Sherlock Holmes

Who knew Sherlock Holmes was a lean, mean ripped fighting machine? With a bang comes the return of the well known cockney geezer director Guy Richie whose newest adventure just goes to show that you can take the guy out of East London but you cant take East London out of the guy. Holmes has been revamped and rebooted for the 21st century, coming with all the mod cons including a six pack and the consistent urge to hit people in the head (whilst slowly telling us all how he does it). However it may be the case that we are too sentimentally attached to the depictions by Arthur Conan Doyle and what it may lack in traditional authenticity it does make up for in partnership. Its redeeming feature is the chemistry between Watson (played by Jude Law) and Homes (Robert Downey Jr.) With a bickering that would challenge any married couple there is an unspoken love between the two that without which would cause the film to sink.

The pressure of playing a good Sherlock Homes must be great as with any iconic character and the conscious abandonment to ditch the deerstalker and pipe image was a sound one. Downey Jr. manages to create an original sarcasm and pithy wit whilst maintaining the sophistication and intelligence that Doyle intended and for this he should be applauded. It seems as he grows older Downey finds his style more confidently and its intriguing throughout the film to watch this quite recent development in his career. Yet despite such strong characterisation it seems that Rachel McAdams interpretation of Irene Adler seemed a lame addition to the film at times. What could have been a significant role was turned into a stereotypical femme fatal performance that only irritated and distracted and I could only help but think this was a necessary addition to sell the film to a greater audience.

The presentation of London was atmospheric and enchanting with a realism that is usually manipulated in most period films yet ultimately though there was something missing. Whether this was a lack of commitment to the plot or the tiresome nuisances Richie inevitable brings to all his films it became hard to fully engage. We are not left intellectually charged and from the start there was a sense that the whole film was made in order to accommodate a sequel and that greed was perhaps to big to hide throughout the whole film. It has been rumoured that Brad Pitt will be joining the cast next time as the illusive professor Moriarty however what this film doesn't need is another blockbusting name to keep the money rolling it. There is a lack of necessary credibility which takes away from a potentially brilliant film.

H xx

An Education

An Education has it all. A gripping true story, a screenplay by Nick Hornby and two leading actors who effervesce off the screen. It tells the tale of Jenny (Carey Mulligan), a girl who, all her life has been trained to go to Oxford but one day meets an older man David (Peter Sarsgaard) who changes her life.

Sarsgaard's performance is no less than outstanding. What could have been an almost creepy character is transformed into a suave, charming and utterly engaging one who we can almost sympathise with. The films success lies in this fine line between controversy and charisma. The child like quality to his behaviour is what ultimately attracts him to Jenny but the impending doom of their relationship is subtly placed in our minds from the start. The chemistry between the two leads is quite extraordinary, which is fuelled more by the embryonic talent of Carey Mulligan who portrays the innocence of a schoolgirl with real intent and recognition. Under the influence of Sarsgaard her exuberance really takes hold and Mulligan oozes the awkwardness and excitement that should be in a 16 year old. The supporting cast is also well suited with Dominic Cooper playing the dappa aquaintace of David, whose performance makes it clear that singing Abba songs is not all he is capable of, yet the charm that seems to come from most of his performaces at times becomes tediously expected.

Danish director Lone Sherfig has recreated the era with striking accuracy. The juxtaposition of Jenny's life being trapped in beige suburbia with tweed cushions and that of shimmering London and art gallery auctions is paramount in justifying Jenny's attraction to David. Often in the case that when a film is so well stylised the content suffers however in this instance An Education bucks the trend. The backdrop of early 60's London which is on the cusp of complete social change makes it very hard not to get caught up in the excitement of late night jazz clubs and trips to Paris. Like Jenny, we too are entranced by this 'other life', filled with champagne and culture rather than Latin and homework. It has been hailed as a 'coming of age' story but for me the film is much more than that. Jenny's journey is a startling one, with first love being portrayed as intensely and as subtly as it needs to be. It's never rushed but instead the pace is created by the performances which instil an authenticity and originality within the film and one which will no doubt be tipped for many awards.

H xx

Broken Embraces

Broken Embraces is a story which depicts a directors worst nightmare, his loss of sight. Through flashbacks we gain an insights into how it was lost and we are also introduced to the captivating on screen presence that is Penelope Cruz. However, her beauty certainly does not distract from the stunningly subtle performances she delivers, the tragedy of being trapped in a realtionship is played with sophistication and intelligence. The delicacy of which she handles the role is something that perhaps justifies her recent Oscar win (Which was bizarrely won for her role in Vikki Christina Barcelona)

It is no secret that director Pedro Almodovar is himself obsessed with Cruz, as she has been his muse for many years. Yet I can't quite shake the feeling that he has let this captivation overshadow the other aspects of the film. The character Harry Caine (played by Lluis Homar) is left with uninspiring dialogue and an almost annoying lack of enthusiasm which seemed implausible and undermines the whole point that is trying to being made. The lack of chemistry that is seen between himself and Cruz is also a disappointing flaw that, if solved, would have made for truly realistic passion. This only added to the concern that throughout the whole film an unconvincing level of emotion was shown, a constant lack of drive and intensity that would not allow the drama to ever fully develop.

Despite this, the major success lies in the films aesthetic beauty with Spain acting as a stunning backdrop to what is essentially a cosmetic film. Hwoever, there are themes such as domestic abuse and homophobia which are dealt with so frivolously that the eventually disappointment is expected. Its fair to say that the the film functions fine, but failure to deliver a poignancy or importance within what should be an extremely complex and fulfilling plot is a shame. Such an intriguing concept on paper was not executed to its full potential.

H x

Woo

So I passed my A-Levels, Edinburgh here I come ...

Desperate Romantics

Desperate Romantics is currently invading our screen and rightfully so. There is modernity to the series that you should not expect from a period drama. But this is where it differs from all other BBC Productions because it is not an adaptation of a novel or a remake of a classic. It has no plot to follow or indeed to live up to. Therefore it seems uncomfortable and fidgety in the period its set, trying all ploys and devises to distance itself from Victorian England and instead place itself as a frolicking hyperbolic interpretation of what the brotherhood were like.

