Out with the Stupid, In with the Silly

I'm sure I'm not the only one who has noticed that television is becoming stupider these days. Maybe people are getting stupider (I hope that isn't the case) or people just want to laugh without having to think too much. Whatever the reason is, I'm not a fan of this new 'stupid virus'. I mean, I will be the first to admit that I like a little bit of stupid comedy every once in a while, but it seems that every new sitcom, every romantic comedy, every reality TV programme is just tired, predictable and often mind-numbingly idiotic. When nearly every new series is just the same stupid series again and again, then we definitely have a problem.

Most people who know me know that I enjoy watching cartoons, the childish person I am, but I have a strong belief that cartoons are not all stupid and childish, despite still being written for children. One example, it still annoys me, even seven years along the line, is when a cartoon called Sheep In The Big City was pulled from Cartoon Network. The series had a more sophisticated humour, using literal comedy, oxymorons and relentless puns as well as comic references to TV broadcasting, breaking the fourth wall (something which I personally love in a comedy series, as long as it's not done to death), and it was popular with older audiences: not only was I a big fan, but both my parents sat down to watch it with me whenever it was on. The funny thing is that the premiere was apparently the highest-rated premiere for a Cartoon Network original series. Now, I know that every series must run its course, but it just bothers me that this programme got pulled, whereas truly awful cartoons like The Grim Adventures of Billy and Mandy (the newer, stupider episodes, that is), Robot Boy and Codename: Kids Next Door, kept their spot. Yuck.

Now the title for this blog might seem strange, but in my mind 'stupid' and 'silly' have two very different meanings (even though they can sometimes overlap).

Stupid leans more towards the moronic: the 'random' comedy that, in my opinion only succeeds if very well executed and expertly written. It tends to consist of (if done badly, extremely predictable) plays on words (double-entendres, strange euphamisms, etc.) and maybe even (heaven forbid) non-sequiturs. It's important to note that I don't hate all stupid comedy, some of it is quite good, for exactly what it is: a quick laugh at something stupid. It's just when it starts taking over that I have a problem. uk.rottentomatoes.com actually has a fairly good way of expressing what I'm trying to say here, that stupid comedy is basically "a kind of studied stupidity that sometimes passes as humor". Incidentally, it was describing the film Napolean Dynamite, a film which I watched on a very long coach journey and absolutely hated for its borderline insulting moronic 'comedy'. Then again, apparently most people who watched that film loved it, so what do I know?

Silly, on the other hand, is closer to intellectual, without necessarily being intellectual humour. A good example of silly comedy is Monty Python. Someone once described Monty Python as wonderfully weird yet sophisticated, which I suppose is a close enough description of silly comedy. One of the sketches even has the line "stop that, it's silly!". True, some of their sketches were terrible, but the good ones are so well known and so well loved that they overshadow and make up for all the flops (on that note, if you have never seen Monty Python, I highly recommend their YouTube channel here).

So, all I'm saying is that, while there is certainly still room in the media for the fun, stupid comedies, we need to also leave room for silly, intellectual or dark comedy, or any other forms of comedy that often get pushed to the side by the 'cheap laughs' crowd. I know it's not for everyone, but I also know that a large number of people would appreciate a little bit more variety in comedy.

Now I know that I come off as sounding very stuck-up pretentious, even condescending in this blog, but honestly it is difficult not to sound that way when dealing with this topic. I assure you, I in no way intended to offend anyone or be patronising, just to be relentlessly vindictive and cynical.

Examinations

Having just set my A Levels, I noticed a few problems in the system. I'm sure I don't have as much experience as some: university finals, driving theory exams and the like, but I'm not here to start a competition.

For one, they are very hard on the neck: unavoidable I suppose, but very inconvenient. Also they are a pain on the hand/wrist/arm, and legs tend to fall asleep as well. Physically, exams are not good for you, and they are mentally stressful as well. Try not to have a heart attack (which, incidentelly, was just about the only thing I wasn't asked about in my Biology exam).

