Manuscripts Don't Burn
Saturday 30 June 2007

YouTube Episode 2: Attack of the Cloned Comedy

Great comedy. That's what this post is about, because not all comedy is created equal. This clip is one of my favourites, and literally kept me laughing out load when I first heard it. Of course, Black Books is a favourite of mine, so I am slightly bias towards the peculiar misanthropy of the Irish bookseller, but regardless, I think the clip, with or without knowledge or appreciation of the series holds up pretty well on its own. What do I love about this clip? To be honest, I think a lot of it is about the camera work. And the fact that it's not some kind of rehashed joke in a slightly different setting (a la Little Britain series 1 + 2, or all of those terrible Catherine Tate shows, or anything like that. For me, sketch shows have a very limited range. The Fast Show was probably the greatest sketch show of recent time, and now I believe it's time for a return to the truly hilarious sitcom. Fawlty Towers is still in my mind the greatest series ever produced in comedic history, and I think a return to sitcom roots, with more of a focus on edgy laughs rather than cheap family chuckles is what we need to be aiming for. So, with that in mind, I recommend Black Books, and here is the clip of the day.





P.S. Why is it that almost no one can be a good stand-up AND a good charachter in a series/contestant in a gameshow/presenter of a TV program, etc? For my mind, the only person who really does this is Bill Bailey, and possibly Russel Brown, who is excellent on radio, but pretty rubbish on TV. His standup is first class though. SImiliarly, Noel Fielding may be an absolute legend in the Boosh, but when it comes to working the stage at the Comedy Store...he's just not good. Comments?

P.P.S. Ol, if you don't watch Question Time then my last post might not have made a huge amount of sense, but basically the show next week is being produced by sixth-formers, and one of the pannelists (the one who is slected by the public based on the merit of the videos they have produced which you can find in the link) will be an ordinairy member of the public aged 18-22 I think.

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posted by danny @ 08:23, ,


Question Time
Thursday 28 June 2007

Just watching Question Time; Ming is doing well. However, I am just going to quickly drop in a link so that you can pick your favourite young person to be a pannelist on next week's show. I won't say who my favourite is but...choose wisely!

Clicky!

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posted by danny @ 14:46, ,


Top Gun Philosophy
Wednesday 27 June 2007


I have run out of idea regarding this blog. Therefore, I have decided to do something very savvy. I will base each one of my future posts for the foseeable fguture upon a video that I have favourited on YouTube, and of course then embedd that video into the post at the end so you can see what I was on about, or if what i was chatting about ended up having any correlation with the video what so ever.

EPISODE 1: The Fly-by Menance

Top Gun was one of the greatest films ever made. Fact. Despite some arguably very flagrant homoerotic undertones, Tom Cruise (shock horror) was quite good in it. So was Val Kilmer. So was pretty much everyone to be honest. The aerial shots were amazing, and the soundtrack, 80's and dated as it is, still manages a little frisson of delight when you hear the opening sequence from the aircraft carrier. Let'sbe honest, screw Navy recruitment on television or anywhere else;if this film didn't make you want to be a fighter pilot then...well it did didn't it. I have Top Gun on VHS and DVD, and a HD version recorded on my Sky +. Trust me, I love this film.

Luckily, Top Gun is a film everyone loves for the very reason of it's faults. It's camp, it's silly, it's full of one liners, and Jerry Bruckheimer produced it. So a parody would seem to go down well. Well...maybe, but the thing is with films like Top Gun is that they become completely absorbed into our public consciousness, they form a kind of backbone of reference for our popular culture. And because they are so fundementally important in our referencing of any other film, book, piece of music, sub-culture, whatever, parodies often fall short. Reducing a film which has (*love it or loathe it) become so ingrained in us seems almost exploitative. It's like a kind of scepticism as to whether what we appreciate, and what informs our ideas about media is really worth while, and for me at least, after watching this video, I felt a little bit hollow.

Perhaps I am talking absolute proverbial doggie bits, but gosh, I felt a little bit ashamed of Val Kilmer in this video. What do you think (Cal and possibly Oli, and maybe that guy who tried to sell Cal a t-shirt)? Enjoy the clip:



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posted by danny @ 05:15, ,


my fitness triumph
Tuesday 26 June 2007


Right. Exams have finished. Danny needs to sort some kind of exercise out until uni, something for the old cardio. And I hate running. What can I do. Well...


