Goodbye

cruel

world!!

Ghostwatch

“Welcome to Fright Night.”

On this very moment, twenty years ago (9:25pm on the 31st of October 1992), a broadcast began on BBC One that would pass into British urban legend. That programme was Stephen Volk’s reality-drama Ghostwatch.

It was an event that proved to be so powerful and controversial that it has never been repeated or rebroadcast in all those years, though it has been shown overseas, has been included on some On Demand services and is available on DVD (and also illicitly on the net). Yet, when evoked, looms large in the memory of anyone who saw it with a resounding impact.

In this special Halloween post, I aim to examine this extraordinary film to try and uncover why it was so effective, what made it so controversial and how it, and we, have aged over the years.

As such, this post contains many spoilers and analysis, so – if you are unfamiliar with the film or have not seen it since it’s first broadcast (as I had until I came to write this post) – I urge you to track down a copy and reacquaint yourself with it before reading further.

“The house in Foxhill Drive”

Ghostwatch is presented as a live investigation into the paranormal, centring around an average suburban house lived in by Pamela Early (played by Brid Brennan) and her two daughters Suzanne (Michelle Wesson) and Kim (Cherise Wesson). The action is split between an outside broadcast at this location, Foxhill Drive, and a BBC studio in London.

The OB is hosted by Sarah Greene, a well-known children’s TV presenter, and Craig Charles, best known at the time as one of the main characters in the sci-fi comedy Red Dwarf. Both play themselves.

In the studio, Michael Parkinson, one of Britain’s best-loved chat-show hosts, acts as anchor accompanied by Dr Lyn Pascoe (played by Gillian Bevan), a parapsychologist with intimate knowledge of the Early case.

Joining them, manning the phone-lines (the BBC’s genuine contact number is shown periodically throughout, as used for such shows as Going Live and Crimewatch, with appeals for viewers to call in with their own stories) is Mike Smith – Sarah Greene’s real-life husband and popular TV/radio presenter.

Other notable characters include Dr Emilio Sylvestri (played by Colin Stinton), a sceptic who appears live-via-satellite from the states, and Alan Demescu (Mark Lewis) a technician who has rigged the house with gadgetry and observes the results from a remote unit parked outside (I also feel that Demescu was, at some point, supposed to be a more important character that he eventually turns out to be).

—-

As the programme unfolds, we flit between the small team at the house and the main studio. We learn more about the history of the family and the ordeals they have suffered at the hands of this unknown presence that has seemingly besieged them. This section is filled with the kind of filler that a genuine live broadcast would contain – phone-calls from the public (scripted actors, of course), broad testimonials on general paranormal activity, a bit of local colour from the gathered neighbours outside and hastily conducted interviews with the family, who reveal the name of their supposed assailant – Mr. Pipes – who lives in the cupboard under the stairs, known within the household as “The Gloryhole” [and yes, there are some unfortunate connotations with that phrase – it’s probably best not to think about them].

After quite a significant amount of time (almost 50 minutes) things start to happen within the house. An inexplicable pool of liquid appears on the living room floor, forming a perfect circle. Soon after, in quick succession, the house is plagued by various noises – bangs and scratches – and objects are found to have moved of their own accord, much to the delight and vindication of the resident Dr. Pascoe.

Then, just as it seems that definitive poltergeist activity has finally been caught on tape, it is revealed that Suzanne – the eldest of the two girls a seemingly the focus of Pipes’ intentions – has been surreptitiously knocking on the pipes out of shot. It was all a hoax.

A dumbfounded, though consistently sceptical, Parkinson endeavours to limp to the end of the broadcast, resigned to the fact that no answers will be forthcoming on this night. The whole thing has seemingly been a waste of time.

More filler material follows. More calls are taken, mostly from people describing things they think they have seen or strange occurrences that have happened while watching at home. All the while, Dr. Pascoe resolutely refuses to believe that there are not greater forces at play, somewhat desperately flipping her hypotheses from one sibling to another.

Just as hope starts to dwindle, just over an hour in, the first ‘genuine’ signs of the paranormal start to occur. The house is startled by the sound of screaming cats, mysterious scratches appear on Suzanne’s face and neck and little Kim starts to behave very oddly.

Distracted by the sudden fit of fever that has come over Suzanne, the team fail to notice that Kim has started talking with some unseen entity – with Mr. Pipes. At this point the studio decide that the children should be removed from the house.

In the ensuing rush, all hell breaks loose. Suzanne, still in a trance like state, begins talking in a gruff, demonic voice. Kim, having slipped her mothers grasp, continues to act upon the things Pipes is telling her. Electronic equipment, including the lights and cameras, begin to spasmodically fail. Objects fly across the rooms, one of which knocking the sound man unconscious.  and the sound of wailing cats seems to fill the whole place – centring on The Gloryhole. Then the feed is lost.

Confusion grips the studio as they try to re-establish the link. Shots are shown of Craig outside, seemingly oblivious and unperturbed by the events unfolding a short distance away.

Eventually, the outside broadcast is reconnected. It shows the living room, fully lit, with Sarah and the kids peacefully playing a board game. All is calm and back to normal.

Relieved, the studio goes about is business – discussing the events and taking more calls. One distressed caller in particular gets through, relaying the gruesome tale of  a disturbed child molester by the name of Raymond Tunstell who became so deranged that he committed suicide. He did it under the stairs. He did it at his home. He did it at Foxhill Drive.

Panicked, Dr Pascoe starts to study the footage from the house. Looking at the details, she realises that the footage isn’t live. In horror, she speculates that this ghost – this Mr. Pipes – is playing with them. A cold wind blows through the studio.

No sooner has this revelation dawned on her that the real live feed jolts back. The façade is replaced by chaos. Outside, Craig runs back and forth as the sound man is stretchered out to a waiting ambulance. Close behind them are Pam and Kim. There is no sign of Sarah or her cameraman. There is no sign of Suzanne.

The footage cuts to inside. Sarah is looking for Suzanne. There are no lights left in the house, a small flashlight the only illumination. Suzanne’s voice seems small, lost in the darkness. It’s coming from inside The Gloryhole.

Prizing open the door, Sarah peers inside. She reassures the unseen child that everything will be all right. Crouching on her haunches, arm reaching into the darkness, she slowly edges inside. She is barely past the door jamb when the door slams shut behind her, trapping her forever and leaving the cameraman to yell uselessly in the dark, fruitlessly clawing at the door.

In the meantime, the madness has infested the studio. The wind has whipped into a gale. The phantom cats scream at fever pitch. Lights blow into sparks in the gantry. Mike Smith is heard arguing with a floor manager over the fate of his wife while the rest of the studio evacuates. All the while, a shocked Parky attempts to commentate what he sees around him.

Soon he is left alone in the abandoned studio. Most of the lights are off and only one camera remains. He wanders back and forth, in and out of shot, dishevelled and confused. He moves towards the auto-cue, which is still running. Standing half out of frame, he starts to read from it, his voice gradually becoming more guttural, more demonic. It seems Mr. Pipes has seized his next victim.

Cut to black – roll credits.

—

So that’s it. That’s Ghostwatch. Quite tame really. Sure, it’s got a whirlwind ending but the first three quarters are quite sedentary – not boring as such – but not exactly a thrill-for-your-life heart-crashing horror-fest either. Hardly the stuff to send children into fits of traumatic stress. Hardly the stuff to reduces intelligent adults to quivering hysteria. Just a competently told, innovatively executed ghost story, right. Right?

