Big star, big disappointment

Each theatre season, the first shows that sell out are the ones that have the biggest celebrity names in them. Understandably, the ticket buying public are going to be keen to see the latest Oscar winner or up-and-coming indie kid strut their thespian boots just mere feet away from their own menial beings. Taking it’s lead from Broadway, the West End now prides itself on being able to lure in-demand actors to it’s stages; this year alone has tempted Dame Helen Mirren, Jude Law, Ian McKellen, Rachel Weisz, Ethan Hawke, Dame Judi Dench, Patrick Stewart, Ralph Fiennes and James McAvoy to name but a few. But are these expectations met and is the inflation in ticket prices to cover said actors flat in Covent Garden for three months really worth it? In my experience, the answer is a disappointingly resounding no.

I once read, ‘if an actor can act on stage then that means they are truly good at their craft’; and I couldn’t agree more. Actors in films and tv are (usually) good at their profession, but not to the calibre of the specifically stage trained. Movie actors can do umpteen takes of a scene until they get it right and the post-production suite can edit even the most appalling scenes into something vaguely watchable. On stage, you have one chance and one chance only to get it right – if the actor forgets a line on stage or misses their cue, their performance will be tainted by their mistake for the remainder of the evening.

One of the first ‘big name’ actors I saw on stage was Matthew Perry, of Friends fame. (Having been to the theatre many times before this there is a very good chance I saw some other well known actors but this is the first one I was fully aware of.) Taking the lead role in what was technically a stellar cast comprising of Perry, Minnie Driver and Simpsons legend Hank Azaria, you’d expect the final outcome to be something incredibly memorable. Sadly, this production is going to be remembered solely for it’s record breaking box office takings rather than some first class acting displays.

The National Theatre’s Phedre, starring the Queen of acting herself, Dame Helen Mirren, opened to mixed reviews but I had faith that the British jewel in the crown would compensate for whatever Ted Hughes’ adaptation of a long and dreary ‘classic’ script lacked. Yet the over-dramatic and strained performance displayed as she wailed about the stage was far from her Oscar winning ways, though she was perhaps not helped by a supporting performance from Dominic Cooper which proved just as wooden as the unimaginative stage set. I’m not even going to venture into how truly dire Orlando Bloom was when he trod the boards; but at least he still has his looks.

This is therefore my point. Award winning actors who are big players in the Hollywood game continue to demonstrate, somewhat willingly, that perhaps their talents are not worth anywhere near the ludicrous amounts of money they received for their latest cinematic endeavour, yet actors who beat these big hitters at their own game remain left in the wings and struggling to afford the rent on their dingy studio flat.

Guys and Dolls sauntered into the West End a few years back boasting Ewan McGregor in the lead role, and Jane Krakowski who played screwball Elaine in Ally McBeal as the leading lady. Eager to see my favourite Scot I snapped up tickets, and I’m not going to lie when I say I was more than just a little bit disappointed when I showed up on the day only to discover that McGregor had throat problems and the understudy was going to be stepping in. That’s it, I thought. The play will be ruined and the night is over! Nobody is more pleased than I to be able to say that I could not have been more wrong. Krakowski naturally wowed, but with a string of acclaimed performances on Broadway and Tony Awards lining her shelves, it was hardly unexpected. The understudy (I forget his name) was simply phenomenal. His charisma overtook the stage, his singing ability overpowered the audience and his acting was pretty damn a-ok as well; I could not have been more impressed with his performance. A few weeks later I returned, out of curiosity, to see McGregor embody the role and even though he has a great singing voice and is undoubtedly a confident actor, his performance was nowhere near that of his understudy; though by the applause he received you’d hardly believe it. This is what frustrates me most. Incredible actors are quite literally being pushed to the side of the stage for often less capable actors – but because their last movie grossed however many millions, the producers are sticking these famous faces on posters and making a quick mint whilst the film actor has a bit of ‘serious’ acting to stick on their CV.