SKIPPING

jump roping in other words. Alright, it's a little bit gay, however, it doesn't take much space, it keeps the blood pumping, and I don't have to plan out silly routes for running. Plus I don't get blisters. I've been doing 30 minutes at a time, which isn't a huge amount, but I'm trying to build up to things. Plus the old iPod keeps things going well. At the mo I have a number of different songs on my playlistg, but the current list includes:


I will keep you updated, on this, possibly the greatest potential fitness revolution. Ever.

posted by danny @ 15:17, ,


Creativity flows through my veins like strongbow flows through the nation's drinkers.
Monday 25 June 2007

I now feel in a permanent state of competition, so in response to a pieceof creative writing (which admittedly I liked, and was undeniably cal-like) here is a poem I have written. It is entitled: 'Ode to the Head Girl'

Head Girl, the whole school loves you, sporting your enamel badge
that says in prim letters, Senior Prefect, but might as well
 say I've seen you looking, and I know you want some lads,
 she knows your gaze has moved to her pert breasts from her lapel.
 And it's waiting outside the Head's office, that bastion of the old guard
 that she crosses her young legs coquettishly, they brush against your thigh.
 she laughs, you reciprocate, unsure of the exact etiquette
 required when a senior girl starts to make you hard
 She pats your leg, close to the groin 'I'm sorry,' she says, you say, 'that's fine.'
 'Well that's big of you,' she gently teases, the seductress-girl brunette
 and you wonder what you'd do to her if you caught her off her guard



But it's not just you that holds this kinky head-girl-linked perversion
the first year's gawk like dumb parrots as her tweed wrapped hips sway by
the fifth years drop their pencils for a perfect-arsed diversion
and even staff turn Humbert Humbert when they catch the minx's eye.
So imagine then a summer halcyon day, the fields awash with new green floor,
a crisply lined athletics field, the quintessential school sports day.
She walks barefoot in her games skirt, she wanders to the start
of the one hundred metres, cheeks flushed and eyes azure.
The pistol fires, she comes in last in place but first in heart
Her audience knew she was their winner before she’d stepped up to the start.


(The girl is just a random head girl I found on Google, not MY head girl. Discretion and that.)



(Still, I think she's quite fit.)


(Don't you?)

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posted by danny @ 09:06, ,


i love it when you cal - An Expose
Wednesday 20 June 2007


i love it when you cal. The title is cheeky and whimsical; it screams to the reader, 'I'll use caps when I'm good and ready' and knowingly pokes fun at the author with the replacement of 'call' with 'cal', a bold, and completely inventive move. But is this blog everything it promises? And who is this 'Cal', a man who is, by his own admission, 18 years old, possibly the most socially destructive age of all. the bowler hat investigates...

At first glance, 'i love it when you cal' (hereafter referred to as iliwyc) looks like any other casually run blog. A place for someone to relate their day to day events/interests/thoughts with other 'bloggers'. But look again. The title itself, a cunning anagram for the mysterious yet disturbing phrase, 'ache willy evolution,' reveals the fractured mind of a madman. Observe too the layout of the blog. A layer of fresh, vernal grass lies at the top of the page. But look down, and the optimistic promises fade to a dark and macabre black. This is surely a reflection of the man behind the blog himself.

Perhaps, I hear you say, you are looking into things too much. After all, you have told us nothing of the content so far. The content. Well, let's dive into a typical post shall we? A mere four days ago, Cal wrote a brief review, concerning Jekyll the new adaptation of Stephenson's classic Gothic chiller. How exactly did he review it though? Did he perhaps say it was well acted but a bit gory? Or maybe that the set design was excellent, but he couldn't relate to the charachter, as he was too very evil?

No.
Neither.

Instead he said, 'I look forward to next week's episode of this unsettling drama' and more bizzarely still that he wanted 'to pull off each of my fingers to stuff in every sense-receiving orifice;' as disturbing and macabre kink as I have ever heard a man utter. No wonder he has an ache willy evolution. So already we have seen how Cal seems to have two distinct personalities; one of happiness and positivity, and one of dark, eerie secrets; this juxtaposition echoed in the layout of his blog, the anagram of its title, and the sympathy with Mr Jekyll. Perhaps this was a one off post however. I asurre you however, it is not.

"Cal; subversive or misunderstood blog jockey?"


