completely native - wore ready-made shoes, and a belt instead of braces, went about without a tie, ate at drug-stores. Then, if you'll believe it, he left the studio and opened a restaurant with an Italian partner. Got cheated , of course, and the next thing he was behind a bar shaking cocktails. Appalling business. We raised a subscription at the Cricket Club to send him home, but the blighter wouldn't go. Said he liked the place, if you please. The man did irreparable harm, Barlow. He was nothing less than a deserter. Luckily the war came. He went home then all right and got himself killed in Norway. He atoned, but I always think how much better not to have anything to atone for, eh?"
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