The story follows three men with three very different personalities. Millais played by Samuel Barnett offers a charmingly naïve performance as the budding genius of the group who becomes crippled by a difficult love conundrum. This endearing quality clashes perfectly with the protagonist and original cocky cad, Rossetti. His magnetic presence is epitomised with his over sexed, devilishly handsome wily ways yet he still manages to wangle himself into our affections despite that fact he arrogantly and carelessly manipulates those around him (phwoar!) Next up is William Hunt affectionate (and sometimes accurately) nicknamed “Maniac” whose oppressed religious views are melted away by seductress Annie. There is no doubt that these characters in real life would have been dramatically different yet we are quite happy dump our logic at the door and indulge in an hour of good fun. It is also somewhat refreshing to see two fantastic female performances that really do justice to their somewhat restricted role. We watch as a whore and a hat maker become pivotal in the lives of the brotherhood and the juxtaposition of Lizzy's delicate modesty and Annie's extravagant debauchery is a riveting balance.

Although we may sometimes forget it, at the heart is a serious tale of art and its place at the time, but because any form of artistic pomposity is vanished we are not bogged down with its cultural superiority or significance. Instead we glimpse at the good stuff, the gossip, the drama, the fights and the heavy drinking. There is a harmless yet deeply morish quality to the series which is coupled with jovial soundtrack which helps us to skip gleefully through. There is no bombardment of pretentious semantics as we don’t need to be told directly about the ‘composition’ or the ‘light arrangements’ of the painting as that boring shit quickly becomes irrelevant. We are without noticing however, subtly introduced to the paintings, told about the paintings and then made to disregard the painting. We are instantly made into art connoisseurs and this new title is then quickly taken away as the romping frivolity is pushed once again to the fore.

Part of its greatness is it knows full well its own stupidity. There is definitely a tongue firmly placed on the cheek throughout the series. There is colour and vitality, bizarre costumes and endless innuendo, a classy Carry On if you like. But all in all it is a truly British interpretation of some of the finest minds.

H xx

Mesrine #1 ...

As a gangster film, Mesrine: The Killer Instinct has it all:

Guns – check
Action – check
Car chases – check
Tortured women - check
Handsome felon – check

But it also has so much more. I have to say I was slightly offended when I walked into the foyer and was asked by the ticket attendant “ah for Coco Before Channel are we?”. A presumption of my girly vanity and shallowness maybe reading too much into it but there was some serious backtracking that occurred next, underestimating my appreciation for men with guns. Is it odd to have such an obsession? Are these films limited only for men’s eyes? God no.

The significance and reputation of Mesrine embarrassingly has passed me by and with such notoriety in France it seems impossible to know why. It is the story of a bank robbing murderer who became a household name by manipulating the press and craving any attention possible. He met his demise with a chain of police bullets and it is the build up of this which is revealed in Jean-François Richet's superb film.

The man, the myth and the legend that is Jacques Mesrine is stunningly played by “Frenchman” himself Vincent Cassel. Cassel’s on screen presence is the epitome of captivating as my eyes rarely drifted from his continuously intense performance. An enigmatic quality that drives the film and it becomes hard to articulate just how spectaularly he plays Mesrine as it is clear there is no sympathy or adoration behind his portrayal, the 'heroics' of his actions are nowhere to be seen but instead are the clear and haunted workings of a thief. The balance of sexy charm and brutality is at the heart of this success. At the peak of his career it seems perfect that he adorn such a pivotal role. His portrayal of Mesrine is violent, destructive and deadly yet he manages to salvage some possibility of redeeming features. It may sit uneasy for us at times to side and support such violence but such a fluctuation of loyalty is vital to surge our interest in the film throughout its duration.

Tension starts and tension ends with no rest in between. From the first moment we are introduced to multiple split screens, a panoramic view of an older Mesrine, driving unknowingly to his death. The continuation of such momentum is an achievement in itself and is fuelled further by a story that you really couldn’t make up. A testament of this is the fact that I was made to jump out of my seat merely by the bark of a dog and a very clever music score. Although Mesrine himself was dubbed the man of a thousand faces, it is Cassel’s transformation which is most striking. His licentious swagger may not be a testament to authenticity, but adds a stylised edge to the film that should not be criticised. It glorifies violence, and so it should because all significant gangster films are supposed to and this then rightfully juxtaposed with his downfall which is also a vital aspect. It seemed that the era for films like Scarface and the Godfather we over and most certainly ‘of their time’ but Mesrine show a return to classical form, tradition but not regurgitation.

Masculinity in this film is unavoidable with the men drinking hard, smoking hard and playing hard. Violence is also not shied away from yet rather than just aimlessly presenting us with a severed arm or a gouged eye we are instantly told the root of Mesrine’s brutality and the reasons for such motives which are mainly due to his time served in Algeria with the army in with murder was a necessity not a choice. There is a presumed intelligence expected of the audience and in return we receive a level of sophistication that is deserving.

On his second spout in Canadian prison, a vulnerable raw Mesrine is revealed to us as we see him curled naked and placed under what can only be described as torturous conditions. This flux between the goody and baddy is something I fought with throughout the two hours and rightfully so as the decision of whether to admire someone so infamous should never be easy. In the back of my mind I knew the obligatory escape scene must be somewhere ahead and would be armed heavily with the normal clichés and spouts of righteous indignation. This is it; this would be the films downfall, the failure that I would have to accept. But I didn’t have to because before I knew it I was gripped and exasperated. As the camera flitted briefly from Cassel’s strong face to the police wardens tower I gulped and held breath, spurring on killers all in the name of freedom.

The womanising, the killing, the robbing all helped the time fly by and in the final words we were left with this: “As for Mesrine … End of Part One.” – And personally I can’t wait.


H xx

Howl

"I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked"

Excitiiiiiiiiiiing times. Next year sees the film release of Howl, the story of Allen Ginsberg and the obscenity trials which followed the release of Howl, his epic poem which contributed significantly the Beat movement in 1950's America. The devilishly handsome James Franco seems an unlikely choice to portray the balding, bespectacled writer yet it is clear from these early shots that the film is attempting an authenticity that without which would be a dramatic failure. His performance in Milk sealed his credibility with a sophisticated style that seems fitting for Ginsberg and will amount to his second gay role.

Howl is such a seminal piece of writing and it seems fittingly controversial to explore its meaning and its reception at a time which was not ready for such brutal honesty. With a cast consisting of Jeff Daniels, Mary-Louise Parker and Jon Hamm its potential continues yet this also adds to the pressure of the films validity, as if it is seen as a disappointment, the cruel opinions of many dedicated fans will be let loose.

It is the right time for us to be reminded about such genius and creativity. Ginsberg gave us a vivid glimpse into the reality of bohemian living and even 50 years on, its relevance has not wavered. With Gus Van Sant acting as executive producer and keeping an eye out on proceedings, the film looks set to do justice to such an American icon and a much loved influence.