Well, on the surface, yes. But, in order to find out why it caused so much fuss and what makes it so effective, you have to dig a bit deeper than that.

The first thing to bare in mind is, at the time it was first (and, to date exclusively) broadcast – in 1992 – audience expectations were somewhat different. Comedies always had laughter tracks. Dramas always had thematic scores. Characters never had the same name as the actor/actress playing them. And especially, live always meant live.

This was true across all four available channels (another piece to the puzzle that we will return to later) but never more so than on the BBC. As licence payers, the British public were supposed to feel safe with Auntie. She would never knowingly deceive us. She wouldn’t allow some unscrupulous script-writer to mess with our heads – to toy with our emotions. Would she? I mean she wouldn’t, would she? Not even to scare the buggery out of us on Halloween night. No, surly not!

But this is precisely what the creators of Ghostwatch had in mind. It wilfully, and gleefully, blurs the lines between fact and fiction, between live and interactive with dramatic and pre-recorded.

At the time, programmes fell into distinct camps. There were documentaries – which were still quite po-faced and strictly informative. There were live shows – such as telethons like Comic Relief or entertainment shows like Noel’s House Party. And there were dramas which, though they came in all shapes and colours, were always readily identifiable as such. Even when factual programmes, such as Crimewatch, used reconstructions and re-enactments they were clearly and predominantly labelled so that we didn’t have nightmares.

Ghostwatch is a drama. No if’s, but’s maybe’s – it was billed as such, it was announced as such, and it was produced as such. But yet, some people did think that it was real, which led them to feel that they had somehow been duped and went on to, wrongfully, claim it was a hoax.

Ghostwatch was not a hoax. Just as Orson Welles’ infamous radio drama of The War of the Worlds broadcast near Halloween in 1938, was not a hoax. Both were drama which cleverly played with their audiences expectations of their respective media. Welles’ did this by making the show appear to be a musical section before dropping a “we interrupt this program” and bombarding the listener with fictitious, yet authentic sounding, news bulletins. GW did it by presenting the show “as live” and using the ‘language’ and styles of more factual programmes, blurring the lines of the categories stated above. In both cases, the strength of the piece heavily relied on the ‘authenticity’ of the illusion and the viewer/listeners willing suspension of disbelief that these things were actually happening in real-time. (Also in both cases, it was people tuning in late that seemed to cause all of the fuss.)

Nowadays, this blurring of lines is far more common. Fake news reports appear frequently in shows like Doctor Who (as do weather reports). Reality TV, such as Big Brother,  is commonplace (it was unheard of in ’92) and has now even been supplanted by fake-reality TV such as Jersey Shore or The Only Way Is Essex. Even news items are getting ever more dramatic. So Ghostwatch was not a hoax – it was just ahead of the curve.

Speaking of being ahead of the curve, this seems as good a place as any to talk a bout a particular technical aspect of this production – namely the way in which the studio talks with the outside broadcast (and vies-versa). The way that this was done (because it is not live) was that all the footage set in the house was shot previously and then played back in the studio for Parky and Dr. Pascoe to interact with. Now this is not always smooth (but that can be smudged away with ‘audio delay’ – or, failing that, ‘the ghost is in the machine’ of course) but it is innovative and really helps to sell the ‘live’ aspect of the film.

Not being a film-maker or anything myself, I can’t fathom how intricately you would have to plan things in order to convincingly depict a two-way conversation between people who are months apart from each other. Perhaps this sort of thing happens more than I realise in the production of TV and film but still – it confounds me and I doth my cap to the effort.

So how was this illusion achieved and maintained and what was it’s purpose? Well the purpose is relatively straight forward – GW wants to disturb the viewer and make them feel ill-at-ease at every opportunity. It achieves this (and, boy, does it!) in many different ways – that we will discover as we continue to pick through the bones.

One of the ways that the viewer is deceived into thinking the show is authentic is through it’s casting choices. The use of real-life, house-hold names to play the roles of the reporters and interviewers is nothing short of a stroke of genius.

The fatherly Michael ‘Parky’ Parkinson is the main anchor – a no-nonsense Yorkshire-man who you would never suspect as doing something ‘disingenuous’. Cocky Scouse Comedian Craig Charles whose wet sense of humour would surely give the game away if anything ‘untoward’ was going on. But the real master stroke is the casting of real-life husband and wife Sarah Greene, who is a presenter on Going Live for Christ’s sake – she would never pull the wool over our eyes, and loveable Mike ‘Smithy’ Smith. It just raises the tension up a notch when the jeopardy starts to pile up at the house to have Smithy throw his hands up and effectively say: screw this TV programme – that my wife in there. And we know it’s true (and still is BTW).

Then there is the family itself. This brings me to the first real criticism I can have about Ghostwatch that is not founded in hysteria or anger at being fooled. I have to say that, after twenty years, GW has aged pretty well. It’s of it’s time of course, some references are a little dated and presenting styles have changed a little in the interim, but blow the dust off it and it stands up pretty well.

What stands up less well is the standard of acting. Not just from Sarah Greene (who is not a bona fide actress anyway – not that that stops Anne Robinson from taking pot-shots at her in her Points of View segment) or the children (what kind of a monster would I be if I couldn’t overlook a few flubbed lines from a child actress) or even Gillian Bevan who plays Dr. Pascoe (actually, she’s one of the best things in it. Being a sceptic myself, there were a couple of moments when I wanted to reach into my TV and slap her across the chops for being so naive).

No, the capitol offender here is Pamela Early – the mother. The reason being… I never really bought that she was their mother. The sisters seem like sisters (mainly because they are) and they both react towards her as though they are her children but she seems to show no real warmth of affection towards them. It’s not because Pam is supposed to be particularly cold or distant – in fact, her dialogue indicates quite a strong protective streak – fending them from criticisms, jokes, bullying and the like – it’s just that it doesn’t really seem to be there. Also, she is supposed to be at her wits end but that doesn’t really come across either. She’s not wringing her hands or letting out exasperated sighs – she’s just sort of standing there like a cardboard cut-out dear in the headlights.

However, as usual, I’ve over-thought about this. Could Pam’s ‘bad acting’ be a double bluff? For example, in on scene early on, she is showing Sarah her bedroom. She finishes her line and then there is a stilted pause and a hurried exit. Now, we know this is not live, so we know this could have been re-shot and a better take could have been used. But, in a ‘genuine’ live broadcast with people unused to cameras, there would be stilted pauses. However, she is supposed to be in her own home and she just doesn’t look very well at ease. But, she is also supposed to be plagued by ghosts and invaded by the BBC and you wouldn’t look very at ease either. So… bad acting or ingenious direction? You’ll have to decide.

In either case, the fact remains that in many scenes – especially the one where little Kimmy is put to bed – Sarah actually appears more motherly than their mother.

So, all these elements set the stage for why this drama is so effective but – there is still one ‘ghost in the room’ that I have yet to address, and that is Pipes himself.

You see, one the first things we see is footage taken previously of the girls bedroom where strange occurrences start to happen – objects flying about, banging – stuff like that. One presumes that this is just a nice bit of teaser to get us all warmed up for the paranormal light show to come.

Oh no, not on this watch. This bit of footage returns later, at the request of one of the phone-in callers who thinks they saw something in the footage. While the production crew try to find the footage to play again, we go back to the house to meet the family a little more. Here, Kim tells a story about how she woke up one night to find a figure standing over her. When asked where she saw this she points over to the corner of the room (this corner becomes increasingly more important as the story unfolds, so lets just call it ‘The Hotspot’).

