I think my natural mood is cranky (as I’m sure my wife would testify) as it hasn’t taken long for me to feel the need to pass critical judgement again.
Autumn is well and truly over and thankfully that means the reality tv blockbusters have all crowned their various champions at last and are over for another season. Yee hah. But that means it’s the Xmas schedules on the telly now and one of the things about having a wife and 3 daughters and 3 grandchildren is that you get to watch a lot of stuff over the festive period which can be as much fun as anal warts.
I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this before but I happen to really like the film The Godfather. Even now I can watch it, fascinated. And that’s exactly what we did last Monday evening. But rather than view it on the small screen, C and I were treated by our lovely daughters E and S (and husbands of course) to a night at the Royal Albert Hall where Francis Ford Coppola’s timeless masterpiece was shown on the big screen whilst Nino Rota’s immortal score was performed simultaneously by the Philharmonia Orchestra. It was fabulous. And here’s the haunting overture just as a reminder…
If you can think of a better opening soundtrack, well, shout but I’ll take some convincing. And don’t forget I’m a superstitious man, and if some unlucky accident should befall your suggestion; if it should get shot to pieces by a police officer, or if it should get hanged up to dangle provocatively, or if it were to get struck by a bolt of lightning, then I’m going to blame some of the people in this posting. And that, I do not forgive.
But, that aside, let me say that I swear – on the souls of my grandchildren – that I will not be the one to break the hearts of those who may make alternative suggestions here today….
ps the performance was absolutely sold out and here’s a view of the stage and the screen from our seats just before the show began. Incredibly we got there early for once! It seems like a long time since I was managing all the corporate hospitality for Cellnet/O2&BT and had the best box in the house, immediately overlooking the stage and attending all the great RAH events; Clapton, Cirque, Cream, Carmen, Carmina, Cliff and the Christmas Carol Concert sponsored by BT (and getting to events with seconds to spare). Actually I never went to the last two. Anyway I’ve never been up in the circle before and it was brilliant. Thank you guys LY D x
It’s the autumn so it’s back to the interminable tv blockbusters, Strictly and X Factor. Add another to that list – The Apprentice now with 20 candidates wanting a £250,000 Sugar Daddy which means it’ll probably be 2015 before we find out which of the wannabe semi-rich and nearly famous at any price desperate ones gets the final finger. Sigh. I can’t help thinking that this is yet another programme well past its sell-by date. Like Big Brother it started out as an interesting experiment and has just become a sad parody of itself. And the biggest saddo is bloody Sugar himself. Continue reading
Oh baby Jesus I’ve just watched the BBC’s latest attempt to showcase celebrities doing stuff outside their comfort zone. Entitled Tumble it features a bunch of C-listers doing tumbling and simple gymnastic stuff. It’s like Splash! but not as scary or fascinating, which makes it about as much fun as anal warts. It is beyond dire. It’s diarrhoea.
Oh dear readers I saw something on tv today that will will live with me forever. No not the end of Spanish tika taka football but an edition of Come Dine With Me set in God’s own comedy land of Halifax, West Riding. It starred a young woman, Caroline, who was truly lovely but with an accent so reet belting Yerkshire she could strip t’skin off a stick uh rhubarb from 10 paces. Continue reading
Do you remember that song from Alanis Morissette where she sang about lots of things which touched her soul and after each example invited us to agree with her that ‘Isn’t it ironic?’. The thing was that none of the things she wrote about were actually ironic. Unfortunate perhaps and slightly annoying but sadly Alanis, not particularly paradoxical. So last night my wife C’s watching the final episode of a drama series that’s been gripping her and 7m other viewers, set in the bleak Yorkshire landscape around Halifax. Bleak’s a good word because that describes the plotline which features a police officer, played excellently by Sarah Lancashire, faced with issues of drug addiction, suicide (her own daughter), murder, kidnapping and extortion, rape, brutal violence, dysfunctional family relationships, desperation, decay, divorce, police incompetence and lots of rain. It’s relentlessly grim; in other words it’s just an other day in t’West Yerkshire. And the name of this series? Happy Valley. Ha! And C loved it and didn’t see the title as the least bit enigmatic. 40 years plus together and she’s still a delightful mystery to me. Women eh. Alanis give us a burst of that song again love…
At the risk of being accused of watching too much daytime TV, another thought occurred to me watching Frasier this morning. Have you nerticed how televsion sets and props are often an important character element in great sitcoms? Well I have.