ELLEN

... is a legend. As much as it pains me to say it, funny women, sadly are hard to come by yet Ellen does it with ease. Safe blud

Man on Wire

I had wanted to catch this when it came out, but for some pathetically procrastinated reason I opted out. So i thank BBC for the oppertunity to peer into the bizarre and enviable life of Phillippe Petit, possibly the worlds maddest man. It may be considered "crazy" to go chopping peoples heads off or smear blood on the walls but for me, high wire walking between the two twin towers is about as insane as it gets.

Documentary's are tricky buggars, go on too long and they bore us rigid as the facts begin to overule any idea of entertainment. Yet this hour and a half of epic recollection balances itself between unbelievable archive footage and photographs with cleverly subtle reconstructions and Petit himself occasionally seen jumping and squirming 30 years later, with a relief (it seems) to be finally getting his story told. His energy and obsession has not wavered, his passion has not faltered and his maddness has most certainly not dissolved. There is an urgecy with this film, driven mainly by Petit's hypnotic brilliance. There is an itch that is so rare in a documentary and its this that makes it such a beautiful work. Although you know that this unicycle riding, top hat wearing, french magician is a nutter you love him, you admire him, and eventually you envy him. Such a life driven by curiosty and ambition is captivating and when it is delivered by a man with such a twinkle in his eye, it becomes impossile not to succumb to his charm.

This is not merely a recollection, this is not merely a re-telling, this is a painting of the unimaginable. There is tension throughout it, the numerous descriptions of how the "gang" nearly got caught by guards left me literally with a hand over my mouth. I knew the outcome yet I stayed with it. However throughout it there was a nagging question that sadly, could not go away. Would they mention 9/11, was it right that they should? common decency? And they didnt. Rightfully so. This is a celebration of the towers, and a celebration of Petit. There was no need for a sombre reflection. The portryal of their greatness alone was enough to signify how tragic such an event was. In fact it was quite nice to hear them being talked about with such love, and not be overshadowed by "what happened"

Petit is special and "Man on Wire" portrays seemlessly how special he is. When we finally see him walk the wire he is playfull, with a smile that could melt any authoritarian. We are simply and rightfully left to try and comprehend such bravery (if it can even be called such a thing). It was his vocation, it could not be avoided, and for a man of twenty to have such drive is quite sickeningly breathaking. It becomes impossible to comprehend he could of died, impossible to comprehend he could have done anything other than succeed and the beauty and eaey that it is executed with will not doubt leave a stunning legacy.

H xx

Most definately a space oddity ...

Moon is the story of Sam Bell who is working, most surprisingly, on the Moon as it is seen in the future as a major source of energy. His job as an astronaut involves a three year contract in which he remains alone and the tests that come with such isolation are what follows (bearing in mind it is extremely difficult to explain the film without giving away its fundamental plot, so go and see it!). Sam Rockwell beautifully portrays his despair in the little actions and idiosyncrasies, a subtly that lacks an obvious desperation which could so easily have been presented. Sam Rockwell holds this film entirely on his own, a completely commendable achievement and even with this omnipresence his charm never fades and it is hard to become bored with such a compelling performance. This is due mainly to his ability to both complexes us yet make himself truly accessible with a humanity we are able to relate to.

As solid as this is for a first time director, it was the faceless robot friend GERTY (voiced by Kevin Spacey) who completely stole the show. He is represented merely by a screen which adorns a smiley face, and when this face starts to shed a single tear, it’s hard not to be moved regardless of how ridiculous you know it is. Such an advance in technology was completely believable and utterly endearing as there is a sensibility behind such a 2D character
It however, refuses to be constrained by the rules of science fiction and is much more deeply rooted in philosophical ideas. Jones does not shy away from a strong agenda and it is startling to see such confidence be rewarded with success. Man Vs Man is thoroughly explored, with Sam feeling ever distanced from reality as the days slowly progress. An unpredictable anxiety unfolds which never leaves us throughout the film and it’s with this tension that we never quite know where we are and who to believe. His desperate messages to home only help in establishing a much needed sympathy towards Sam that is later tested.
It’s disappointing that its release was so limited however makes it all the more encouraging finding it entered the British Box Office a number 8, an achievement which has no doubt been helped with the film being rightfully awarded the Edinburgh Film Festival award. There is a great potential to take away from this, an encouraging move in a time when we are meant to be happy with regurgitate re-makes and heart deflation transformer sequels!

Unfortunately at some point I have to mention that the director’s father is the legend himself ... David Bowie! It seems more than a coincidence that such a space driven film has gone without family influence. However it is clear that Duncan Jones has an individuality that he will ever shy away from as a director, as convention is definitely toyed with in this film, a triumph most certainly.

H xx

WoW

There is nothing quite like seeing a father (very much looking like a heroin pro) adorning his month old baby onto his extrememly scary dog, foaming at the mouth as he proceeded to ride it like a horse. Its shoking how Gorton can carry such charm, it really is. I just wish I had taken a picture!

H xx

Rufus Wainwright

I am finding it particularly difficult to write anything about Rufus Wainwright that hasn't already been said. Watching his recent intimate gig at the Manchester international Festival pavilion I was subject to a stunning display of unadulterated and enviable talent. This man has certainly led a life of debauchery and excess yet to overcome this and hone so specifically on lyrics that are beauty in its purest form is beyond commendable. As well as this he is a showman, a quality that seems to have been replaced and even when sat plainly behind a piano you are smacked with is many witticism and endearing monologues.

Three songs in it was announced that Rufus’ “dear mama” would join him on stage. A cult icon in her own right Kate McGarrigle graced the stage to perform a duet of “Every time we say goodbye”. There was a poignancy and inextricable connection between both mother and son. I quickly became aware I was in the presence of something very special and very different. His style is something I struggle to see in others, a charisma which I crave as it is impossible to find now in the endless guitar bands and monotonous electro collectives. There is a tradition to his delivery and an intricacy to his song writing which puts him up there with the best.

By the end I became incredibly moved. The reason people love him so much is due to the clear passion he has for music. Some may mistake his confidence for arrogance but the play with conviction, each word sounding like the first time he sang it. It is obvious that he does not take music lightly; he easily creates an intimacy and relationship with the audience merely by saying hello.