Finally, the footage is ready for review. It is replayed and this time there is a dark figure standing in The Hotspot (he wasn’t there the first time). Kim told you where to look for him – she pointed right at him – but it’s up to you to see him. Dr. Pascoe asks for the tape to be rewound but this time the figure is gone again. This plays on the fact that you thought you saw something but, unless you had the presence of mind to videotape the show, you can’t quite be sure.

Knowing this reveals two things to us. Firstly, that seemingly dull first three quarters is actually packed with foreshadowing and intricate layering designed to make you feel uneasy without you realising why (this is probably why people reported feeling unwell etc. before anything ‘really’ happened). The second is that Pipes makes multiple appearances throughout – always at the edges, always in a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it fashion, always without fanfare – bringing with him a sense of foreboding, of being watched, of not being able to trust your own senses.

This is what will get you eyeing up the corners of the room long after the film has finished. And this is what has carried Ghostwatch into being a cult classic.

——

Now that we know that there is more than meets the blood-stained eye, we should continue to delve deeper to see what else floats to the surface.

I know, for some people, examining something too closely takes all the horror, and therefore the fun, out of it. So for you people – this is your jumping off point. Have a happy Halloween and I wish you nightmares.

On the other hand, maybe Ghostwatch has haunted you for the last twenty years and you have no idea why. You should stay put, this might just be the salve you’ve been looking for. But then again…

Okay, first off, if you are still with us – the name of the ghost – Mr. Pipes, or just Pipes if you prefer. This one is not really hidden – in fact the origin of his name is stated explicitly – but it does count as a kind of foreshadowing. Pipes gets his name from the knocking in the pipes when you turn off / on your central heating. It was the explanation Pam gave her children for the unearthly banging to occurred in the house and the name stuck.

What does Pipes foreshadow? Well the ‘hoax’ is revealed after Suzanne is caught banging on the pipes – but I don’t think it is pointing at that. I think its pointing at you. It’s pointing at what you are going to do, or maybe already have done, i.e. turning on your central heating. Don’t forget this was always planned to go out on Halloween and the end of October is when the weather starts to turn cold enough for you to use your radiators. I can distinctly remember as a kid (possibly after watching this – I can’t remember – certainly before I understood how metal expands and contracts with heat) that the banging of the radiators used to scare me rigid. I mean, I heard a knocking – so someone must be knocking it, right? Or something. (Yeah, thanks Mr. Pipes – I didn’t sleep for a week because of that! [And thanks to Pennywise the Clown I wouldn’t use the bathroom either – or look in mirrors thanks to The Candyman])

The first piece of plot-driven foreshadowing that I haven’t already mentioned comes just after Kim points out The Hotspot. She claims to have seen him through the crack of the door leading to The Gloryhole. This implies that this is where he lives (we find out later there is a good reason for this). She drew a picture of him which, although child-like, is clearly the figure that will be described by callers later (and the keen sighted of us are about to see when they replay the bedroom footage). This is hung on the fridge door and, both the picture and the fridge will come back into play later. Kim also makes a throwaway comment about Pipes liking the cold.

Our attention is drawn towards The Gloryhole again after we glimpse Pipes for the first time. Pam tells how she went in there in search of some papers for her divorce. This fuels Dr. Pascoe’s theory that the targeting is centred around broken homes.

Before we get to Pascoe’s theory though, we have one of the most iconic scenes to look at first. The recording of “The Voice”. For me, this sequence echoes the “English in reverse” part from The Exorcist, which I still find one of the most disturbing parts of that film. It also gives us our second look at Pipes, who appears behind Dr. Pascoe when she says (on the tape) “Are you dead?”. This further echoes the infamous ‘subliminal death masks’ used in The Exorcist by using the ‘did you see that?’ tactic. This is probably the clearest and best shot of Pipes in Ghostwatch but, even so, I completely missed it until it was pointed out to me.

“Classic, typical poltergeist focus”

The tape also closely mimics that of a real-life recording of The Enfield Poltergeist. Further reference to this case is made moments later when a photo is shown showing a flying pillow. Pascoe remarks “How can you fake that?” which I can’t help thinking is a sly nod to anyone who knows how the Enfield levitation photos were faked (Clue: just chuck it). In this segment, they examine some broken crockery and Parky makes reference to Uri Geller, famous not only for spoon-bending but also for stopping clocks – particularly on live shows where viewers are encouraged to call in.

This leads into a section where Pascoe shows evidence of Suzanne with scratch marks on her face. This not only hints at puberty i.e. acne, which is part of Dr. Pascoe’s theory for why Suzanne is being targeted – which involves adolescence, introversion and anxiety (she doesn’t yet know that it is young children which draw to focus of the ghost).

“The last of the materialists”

Enter Emilio Sylvestri – the sceptic – the guy we are all supposed to hiss and boo at for weeing on our bonfire. He’s also the guy, from my point of view who talks the most sense (even if he is being a git about it). He does make a statement about “it could all be done with wires” which possible be a reference to the manner in which Tunstall killed himself – but I think he’s just there to aggravate Pascoe by asking for a pesky thing like measurable evidence.

Back in the house, Kim is put to bed (but she doesn’t stay there very long) and Sarah and the crew make a cup of tea. The cups they are using are the same ones that Parky was looking at earlier. By this point, Sarah is getting impatient – as is the audience. The first reference to stopped clocks is made. This, as with all stopped clocks mentioned, has stopped at around 9:30 – the same time the show began.

“Spiritual decay”

This next part starts to ramp up the revulsion factor. Talking heads from members of the public telling their own ghost stories are scattered throughout the show – this one involves having to clean up excrement from a bathroom.

This is followed by a segment with Craig who is talking to some of the neighbours. One of them recounts the tale of Judy Wheland – a five year old girl who was found stabbed not long before (violence to children). Another tells how her children found an eviscerated dog while out playing in the park – the kicker? It was pregnant (violence to foetuses, violence against a mother and also gore). Next, Craig talks with a spiritualist who unsuccessfully tried to exorcise the house. As he walks over to meet this man, Pipes can be seen standing amongst the crowds.

———-

That’s it – that’s the end. Sorry about that – there was more, there really was. This post really was going somewhere.

If you want to know what happened [CLICK HERE]

I’m So Angry At WordPress Right Now

Right here is the deal.

I had a plan – an ambitious but somewhat worthwhile plan.

That plan is now in tatters and I blame WordPress!!!

I may as well tell you my plan because now it isn’t going to happen.

Tonight is the 20th anniversary of Ghostwatch a little programme you may or may not have heard of. My plan was to release a post at the time that it aired all those years ago – 9:30 – basically discussing and breaking down the show.

As i was writing it, it became clear it would be too large to put up as one post – so I formed a second plan: I would keep writing for how ever long it needs to be then I would break it into parts. I would release each part at the times when the ghost appears (or would appear) had you pressed play on the DVD at 9:30.

It was a good plan.

I carried on writing, and writing and writing – this really was a monster series of posts – but worth the effort. If I could pull this off it would make me very happy.

And I finished it – or practically finished it. All that was left to do was polish it up a bit and cut it into chunks. This was the easy bit.

Assuming that WordPress was auto saving as I went – as it keeps telling it is at this very moment I was unconcerned. But before I got into the cutting it up part I thought I had better make sure – so I clicked the save draft button.