Theatre should be about credibility, not how many faces we can place as recognisable off the big screen. Spring Awakening, with a cast entirely of unknown teenagers, recently wowed critics and audiences alike (and quite rightly so), yet it was forced to close early due to financial struggles which seems ludicrous when the meagre play next door is thriving simply due to the presence of a B-list American cast member. We need to get back to the days where theatre was purely about acting. The three best plays I have ever seen in the West End didn’t involve any sitcom members or Golden Globe nominees, whilst many of the worst ones I’ve seen have. Theatre producers and companies need to be less greedy and forage back to some good ol’ traditional theatre roots. With increasing ticket costs, audience members deserve to be able to see unforgettably outstanding acting on stage, and taking or leaving the latest pretty boy’s decidedly average performance down at the multiplex.

Artists' Impression

Think of all the artistic ‘greats’ – Monet, Picasso, Turner, Rembrandt, Warhol, van Gogh, Dali, Matisse, Degas. They all managed to make a steadfast name for themselves without producing anything reeking of intentional irony, encasing a farm animal in plastic or messing up their living space. Their popularity is based on the fact that they can appreciate a scene and depict it in a recognisable fashion. As someone who was far from top of my art class at school, I am the first to be able to stand up and say that painting and drawing accurately is nowhere near as easy as it looks, and for that alone these artists should be revered. I’m not saying that modern artists such as Damien Hurst or Tracey Emin should be ignored; quite the contrary. But I am in constant bewilderment as to how they can be considered in the spectrum.

My History of Art teacher once said to me that the reason modern works are often viewed as ‘art’ in the same calibre is because nobody thought of doing it before. In doing so, an artist may show ingenuity, but surely a good idea shouldn’t automatically connote talent. There are lots of things that haven’t been done before, but does that mean that if I stick one of them on a canvas, I can expect it to be recognised as art? I would be horrified if it was and I don’t see how artists who spit some jizz on a canvas (currently on display at a London art gallery though not yet the National) can consider themselves as talented. I could do that, but it doesn’t mean I’m good at art; simply that I am good at manipulating other mugs into believing it so.

It's not just 3D works that I feel cannot be considered in the same light as traditional paintings. Last week I stumbled across the BP Portrait Awards exhibition at the National Portrait Gallery and was amazed at the range of abilities that were displayed and apparently viewed in the same discipline. One painting by Jose Luis Corella caught my attention unlike any other painting has in a long while (it's called 'Imagine' and I highly recommend you Google it). My friend and I originally sauntered over to the piece in the mindset that it was a photograph and it was only as we edged closer that we could see it was, in fact, an intricately detailed painting. The colours were so vibrant, the detail so remarkable and the realism so convincing that I was utterly entranced and have ranted on about this painting to anyone who will listen for the past few days. Yet displayed just around the corner from it was a piece that looked like a child had slapped it together as a hurried last minute entry. Inconsistent colours, extraordinarily basic detail and a human face totally out of proportion made its appearance wholly unappealing, particularly when we had been so spoiled by Corella not five minutes before.

I understand that may be the artist’s interpretation of their subject, and that perhaps they did see said subject as someone unworthy of their attention or specific detail. This is fine, but when compared to paintings that have clearly been slaved over for innumerable painstaking hours so that not a dab of paint is out of place, they simply seem to be making a mockery of the whole thing. I shall never understand why visibly less talented artists are given far more credit than those who are brimming with talent will ever even get a taste of, purely because they’re controversial or a bit different.

Kudos to Emin and company for making the most out of their over-hyped limelight; I feel most people in their situation would bleed dry a Collector’s pockets if they could as well. Every morning as I rush out the door I leave my bedroom floor strewn with a pleasant combination of dirty underwear, yesterday’s papers, various handbags and messed up bed sheets – but nobody is paying me thousands for the privilege of creating such a mess. Perhaps tonight I’ll splatter some paint over it all, maybe even tip a bit of my dinner across carefully selected sections if I’m feeling really rebellious, then take some photos and see what the National make of it. I’m pretty sure Emin hasn’t done that yet and judging by today’s artistic standards, I expect the response to be nothing short of sheer adulation.