Let us look to the 13th of June, where Cal wrote, 'I always do this. A momentary lapse of self-control.' In the very same post, Cal admits that he wants to 'make an ultra-violent remake of The Notebook'. Perhaps more chilling still is the language Cal uses thoughout the post, betraying his bipolar, subversive and unstable personality; exactly in the vein of Jekyll and Hyde. "It's created a problem within my mind" he says, a subconscious recognition of the split personality he exhibits. Perhaps more worryingly still he says, "I'm finding it increasingly difficult to remember which is which."

With Cal's comments becoming increasingly more erratic, including the absurdly meglomanical comment left recently on one of my own works (" I'd like some more posts please. Chop chop.") we can only hope that Cal manages to find what shred of humanity he has left, if any. Because if he doesn't, then I will lose my only blog viewer.

DW

posted by danny @ 10:19, ,


ahem


A new post has been a long time coming. But never fear, exams are over on Friday, and by then I fear you will have to deal with a regular output of slurry. I bought a new memory stick the other day which was mildly exciting. It's a mighty 2GB with a retractable stick bit. And it was mine for a mere tenner. Excellent. As you can doubtless tell I have no real news. I do however plan to go to the beach after exams. Possibly on my own, hopefully with someone else. There will be colourful windbreakers, bracing smiles against a c hilly wind, and of course, tea in a flask and cucumber sandwhiches. I am also thinking about wearing a tie and jacket. When I do, there will be lots of wonderful pictures of the happy event. Until that time though, I have decided to infill with a bit of self-effacing web-comic action.

Today's work of art comes from the ever savvy Toothpaste for Dinner. I suggest you go over there right now and cover your respective blog(s) with hastily drawn wonderment.

Also, I went to see Pirates of the Carribean 3 last night. It was a bit rubbish to be honest. There was far too much plot in the film for a single movie, albeit a soul-crushingly long one. But Kiera Knightly looked tremendous. Mind, I didn't have to see her ribs at any point, which was a bonus.

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posted by danny @ 02:31, ,


The study of dreams
Thursday 7 June 2007

I cleared up my desk today (it was a filthy mess, more an excavation than a clean-up) and thought about what my ultimate study area would look like.

Because I am actually that sad.

My current one is pretty good, and seems to have pretty much all of the essentials:

  1. Good desk lamp
  2. Large surface area
  3. Executive pendulum toy
  4. Near limitless post-it notes, treasury tags, flash cards and other non-essential stationary
  5. A small bust of William Shakespeare
  6. Novelty gnome mini lights

I thought I had it all covered. I thought I had, to a greater or lesser extent, the single greatest study area of anyone. In the world. Ever. How wrong I was. It turns out that Will Self, satirical novelist and comedy game show guest extroidinaire has gone one better. Where I constricted myself to two-dimensions, he expanded, outwards and upwards. Onto the walls. Bloody legend. Have to say I am more than a little envious of this brainwave of his mind. Anyway, just thought I would share that with my readership of myself, Cal, and that foreign guy who commented a post, but I couldn't figure out what anything said on his blog because it was in another language. Apologies to you sir, I would have hit you back, but I don't speak anything other than Queen's English. Apologies.

To see all 71 pictures of the room (they do tend to get a bit repetitive mind) click here. Or here.



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posted by danny @ 06:59, ,


♣ The Dead School
Wednesday 6 June 2007

Right, I just finished three Philosophy exams yesterday, and I have a fair old amount of time until I have to get back into revision proper for the last two exams on the 22nd. Therefore, I thought I would add a little zing to things by including a new rewiew. Of a book. But which book? I haven't read a huge amount recently because of revision, which is a shame, but still managed to find a bit of time to go through one or two, and so today it is the turn of the quintessentially Irish sounding, Patrick McCabe, and his novel, The Dead School.

Reading the rather distinguished blurb on the back of the book, I can see that the Times Literary Supplement, which is often very spot on thought it was an, 'appallingly funny story...horribly memorable,' and once again, they are very apt in their description. It's been cited as a foundational example of 'Bog Gothic,' i.e. a specialist Irish Gothic, and so it's no suprise that elements of both comedy and the macabre sit side by side. McCabe uses a fairly traditional device as the basis of his novel; two men who have no connection, brought up in very different enviornments in Ireland find their paths cross, the result of which ultimately leads to the two men's mutual destruction.