Pretty sensible thing to do right?

WRONG!!!

Clicking the save button crashed the damn thing – kicking me back to the log in screen.

“well that’s a pain in the arse” I thought. But no, worries – WordPress auto-saves right?

WRONG!!!

Sure, it saved a draft. But that draft was from way back this afternoon. I’d lost well over half of what I had written. Well over.

Now it’s nearly 8 o’clock, I can’t remember what I wrote and I know it took way over an hour and a half to do that bit.

I know I should have kept a hard copy and pasted it over. I know I should have put onto to my clipboard or something. But I didn’t know that was going to happen.

I thought it was saved.

I thought WordPress had measures set up to stop things like this from happening (that’s what they told me)

I didn’t think trying to save my work would end up deleting it (ironically, if I had left it alone it would have been fine.

So if I have one word of advice for anyone reading this who uses WordPress.

NEVER, EVER, EVER, EVER, EVER, EVER, EVER, EVER, EVER, EVER, EVER, EVER

TRUST THE

WORDPRESS

AUTOSAVE.

It will fuck you up.

If this has ever happened to you post a comment below – let me know I’m not the only one.

What I’ll have to do is post whatever it spasmodically saved  – no point in wasting it completely.

Oh and Happy Halloween BTW – I guess I got my trick didn’t I

It was such a sweet plan…

 

[Post Script]

{1:40pm 1/11/12}

Ok, now I’m really hacked off!

I set that Ghostwatch post to autopublish at 9:25pm yesterday evening.

It didn’t!

Why didn’t it?

It has worked in the past.

but not this time.

Is this something personal?

I am seriously contemplating of jacking this entire thing in!

I only post on here because I find it a fun thing to do and it keeps me out of trouble – I don’t even care if people read it or not!

BUT THIS IS NOT FUN!!!!!

I guess I will have to publish it manually.

…and late…

…and half finished…

-and who is the one who is going to end up looking like an unprofessional goit?

ME!!!

NEVER, EVER, EVER, EVER, EVER, EVER, EVER, EVER, EVER, EVER, EVER, EVER

TRUST THE

WORDPRESS

AUTO – ANYTHING.

Good Bye To The Chris Moyles Show

Last Friday (the 14th of September 2012) marked the end of a particularly prevalent chapter in British radio as Chris Moyles presented his final edition of the breakfast show on Radio 1. Now, as is obligatory when mentioning Chris Moyles, I have to acknowledge that not everyone is a fan of the man but, in my opinion, it is still an event worth noting.

I, as many others, have practically grown up listening to Chris Moyles and was deeply deeply disappointed by the news that the show was coming to an end. So I have decided to take this opportunity to reflect on the show and share some of my own memories. So let’s do that then…

First Encounters.

The year was approximately 1998, when I was at the tender age of 14, when I first came across Radio 1’s afternoon host in the drive-time slot. Radio 1 was a different place then; Britpop was transitioning back into mainstream pop, dance music was claiming its first footholds at the fringes of the station and the godfather John Peel was playing out obscure bands with peculiar names. I used to switch on the radio after finishing school to catch the end of the Mark and Lard show (whooooooooooooooooo? [would you beleive I couldn’t find a single clip of the long who to link to. Oh well, look at this instead]) – an unusual blend of sketches and comedy features all but absent from Radio 1’s current incarnation.

Following this came the familiar refrain from George Thorogood’s “Bad To The Bone” announcing the arrival of “the saviour of Radio 1”– Chris Moyles. The show consisted of (as it had until the end) chatter, daft features and games, competitions (remember them?), parody songs and on-air disagreements and disputes. This last one, and an overall irreverent attitude, is probably what branded Moyles (wrongly, in my opinion) as a shock-jock.

I have to admit that this aspect is probably what started me off listening in the first place – in particular live accusations of incompetence levelled at the producer Will “shut up Will, you stupid grey-haired old man” Kinder (even funnier in hindsight since Kinder is now a senior producer at Radio 1).

The Dawn of Controversy.

Adding to this perception was Moyles’ sometimes flippant attitude toward members of the public calling into the show, most notably during a much loved competition called Viaduct (based on a Two Ronnies sketch). Up to this point DJ’s had a somewhat sycophantic manner when conversing with members of the public – even when they were being stupid, dull or downright aggravating. Chris wouldn’t do this, often talking straight, arguing with callers and sometimes even cutting off the ‘divvies’. This led to the show fielding questions and accusations of unnecessary (and sometimes accidental) meanness (which likely helped shape opinions in the popular media to this day). However, most of the callers were in on the gag and would likely have come away disappointed had Moyles not insulted them.

This attitude was often extended to celebrity guests which would in turn fuel further controversy. The one from this era that sticks out in my mind was an interview with Will Young who had recently come out. For all Chris Moyles supposed bullishness and immaturity he displayed quite a liberal and mature attitude to it – discussing it openly with humour and good natured jibes along the lines of “If you are a homosexual man, why do you sing heterosexual love songs?” (to which the answer was “because they are popular”). This in-sighted bewildering accusations of homophobia from some Will Young fans (but not Will Young himself) and the press (even more bewildering in retrospect, when you look at his close friendship with producer Aled, an openly gay man). Moyles met the controversy head-on and, as would become one of the touchstones of the show, on the air with words to the effect of “what’s the big deal? All it means is that Will might look at another man’s bum and think ‘hmm that’s alright’ – that’s all thier is to it.” This was probably when my opinion of Chris Moyles changed from just a funny loud-mouth to someone who had a bit more about him.

A Touch of Comedy.

At this point, it is frankly criminal that I have not yet mentioned ‘Comedy’ Dave Vitty – major contributor and constant partner in crime of the show. I have often thought that had their not been a Comedy Dave then there would be no Chris Moyles – and I stand by that. The history of the Chris Moyles Show could be condensed as a prolonged conversation between Dave and Chris with a revolving door of additional contributors (various producers, newsreaders and recurring guests etc.) with the aim of making each other laugh and entertaining the nation.

Dave’s contributions came mainly in the form of convoluted games and features built around naff puns and hilarious parody songs. These parody songs are the final pieces of the puzzle that turned me into a regular listener and never failed to get tongues wagging on the playground the next day. Particular favourites include “Stanta”, built around the song “Stan” and produced in response to Eminem’s 2000 campaign on the Christmas chart (beaten by Bob the Builder’s “Can We Fix it?”), and “Addicted To Plaice” based on “Addicted to Bass” by Puretone which featured on the 2009 Parody Album.

Not All Fun and Games.

There was, of course, a more serious side to this and, like I said, a lot of us grew up with Chris Moyles as our soundtrack. This inevitably meant there were some bitter times to go along with the sweet.

The best example of this can be summed up in one distinct date – Tuesday 11th of September 2001. I remember distinctly how I discovered the news of what had happened. I was sitting on a wall waiting to be picked up from school (sixth form technically at this point), I switched on my walkman and heard Chris say “…and then the plane hit the tower.” and then a couple of songs played. I had thought I had just caught the end of some bizarre joke or anecdote (for anyone who is confused, because of the time difference, the attack occurred in the afternoon in the UK). Then the songs finished and the full explanation came. I sat there stunned. I even think one of my friends tried to talk to me but I just blanked him. I remember wanting to run up to him and shout “Don’t you know what’s just happened?” but I wouldn’t have found the words.