It's Crystal Clear To Me

This weekend saw another of Louis Theroux’s expeditions into the wild wastelands of the generally avoided. On offer this episode was a look into the dark world of Fresno, the self-titled crystal meth capital of the world. Despite such an unfortunate naming, the residents actually seem strangely proud of the fact their town is known for something, however downbeat it may be. Derived from amphetamines, crystal meth is one of the most addictive drugs out there, and as Louis’ subjects demonstrated, perhaps one of the most harmful.

The documentary opened with an addict slurring to the camera, his jaw drooped and his teeth brown, rotten and half fallen out. If the aim was to hit home the message of the dangers of crystal meth from the very beginning, then it certainly worked. Subsequent images of drug dealers and addicts smoking and dealing drugs in front of kids as young as two or three and proceeding to declare that they didn’t feel it would have a negative effect on the children made you wonder what on earth the Fresno social services are playing at. But perhaps the most shocking was seeing a man in the car park of a 24/7 beating up a woman. The camera turned to his wife, who looked exhausted and despairing on the pavement, as she told Louis that not only was this woman her husband’s sister, but that he had been sleeping with her for nearly three years as he ‘believed they were meant to be together sexually’. One couple documented on the programme writhed in self - loathing as they continually stated they wished they were able to stop using, and Theroux’s visits to a Fresno rehab centre showed multiple cases of continual relapses and families falling apart as a result.

I am in continual amazement and confusion as to why people take drugs, however soft, in the first place. Everyone, however perfect their life may feel, has (or will have) enough crap to deal with without needing additional demons to try and battle. Marijuana may not make you keel over after a particularly heavy night, but it still has lasting effects. Why would anyone want to increase their chances of developing mental illnesses such as depression or schizophrenia? Unarguably, suffers who have developed either as a result of genetic disposition would choose not to be in the tormented struggle they find themselves in on a daily basis. Not only will the development of such a condition hinder you personally for the rest of your life, it will consequently affect everyone else around you. If you’re going to be selfish enough to willingly take such personal risks then at least consider what chaos and heartache it would cause to your family, friends and partner who have to deal with and care for you later on.

One guy I used to know took drugs regularly, and argued with me that because I have never tried drugs, I can’t say people shouldn’t take them, because I don’t know what it’s like or how great it feels. Theroux’s documentary showed people who were hooked on drugs after their first usage – and I’m not going to put myself at risk of being one of them. I don’t care if it feels great. I already know how to have a brilliant time without getting continually rat-arsed or ridiculously high and have much better things to spend my monthly wage on than a powdery mix of talcum powder, brick and, if I’m really lucky, some actual cocaine. A lot of people would consider me boring for taking such a view, but I consider people who feel they have to be on something to have a good time even more so than I may be. That their personalities are perhaps so lacking that they have to have something extra to make them seem like a more interesting, sociable or funny person.

I can’t say I treat my body perfectly. I don’t exercise anywhere near as much as I should and eat too many sugary foods, and I am fully aware that in the long term those two things alone are most likely increasing my risk of heart disease. If I can’t even get those two elements in check when I know they could lead to an early grave, then I definitely don’t need to be taking something else to bugger my insides up. A lot of people think that they can carry on because the bad stuff won’t happen to them. Well here’s a news flash - chances are that it will. It has to happen to somebody and if you’re going to partake in behaviours that increase that risk then your chances are automatically higher. The majority take drugs because they want to have a good time. If you want to have as much fun in life as you say you do, then don’t shorten or hinder your time here by having your drug - riddled cake and eating it. It’s not boring; it’s just common sense.

Guilty Pleasures

There has always been one genre of film that I feel gets an unwarranted amount of flak – the dear old rom-com. It seems to either evoke a smile and a warm, fuzzy feeling inside, or you can see the look of concentration on someone’s face as they try to restrain the vomit from making it any further up their windpipe than their throat.