That brings me neatly to my next point: I can't help but think that sometimes we learn things just for the exams, as we don't always learn exactly what something means, just the right way to phrase it to get the marks. This makes me feel like learning about transpiration in plants and atheromas, aneurisms, etc. has been a waste of time because they didn't come up in the exam. Although, knowing about the cause (and therefore prevention) of heart attacks will probably prove useful. Maybe that was a bad example, but you get the idea.

On the subject of exam technique; that's a real mission. Having to phrase an answer just right, paying close attention to the number of marks provided for the question, remembering to crowbar in certain key points and all the terminology can be tedious. Sometimes deciphering the exam paper and finding which questions you are supposed to answer becomes an exam in itself. In fact, that may not be a bad idea. If the candidate can't work out which question they are supposed to answer, or they don't follow the instructions properly, the examiner knows that they aren't A Level (or GCSE or whatever exam it is) material. To be honest, there isn't a lot of confusion about it: if you are given a choice of questions to answer, it seems logical to answer the one relating to the text or topic you have been learning about and revising.

Then there is also the problem that some exams seem to be testing our ability to memorise and regurgitate facts rather than actually knowing the material, and when that is happening, you know something has gone wrong somewhere along the line. However, the French Oral Exam I took in April wasn't the same as the GCSE last year, where I could just recite a passage I had learned (this year there was too much material to memorise) so I had to actually know the French and speak with some spontaneity, so the system does sometimes work. However, one of my biggest problems with Biology (particularly Unit 2) was remembering all the information, when I should have been focusing on how to understand and apply it to How Science Works.

True, exams are there for a reason, and they get the job done: hopefully I haven't failed all of my exams. But even if I have, a cardboard box shouldn't be too hard to obtain...

Brighton Rock: Sticky, Tough to Get Through and, in the End, Not All That Satisfying

This is a review I wrote a while ago, I was still honing my reviewing skills then (I still am now, but I think it really shows in this one), but I think it's still worth posting up (I sound very mean in this review, but it honestly did upset me):


Just finished reading Brighton Rock for English (just in time, too, I needed it finished by tomorrow) and I thought it might be worth sharing my opinions on it...

It's awful.

No no, I obviously have more to say on it than that, but my overall review can be effectively summed up in two words, and that's never good. In fact, I could easily drop the 'it's' so now it's in real trouble.

Elaborating on my point a little more...

The storyline is weak and dull and the author adds a depressing pessimistic edge to try and make up for it, and it doesn't make it any better.

The characters are so furiously hateable that I could feel next to no sympathy for any of them, and I think if I had it would have had a bigger impact on me at the end than just a long, quiet 'meh'. I also hated how the 'good' character is so annoying I started to hope she would die as quickly and unneccesarily brutally as possible (and it wasn't exactly outside the nature of the book for that to happen). It was also irritating to see Greene try and give the characters flaws. There's nothing wrong with giving characters flaws, in fact, I'm all for it, but he just kept going on about it, like I didn't catch it the first time. I knew Pinkie was a virgin the first time you said it, it wasn't necessary to mention it at every possible opportunity, that's just embarrassing him.

Above all, and this is something that really bothers me because it's considered a 'classic' and people think it's such a wonderful book: it's badly written. The narrative is lifeless and it drags. Twice I was sitting in the common room trying furiously to keep my eyes open during an 'intense' scene in a 'thriller' novel. There was no thrill involved: show me the thrill. There were even errors in the writing: the author obviously has never heard of the wacky new trend of proof reading. I've only been writing for about three or four years and even I know you have to read through your work at least once before even considering giving it to a publisher (knowing me, I will have made some kind of mistake in this blog, just for irony's sake). I'm not sure why the publisher accepted it: maybe because the author had already published things before, and they just took it without a second's thought. Great. Also I think that no one ever told the author about the rule: when a new character is speaking, put their dialogue on a new line. It's hard enough to understand who's saying what when you refer to everybody as 'the Boy' or something along those lines, but when everything is dotted around everywhere it just confused me and it seriously broke the flow.

Basically, the whole book seemed like something was missing. I had the odd feeling that it was just one draft away from being an okay novel, but it just didn't cut it with me. The ending was also rather sudden and unsatisfying. I'm sure that's what the author was going for, fitting with the theme and all that, but I just think that Pinkie (the 'bad' character, who turned out to be the one I hated the least, funnily enough) deserved a better send-out than the one he got. Don't get me wrong, the character deserved everything he got, it's just that his last scene was weak to say the least.