Then my lift arrived and, for reasons I won’t go into here, I started an hour and half drive home and the events unfolded. On the one hand I was spared the carousel of images that most people site as their most indelible memory of that day. On the other hand, I only had imagination to fill in the blanks until I got home.

From that moment, Radio 1 stopped doing links (which, ironically, had become universally longer since Moyles’ rise at the station) and simply played music. The station, along with the country and the rest of the world, went into a kind of torpid shock – no one had anything to say. This continued for the rest of the week.

Then, on the 15th of September (my 17th birthday) it came to the last ever Chris Moyles Saturday Morning Show. The team had already planned for the show to be a big finale extravaganza and decided – with a disclaimer – to execute the show as planned. And so the station, and the nation, started on the road to recovery and normality. Once again Chris had had a hand in the tempo of the entire station.

Move To The Morning.

In January 2004, the show moved to the flagship breakfast show. Me being a night-owl, I didn’t follow them over initially. So I missed that famous epic jingle that started his first show (which would come back to haunt him later). Eventually though, I discovered the Podcast (Free Download) and eventually crept back into the swing of things.

Actually, the rise of technology though-out the run of the show is quite interesting in it’s own right. In the beginning the fax machine was still prevalent and the only real way, other than the phone, to contact the show. Then came the website (BBC On-line) and eventually the listen again feature. By 2005 came the podcast – one of the most popular in the country and given completely free (hence the “name change” to Free Download). Then came social media like Facebook and Twitter which spread the show into other countries including a brief stint on Sirius Satellite Radio which brought in a load of American and Canadian fans (as well as fans from other countries who could listen on-line).

The format didn’t change much (well, if it ain’t broke…) but new features were added. Favourites include “Car-park Catchphrase” with Roy Walker, “Rob DJ’s Monday Night Pub Quiz” (held on Tuesday morning), “One Word Weather with Nelson Mandela” (actually Dominic Byrne doing an impression – while we are on caricatures there was also Dom’s “Fake Adele” and Chris’ “Clumsy Westwood”), “Where Am I?” with Tim Westwood (“I’m on the moon!”), “Aled with a megaphone” (not actually a feature – just something that kept happening) and Dom’s cringey interviews with A-list celebs.

Controversy at Dawn.

As ever, it was not always plain sailing and Moyles continued to act as a lightening rod for controversy, particularly with the tabloid press. Firstly was a policy with special guests which said that, if the celebrity missed their call time without good reason, Chris would refuse to interview them (and plug their book, song, TV programme, film etc.). Most notably this happened to media-whore Katy Price (aka Jordan) who thought it a good idea to use the rest of the day’s junkets to slag the show off, seemingly forgetting that Chris had access to a whole morning show and a reputation for meeting criticism head on. The next day he proceeded to tear her version of events to pieces and undermine what little credibility she may have had left.

Another example was when The Sun printed an entire article claiming that he had been fired. The article was a transparent bid for readership filled with flimsy tabloid phrases such as “sources say…” and “according to an unnamed insider…” which, as it turned out, was entirely made-up. Chris, as ever, addressed it on the air, reassuring fans that “we ain’t going nowhere” and once again turning the story in to the joke that it was.

One final example is probably the most well known. It involves Chris Moyles not getting paid by the BBC and, characteristically, bringing it up on the air. With the recession pinching and envious anger directed towards high earners (this was approximately the same time that various MP and banker scandals were hitting the fan) running high, many dissenters viewed this “rant” as rich-boy whining. Many pointed at Moyles’ salary as a reason that Chris had no right to complain about the situation, seemingly missing the point that 0% of what ever figure you care to imagine still adds up to £0.00. Essentially he was working for nothing. Now, who among us would – or indeed could – work for free? Perhaps he shouldn’t have brought it up on the radio but, if this post proves nothing else, that was never his style. Of course he was going to blow the whistle on it.

For Charidy Mate.

Another aspect of the Chris Moyles Show is the amount of charity work and fund raising they managed – particularly with Comic Relief. There have been many examples of this over the years – from the “Red Nose Road Show” to Chapper’s & Dave’s attempt to do a lap at every premiership football ground, collecting merchandise along the way for auction.

The most memorable was when Chris accepted the challenge to climb Kilimanjaro. Even though there were a score of other celebs on the trek, Moyles was the only one that people felt would not be able to hack it. I’m sure there were a lot of disappointed people when it was announced that every single one of them, Chris included, made the top and that Radio 1 had in fact raised more than any of the other contributors.

Probably the most ambitious challenge was Chris and Dave’s attempt to present “The Longest Show Ever.” Lasting close to three days, I ended up watching (for it was televised) pretty much all of it – becoming addicted to seeing just how far they could get. The format involved all the other DJ’s coming in for their regular slots – only with Chris and Dave joining in with their various regular features. The feat was made all the more impressive by the fact that Chris did most of the whole thing standing. [Actually, its probably for the best that Chris left – because I can’t think of a way that they could have topped this.]

This was the closest we ever came to my personal dream show – “Midnight Moyles”. The idea – not that I think Radio 1 would ever have gone for this – is that The Chris Moyles Show (as it is/was, without much alteration) is scheduled at midnight so that all those “not-safe-for-radio” jokes and anecdotes could finally be told.

So Why Is it Ending?

Well, that’s the big question. According to Ben Cooper, Radio 1 controller, a major component was concerns that the average age of listeners was too high. Apparently the target age group is between 15 and 29 (I’ve just turned 28) and the average age is currently 32 (which is hardly past it). In order to artificially drive this demographic down, Cooper seems content to simply cull anyone above the target age (yeah, good luck with your listening figures on that one, Ben).

There are problems with this strategy. The first being the assumption that younger people will only listen to people of their own age (err… John Peel anyone?). The second being that, anyone younger than myself, grew up with many options for entertainment. As I grew up my options were 1) watch the TV or 2) put on the radio. Today, kids can go on-line, play games on phones or consoles, listen/watch again, text, tweet, facebook, blog (ha!), watch YouTube…. well you get the point. I’m not slagging off any of the above, I think it is brilliant that people now have the opportunity to customise their choice of entertainment to meet their specific tastes. My point is that today “listen to the radio” is but one of many possible options and “listen to Radio 1” is but one choice from the thousands of other radio stations, particularly since the rise of digital radio.

This has been in the air for a while now however, I would say at least since the time that Jo Whiley left the station and was replaced by Fearne Cotton. Jo, inventor of the Live Lounge (and also “Tenuous Link” from which “Tedious Link” was derived), represented a link in a chain that kept new music flowing through the station. How it used to work was Zane Lowe would “borrow” tunes from the specialist DJ’s that occupy the late night shows. Whiley would “borrow” tracks from Zane and play them out on her music-heavy mid-morning show and from there, if the song was good enough, it would find its way onto the more mainstream shows. After she left, this continuity disintegrated and the specialist DJ’s drifted further away from the rest of the station into their own little bubble. As for her replacement, well….

A Poor Replacement.

Nick Grimshaw followed by Fearne Cotton… well there’s six hours of unlistenable radio right there. Both inexplicably show up on every-bloody-thing and talk absolute rubbish. I have never liked either one of them and I think trying to listen to their hand-overs might actually cause grievous harm. I may never wake up again!

Radio 1 is not a complete wash out just yet – Sara Cox is still there (for now) and the afternoon still gives us the Scott Mills/Greg James tag team which is worth listening to. Zane Lowe is soldiering on four nights a week and Huw Stevens is there at the weekends.