A lot of people say that they are too ‘slushy’ or totally unrealistic. But the point is that even the films themselves know they’re not meant to be taken seriously. People go to see them to escape for a while from the knowledge of their own dreary existence. To lose themselves in the idea that maybe, just maybe, everything will actually be ok in the end. That there is the perfect person out there just waiting for us and to cling on to the hope that one day we will experience the ultimate romantic gesture that reduces not just yourself but everyone else around you to mush.

All these criticisms of them being wholly unrealistic and therefore not worthy of viewing are utter crap. Point out to the macho man who slates romantic comedies that the chances of someone being hunted in a wood by a psycho wearing a mask and wielding a chainsaw (as seen in his favourite horror film) are just as slim, and he hasn’t got a leg to stand on.

There’s nothing wrong with wanting to watch ninety minutes of something that will make us feel better about life. Over ten million people watch Eastenders each day – and they’re doing it because it makes them realise that their own life in comparison isn’t nearly as bad as they’d maybe originally thought. Anyone who tunes in for realism may be unbelievably deluded, but whatever their reasons for watching, you don’t hear conversations of people at the desks next to you slating their colleagues for watching on a daily basis.

Yet after announcing I was going to watch The Ugly Truth (the industry’s freshest rom-com offering), all I received was eye rolling, loud groans and a field of questions revolving around the word, ‘why’? Well why bloody not. I’m proud to say I like watching them, and next time you criticize me you can be prepared to face my barrage of questions as to how realistic that oh-so-cool art house film you watched last night was. Ready?

No Distance Left To Run?

After a decade of ceasefire, this summer saw the re-ignition of the battle between Britpop Titans Blur and Oasis. If anyone previously thought that Oasis had automatically won the war based on their longevity status alone, Blur's triumphant comeback may now have them rethinking their alliances.

Albarn and co. first announced their live return at the start of the year, although rumours of such a reunion had been hanging in the air for many months beforehand. Two massive Hyde Park gigs (the first of which sold out 10,000 tickets in two minutes), a few tiny warm up shows and a sprinkling of festival appearances (including headline spots at Glastonbury and T in the Park) were all fans were going to be treated to though, and hopes for new material have been dashed. Albarn has since said that they will be doing no more live shows, despite the other band members, including the once estranged Graham Coxon, saying they'd be more than happy to continue.

In many ways this is incredibly disappointing; there are a lot of Blur fans who still didn't get the opportunity to see them live again and if Albarn stands firm, then there will be no chances for them in the future either. But perhaps this exclusivity is where Blur are being far more shrewd and successful than Oasis. The Gallagher brothers have performed stadium shows a plenty this year but they were by no means sell outs and the ticket buying public weren't running to their phones in a frantic scramble as they did for their old rivals. Oasis' continual presence on the music scene for pretty much two decades is undeniably admirable, but many would argue that they haven't released a great album this century, and that they carry on because they can, not because they necessarily should. Support for Oasis' shows came from The Enemy and Kasabian. The latter are a great band in their own right, but there is no question that all three bands have a very similar target audience, fan base and sound; Oasis weren't taking any risks having them as openers. In this sense, the band arguably showed as much of a lack of development in their live shows and performance mentality as they have in their recent musical releases.

Blur however, proved themselves to be far more adventurous and open minded in their choices of opening acts, showcasing artists such as Florence and the Machine, Vampire Weekend, Foals and Friendly Fires. The boys have had nearly ten years to heal rifts and they have matured both musically and professionally in the process. Whilst a recent Oasis show was marred with controversy after the Gallaghers bickered on stage and Liam stormed off leaving Noel to perform a large proportion of the gig by himself, Blur have cleaned up their act but not diminished at all in the process; if anything they are all the more impressive for it. While Noel and Liam are still acting like unkempt children throwing toys out of their cot, Albarn and Coxon have endearingly renewed the friendship that led to the band's original demise. All members admit to living life to the max back in the day, but they are all 'clean' now; Alex James has even made a name for himself as an expert cheese-maker and dairy farmer for crying out loud. He could not be any less rock and roll if he tried but they don't care. They've proven they can sustain themselves as a band without any of their personal crap diverting attention from the music, which, at the end of the day, is ultimately what it should all be about.