We were led to believe the concert had ended, whilst receiving a standing ovation he stood dead on looking until the applause faded then claimed “when I am in my kitchen I don’t go off and come back later”. A rejection of an encore is just another reason why I love this man, recognising its pointlessness he plowed on through playing a hauntingly stunning rendition of “Halleluiah”

H xx

Ballet

Carlos Acosta, a fine specimen of a man but that’s not all he is, he happens to be the world finest ballet dancer, some people have everything don’t they?! It’s safe to say I know absolutely nothing when it comes to ballet, a true ignoramus when it comes to a double plie. Although I may have gone last night purely to see a beautiful man it happened to be one of the most extraordinary experiences. I was completely expecting to think ballet would be OK but a tad on the boring side. Instead I was engrossed in its streamline elegance and power. I know that dancing aficionados worldwide will detest my ignorance but you have to start somewhere surely?

It became an hour and a half of pure escapism, backed stunningly by the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra and it was striking how quickly the time passed. The sheer strength and grace which Acosta carries is inspirational. By sprinkling his dances with aspects of comedy he combined modernity with the traditional which in turn helps ballet become accessible to anyone. Many fear ballet; it’s easy to consider it a product of elitism, its high brow nature something which only the middle classes can enjoy therefore an evening which destroys this convention is admirable.

It may not be the finest ballet ever performed but if it shatters people’s preconceptions and reticence towards Ballet then we should embrace Acosta's motives. Admittedly 99% of the audience was women but I think most people left feeling more affected than they thought they would be.

H xx

Everyone's a Winner!

We are slap bang in the middle of the Manchester International Festival, 2 weeks which truly reflects the cultural diversity of Manchester, from De La Soul to Carlos Acosta. Perhaps one of the most understated additions to this line up is "Everyone's a winner" playing at The Royal Exchange until August. You don't naturally assume that bingo and theatre go hand in hand but as I sat down, with my dabber poised my heart began to beat that little bit harder with the prospect of winning £200. This very real game of bingo was juxtaposed with a tragic yet comical play of 20 people, and their struggles to survive on the bread line, a grim existence which consisted of bingo in the morning, bingo in the afternoon and bingo at night with the odd bowl of chips in the middle.

Audience participation is something I truly fear, the prospect of humiliation never far away however there was something less intimidating about “everyone’s a winner”. We were instantly and endearingly involved in people’s lives, feeling as though we were peering into every human emotion possible. It seemed that the plays biggest focus was atmosphere, a true sense of authenticity to play which as inescapable, whether this ranges from the broken seats or the banter that occurred between the bingo ladies.
Sally Lindsay’s performance was slightly disappointing; however this was due mainly to the fault of the writing with her character never fully being able to develop till the last five minutes. Yet it was Bingo caller “Frankie” who really stole the show. His personal development throughout the play really struck a chord reminding us constantly that life is like bingo. The recognition of his own unhappiness left the audience feeling awkward, a sense that perhaps we shouldn’t be the ones watching this subtle breakdown and its with creating this intimacy that the play truly succeeded.

Ultimately it became hard to avoid the bleak grimness that is hidden through the many songs and dances, a desperate longing for money, that “one last chance” of momentary happiness. Although I left feeling a little melancholy, I recognised that this play is truly affecting as a mirror to the working classes, a reflection of the human condition which is an admirable achievement for theatre.

H xx

MJ 4 LYF

We thought Diana's death was blown out of proportion but my god, a low key church service is nothing compared to an almost bizarre spectacle that was so out of the ordinary that it was hard to comprehend. I was going to reel of a ridiculous rant on how disguted I was with the sacrin, sycophantic and utterly tactless dipslay of a memorial service for Micheal Jackson. But should I feel guilty for feeling this way? It seems the whole world is in a state of bizarre mourning for a man, who essentially was a pop star yet he apparently has transcnede this role in to becoming what can only be described as the new messiah. Yesterday it was claimed he had changed the face of the world and even stopped aparteid, but are we taking his death a little too far? Yes. Its public grief that makes me feel uncomfortable, watching Brooke Shileds having a nervous breakdown is something I really don't need to see and is most definately not for public viewing.

Heaven forbid that forget he was a suspected peadophile as it seems that death erases all of lifes "little mistakes" and elevate us into a state of glory we never would have receieved if we were alive. Its this hypocracy that gets me, a month ago we were quite content to claim "Wacko Jacko" will never finish his tour, he will let us all down and it will be a hilarious disaster which showed an aging star whose had is moment. But now? Well every two bit celebrity is crawling out of the woodwork hoping to be recognied as a friend or an aquaintence, even people who had never met him were stating their grief 'at such a difficult time'. I think the saddest thing about it all is his children, yet even forcing them to sing and perform seemed a disgusting farce at a time in which surely they need to be at home and not infornt of millions staring and gawping at ever movement?



Maybe we should gain a little perspective. Yesterday I watched as a 10 year old kid who was a runner up in Britains Got Talent sing a song in front of Micheal Jackson's coffin while his five brothers wore matching suits and identicle single gloves. Are you fucking kidding me? As much as i tried it looks as if my rant went ahead, but I just look forward to next week when we have forgotten all this and are back talking about the Big Brother eviction, you know, the important things!



H x

Glasto

Camping has never been my strong point (with a traumatic incident as a child in which I was left to my own devices on a cliff in Wales on my own with a box of cereal … don’t ask!) and although I realise that I am missing out on a huge part of life by not covering myself in mud and puking up due to the smell of the portaloos I think I am playing it quite clever with my clean toilet and cozy bed, but that’s just me and my crazy ways. And to be honest, with Glasto's line up this year it does not look like I am missing much. There are a few scattered gems within a pile of proverbial shit which is a shame for such an iconic and momentous event.

There is something deeply worrying when your mum runs into the kitchen shouting "Lady GaGa is A-M-A-Z-I-N-G". However as much as it hurt me to admit, this two bit go go dancer was actually pretty impressive, and the best thing on it so far what with the indie bands of yesterday still regurgitating there once fleeting popularity with the 200th rendition of a song which was of its moment in 2006.

The coverage alone is enough to make you kick the cat out of the window as Jo Whiley’s face smugly pops up telling me how little I know about "this years most up and coming band" who I probably knew before it hit her mainstream doormat. And the crème de la crème, Mr. Zane "I’m a twat" Lowe popping up to remind me that “a lot of people don’t know who Bruce Springsteen is” delivered in his usually annoying and self important which last a good 5 minutes as he reassures me this is prey for my own good. Believe me Zane, it isn't.