Perhaps, I shouldn’t complain. Perhaps, I’m just bitter that the things I loved are one by one giving over to the new (represented, evidently, by the factious and the gossipy bullshit). Perhaps, this is how it has always been – but that doesn’t mean I have to like it!

So Where Do I Go Now?

Forgetting for the moment that I still, technically, fall into Radio 1’s holy grail demographic (but no, fuck you Ben Cooper, if you are too stupid to realise that it is just as easy to re-brand the station as a family or flagship station [similar to BBC One] than to chase the fleeting and fickle “youth” market, then you don’t deserve my listenership) The question still remains – what am I going to listen to now? And more importantly, what am I going to set my alarm to when I have to get up in the morning?

Here are my main options:

• Radio 2 – I’m not ready for Radio 2! Your dad listens to Radio 2. Now I have nothing against older music (in fact I probably listen to more of it than newer stuff) but I still want to know what’s going on today. [I know Radio 2 plays new music – but the station has a different flavour that I am not used to]
• 1 Xtra – No thanks. I’m NOT an “urban youf” and I don’t care to listen to that kind of music exclusivity.  Besides, I tried listening to 1 [E]xtra before when they did a cross-over with Radio 1 and I almost tore the plug off my radio.
• Commercial Radio – I hate commercial radio! The quality is piss-poor, the presenters are interchangeable and indistinct, they only seem to have about twelve songs (mostly 80’s crap) and the adverts, repeated ad-nauseum, can drive you mad. [Too many places where I have worked have left commercial radio on – making a shit job even worse.]
• Radio 3 & 4 – Ha! I put that in as a joke. We all know those stations are named after the amount of people who actually listen to them.
• 6 Music – A strong possibility with only one drawback. As a digital only station my humble little clock radio can’t pick it up so it would be useless as an alarm call.

So go on Ben, what am I to listen to now? Which station are us 28-35’s supposed to listen to now, since you’ve decided you don’t want us? Is there a radio 1.5? I think not. Are Radio 2 about to fire Ken Bruce or Jules Holland to accommodate us? Unlikely. Did you think this plan through at all and conceive that the reason you have so many listeners of the “wrong” age bracket is because A) they like it how it is and B) we have nowhere else to go? Doesn’t look like it. You, sir, are an idiot and most likely to be remembered as the controller who buried Radio 1 once and for all.

The Saviour Is Gone!

And so, back to what this post is actually about – not ranting about imbecilic BBC management (which, incidentally, was one of Moyles’ favourite targets) – but bidding farewell to The Chris Moyles Show.

It sure was a sad day listening to the final broadcast (well the last couple of weeks worth really) but you may have noticed something a little peculiar in these shows. The keenest amongst you (and, despite how we are portrayed in the popular press, Chris Moyles Show fans have learnt to be astute and read between the lines.) can’t have failed to notice it.

You may recall the particular wording that this was to be “the last ever Chris Moyles Breakfast Show” and that, when pressed by various guests as to his plans for the future, Chris only gave a brief account of what he was doing in the immediate future (a bit part in “Jesus Christ Superstar” and a new album). This either suggests that he hasn’t yet decided what he is doing next or he has and is trying to keep it under wraps (in which case, it’s a miracle that Dave didn’t blurt it out). Obviously, I’m just speculating but, I wouldn’t be surprised if Moyles returns in some way, shape or form (my bet would be on the weekend but my wish would be “mid-night Moyles”, obviously)

In either case, it was definitively the last Breakfast Show – drawing to a close eight and a half years of dedicated hard work and effortless professionalism. So it is only fair to say – Thank You.

Thanks for helping my get up in the morning, something I find very difficult and positively daunting now I haven’t got you to make me smile.

Thanks for all the games and the jokes, the interviews and the controversies.

Thanks for telling us how it is and never shying away from giving us the full scoop even when it might seem niche or geeky or personal or uncomfortable.

Thanks for getting me through the hard times (for their have been many) and for highlighting the good (sitting in the sun with the radio on will never be the same again).

Thanks “Comedy” Dave Vitty. Thanks Dominic “Don’t Call Me Baldy” Byrne. Thanks Juliette Ferrington. Thanks Carrie “Camilla Ice” Davis. Thanks Tina “We Didn’t Forget You” Daheley. Thanks Rachel “Time For The News” Jones. Thanks “BB” Aled Haydn Jones. Thanks Will Kinder “You Stupid Grey-Haired Old Man”. Thanks Sam Moy. Thanks Freya Last. Thanks Jocelin Stainer. Thanks, to a lesser extent, Matt Fincham. Thanks Pippa Taylor-Hackett. Thanks Paul Turner. And, of course, Thanks Chris “The Saviour of Radio 1” Moyles.

Thank You & Good Bye.

[And also, thank you to the people behind Chrismoyles.net who thought to save up all those clips and stuff. Now we all have some stuff to pick through if we get a Moyles craving.]

Drawing the Obvious Parallel

So… here we are again – another opening ceremony and another self-inflicted obligation to write about it. Only it’s gone 1 am at time of writing, so I intend to keep this brief.

The Paralympic (which, apparently, is not in the spell-check for some reason – even though “Olympic” is… sort it out) Games represents a reprieve for those of us who were sad to see the 2012 Olympiad pass into memory. It is, however, not entirely fair to treat the Paralympics as just a post script for the games proper – so I’ll try not to compare it too closely to that other opening ceremony.

Science and Shakespeare

So we open with Steven Hawking, a treat for all us in the we-love-science fan club, quoting from A Brief History of Time. An inspired choice since he ticks off two major boxes straight off the bat. A) he is a great British icon and B) he is possibly the most recognisable disabled person on the planet (and also because it is not his disability but what he can do that people are interested in). This kicked off a ‘big bang’ which is always a good way of starting things off.

This led into the main narrative – which featured Sir Ian McKellen guiding our protagonist Miranda through the subsequent show. I’m am reliably informed that this is influenced by The Tempest (what, again?) – but since I fall into that strange part of the Venn diagram which loves literature but not Shakespeare, I can’t really help you in terms of in which way it was influenced or by how much.

History and Tradition.

The narrative paused at this point to make way for the parade of nations – which overran quite heavily and knocked the air out of proceedings somewhat. This was followed (eventually) by speeches from the now familiar Sebastian Coe – buoyed by fresh confidence after the success of  a couple weeks ago – and president of the International Paralympic Committee Sir Philip Craven – who I was surprised to learn is a fellow countryman (from Bolton to be specific). He gave a brief history of the Paralympic [not ‘Paralytic’ – stupid spell-check] movement including a name-check for Ludwig Guttmann (forefather of the Paralympics) and his Stoke Mandeville event of 1948 (which gives it’s name to one of the mascots)

Then the Paralympic flag (pictured above) entered the stadium to the sounds of Thaxted from Jupiter, which is in turn from The Planets by Gustav Holst [why is classical music so bloody complicated?] – a tune that I know better as The World in Union (the theme of the rugby union world cup – and a tune that I love and will shamelessly throw a link at given half an opportunity). After its raising – the oaths were recited which, according to the commentators, was the first time this has happened. This struck me as odd since the oaths are a significant part of the Olympics and hopefully this generates a new tradition for the future.

Gravity Defied and Defined.