Blur's return has been immense because they quit at their peak, whilst Oasis have ambled on over theirs and are now well and truly back on flat land on the other side of the mountain. Music lovers remember Blur for the great songs they produced; Song 2, Country House, Parklife, Coffee and TV, the list in endless. Oasis have released some stormers of songs over the years too, Wonderwall, Morning Glory, Don't Look Back In Anger and Champagne Supernova are just a few. So it is a pity that these seem somewhat overshadowed by their more recent and far less successful work. Perhaps Oasis need to take a long break and come back with fresh material and attitudes to really remain in serious competition with Blur, not only over this summer, but in the Britpop legacy overall. Let's hope Coxon and the gang can pursuade Mr Albarn to stick with it for a few more gigs at least; they're right back at the top of their game and it would be a damn shame for them to quit before the battle has had a chance to really heat up again.

2009 is a musical marathon, not a sprint

This year has been, quite frankly, absolutely bloody amazing for music. So you can imagine my excitement at the fact we're only just over half way through and the best could still be yet to come. Here are some of my favourites so far, and what I think we should be looking forward to.

Friendly Fires' debut, technically released last year, has rampaged its way to the forefront of the scene in the last few months and the surge in appreciation the boys are experiencing is nothing but undeniably well deserved. Their album is one of the few you can put on and not want to skip a track throughout. With new single Kiss of Life released at the end of August to coincide with the bonus disc re-release of their debut, they are going to be even more revered by the time the year is out.

White Lies have also proven themselves to be a band to sit up and take notice of and the string of sell out shows they've staged this year indicates that thousands have already done so. Kasabian's third offering has been overdue but well worth the wait. Having to previously batttle off the label of 'a poor man's Oasis', they are no longer lurking in the shadow of their Northern counterparts. Psychedelia is dish of the day with these boys and it's pretty damn tasty.

Other notable releases (though there have been many I unfortunately can't spend all day listing them all) include eerily-ethereal Florence + the Machine, Empire of the Sun who may have just beaten MGMT at their own game, and the bizarre genre-hybrid that appeared in the form of Discovery. The start of their track Osaka Loop Line sounds like their stereo has recorded proceedings backwards, and it's so damn catchy you are almost tempted to take a hammer to your own player to see if you can get everything else you own to sound so bloody cool.

But the finishing line is still a way off, and hundreds of artists are impatiently rattling at their starting boxes ready to begin the chase.

In lanes one and two we have two of the bigger hitters - Muse and Arctic Monkeys. After months of sitting through side projects and musical treasure hunts, fans have finally been given tasters of what can be expected. Undoubtedly sales figures will be high, but if these tasters are anything to go by, sales will be a reflection of their esteemed names, rather than musical accomplishment. Muse's United States of Eurasia sounds a long-lost lovechild of Queen and the band themselves even recognise that some parts of the track are utterly laughable. As for Monkeys' Crying Lightning, their sound has taken a totally different direction. Some have compared it to Alex Turner's side project The Last Shadow Puppets but the only thing their new offering has in common with TLSP is the fact it's a lot slower paced compared to their previous work. TSLP was very Burt Bacharach, whereas Crying Lighting is slow, dark and far too austere. The Arctics first grabbed attention with their cutting lyrics; Turner told it how he saw it and listeners could catch glimpses of themselves and their lives in his words. Now they seem to have caved in to the title of serious musicians and lost their edge along with it. All I can do is cross my fingers that the new directions both bands have taken either grow on me considerably, or disappear as fast as they arrived.