I think however naff it may be, the aforementioned, Bruce Springsteen (or the Boss as he insists me to call him) is a tiny bit of an idol of me, I’m sure it was the tight jeans and wispy hair that did it but for whatever reason this socially apt and politically outspoken icon will tower the stage and I’m pretty sure that his set along with BLUR's reunion will overcast all other attempts of jangling entertainment. Anticipation is an odd thing, and disappointment is even odder so as I live in hope that the once beautiful love between Coxon and Albarn has retained its glow I look past the hype and mediocrity (and slight disappointment of Jamie T who along with clean hair appears to have lost his edge) hope to god that it is not just Spandau Ballet who can rock the comeback.

H xxx

David Sedaris

Woody Allen. Manhattan’s funniest export is unquestionable. However is he New York’s? Well this has come under serious questioning through my fairly new discovery. I’m not a strong reader to say the least, losing commitment particularly easy but when I find a book that I can finish in a day, I know there is something promising there. Enter David Sedaris. A curious, obsessive compulsive, homosexual who was brought up in a town where pretty much all three were condemned.

His novels or "essays" are based utterly around his, let’s say, unconventional family (with Amy being another notable family member). "Dress your family in Corduroy and Denim" is a sporadic and selective collection of anecdotes, some of which are so bizarre that their validity is questionable, but who really cares? From the time he spent Christmas in Denmark with the "six to eight black men" to being mistakenly hired as an "erotic cleaner" we move back and forth, glimpsing into a relatively normal life which transcends into hilarity purely due to Sedaris attention to detail. It is hard to deny the heart breaking tragedy that lies behind these tales yet we become so distracted by this due to his ingenious use of satire and comedy. Whether this be being kicked out by his dad for being gay (something he didn’t even realise at the time) or his sister in law being close to death whilst giving birth it is all juxtaposed with a gentility and optimismwhich is not overpowering but ingratiates itself well to a backdrop of chaos and complexity. He does not want himself or the reader to dwell on the negative; instead he has a different agenda.

He only knows how to do one thing and that is make people laugh and by god he does whether this range from a light chuckle to a belly roar there is never a right public place to read this without looking like a complete nut job. On Wednesday by sheer coincidence I was given a free David Sedaris T-Shirt by an extremely friendly Waterstones assistant, and as David now adorns myself as part of a pyjama combo I am reminded constantly that it is not just people 200 years ago that can and should be considered classics, instead we should look to the quirky, the unconventional as his deceivingly hap hazard approach engages completely

It’s hard to believe that a "maid" from New York is now a Number one bestseller, but it goes to prove that talent will prevail regardless of circumstance and I am most definitely in awe and extreme envy of Sedaris's power, even he himself refuses to accept such a trait! He crosses the border of acceptability and as I tentatively read page after page I found myself giving up on convention and I finally let the book take over. His beatnik lifestyle coupled with a capability to always be in the wrong place at the wrong time result in it being hard to go wrong with Sedaris. Even a country so rife with bigotry as a America can embrace this geeky, hippy kid from North Carolina and it is only by wading through Austen and Bronte that I realised, what I can ask most from a book is one thing ... a laugh.

Hannah Xxx

Wire in the brain ...

the wire

The Wire

THE Wire

The WIRE

THE WIRE

Time flies when you having thought provoking fun, as the third season of The Wire return on Monday (BBC2) which begs the question why everyone in Britain isn’t watching it?

It’s socially radical and politically vital. In a time where the worldwide black culture suffers the stigma of knife and gun crime wherever it goes the other side of the argument is something we don’t want to hear and when we do we ignore because it’s easier that way. The Wire holds a mirror up to the black stereotype, a complex, intricate, and brutally honest portrayal of the city of Baltimore. Its genius lies in forcing its audience to be both fearful yet drawn to vicious gangsters, respect killers and admire drug dealers whilst at the same time knowing full well there life and choices. The reality of the programme is something Britain has never full been able to achieve

At its heart is a hero, a narcissistic, alcoholic, unreliable hero. Always one to break with convention "McNulty" is also played by British actor Dominic West. There is something almost tragic at the idea that an almost entire black cat cannot be represented by a black, let alone an American lead, something which West himself has been embarrassed by showing that America is ready for a black president, yet a black TV star is just a step too far! Yet if you had to choose anyone it would be him, with his rugged handsomeness and cheeky charm it’s again this juxtaposition of faults and fortitude which keeps us both interested and guessing.The wire teaches but doe not preach, it informs but does not indulge, and most importantly represents a cross section of society which rarely get there chance to talk.

Priding itself on authenticity and meticulous research, its true reflection seems as if we are peering into lives we shouldn’t be, an intimacy that never fade and is paramount to its impactget watching, its challenging, it presumes our intelligence yet you may need the subtitles ...H xxx

End of an era

Shit.
Its time to grow up apprently. Finishing my last exam tomorrow filled me the biggest sense of relief and glee, yet what quickly followed was daunting. My life will suddenly and dramtically change and uni and whole different sense of independance dawns. I have suddently being exploring career paths and money bidgeting rather than making exciting summer plans. I've always been too forward planning, too square and too stressed, and now as i replace my absence of homework with a presence of day time TV i hope that something will come of this lazyness, maybe divine intervention (if He existed) or a eureka moment

Leaving friends, leaving teachers, leaving comfort. It's a bizarre, scary, yet necessary part of anyones life and as we pray to god we all get the grades i can only ponder what happens after? LIFE! and thats the scary part. What lies ahead? Well right now a bacon butty and a brew, but even further? only the next for years of blogging will tell ....

Hxx
(p.s i know this has been a late and slightly dull post, yet something i needed to think about! Feel free to disgard :))

Still a charming man?

A brief word that I will no doubt revisit when I have the money to buy his album is the return of Morrissey. Okay so he may get the cold shoulder from every critic in the country but his sharp tongue and shocking honest is back with vengeance. And in celebration of this I appear to have delved once again in my Smiths back catalogue and discovered (somewhat as a late comer) the haunting and emotional beauty of “Asleep” a song on which the lyrics speak for themselves and highlight a completely different side, a gentle beauty illustrated with Marr’s unused piano. Without sounding like a pathetic fan girl, it really is true that The Smiths tapped into the real emotion that no other band could do in a time which saw Wham dominate every stereo. Literary references and unadulterated intelligence were broadcasted boldly by Morrissey’s handsome and daring persona breaking many boundaries which people didn’t even realise existed. He will always remains mysterious, awkward and idolized by all that listen to him, a hypnotizing effect which gives him immense influence power over the worlds most loyal fans (if at times a little scary!)

