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June 2005
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Links to help with procrastinating when writing a thesis.
By Tim - 11:42 PM, Saturday, June 25, 2005 - 30 Comments |
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Mid-20s crisis
By Tim - 11:38 PM, Saturday, June 25, 2005 - 3 Comments
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ffs.
24 years old and I feel like I'm having a mid-life crisis. Do you ever get to the point where you wake up in the morning and just go "Hang on a sec. What is it I've actually accomplished in life?"
Then you go to a website like http://museumofconceptualart.com/accomplished/ and put in your age and feel depressed. Then you put in 18 and feel even more depressed.
Then, a minute later you have the thought "Crap. In 5 and a half years, I'll be 30." I'll be oooold.
Meanwhile I'm still plugging away at a thesis, far too slowly, and putting everything on hold till I finish the damn thing. I'll be, what, 73 by then?
I guess it's sobering when your wife starts talking about having kids, buying a house, settling down, and I still haven't even held down a full time job yet. My god. I thought I'd have at least a Nobel prize by now. My best accomplishments are brewing my own beer (from a tin) and dressing myself each day. I think I also changed a tyre once. |
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Hands up who doesn't like Star Wars?
By Adam - 9:18 AM, Tuesday, June 21, 2005 - 2 Comments
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If you're honest with yourself, the first one wasn't really that good, was it? Really? For a kids' flick in the '70s it was all right, you keep telling yourself, but you know who'll win and who'll lose. It's Hollywood. It's Hollywood and it's science fiction. The good win, the bad guys lose. Shortly after this film, the genius behind it all was told "your franchise is timeless", and so he set about proving it by completing the trilogy, which was much the same with a bit of incest and the occasional giant robotic camel.
Not to be deterred by wafer-thin plots and predictable endings the first time round, Lucas discovered a corner of his enormous mansion that wasn't stuffed with hundred-dollar bills and had an ingenious idea: Let's release them all again, but with new special effects! So he does that, and everyone goes to see them, and Lucas's bare corner is neatly filled.
But wait! There's a metre-square patch of his five-billion-acre ranch that isn't covered in boxes of cash! So off he went to the video mastering shop and got his movies put on VHS. During the DVD revolution. Because he knew that in two years his roof-entirely-made-of-greenbacks would need retiling. With more greenbacks. So he released them all again on DVD, knowing the geeks who bought them the first 600 times would buy them all again.
And of course he had to consider that the trees on his private archipelago were outgrowing their papier-mβchι shells made of five trillion dollar notes, but that was neatly taken care of with the cinematic release of another three movies. And haven't we heard about them? In early June, there was an entire blank surface near my house that wasn't consumed by a Revenge of the Sith advert. I think it was the side of a dog.
It worked, though, didn't it? Because everyone went to see them, didn't they?
The Phantom Menace was, going by universal opinion, shit. Attack of the Clones was, based on the same consensus, also shit. But these are Hollywood movie-goers, they'll see anything if it's shiny enough. So off they go, filing away into their local multiplex, to watch the next instalment of the franchise they spent the past five years deriding because, despite the physical pain they endured through the last two, they'll see it anyway because it's a Star Wars film. And they know what happens at the end: the nice kid turns into an evil overlord. But they knew that would happen when they saw The Phantom Menace all those years ago.
No! you say. You heartless bastard! you continue. What about the action? What about the characters? Well, the action is filler for a plot which doesn't really exist, and the dialogue is probably great if one can imagine it being delivered in something other than a monotone. I'm pretty happy to assume aliens exist, being that the universe is theoretically infinite, but I'll bet 0.000000000000007% of Lucas's empire that they've advanced beyond: "Greetings, Qui-Gonn Jin. We have been expecting you for some time. Is the princess well?"
Wait. That's unfair of me. I'm sorry.
Why should I single out Star Wars for its cardboard acting? Star Trek grinds it into the dirt where I'd-rather-not-be-here performances are concerned. As does just about every other form of science fiction made in the United States since 1962. It's a convention of television and movie production. A convention whereby science fiction can only be made if it's so boring that it makes politicians seem animated, and so wooden that termites go out of their way to catch a glimse of the action. It's a commonly accepted convention in popular entertainment. It's something I like to call the Role Playing Convention.
Once upon a time I attended one of these, invited by good friends who assured me it would be a full Easter weekend of nonstop sophisticated fun. It was the most embarrassing four days of my entire life.
Imagine, if you will, a large school bursting to the rafters with anoraks, speaking exclusively in the all-too-familiar Star Trek monotone. Some even wearing purple milito-Spandex suits and metal badges that go beep. Expensive badges, too, I believe. So expensive, in fact, that the wearers had to forego everyday essentials, like toothpaste.
