Jimmy Carr is presenting, and, like all comedians, he has a
really odd laugh. It goes Huh! Huh!
Huh! Huh! Huh!
HHUUUUUUUH! If something is
really funny, or just the first syllables if it’s only a little bit funny, like
the funniest things David Walliams has ever said. If it’s really really funny, like one of the
three things Richard Ayoade says in any two-hour period, he adds in an extra
two or three syllables. It sounds like
he’s climaxing, in a really sarcastic way.
This thing is two
fucking hours long. (The programme, not the climaxing. Or the laugh.)
(That’s not the kind of joke I like, normally. But it was inspired by the thing it is
reviewing, so it's appropriate. That’s
how reviews should work, isn’t it? There’s
no reason they shouldn’t be creative, is there? Mind you, I tried to be funny in a live music review and one commenter described it as "unnecessarily bitter". Sadly, however, the commenter didn't specify the necessary level of bitterness, so I wasn't able to correct it in line with the feedback.)
Still, as I say, Richard Ayoade is on it. His appeal used to be that he was a bit odd
and delivered a refreshingly abstract and occasionally intellectual (it’s all
relative) take on the well-worn panel comedy quiz formula. Now he’s been on telly for a while, including
this type of thing, his appeal is that he does these shows as if he’s too good
for them. He conveys this with faint
embarrassment at having delivered a deadpan joke as if it’s not a joke. It’s basically the same, but he says a little
bit more and is a little bit less funny.
He is a film director, so maybe he does these to make money for a new
film project. How would I know? He’s still the most interesting person on
this show, or any like it, by far.
Richard Ayoade’s teammate is Noel Fielding, who has done little/nothing
of interest since The Mighty Boosh, and has spent most of the time being on
these kind of things. The allure of this
kind of work must be hard to resist for a flamboyant person who likes dressing
up and knows he is wittier and more interesting than most people who go on
these things. Still, it’s all relative,
isn’t it?
I saw one a while back with Fielding on the same team as
Brand. It was like watching someone fall
over; I felt it was wrong to laugh, but it was a bit funny. They both come off as preening tossers who
are quite amusing (for a strictly limited time) while being preening tossers,
but are both also reasonably interesting and funny people when they are
not. Everyone is more than one
thing. But it’s very hard to be multi-dimensional,
or interesting, or play to one’s strengths on these kind of TV programmes. It’s not what they’re for.
Come to think of it, I’m not sure at all what they’re for.
(Although it’s not me, I‘m sure.)
Come to think of it, I’m not sure at all what they’re for.
(Although it’s not me, I‘m sure.)
On day one of my A Level Media Studies course, the tutor
made an important distinction: that Media Studies, unlike Literature and most
other Humanities subjects, does not study what is judged to have inherent value
or quality. Media Studies s about
looking at anything that exists for consumption, regardless of quality – or
even interest. I have never forgotten
that astute observation, and it makes sense now that there are a million
channels to fill, and less and less money to fill them…
And it’s the reason I watch things I don’t really like and
then write an arrogant, smugger-than-thou review of them. But I’m not a professional reviewer, you
know? I just do it because I like
writing/expressing opinions for which no one has asked/feeling good about
myself by criticising/talking down to others, in increasingly florid
language. (Isn’t that why anyone writes
reviews, these days? Surely it’s not a
paying job any more…? It’s not even
journalism, in most cases; like most internet content, it’s aggregation.)
When I was in a band, aged eighteen, we didn’t play many
headline sets. But we managed a
few. One of those shows was reviewed in
our local reviews and listings magazine, considered something of a city institution at the time (the magazine, not the show. Or the band).
The review spent a column and a half on the opening act, a
column on the middle act and a short paragraph on us. Which seemed ass backwards to me. Until I realised the reviewer had to arrive
in time for the first band and presumably started drinking immediately, getting
progressively more arseholed as the night wore on. By the time we upstarts took the stage, s/he
was less inclined to take notes, or even take note of whatever we were
doing. We were probably fairly shite,
but we were entertaining. That’s my
review of that band.
But the actual review of that band mentioned little about
what we did or how it sounded, and nothing about the reaction we got – which
was surprisingly favourable; people laughed a lot; we were a silly, fun
band. Audiences always create the
atmosphere in which music is played.
Music in an empty room is very different to music performed in a room
with 1000 people for the express purpose of witnessing/experiencing it. (In our case, playing in a practice room with
just us in there was very different to playing at The Fleece to tens of people,
including all of our closest friends.)
I’ve not seen many reviews that mention how the crowd at the
thing react to the entertainment on (or off) stage. That seems like a glaring omission: the whole
point of live music is to gather people together to witness/participate in
music. So why do reviews treat the
on-stage spectacle as if it could easily be done without the audience? Or as if the audience simply isn’t
there? TV reviews sometimes mention
viewing figures, but it’s not the same, is it?
I like honesty, so when I review live shows, I mention that
I have been drinking. If it’s
relevant. Which it often is. There’s a paucity of contextualisation in standard
reviews; that which is given tends to focus narrowly on the back catalogue of
the artist in question. There is an
absolutely standard way of reviewing things that is of no interest, and seems
like a joyless, witless grind for the writer.
Luckily, no one pays me to write all this, and (relatively) few people
pay any attention, so I can say whatever I want, in whatever way I want.
An object lesson.
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