The Brits

An impressive disappointment or disappointingly impressive? Okay enough of oxymoronic confusion, it has to be said that last nights Brits was probably the smoothest running of them all but this eerie organization amongst the midst of squeaky clean pop products seems to lack what we all once loved about this established date in the musical calendar. It went without saying that the Brits were and should always be an unmitigated disaster, cringe worthy telly at its best but isn't this what being British is all about?

Long gone are the days of Oasis claiming Robbie Williams is a pan head that needs stabbing or Jarvis Cocker showing his arse to Michael Jackson or Mick Fleetwood slurring his jumbled words, a necessary lairyness surely?
Over the last couple of years there has been a predictable sanitisation over the nominations, an unfair representation and presumption of what we have enjoyed over the last year. The sheer fact that Scouting for Girls were even considered worth makes me want to explode my ears, a rejection by the mainstream of talents which although unconventional should always be recognized. There was an overwhelmingly dull sense that if this is all we have to offer then where the hell do we go from here? Kings of Leon providing the best performance of the night (with nauseating and impressive ease) says it all despite their comforting reassurance that they own it all to ‘England’. At one point The Brits were synonymous with collaborations, some of the most unusual and memorable performances yet the diluted version we have been seeing recently has eliminated this appeal with Estelle and The Ting Tings being this years exception. And surprisingly, although within the first 20 seconds “car crash” kept running through my head, the join of two such different yet equally established females was admirable, and made considerably more impact that Bono strutting around with the mindset of a teenager and the face of a 50 year old Russell brand wannabee.
And now to the presenters, from last years Osbourne fiasco I suppose it couldn’t have got much worse and there grows the explanation for the somewhat safe choice of comedy’s sweethearts Matt Horne and James Cordon. Their brief appearances may have needed more substance but in fact gave a much needed cheekiness and charm to the night and seeing Corden in a red mini dress is certainly a sight that curiosity begs to see. Kylie however speared a bizarre and utterly random addition, merely a pretty face, being unable to cope with the odd adlib or disjointed link and adding nothing to the night apart from her reputation.
The Brits will always be a recognized institution but their desire to become even more accessible and clean cut year after year will inevitably result in an event were acceptance speeches will be banned and opinions deemed tasteless. We appear to have forgotten our underlying traits; brutal honest, wit, intelligence and eccentricity and to deny this would be a travesty. A revert back to our roots is much needed, the bold decision to say fuck it, lets not abide by the fear that complaints might be made or we might get into trouble and say or do whatever we want, and while we are at it would you mind sending Girls Aloud off to Siberia? Thanks.

Hx

I want to go to there

Mad Men is back and it’s about time. For the past year TV has been shockingly bad (hole in the wall being the obvious exception) and disappointingly we look again to America to provide us with some relief from this banal drought. With its sophisticated authenticity its hard not to be seduced by the lure of Mad Man however underneath this external beauty lies a deeper and darker past life, consumed with isolation and deception. It tells the tale of Sterling Cooper, an advertising agency in the early 1960's in Madison Avenue. From watching the first series its most noticeable quirk is that not much happens, with slowly developed story lines and dialogue to match but it’s within this control where the genius lies. Don Draper (the name alone oozing with charm) is a stupidly handsome top honcho played by Jon Hamm and with a seemingly ideal existence living the suburbia dream it seems he couldn’t want for anything more, however the picture postcard family only fuels his temptation to sleep around and connections are drawn to establish a screwed up man, barely coping to understand and explore his own emotions.

Mad Men is clearly the most innovative drama to be produced for many years and has rightfully received numerous Emmy’s and Golden Globes which makes its opening rating this year on BBC Four of 200,000 seem all the more bizarre. At the heart of it lies Peggy, a character with flaws like everyone else yet because of her quirky behavior that you can never quite put your finger on she redeems herself as the most redeemable character, a woman who despite fighting the inherent sexism rises above her secretarial role and expectations to become one of the boys, out of her depth? Hardly! Although we shouldn’t like them we do, a reluctant admiration which is most evident with Joan, the femme fatal with a questionable moral compass but a definitive confidence which we all crave, her refusal to quieten a bitterly sharp tongue.

Ultimately Mad Men causes watchers to remember such an era wit a nostalgic hue due to its stylised nature causing us to question why we don’t still live like that. However scratch deeper and dangerous questions are seen which need to be asked, which. Behind the dresses and picket fences lies a deeply established shovanism which was generally accepted by men and women alike however through Betty's anxiety we soon realise that for the women, suburbia was an inescapable prison and the role of housewife had his own hellish effect behind closed doors.

hx

Auschwitz

As it is Holocaust Memorial Day I can’t help but briefly contemplate my visit last year. I think with our own modern day distractions we have been complacent and therefore it has become far easier to dismiss the importance of an understanding for the holocaust and the impact it still carries within our modern world. It is difficult to comprehend the idea that such monstrosities happened only 65 years ago, a result of immorality and people’s fear to say no. Discrimination on this scale will probably never occur again however in its own small way has happened to each of us and its now our responsibility to fight this on going battle with



From talking and hearing of other peoples experience before my trip I was made to expect, understandably, the worst, a day filled with ongoing tears and trauma however for me, this was not the case. The haunting quality that still remains within Auschwitz is something I will never forget however the sense of spirituality and hope is something I surprisingly and instantly recognized, a comfort from a trip I had such preconceived ideas about. Yes the birds sing and yes the grass grows which reinforces the reality which becomes so easy to ignore, the scale alone of the camp being almost incomprehensible.

The ‘Schindlers List’ vision of Auschwitz is obviously something that we should never hide, however it should never frighten or discourage people into visiting Auschwitz, as it is ultimately a personal and subjective experience, and one which I will value forever. Its importance to bring history alive is both educationally immeasurable but also its harrowing impression brings our connection with humanity even closer, something which today needs awakening within our society.


The torture that was carried it is sickening and numerous yet the most significant horror for me was the precision and organization in which everything was carried out, whether this be the tattooing of Jews of disinfecting their clothes which echoed a factory, a sickening simplicity of replicating the same daily motions. A blank and formulaic way of coping it seems, a disengaged precisions that’s was chilling when walking thought its rooms and corridors.

There is an aspect of the holocaust which before my visit I had rarely even contemplated, which are the people behind the workings of Auschwitz. Understandably it is easy to make a generalization that these people are instantly evil minded however, sadly it cannot be that easy. These men and women were often brainwashed into thinking the Nazi mantra, and essentially were people just like everybody else but because of the pressure to comply there was no alternative, no way out. There is no way of condoning whatever happened in Auschwitz however my experience has caused me to think further of its consequences, its damage ever widening.