The idea was to put your name down for a game that usually contained one of the words "shadow", "vampire", "star fleet" or "kingdom". This game would last anywhere between two and four hours, and was run by someone in plastic chain mail, protectively clutching several dice, each with a random number of sides. If you wanted to open a door in a dungeon, the dice-clutcher would roll six of the dice, do a fancy little sum and proclaim: "You may open the door." Which was moot because I didn't really want to open the bloody door anyway.
Three hours into this four-day fun fest, I got so bored and restless that I went a bit mad and decided to sabotage the games for my own amusement. You know, walking to the toilet instead of pretending to ride King Arthur's horse there, that sort of thing. Whilst trying unsuccessfully to find said toilet, I was stopped by a woman with bad breath who addressed me as "Sir Vincent" or something, asking "how goes the cattle on the farm, your lordship?" I explained that I was busting for a number twos and could she please tell me where the bogs were. This didn't go down well at all. She accused me of breaking regal protocol and threatened to support my enemies in the War of the Three Lands, and I had to find the bloody gents myself.
So anyway, that's why I don't like Star Wars.
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When dimwitted becomes obscene
By Adam - 1:58 PM, Friday, June 10, 2005 - 1 Comment
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Okay. Let's say you're dumb. Let's say you went to school and dicked around during English class. Let's say you didn't read the prescribed novels because you could rent the videos instead.
There are ways you can proudly put your lack of mental prowess on public display. Standing in the Domain Tunnel wearing a chicken suit and pretending to lay eggs will do the job nicely. As will appearing on Sale of the Century, claiming your name is Neeeeeeek and answering "my sexy mummy" to every question. Or planting a plastic begonia in a swimming pool and fending everyone off until it grows.
Or, more conveniently, sending texts to a television show's SMS ticker. The Perfect Way to Tell the World You're Really Stupid.
Seriously. We've all seen emails, we've all seen chatrooms, but at least there's a semblance of language. Usually. At least, 90% of the time, it's possible to discern what one has said. But with SMS tickers, it's anyone's guess. Is a girl called "CHanele" saying hello, or is she asking for a halo? Is "johny of braodmeddowz" asking for his message to go to air, or is he sitting on his phone?
SMS tickers have one main advantage over plastic flowers and chicken suits: providing a cheap and accessible platform by which incredibly thick people can embarrass themselves in front of the whole country, without even having to get off the sofa.
Which is fine, in its place. Currently it's confined to your music video show and your Big Brother Up Late. But just imagine if this lunacy, this abject deteriation of prep-school literacy, were seen by the whole country. In prime time.
Like, say, the evening news: chapell is inacent! free set hEr fre she done nufin rong HI WANITA!I M UR BIGEST FAN U R SO SEXXY MWAH SAY HI 2 ME LUV MICHALLE AN BRITTANY XX hi dad!!!!!!look i r on da news!!!!!!!!! quik tell mum micheal jackon fidels wiv boyz maek him go 2 prizan bald man r sexi jonny howerd giv me ur wily u suk hi i fink dat bush is wack i wil vote 4 him nex yeer
Or Compass: hi gereldeen! pls say hi 2 teh anceint egiptan pheroas 4 me!helo 2 ricki an da boyz in da borronia hood!! from me xoxoxo moor arebic relijons plez dey get wine in camunion????wtf i wana be caflik now compas i luv compas dem monks r kool! cept wen thay chant thay soumd like diks omg say hi 2 da my mum xxxxx
Or Monarch of the Glen: hi archie!say helo 2 my cat pls archi from me ps luv u! WERE IS DA FOOTY DIS IS SHIT FULOF FATIES WIV GGUMBOOTS dis is not big brova wtf brig back lord angas he wuz cool molly plz take ur top of we wana see ur tits cassels suk dere iz no bongs or cd pleyars in casels dey r maed of brik no dis show wuz on las week plz chaeg it 2 da oc i luv ryen he'iz fuly sik
This was a public service announcement on behalf of literate people everywhere.
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The state of television comedy in Australia
By Adam - 1:03 PM, Wednesday, June 8, 2005 - 3 Comments
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Well, that didn't last long.
Finally Australia has new sketch comedy, I saw in the paper. Good, I said. It's live and going out on Sunday nights, I read. Good, I said. A much-needed shot in the arm, I said.