In the end, all I can really say is that if I didn't have to read this for school, I would have given up about halfway through. There's only so much waffle I can handle, and I don't like forcing myself to like a book. Plenty of authors work hard to make their books good so I can like them without even trying: Stephen King, Elizabeth Laird, Kevin Brooks and Catherine Ford, Jane Austen, the list goes on. Basically: I don't care if a book is a classic, if it's terrible, I won't strain myself to like it. The authors are the ones getting paid to do the work, so they should do it properly.

Oh, and Greene obviously has an obsession with breasts. Seriously, they're everywhere in that book.

Stones In His Pockets: Feckin' Outstanding

Tonight on 23rd April 2009, I watched a performance of 'Stones In His Pockets' at the Wilde Theatre, for another school theatre trip. Yes, I was wary about going back after the atrocity I saw there this January (see: Attempts On My Will To Live), and I was worried I would have to sit through another three hours of... that. But my fears were unfounded: as I entered the theatre wondering if it might be good, I was delighted when it was that, and so much more.

From the word go, I was interested in the premise: a story about a Hollywood film crew, making a movie set in Ireland, which focused on the locals who played the extras, involving a wide cast of characters (fifteen, I believe was the number, I wasn't exactly keeping count), all of which played by two actors (in other words, a two-hander). Immediately I was drawn in: multiroling, plays within plays, it sounded exactly what I was looking for, and I gladly was not disappointed.

The moment I saw the set, I was intrigued: a backdrop of clouds, a trunk and a box, and a long line of shoes which, I guessed from what I had heard, represented the many different characters shown. Those who know me know that I have a general dislike of too much set or copious props, so this was a step in the right direction for me. Then the lights dimmed, a short, Hollywood-style ad reel started, and I prepared myself.

The two actors switched seamlessly from character to character, although it must be said that it was difficult to keep up with them at the beginning, but as the play progressed, characters were easily recognisable through voice, accent, pose, etc. and these characters were portrayed so excellently, I almost forgot, several times, that there were only ever two actors on stage throughout. From the straight characters of Jake and Charlie, to the comedic female roles of Aisling and Caroline Giovanni, I was delighted every time I saw each character. In fact, the female roles were done perfectly: comically exaggerated, but still believable as real women, as opposed to men pretending to be women: Gary Trainor's Caroline was fabulously sexy (not to mention, her 'Irish' accent was priceless), and Patrick Kelliher's Aisling was flamboyant and hilariously ditsy. Plus, every time the extremely American Simon said 'wankerrr', I cracked up.

The acting was excellent: accents never faltered, even when switching from Irish to American to a different kind of Irish in a matter of seconds, and the different postures of each character captured them excellently. Not only that, but the comedy in the show was hilarious: my personal favourite being the scene in which the locals must perform the turf digging scene, and react to the two actors' entrances, followed by Jake trying (and failing) to contain his laughter, which was almost immediately disrupted by sudden tragic news, turning the scene on its head and turning hysterical laughter amongst the audience, to a collective desire to cry, and act one ended.

Some of the people who watched the performance with me said that they didn't enjoy the second act as much as the first, but I loved them both in equal measure: the actors maintained the energy, while flipping between dark and sombre to comical again, without it feeling strange or at all forced.

Unfortunately, I find it easer to talk about the bad points of something (which may be why my previous review was so long), but luckily there is not much to talk about on that front. All I can think of that I didn't like was that at times the intonation seemed odd, but that may just be because I'm not used to hearing Irish people speak; after all, I live in the South of England, where we all speak in monotone anyway.

Overall, it was a play that I would definitely recommend to anyone, and would even consider seeing again in the future, if it comes up. Even if the idea of two actors handling such a large cast sounds mad to you, you should still watch 'Stones In His Pockets' to see how it can be done. In fact, if you think it seems daft, you should definitely watch it. This is the kind of theatre that I can use as an example when arguing that it can be so much better than cinema these days (which is actually ironic, considering the role of cinema in the play).