The holocaust’s effects were far and wide; as such religious hatred is hard to understand within our society today. It is hard to think that within those six million who died there could have a generation of minds which may have changed our world, culturally or scientifically however it is important that these 6 million Jews and Gypsies should never be forgotten, as their unifying struggle, although horrifying, made a lasting impact on our rules of tolerance and right against evil.

Hannah X

The British Invasion

So Kate Winslet has had a tought time this week with her sickeningly emotion acceptance speech at the Golden Globes and although due to an undeniable smugness which causes me to dislike her immensely, it pains me to say that i feel i should be proud, leading the way in a British film invastion. With Slumdog being at the helm of this triumph it seems that even with an ecomonic meltdown and a country in crisis we can look to culture again for a glimpse of optimism. It is safe to say that british representation at the Oscars this year will be pleasing, and desrvedly so, with our time finally arriving.

Other big winners for the TV Globes were 30 Rock, Mad Men and John Adams, three shows which establish a great departure from the american norm. Instantly advertising wildley original and authentic formats, each have an indivdual success which makes it even more bizarre that their sucess in the UK has been slightly underwhelming.

And its not just us who are producing great films, its that time in the year where all oscar contenders are coming out to plan and her are my;

9 For 2009

1/ Slumdog Millionaire

Danny Boyle has finally returned to form with it being evident from the first shot that he has delved completely into the fast, chaotic and stressful aspects of India, something for a British director which could have been a great risk but his admiration obvious is from its careful portrayal is key in its success. Its protagonist Jamal is portrayed by Dev Patel, a young and promising actor who has come along way from his irreverent character Anwar in Skins. It seems he has matured immensely in order to produce a sophisticated and charming performance which is a perfect start to what could be a blossoming career. It tells the a rags to riches story of an orphan from the slums of Mumbai who in a desperate genuine attempt to find his childhood sweetheart enter “Who Wants To Be A Millionaire” with the ability to go far due to his life experiences. He becomes an overnight hero, the ultimate depiction of hope to all those who want it however his looming success is interrupted due to allegations of cheating, and so follows a brutal interrogation by an evidently corrupt police force with the opening scene showing electrocution in order to produce a confession. The film then flits seamlessly and affectionately with flash backs to a heartbreakingly frantic and tragic childhood, however the camaraderie of its three characters (the three musketeers) often portrayed by real slum children, helps establish a consistent glimmer of hope. It’s vivid depiction of Mumbai's slums efficiently and effectively illustrate how India, can at times seem a different world from where we live and this is possibly the biggest compliment to Boyle, a testament to his dedication to authenticity and homage to India’s reality, not a Bollywood fantasy.

The films curiosity lies within it being a quintessentially British film in everyway, but oddly happens to have, most authentically, explored boldly into the cultural wonderment of India. Its inability to rely on a famous cast works to its advantage, the vibrancy of youth bringing an edge which would be otherwise missing. However the most intriguing aspect of the film perhaps is the partnership between Jamal and his brother and the heartache which is caused when a sibling co-dependence is removed. Although the film has an optimistic brilliance the bleak violence and corruption which underlies the city cannot be avoided. Graphic and gruesome depictions of mafia mentality and a constant fear is a frightening reality which at time, a western society chooses to ignore yet interspersed with this is a witty and sparkling dialoged which lifts what could have been a heavy film to take. There is no naivety or cautiousness in avoiding this topic, instead it embraces the poverty, and celebrates peoples determination and way of live. The film is consistently effervescent, never dipping in raw energy and this is aided dramatically by its score by AR Rahman including several contributions by M.I.A which assist the film in maintaining its grip.

What’s most striking it its unadulterated stream of happiness which is something we are desperately craving, with elements of fairytale providing a bustling escapism. The visual depiction of this tale is stunning, a masterpiece which lets Mumbai speak for itself, an ideal backdrop which develops to be its very own character.

And finally to its unexpected success, well it may be in there opinion however completely justified in its efforts. The film has led the way in the evident British film invasion this year grabbing four gongs and the Golden Globes and many more at the Critic's Choice awards, a recognition which was clearly never in consideration when making the film. The endearing nature of this film lies in is passion and modesty, it is blatantly clear that making this film was life changing for many and it’s this we should be utterly proud of. Ultimately its focus is love, a gripping tale of one man’s determination to fulfill his destiny, as it becomes evident that it is written.

2/ Frost/Nixon - An authentic portrayal of the now famous set interviews between David Frost and Richard Nixon after the Watergate scandal starring Micheal Sheen.

3/ Doubt - When the principal (Meryl Streep) of a Bronx Catholic High School accuses a popular priest (Philip Seymour Hoffman) of pedophilia, a young nun caught in between the feuding pair becomes hopelessly swept up in the ensuing controversy.

4/ Vicky Christina Barcelona - Woody Allen's persistence is undeniable with his latest film starring Penelope Cruise, Scarlett Johansson and Javier Bardem. It appears that this 20th century genius returns to form in a vivacious tale of the complexity of love. A must read is Allen's hilarious diary fromt he making of this film: http://www.guardian.co.uk/film/2009/jan/12/woody-allen-vicky-cristina-barcelona

5/ The Reader - Kate Winslet and Ralph Fiennes in a haunting tale of romance tracing the complicated love affair between a German teen and a mysterious woman twice his age in the midst of World War II with a shocking revelation.

6/ Revolutionary Road - Titanic sweethearts Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet reuinite once again in a tale of dissolutioned marriage within the confine of American suberbia.

7/ The Curious Case of Benjamin Button - An adaptation of F Scott Fitzgerald's Novel sees the sophisticated telling of Benjamin Button a man who when born, is already in his 80's and follows with a tale of joy and sadness.

8/ Milk - Sean Penn interprets the last eight years of Harvey Milk, the ill-fated politician and gay activist whose life changed history, and whose courage still inspires people.

9/ Anvil In 1981, Canadian heavy metal band Anvil released their first album, Hard 'n' Heavy, establishing them as pioneers of the speed metal movement. however their inevatable lucky break that would have elevated them to real stardom never came.

I'd entertain Mr Sloane

With a West End revival of Joe Orton's classic play Entertaining Mr Sloane, it seems fitting that we look back to its film re-make. Its bizaree and sureal balance of comedy with deeply complex thematic focusses offer a supurbly original tale which still holds great releavance for a modern audience. Issues such as murder, religion, sex slavery and violence are all dealt with, yet Orton's ability to push these boundraries leaves a satisfying and bemusing experience.