Luckily there are still others on course to potentially pip them to the post and an offering of second albums seem to be the ones that might possibly do it. Simian Mobile Disco, reformed from the ashes of Simian a few years ago, are well known for their production and mixing work with bands such as Klaxons, Air and Muse, they are a massively underrated dance duo in their own right. 2007's Attack. Decay. Sustain. Release. is possibly one of the best dance albums released this decade, yet mention electro-bass driven track 'Hustler' to the person sat next to you and chances are they won't know what the hell you're on about. Hopefully their new vocally driven single Audacity of Huge from new album Temporary Pleasure will finally garner them the recognition they deserve.

Noah and the Whale, perhaps best known for one of the most endearing yet hideously annoying songs of last year, Five Years Time, return with a far more mature sound and it does them a multitude of favours in the credibility stakes. Blue Skies is a sure-fire contender for one of the most haunting songs of the year and other tracks on their new release seem to follow suit. Anyone who fails to be somewhat moved by lyrics such as 'this is the last song that I write while still in love with you' and 'this is a song for anyone who can't get out of bed... I'd do anything to be happy again' needs to promptly thaw out their heart of ice.

Jamie T has also adopted a somewhat more refined and produced sound for his second outing, but this is not necessarily a bad thing. Tracks such as Sheila and If You Got The Money were undeniably catchy and well written, but still possessed an element of layabout London teenager spitting into the microphone. Luckily his new tracks are just as well written and memorable, but the sulky teenage persona seems to have disappeared which means Jamie T will hopefully be more recognised now for the intelligent indie-garage performer he is.

Vampire Weekend are due to return by year's end with their new release, although as of yet there have been no teaser releases and not even a hint of an album title. If their follow up is anywhere near as impressive as their preppy self-titled debut then we are all in for a treat. Stereophonics are to release their seventh studio album, and as Kelly Jones describes it as having a 50's feel about it, I am both somewhat excited yet concerned that it will contain undertones of Rock Around The Clock hidden somewhere between the bridge and the chorus. I can only hope it proves a successful direction for the band to take and doesn't end up being another You Gotta Go There To Come Back (sorry lads but we all know it was a discography low point).

Debuts releases from Portland based indie-rap-punk band Hockey is definitelty one to watch out for, as is the debut release from self-christened folk supergroup Monsters of Folk. Comprising of members of Bright Eyes, M.Ward and My Morning Jacket, they are bound to make as big a wave in the folk/alternative scene as The Dead Weather have made in the indie/rock one. Throw in a bit of The Strokes (though their fourth album may not drop until early '10), Jet, Jay-Z, Editors, Air Traffic, Dizzee Rascal, Kings of Convenience, and newcomers Little Comets and The Takeover UK, and there is a definite race to be run. Only time will tell who comes out top on the podium, but it's going to be one hell of a competiton to listen to in the meantime.

Can Jack White do no wrong?

Slamming onto the music scene in 1999 with the White Stripes’ self-titled debut album, Jack White hasn’t slowed down since – and we’re all the better for it. Causing a stir in the music media over his ambiguous relationship with his band mate, there was a point when their notoriety seemed to outshine their talent. Luckily, this did not last for long.

Gradually developing a name for themselves, The White Stripes moved on from their raw debut, to a somewhat more produced sound; though this proved to not necessarily be a bad thing. Most of their better known tracks are from their later offerings, with Fell In Love With A Girl and Blue Orchid featuring on their third and fifth albums respectively. The Fell In Love With A Girl endearingly lego – based video earned them widespread recognition from the MTV crowd and subsequently their record sales rocketed. As with many American rock and indie bands nowadays, their success in the UK was far greater than the initial reception they received in the States, but the American audiences soon caught up. Apparently discontent with only releasing six albums, being named one of Rolling Stones Top 20 Guitarists of All Time and selling over $7 million worth of records, White turned his hand (quite literally) to other musical endeavours.

The Raconteurs developed one balmy summer in the hiatus between the Stripes’ fifth and sixth albums, as White and solo musician Brendan Benson recruited two friends to join them in their side project. Although possessing a perhaps slightly watered down and more pop-based sound in comparison to his previous releases, White consequently toured Europe and the US periodically over the next two years in order to supply the demand for live performances from the band. It seems a pity such demand would have appeared unlikely had White’s name not been attached, though we will never know if this would have been the case.