Okay, back to the narrative. McKellen continues to guide our girl Miranda through the spectacle of human endeavour – this time pointing out the miracles of literature.  This was represented by a flock of flying books and an upturned umbrella/sailing ship (there was a lot of umbrellas throughout – I hope that doesn’t turn out to be prophetic [for international readers, this time of year is usually dogged by soggy weather but don’t worry it only lasts until about May]). This culminated in a half-dozen athletes running, swimming and wheeling their way into the centre of the stadium – only suspended on wires above the stadium.

Then came another celebration of science – in particular Isaac Newton who invented gravity (oh, that’s just annoyed the we-love-science fan club – stop trying to put your boot through your monitor, you can’t afford to buy a new one.) No, Isaac Newton discovered and codified the laws of gravity from which modern physics is built. Apparently, each person in the stadium had been given an apple which, on a given cue, they all took a bite out of resulting in a ‘crunch heard around the world.’ (which reminded me of that one Bill Bailey sketch from Part Troll)

This whole thing gave me pause to wonder – what is it about this rainy little island that seems to bring out the scientist in us? Aside from Hawking and Newton we have produced more than our fair share of them over the years.  To name a few: Charles Darwin (who you can find on the back of the £10 note – which will surprise [and possibly shock] 40% of Americans), there is Michael Faraday, James Watt (pictured on the £50 note with Matthew Boulton), William Thomson, Alan Turing, Richard Dawkins and Patrick Moore [and a surprising number of them are Scottish]. I’m not saying that we have cornered the market or anything – but it’s still dam impressive.

Reclamation and Reinstatement.

Then came a musical segment (there was music scattered throughout but I can’t remember what all of it was) and a rendition of Spasticus Autisticus (originally by Ian Dury). I was surprised as hell that this song was included. For as long as I can remember the words ‘spastic’ and ‘spaz’ have been used as a term of abuse – with most people preferring not to use it due to those implications (in fact even the charity formally known as The Spastic Society changed its name to Scope in order to escape the titters of immature persons using it) The closest parallel I can think of is the word ‘fag’ in that, generally it is offensive but those who fall under its definition are ‘allowed’ to use it (but most don’t). On the other hand, I’m all for the reclamation of words and, having read a little about the songs history [click the link], I can see why it was chosen.

At some point during this song a massive statue of Alison Lapper, one of Britain’s most iconic disabled people, appeared on stage. It was a replica of the innovatively titled Alison Lapper Pregnant by Marc Quinn which depicts artist Alison Lapper while she was pregnant (great sculpture Mr Quinn – but you couldn’t think of a better name for it?). Let’s start the campaign here and now – Let’s put it back on the forth plinth (in Trafalgar Square) – it’s empty anyways and I kinda like it.

Light That Bad Boy Up (Again).

I’m sure there is something missing… what is it? Oh yeah – the torch. It fell to former Marine Joe Townsend to bring it into the stadium. Unfortunately, no one told him he could use the front door so he took a zip line from the Orbit Tower (that red twisted thing outside the Olympic Stadium). The tower stands at a hight of approximately ridiculously high (about the same hight as the statue of liberty apparently) and there is no way you would EVER get me up there. What exactly are Royal Marines made of anyhow?

Ultimately, the honour of lighting the cauldron went to Margaret Maughan, Paralympic veteran and winner of Team GB’s very first gold medal in 1960. Then the now familiar cauldron roared to life once again – drawing together once more. A warming sight for all of us who felt a little down-hearted after seeing it extinguished at the close of those other games. It’s back to burn again – for the next eleven days at least – and I can’t express how happy I am about that. It truly is the best Olympic/Paralympic cauldron I have ever seen – I know I’m biased but screw it – it’s a thing of beauty.

Impressions and Expectations.

And finally, to cap things off, we had a performance from Beverly Knight singing “I Am What I Am”. Lets call a spade a spade (and yes Mr. Wilde – I’m not above using one) this was cheesy and performed in that Whitney Huston-esque style which I can’t stand – but you got to finish things off with something.

So what was my overall impression? Well, it got a little strange in the middle there and the overly long procession of nations really drained the life out of things but no one embarrassed themselves so I guess we can call it a success. There was one glaring omission in my eyes – and that is the issue of humour which highlighted both the opening and closing ceremonies of those other games. I have yet to meet a disabled person who lacked a sense of humour and I think some good-natured comedy would have been more than appropriate. A minor quibble perhaps but one I feel worth pointing out.

That aside, as I have said elsewhere before, the ceremonies are, in the end, just window dressing. What we came to see, and what I am looking forward to, is the sport which starts in earnest.

If we get half as many moments as last time around we are looking at an unforgettable week an’ a bit of action. Expect to see triumph over adversity. Expect to see determination and sportsmanship. Expect tears of joy and heartbreak. Expect to see London meet the world once more and for the world to meet London in a new light.

The Paralympics – it’s like the regular Olympics but we upped the ante.

[Once again, I failed to keep this brief]

Bank Holiday Special: Movie Bob vs The Avengers

Haven’t written anything on here for a while – basically I found a thing called Game Maker and proceeded to sink all of my time into it.

Since it was pretty much Yahtzee’s fault for showing it to me through making Poacher on it (which you should totally play – even if, like me, you suck at platformers) – I have spent the rest of my time flitting between The Escapist website and the Extra Credits website (for they struck out on their own after leaving The Escapist) looking for tips and inspiration on what to do with it.

Having filled myself to the gills with games, gaming and the internet personalities who talk about games – I’ve decided to spend this bank holiday looking at something completely different (films) and something I know absolutely nothing about (comics). [Also, I’m trying to stave off the habit of not writing anything on here for long stretches to the point where I forget that I even set this thing up]

So, for your entertainment and the sake of my sanity, I present to you this special playlist: “Movie Bob” Chipman vs The Avengers…

(Also, if you are not completely sick of games I encourage you to check out Bob’s Youtube channel and have a look at The Game Over-Thinker [which probably deserves a post by itself] )

The List.

Intermission: Decade of the Nerd – published 1 January 2010 6:00 pm

Escape to the Movies: Avengers Assemble! – published 9 April 2010 5:00 pm

Escape to the Movies: Iron Man 2 – published 7 May 2010 5:00 pm

Intermission: The Spoiler That Changed the World – published 7 May 2010 5:00 pm

Escape to the Movies: Comic-con 2010 – published 30 July 2010 5:00 pm

Intermission: Stop Blowing My Mind! – published 17 September 2010 5:00 pm

Intermission: Stop. Hammer Time! – published 17 December 2010 6:00 pm

Escape to the Movies: The 2010 MovieBob Awards – published 7 January 2011 6:00 pm

Intermission: Stars and Stripes – published 1 April 2011 5:00 pm

Escape to the Movies: Thor – published 6 May 2011 5:00 pm

Intermission: What’s What in Thor – published 13 May 2011 5:00 pm

Escape to the Movies: Captain America – published 22 July 2011 5:00 pm

Intermission: What’s What in Captain America – published 22 July 2011 5:00 pm

Intermission: The Big Tease – published 29 July 2011 5:00 pm

Intermission: The Loose Ends of The Avengers – published 23 September 2011 5:00 pm

Intermission: Earth’s Mightiest Teaser – published 14 October 2011 5:00 pm

The Big Picture: Future Assembly – published 24 April 2012 5:00 pm

Escape to the Movies: Avengers – published 4 May 2012 5:00 pm

Intermission: What Was What in The Avengers – published 4 May 2012 5:00 pm

The Big Picture: Wrongs & Rights – published 8 May 2012 5:00 pm

Intermission: Earth’s Whitey-est Heroes – published 25 May 2012 5:00 pm

Intermission: Hype-er Time – published 1 June 2012 5:00 pm

Intermission: Avengers: The Down Side of Up – published 10 August 2012 5:00 pm

In My Opinion…

Since this is supposed to be an opinion blog and not a scrapbook – I guess I should add a few of my own thoughts to this post.

