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Tomorrow, this journal will have been running for five years. Five years! Which is not to say I've been writing it for five years, of course. Still. Blimey.
Churchill: The Hollywood Years is even better than I expected. While I would say that I love the Comic Strip's earlier films on this theme, Strike and GLC, when I sit down to watch them I find myself uncomfortably reminded of their flaws. But here, perhaps because Peter Richardson had something closer to a Hollywood budget, he could manage a better facsimile of the Hollywood style - and if you're attempting parody then you should always attempt to be as close as possible to your target, all except for the one axis you alter. So, having Christian Slater instantly puts you ahead of having a Comic Strip regular playing a Hollywood star playing the lead, and so forth. The remarkable thing is that as well as mercilessly mocking Hollywood's take on British history (I especially liked the loveable Irish Cockneys of Ye Olde Dick Van Dyke Street), they also manage to skewer a few targets within the real Britain both today (the nightbus scene) and historically (if Neville Chamberlain wasn't quite Leslie Phillips carrying Hitler's bags for him, he wasn't far off). Oh, and I realise that outside this context the following would be de facto evidence of insanity, but: Princess Margaret? Superhott.
Compared to which, Black Snake Moan could hardly compete. Put it this way - if you think a film with a nymphomaniac Christina Ricci chained to a radiator in her underwear sounds awesome, you'll be disappointed. If you think it sounds atrocious, you'll be pleasantly surprised. If the whole thing had been sold more as a film about the blues with a surprisingly effective supporting turn from Justin Timberlake, maybe everyone would have had a better idea what to expect.
In one of those handy developments where my interests intersect, the new Mountain Goats album has a song about HP Lovecraft.
Listening to the sixth series of Andy Hamilton's Hell-com Old Harry's Game, I found it entertaining enough but didn't quite get why some people esteem it so highly. They seem to have been casting around for new set-ups by that series, is that the problem? I mean, yes it works as a light topical and theological satire, but I'm not sure it's something that would reward repeat listening any more than HIGNFY? is rewatchable. And if it's not the case that everyone goes to Hell, why was Gandhi there? I just assumed from mentions like his that nobody makes Hamilton's Heaven, but apparently that's not it. So at least get a gag out of consigning someone like Gandhi to the flames!
Meanwhile, all the real world can offer is a new gay plague in San Francisco, why we were right to be scared of In The Night Garden and some fairly atrocious weather. I think I'm staying in hiding 'til February.
Churchill: The Hollywood Years is even better than I expected. While I would say that I love the Comic Strip's earlier films on this theme, Strike and GLC, when I sit down to watch them I find myself uncomfortably reminded of their flaws. But here, perhaps because Peter Richardson had something closer to a Hollywood budget, he could manage a better facsimile of the Hollywood style - and if you're attempting parody then you should always attempt to be as close as possible to your target, all except for the one axis you alter. So, having Christian Slater instantly puts you ahead of having a Comic Strip regular playing a Hollywood star playing the lead, and so forth. The remarkable thing is that as well as mercilessly mocking Hollywood's take on British history (I especially liked the loveable Irish Cockneys of Ye Olde Dick Van Dyke Street), they also manage to skewer a few targets within the real Britain both today (the nightbus scene) and historically (if Neville Chamberlain wasn't quite Leslie Phillips carrying Hitler's bags for him, he wasn't far off). Oh, and I realise that outside this context the following would be de facto evidence of insanity, but: Princess Margaret? Superhott.
Compared to which, Black Snake Moan could hardly compete. Put it this way - if you think a film with a nymphomaniac Christina Ricci chained to a radiator in her underwear sounds awesome, you'll be disappointed. If you think it sounds atrocious, you'll be pleasantly surprised. If the whole thing had been sold more as a film about the blues with a surprisingly effective supporting turn from Justin Timberlake, maybe everyone would have had a better idea what to expect.
In one of those handy developments where my interests intersect, the new Mountain Goats album has a song about HP Lovecraft.
Listening to the sixth series of Andy Hamilton's Hell-com Old Harry's Game, I found it entertaining enough but didn't quite get why some people esteem it so highly. They seem to have been casting around for new set-ups by that series, is that the problem? I mean, yes it works as a light topical and theological satire, but I'm not sure it's something that would reward repeat listening any more than HIGNFY? is rewatchable. And if it's not the case that everyone goes to Hell, why was Gandhi there? I just assumed from mentions like his that nobody makes Hamilton's Heaven, but apparently that's not it. So at least get a gag out of consigning someone like Gandhi to the flames!
Meanwhile, all the real world can offer is a new gay plague in San Francisco, why we were right to be scared of In The Night Garden and some fairly atrocious weather. I think I'm staying in hiding 'til February.