Bored with one side project alone, White unconsciously moved onto his next ‘supergroup’ – The Dead Weather. Formed after an impromptu jamming session of White, Allison Mosshart from The Kills, Dean Fertita from Queens of the Stone Age and Jack Lawrence from The Raconteurs, the line up is undoubtedly the best accidental music collaboration of recent years. In seemingly unusual fashion, White appears on drums whilst Mosshart appears on vocals, yet many are unaware that Jack was a skilled drummer before he mastered the guitar. The Dead Weather drags White and his fans back to his early musical roots, with a far more raw and edgier sound than we have heard from White since his early Stripes material. Peaking at number 6 in the US chart, a feat that only one of the Stripes albums has beaten, it appears that Jack White’s disciples aren’t fickle when it comes to the variety of sounds he churns out.

White doesn’t just make waves behind the microphone, however. His own record label, Third Man Records, not only acts as home to his three musical projects, but is also preparing to unleash three newly – signed bands upon unsuspecting audiences by the end of the year. Taking a hands-on approach to the Third Man shop in his hometown of Nashville, White often visits and will openly chat to fans who have descended to try and grab a piece of a musical phenomenon. There is absolutely no doubt that White’s influence in the industry is a force to be reckoned with.

Bru-No

Nobody had higher expectations of Bruno than me. After being dragged against my will at uni to see Borat, my pre-conceptions of Sacha Baron Cohen were shattered. Previously, I had presumed him to be crass, unintelligent and uninspired, but his second big screen outing proved otherwise (The Ali G movie is best left ignored). Cohen is one of the most intelligent comedians out there at the moment – his social observation and manipulations of different personalities takes far more skill than I think many of us appreciate.

So what the hell he was thinking when he wrote Bruno, I have no idea. There was not a shred of intelligence in the entire film; just a whole lot of debase humour and sex, and in my mind, a comedian who relies solely on cheap gags displays nothing more than a lack of genuine creativity and intellect. Yep, some people may find a dildo attached to the end of an exercise machine funny the first couple of times, but after its continued appearance in a succession of very similar set-ups, you start to wonder if Baron Cohen had simply run out of ideas.

Whether it was seeing Bruno refer to Bin Laden as a ‘dirty Santa Claus’, or overtly try and hit on to men at a heterosexual swingers party, it felt too forced. Comedy should seem natural and it should have a flow and a purpose; this possessed none of these qualities. Bruno appears to have been made for controversy and publicity motives alone and Baron Cohen’s antics at premieres around the world only serve to reflect that.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m all up for slapstick humour and a token comedy sex scene in a film if it suits. But after watching over ninety minutes of the same slapstick and comedy sex scene, it doesn’t seem so funny any more. You are left questioning the standing of the film industry when it deems it acceptable to commission such unconscionable fodder. I fear we are stuck with such inept movie debris cluttering our cinema screens for the near future however, because we all know that dollars are a far greater motive in the system than integrity ever will be.

Obama and the Pork Pie

There is one thing I actually love about commuting. Yes, you did read that correctly. While everyone else is wrapped up in their own little bubble, I burst mine for 45 minutes to listen to people’s conversations and watch their weird behaviours.

It seems as though most people treat the train as an extension of their home time. I’m not innocent of this; I’m usually comatose on the train on the way into work as I try to scrape an extra forty winks. I do, however, know where to draw the line; whereas others seem to have skipped that workshop completely.

Exhibit A – on the train home the other evening, I look up to see a middle aged gent sat across from me, reading Barack Obama’s autobiography. ‘Ah, a fellow intellect!’ I think to myself. Sadly, my presumptions are proven wrong almost immediately as his index finger proceeds to gouge its way up his nose like a dog chasing a rabbit into it’s hole. As if that wasn’t delightful enough, he then removes the rabbit entrails for all to see, and starts rolling it about in his fingers before flicking it somewhere in the direction of the aisle. Unfortunately naïve as to where it landed, all I can do is pray it came nowhere bloody near me.