Thank you, Kelliher and Trainor, I will now, as you said, feck off.

Attempts on my Will to Live

Disclaimer: 'Attempts on Her Life' by Martin Crimp is perhaps one of the greatest and most insightful plays I have ever had the good fortune to read. The use of language is brilliant, and it conveys such confusion as to its true meaning, so the performers, directors, even the audience have to dig deep to discover it. I'm currently working on a performance of a selection of the seventeen scenes from this play, and it's been a real challenge, but some really satisfying work. Everything I say in this review is in no way intended to slate the play itself, or lead anyone to believe that 'Attempts on Her Life' is anything less than a masterpiece. I would also like to note that I resent qype.co.uk's description of 'Attempts on Her Life' as an 'infamous' play, assuming they know what the word actually means.

Today (20th January 2009) at the Wilde Theatre, I watched a performance of 'Attempts on Her Life' (and the company's name escapes me) mainly for studying purposes but also because I'm a huge fan of the play and I wanted to see another interpretation of it. I had no idea what to expect. I didn't know what style they had chosen, or what kind of set they would use, how they would handle certain scenes. As the play is very abstract, it was impossible to guess the answers to any of these questions.

If I'm honest, the first scene did fill me with hope: in a scene where it is very easy to go for the obvious, they evaded it (although only just) and I started to enjoy it, although the voice-overs were lacking in a few of them: as usual, the actresses were a little shabby, and when I say that I don't mean it in a sexist way (not that it excludes me from being sexist, but I am a girl), it's just an observation I've made over time. So I waited, intrigued, for their interpretation of scene two, one of my favourites.

They stood there. They just stood stock still and delivered their lines like machines. It was just embarrassing, especially considering that I can sum up most of the play this way. I'm not sure if it was intended for them to seem so static, but if it was some kind of hidden meaning then it was obviously too sophisticated for little me to comprehend. It was depressing to watch because of all the potential this play has. Just reading any scene makes my brain hurt with all the ideas that come to mind, and the best they could come up with was the occasional arm flail, raised voice or walking across the stage. It wasn't an appropriate interpretation: it was a book reading.

Now it's true that maybe I feel this way because I've already read the script and so I know most of the content and a few of the lines anyway, and I was expecting more of them, but I can't shake the feeling that if I didn't know the script, I would have got confused and bored and I would have switched off and fallen asleep (in fact, I thought I would at one point). Maybe I was expecting more, but is that so bad? Is it too much to ask for something more than just reading the lines? I could ask my mother to gather a group of children from the school she works at, and I would get basically the same result (not that I'm suggesting that it would be appropriate for children to perform this sort of play, but that's not my point).

Maybe just reading the lines wouldn't have been so bad if only they knew them properly. They had obviously put a lot of effort into learning their lines (and from experience, it's a tricky task; lots of long paragraphs to memorise) but maybe their nerves got the better of them, or they were just a little bit unrehearsed, but they stumbled on their lines on more than just a couple of occasions, and it was just painful. Ironically, it almost made me consider killing myself and those around me.

There was one scene that I can say wasn't all bad, involving one of the only actors that didn't make my teeth curl. As the script demanded, it involved one character translating another character's speech into English from another language, in this case German. The humour in this scene was luckily not lost, but unfortunately, they kept the same idea on for too long and it got dry rather fast. Like most scenes, in fact, it just dragged on too long, and although that could be the fault of the script, surely they could have done something more to try and keep it fresh and powerful, rather than trying to keep something on longer than it should have done. And the less said about the ending the better, but putting it shortly: it was like a small upward curve on the graph (which would normally be dismissed as an anomaly), followed by an awesome anticlimax.

What really saddens me is that I actually support unknown, unconventional, unappreciated theatre, and this sort of performance actually gives people an excuse not to like something different. I'm always trying to convince people I know that independent films, physical theatre, performance that breaks the boundaries and constraints of convention, can be brilliant, and should be shown the appreciation that they deserve. Unfortunately, this performance did not deserve appreciation, not by my standards.

STRANGELY enough, theatre really does have nothing to do with this, at least I hope not. Sorry, but I'm afraid that the camera definitely does not love you.