The film tells the story of a middly aged and desperately lonely widow (Kath) who happens on Mr Sloane, a gut-wrenchingly beautiful man, overly comfortable with his own sexulaity, a amolr psychopath whose odd tendancies are never fully resolved leaving a mysterious veil over someone we should hate but infact almost admire due to his irreverent lifestyle and dizzying charm. He becomes their lodger and with numerous attempts to enforce herself on Sloane he defeats. Whilst this derraged affair continues we are introduced to Ed, Kaths brother whose family realtion is more than questionable. This sunsequence revealtion of his own sexulaity leets in a subverted and twisted decision to share the love of Mr Sloane despite being fully aware of his evil deeds.

Although the films overuse of double entedres become somewhat dated and cringeworthingly frequent, its controvertial edge has remarkably stood the test of time in a society which has been virtually drained of all shock value factors. Four prefectely twisted and ulitmately quirky formed perfomances help the film resonate, maintaining its cult appeal and stayling true to the dark atmosphere so intricately crafted by Orton. An aire of Britain we rarely see now is captures efforltessly in this tale of how far lust will take a person, an exploration on the British obssesion with sex which is refreshingly sordid and grubby in its portrayal.

H xx

Franz Ferdinad are back ... Finally!

Franz Ferdinand

It has become borderline rude how long Franz Ferdinand has made us wait for their 3rd comeback. They redefined the popularity of 'indie' and it seems to have stemmed from a formula in which they are able to preserve their popularity which is lacking in most flimsy indie bands today, whose substance is lacking (the kooks and Kaiser chiefs to name a few who couldn’t keep their buzz for long). However what lies behind Franz is not just sharp suits and a good haircut, but actual talent, and proves that it can be ok to be mainstream, something that music snobs (like myself) hate to admit, and although we lost our underground favourite years ago, they still hold an important place in my heart, being one of the first proper bands (bar Steps) who I went to see. The last album, in the wake of an astonishing debut felt lacking in its achievements, probably more due to expectation that actual results. So it’s back to basics with their new single "Ulysses", with Alex's vocals stepping forward and their quirky experimentalism taking a huge reappearance. Their is a dramatic theatricality within this track that fluctuates from the haunting to the manic, maintaining an edge which is never quite pinpointed. The shift away from their usually stylized sound has paid off with a rough and raw demo like approach. It becomes quickly apparent that this song live will be an epic triumph, with recording not doing it the justice it deserves. The guitars are clashing with e metallic sting, dropping the ostentatious and almost self indulgent musical complexities they developed in the last album, the drums pound with a refreshing simplicity and each component is isolated to highlight their importance. There is an essence that their youth has been recaptured, throwing caution to the wind and not placing so much emphasis on perfection has paradoxically resulted in just that, and although the lyrics have an intriguing ambiguity, their message couldn't be clearer, their eagerness to impress once again is for all to witness!

Hannah xxx

Tim of the Minchin

Tim!

Aussies, you've got to love them. And one man who I particularly admire is Mr. Tim Minchin, comedian/pianist extraordinaire! His dream of being a rock star has not quite panned out as he may have wanted, but what Kerrang! has lost, the rest of the world gains with a dark satanic side that is borderline worrying at times but his confidence with his music is charmingly undermined by his faux fragility and nervousness during his stand up, with a subtlety of humour which is rarely seen nowadays, with a vigorous enthusiasm seeming unavoidable. His bitterness with the reality of life is something we all deep inside recognize, but our inability to express this in a complex arrangement of chords puts Minchin in a world of his own. Comparisons with Bill Bailey are frequently made however are somewhat unjustified as his level of skill is much higher, a refusal to deny his intellect and middle class up-bringing which brings a sophistication which other comedians lack. Anyone who mid gig can make an audience sing (ironically it must be said) "I love Jesus, I hate Faggots" is a brave man, and its this pushing of boundaries which puts him best on the circuit

Some people have it worse than me - Tim Minchin:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=78XrI_2bPVA

H xxx

30 Rock

Hello!

Pete: So, first you thought he was illiterate and now you think he's lazy? Liz, you are racist.

Liz: No, Tracy took advantage of my white guilt, which is supposed to be used only for good, like over-tipping and supporting Barack Obama.

So to kick off the blog, one of the best programmes around, 30 Rock (despite its poor ratings in the UK) is bursting with sparkling wit with a cast that each has their own capabilities. Set behind the scenes of a sketch show, highlighting the experience of the both cast and crew show a great influence with Tina's experience as head writer of cult TV show Saturday Night Live. The creator and star, Tina Fey AKA Liz Lemon is a woman who its hard not to do anything but admire her, making geek chic her own with a self deprecation that only causes our affections to grow. Her clumsy approach to life and love is something we can all relate to but its her chemistry with Alec Baldwin which is utterly engaging, an unlikely friendship between a slobbish singleton and an charming exec however its their interdependence which draws us in, with the occasional touching moment ruined with the slam of yet another perfect one line "You're too old to be cute Lemon".

With its eye always on politics 30 rock is abundant in intellect, but its the bold rejection to hail to the California conformity, the perfect, the young and the beautiful actors which is surprisingly refreshing, with most of the actors over 35, and with a look of reality rather that the ideal. Another key figure is Tracy Jordan, a loony movie star sharing spooky echoes to that of the sell out side to Eddie Murphy. With his head mostly in the clouds, his off the wall phrases, psychotic tendencies and taking his shirt off at any given opportunity which gives him his own show.

It’s always pissed us Brits off that, although we have the odd success, we just can't pull off the sit-com like the yanks can. The programme has approachability, the mistake we make both at work and within relationships which is fundamental to the shows success. The caliber of guest stars only goes to prove yet again the consistently high standard it achieves, with an A list including Jennifer Anniston and Oprah effing Winfrey!
And to the hidden gem of the show, the proud peacock page, with a Texan lilt that would melt any girl's heart (ish). It’s within his frigid and blind naivity that his charm lies, bewildered by the bright lights of New York, and with wild dreams of Television, it won’t be long before Kenneth is running NBC! Unaware of his own loyalty and dedication, its his oddball nature with entices us and those around him, intrigued about what makes him tick without ever finding out.

30 Rock sadly may never be the success it deserves to be over here, but regardless the power to make me fancy Alec Baldwin whilst full well knowing how wrong it is, is pretty impressive, we salute you Mrs. Fey!
H xxx