Now, I consult Wikipedia in order to get past the summary, which is never paticularly fun to write:

Malachy Dudgeon comes from a small suburban Irish town, from a dysfunctional family, existing under the guise of happiness, using the facade of happy Sunday mornings, whilst the adultress mother and suicidal father continue to make devastating blows to their son, from which he never truly recovers, and chooses to escape into his world of imaginations, dreams and Americanisms.

On the other hand Raphael Bell comes from a small rural Irish town, and is the apparent picture of perfection. Raphael constantly seeks attention, from singing: "Wee Hughie" at any available moment to succeeding at school. However Raphael's world is gravely affected when Black and Tan soldiers shoot his father in the chest before his eyes. From this moment on Raphael strives to uphold the virtues and traditions of old Ireland, and it is innevitably this innability to transgress and adjust into modern living that leads, unsurprisingly to his suicide.

The two protagonists become inextricably linked when Malachy joins the teaching staff at Raphael's prestigious boys boarding school, which he sees as his whole life's worth. An unfortunate science trip leads to the drowning of school boy, Pat Hourican and the unravelling of both Malachy and Raphael. Malachy loses his job, and then his girlfriend, Marion, to a wild member of a rock-band, and Raphael loses his job and mind, and then subsequently his wife, Nessa dies.

Whilst Malachy becomes a waster and alcoholic and moves to London, Raphael opens what he calls 'The Dead School'. With black bin bags at the windows and an uncontrollable amount of mess and disorder. He begins to teach imaginary classes about his own life, as madness becomes inherent in his everyday life.

As the novel concludes, Raphael's suicide occurs, as does his unattended funeral. Malachy returns to his hometown to care for incapacitated mother, whom he once loathed, and there is a general air of depression, as the golden age of Ireland which Raphael had once loved is exchanged for stripjoints and graffiti.

The charachters which populate the novel are it's treasures. Not just the main two charachters, but the narrative voice as well becomes an increasingly evaluative speaker on the events of the text. My favourite charachter of all though is The Dummy, a product of Malachy's fractured reality, a resident in a stereotypical, picture perfect Irish village that Malachy dreams of living in. An ever smiling, yet dumb charachter, the dummy is hilarious in how integral to Malachy's faux-village he is, yet horrifying in his marrionatte, dumb state, always wondering about with his 'melon-slice grin.' When the Dummy commits suicide, in a manner very reminiscent of Malachy's own father's death, we sense that Malachy has become so absorbed in his fantasies, that his reality has been so fractured he loses the ability to distinguish what's real and what is not. Raphael, although continually a hilarious charchter throughout, especialy when we see his intense paranoia, fear, and competitive instinct levelled against a feminist parent of a school child, he truly outdoes himself in dark humour when he takes up his post at the Dead School. Slowly losing his links to his former life, he disassociates from his own, self-awarded position as Headmaster at the Dead School, and plots how to kill 'The Headmaster'. With the brilliant inclusion of a list of potential ways to rid the school of its mastermind, drawn in the increasingly childish hand of Raphael, we come to understand that Raphael has become both Headmaster and pupil, dominant and submissive, and inevitably trapped then in a cycle of lording power over his 'pupils' whilst at the same time, deeply resenting the power of the Headmaster.

It's a triumphant novel, and one of my favourite things about it was its sheer economy. There seem to be very few words here which don't serve some purpose. In paticular, I think that McCabe needs to be applauded for how long he keeps the initial meeting between Malachy and Raphael from taking place, choosing to spend a large amount of time focusing on the experiences that shape bothe men's lives. I'm sure this must have taken a fair amount of discipline, but it gives the final section of the book an incredible inertia, a sense of horrific momentum which draws reader and protagonists into a manic freefall. The same thought has been given to the actual structure of the text as well. Throughout the earlier sections of the book, the chapters tend to taker a resonably regular and binary format, one chapter being devoted to Raphael, and the next to Malachy. This tends to give the whole novel a kind of increasing crescendo, the feel of a dual piston, propelling the story forward. Increasingly towards the end of the book however, this structure breaks down, revealing the breaks in the charachter's own lives, and the destruction of the regualr, considered chapters only helps integrate the reader.

A fantastic book, and well worth it. Will leave you thinking about it for days. As a result, five stars!

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posted by danny @ 11:07, ,