Then I watched the first episode. Bad, I said. Very bad. Not clever, not original, not funny. It has potential, though, I said, and given a few weeks it'll come together and be a force to be reckoned with. The second episode was immeasurably better than the first, despite too many characters still not being funny. Tighter all round, and the performers were less self-conscious. It's already on the up, I said. But now it's gone.
Seven made a ballsy move, funding Let Loose Live and giving it prime airtime. Such a gesture is commendable, particularly in today's comparatively dismal sketch comedy landscape. However, the fatal flaw was taking untested talent and giving it such a crucial slot.
On their own those involved have brilliant and unique talent, but you can't just chuck a group of comedians together and expect it to work on the first night. I don't mean to cast aspersions on the intelligence of those involved, but really, there was barely any relation at all between any members of the writing/performing team. Someone at the network hoped a couple of Fast Forward stalwarts, who hadn't really written television comedy or worked together in ages, would give it immediate credibility. There's nothing fresh about that, nor can there be. The rest are from vastly different fields of comedy, and it's clear from the final product that each member's strengths were suppressed, not exploited, to create a whole that by comparison was hollow.
To Seven's credit, the network didn't go cheap when getting all the right people to helm the production -- Ted Emery, Ruse & Luby, Brendan Luno and Mark O'Toole as head writers, 21 writers overall -- but it seemed to hope the show would just work, first go. That it could assemble all these people and expect an instant success. At best that's a gamble with distant odds.
Sketch comedy just doesn't work like that. It can only reliably work when crucial chunks of the group have written or performed together for any period of time. Prime examples are The D Generation, which started as a university revue and honed its craft on the ABC; Fast Forward, which came mainly from The D Generation and Australia You're Standing In It; The Late Show, which also came from The D Generation, and which the ABC was prepared to support for a full 20 episodes in its first year; The Comedy Company, which Ten launched in a late weeknight slot and supported until it hit its stride; and The Micallef P(r)ogram(me), which found its feet on Full Frontal and other small projects, and was given a solid chance on the ABC.
If Let Loose Live had started off at, say, 9:30pm on a Thursday, with 3-4 fewer cast members and 4-5 fewer writers, the pressure would be off, the scrutiny would be minimal and the comedy could flourish.
Most forms of entertainment excel when they're created by a hastily-assembled group of talented people. But comedy's different, and this is what network executives fail to grasp. Hamish & Andy had serious potential, but Seven wasn't prepared to give it a chance. Micallef Tonight was the best and tightest variety show Australia had seen in years, but Nine's top brass changed its mind and let it go. The Mick Molloy Show started stiff and rapidly gained momentum but, rather than experiment with a new timeslot, Nine cancelled it.
This is why Britain is so successful in comedy: The BBC has the money, resources and patience to commission a new series, let it run its course, and sometimes give it a second chance. As a result, television comedy in Britain is now the healthiest and edgiest it's been since the early '80s.
Australia has the ABC to do this, but with cutbacks since the mid '90s and a succession of under-resourced general directors, nothing gets a chance anymore. Kath & Kim did eventually, and only after several years of on-again-off-again prevaricating by the ABC. Apart from that, all it can afford to fund is the odd cheap panel show, and even those are good television purely because they received continued support in their early days. However, as panel shows they're limited in what they can achieve.
So, it falls to SBS and the commercials. SBS's remit requires it do something culture- and world-focused with its local productions, hence Pizza and John Safran vs God. Ten seems to have let Skithouse go for the time being, despite it showing some early promise. Nine's idea of sketch comedy is to use 1987 as a template, contract people who on the whole are not funny, and bumper each sketch with graphics that go "LOOK!! FUNNY!! BOI-I-I-ING!!" so the outer suburbs will laugh because they think they're supposed to. It worked for a while, but even Nine's audience is growing wary, so it's been shoved in after the NRL when half-drunk rugby fans will laugh at anything, cutting out young children and many families in the process. And there's no guarantee that it's coming back.
Seven had The Big Bite, which had some genuinely clever people (I'm looking at you Chris Lilley) and some serious potential, but received sod-all attention by Seven's marketing department. Then there was Hamish & Andy, and now of course there's Let Loose Live.
Meanwhile, C31 in Melbourne has The Shambles, a backyard production made by three blokes with limited resources which, although inconsistent and pretty rough around the edges, frequently has truly inspired moments. Given a professional production unit, a script editor and a small budget, it could be better than any sketch comedy we've seen on commercial telly all decade.
And that's just the beginning. I refuse to believe comedy is dead in this country. Funny people are everywhere. Just look at Melbourne's International Comedy Festival. There's gallons of local talent wholly deserving of a break in television. But everyone who matters is too scared to give it a chance.
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