Exhibit B – get on the train home. Man, somewhat obese, sits sprawling over two seats asleep with his mouth gaping open and snoring loudly. Quite amusing, you might think, and it was. That was until I noticed his stomach trying to greet me as it fought its way out of the holes between the strained buttons. I’m all for being friendly to people on the train but I do have my limits. There is half a pork pie spilling out of it’s packet on the seat next to him – presumably he has already devoured the rest, although a suspicious looking piece of meat is nestled tenderly in the ridge between two rolls of chest fat. How cute. I don’t know whether it was my hysterical laughing (those of you who know my cackle wouldn’t be surprised if it was) but he awoke, and in his semi-conscious state and decided to eat the rest of his pie. Might as well finish what he started, but delays the process by picking up the wrong end of the packet, and watching the pie flop miserably onto the train floor. By all means, it wasn’t a new train; this floor has been trodden on by all kinds of miscreants, and I’ve never seen a train attendant with a mop or a Hoover, have you? I’d much rather sit swamped with my bags on my lap than put them on the train floor, so if I dropped my pasty it would damn well be staying there. Anyway, I’m not sure whether it was his hand or a blob of stomach that reached out to retrieve said produce, but after about ten seconds it was picked up. And promptly put into his mouth. Come on mate, if you really must eat it, at least follow the three second rule! Somewhat thankfully, the food lethargy must have kicked straight back in as he promptly passed back out.

All I have to do is think of that incident and I’ll inwardly chuckle to myself (as well as trying to repress the vomit). So next time you’re on the tube, or bus, or train, wishing you didn’t have to go further than the end of your road to work, take a look around you and see what gems of tales other commuters are just waiting to set up for you. Sometimes, they almost seem worth my extortionate train fare. Almost.

When Two Isn't Enough

There are quite a few things in life that I don’t think I will ever understand. These include religion, advanced mathematics, and how to resist the Selfridges sale. But as much as I’d like to think about shopping, it’s the topic of cheating on a partner that I am going to focus on here.

I believe relationships should be monogamous. By entering into one, two people, especially in marriage, are essentially agreeing to be with each other, and each other alone. If you want to go off and shag someone else then do it – but end the relationship first. I’ve never cheated on any of my boyfriends so I can’t say, but I’m pretty certain that the cheaters would soon have some choice words for their other halves if they found out they’d been screwing their best friend/brother/a randomer from the pub (delete as appropriate) behind their backs.

We live in a greedy society, and cheating is just another example of it. Men, and women, I’m not going to be gender biased here, are having their cake and (literally) eating it. Some people say things like, ‘Oh, I had an affair because I love my partner and don’t want to leave them, but I needed to spice up my sex life.’ I’m sorry, but if you loved your partner even a tiny amount as much as you say you do, then you’d do your damn hardest to discuss your bedroom issues and make things better before the thought of going off with someone else even crossed your mind.

In the paper the other day, I saw Steve Jones the presenter saying that he thought it was preposterous that there’s only one person for everyone and as a result doesn’t want to get into a relationship. At first I thought it was quite sad that he’d never got to experience the great things that people get out of relationships, all because he wants to bed every woman he can get his hands on. But giving it more thought, I realise that I actually admire him in some warped way. I’d much rather a guy like him stood up and recognised the fact that he wants to sleep around than enter into the pretence of a relationship and cheat in order to satisfy himself. Girls that enter into whatever with him know from the very beginning where they stand, and they won’t end up hurt six months down the line when they think everything is perfect, only to discover his indiscretions splashed across the cover of The Sun.

I don’t necessarily agree with the rather promiscuous attitude he seems to flaunt, but I do agree with his honest attitude. The effect it will have on the person who is cheated on will be far greater than the half an hour of fun you might have rolling about with someone else. As a society, we need to become less selfish, and being honest and faithful with your partner seems like a pretty good place to start.