Oh it’s been a huge televisual feast this last week alright. Last night it was the Baftas where we witnessed in the starry audience Avatar Director James Cameron surrounded by a territorial army of acolytes and flunkies. His retinue of minions picked up a couple of the early cheap awards for best lipstick and best outrageous skin colouring on an imaginary animated animal. And didn’t he look smug as he and new trophy wife anticipated an avalanche of Baftas falling into his arms. He doesn’t normally do less than 7 gongs at these events don’cha know? That’s to enable him to deliver the longest, most excruciating, humility-free acceptance speech where he praises every one of his many talents. Sadly Cameron was trumped by his ex-wife and fellow Director Kathryn Bigelow who garnered six of the big awards for her film The Hurt Locker. Cameron’s faced looked as tightly-pinched as a cat’s a**ehole as he bravely clapped (very slowly) whilst Biggers went up to collect HIS, sorry her, awards for Best Director and Best Film. Don’t you just feel proud to be awkward-arse British? Perfidious Albion, I love you.
But let’s be gracious and praise our cousins across the pond for what they are truly great at; celebrity sincerity TV. Ah yes the apology from a prodigy. We’ve seen it from philandering tv evangelists, sports star heroes and even Presidents. But this week Tiger Woods broke cover to say sorry to his many friends and supporters (ie remaining sponsors) for his hedonistic behaviour. I liked the bit where he said that he’d always dreamt of playing for Chelsea and this was the nearest he’d get to emulating his heroes. Nice touch. Apparently his wife Elin couldn’t be there as she was ‘finding herself’ in the same Dubai hotel as Toni, Cheryl, Elen and Carly. Or Girls Unploughed as I like to call them. It was all so believable and lacking in polished cynicism. Er…I think I’m not alone in wondering when Tiger will return to the golf circuit and the pleasures of the ‘open’ press conference with questions from our red tops’ finest.
Then to complement the great wailing we had the week’s Great Unveiling – the truth about who killed Archie Mitchell in EastEnders’ 25th anniversary live event. I’ve long since lost the plot on this. There seemed to be at least 35 suspects including the least likeable characters from the show. What better way to rid the world forever of Phil Mitchell, Ian Beale or Sam Mitchell? But no, the producers chose to lump the crime and character exits on two of the more likeable characters, blushing Bradley Branning and slutty but still sexy Stacey Slater. It was fun to watch the mayhem unravel – the blurted lines and unintentional camera angles. But let’s not giggle over the less-than-perfect production, I’m really sad that Bradley didn’t have the foresight to fall from the roof of the Vic onto the ample charms of diminutive East End cockerney cockatoo Peggy Mitchell. Oh how they missed a triple salkow with that ending. Imagine the headline in the Walford Weekly; Ladder-less Bradders daggers Shaggers Peggers.
So much TV heaven – and I’ve not even mentioned the return of Coach Trip. If you’ve seen better/worse this week let me know.
pp
Pasta Paulie 