I’m not going to even attempt to expand on what Bob has said above – it would be absolutely pointless. He has a much, much broader and deeper knowledge on this topic than I would ever have the inclination to gain. That’s why I chose Mr. Chipman as our teacher in this little exercise.

Let’s face it, here on the internet, you can throw a proverbial rock and find a dozen comic book nerds who will gladly wax lyrical on the topic of interconnecting continuity who are prone to creaming their boxers at the slightest detail and declaring vendettas on your first born for the merest incomprehension of the most obscure side-references.

Where MovieBob differs is in his broad acceptance that people like myself even exist – people who may display a passing interest in the topic, their interest piqued by the scale and complexity of their world, but in no need of having the entire Marvel Universe encyclopaedia force-fed into their cranium.

I freely admit that I’m not particularly fond of the superhero genre (could be I’ve seen too many bad ones in the past featuring flat, uninteresting characters and ridiculous scenarios) and, save for the first Iron Man film (which I did enjoy), I’ve seen none of the above films and am in no real rush to rectify that situation.

Strange then that I would devote a whole post (and waste a bank holiday) to them. Well, I may not have much interest in these particular films but that is not to say that I am without admiration for what Marvel has achieved by pulling this off. I mean they took five separate films and, with a handful of unobtrusive little nods, references and cameos, pulled them into one continuity. [and to top it off they let Joss Whedon put the cherry on the top] This – as Bob has pointed out above – could have real implications in other areas of the film industry.

The Horror, The Horror.

One area that that I can think of is one that I do enjoy – the horror genre – which has been in dire trouble for a long while now. Some in-roads to this has been tried in the past – most notably the Alien vs Predator films (if those count as horror) and Freddy vs Jason (which later got a couple  one-shot comics which threw Ash from The Evil Dead films into the mix – for some reason… I guess the fans liked the idea.)

These, at best, could be classed as re-boots – coming way after the last hurrahs of any of the franchises involved. There was one speculative crossover at the tail-end of the slasher era, specifically in Jason Goes to Hell: The Final Friday.

This was the first Friday the 13th film made after New Line (creators of the Nightmare on Elm Street series) acquired the rights to the property. One of the more bizarre editions to the franchise (aside from possibly Part VII: A New Blood – which experimented with telekinetic powers) it is mostly remembered, if at all, for it’s closing shot which showed Freddy’s trademark glove dragging Jason’s iconic hockey mask down into the earth.

This is not the crossover moment I was referring to – merely a bit of fan-boy bait and a cynical (and failed) attempt to breath new intrigue into the sub-genre. The one I’m thinking of is a piece of intermittent lore concerning a minor character in the film – Creighton Duke – a bounty hunter who vows to rid the world of Jason Voorhees once and for all.

This character was so much larger than life than your average slasher victim, knew so much more than he ought to and had an established back story that told how he had dispatched the worst of the worst serial killers – that the speculation was (or at least the opportunity was there) that he would become the anti-slasher – the guy who finally put paid to the various villains of the bloated slasher genre: starting with Jason then Freddy then who knows… Michael Myers maybe.

The Duke was, in fact, killed during the events of this film but, this being the slasher genre, death is a cheap thing and can be circumvented under the right circumstances. Besides, who wouldn’t have liked to see the clash of personalities of him teaming up with Dr. Loomis in a Halloween film or witnessing the nightmares of a killer of killers in an Elm Street film? [Anyway, that seems to be more a task for the fan-fiction writers to be getting on with]

Crossing The Line.

I’m not suggesting that everything from this point forward should (or indeed will) be subject to some kind of team-up or vs scenario. I don’t think anyone is really crying out for a return to the strange episode in cultural history which gave us Robocop vs Terminator, Superman vs Aliens or Judge Dredd vs Batman. (but I could stand a couple more like Batman: Dead End) We certainly don’t need something like Transformers vs Godzilla or Twilight meets Harry Potter.

I’m not even saying that this process should be restricted to already established franchises. It is infinitely conceivable that a studio could release a handful of seemingly unconnected films (possible from different genres) which nobody would suspect are linked (that way, not even guys like Bob Chipman would have the advantage of foreknowledge). Perhaps you could have a romantic comedy which, when the two leads go to a bar for their first date, you can spot the grizzled detective of your police drama knocking back whisky in the background. Or you are watching a standard slasher film until that same couple, having finally got it together in the third act, show up as one of the victims – leading to a crossover film where the grizzled cop is charged with the task of hunting down the killer.

This has, of course, been attempted before. For example the films of Kevin Smith are all loosely connected by a continuity (known as the View-Askewniverse)  or, when condensed into one film, the world of Sin City. But I foresee an influx in these types of events and, inevitably, some will be good and some will suck. In either case, it’ll give people who like to pour over detail and examine and speculate connections plenty to do and a sharp increase of posts like this.

Anyway, that’s more than enough from me – enjoy the playlist and keep ’em pealed for all those future connections.

London Bids Farewell to the 30th Olympiad.

So, last time I tried to talk about the Olympics, I got bogged down with all the patriotism and celebration which succeeded the event. This time around, I don’t want to do that. So here is my humble take on the Olympic closing ceremony (held on 12/08/12).

Back To Work.

As with the opening ceremony, the closing seemed to be split into sections – all-be-it with a slightly different overall tone. If the Open was an introduction to British culture with the intention to “do it right” then the closing was a celebration of it in the spirit of “the job is done – Let’s have fun.”

The first identifiable section was loosely framed around the working day London with the stadium dressed as a miniature (but massive) skyline of the city – more-or-less the complete antithesis of the ‘green and pleasant land’ presented before. No bizarre, chaotic transformation this time around though, just a strange cameo from Churchill expounding lines from The Tempest from the dome of St. Paul’s. Actually, that is quite bizarre. Winston was played by Timothy Spall, a very credible and entertaining actor, but – had he not been dressed as Churchill – I would have struggled to recognise it by the voice alone.

Then came the first batch of musical performers – headed up by Madness. Now, perhaps I’m a bit jaded because, after you have seen “Our House” performed on top of Buckingham Palace while rear projections of terraced houses transform the Queen’s house into a typical street, as per The Diamond Jubilee Concert a couple of months ago – it is very hard to top that. Still, it is a fan favourite and always welcome to these ears.

Then I looked away for a second to put the kettle on then, when I returned with my beverage, the screen was filled with pointy-hatted lunatics on bicycles that made me wonder if PG Tips had slipped something into my teabag. It was the Pet Shop Boys (/men/quite middle-aged men now) of course! doing “West End Girls” (keeping the ever tenuous connection to the London theme). They were followed by One Direction in a celebration of cheesy peppy bullshit that made me wish that PG Tips had started doing a new line in ‘special green teas’.

The whole thing was tied together with old bits of string – otherwise known as Stomp – which actually worked pretty well as the ‘city’ went about it’s business. This led into a performance of The Beatles song “A Day in the Life” which depicted people waking up, getting out of bed, combing their hair, having a cup of tea, looking at the clock… well you get the idea, it’s all a little on the nose don’t you think? I did, so I found my way upstairs and had a smoke… errr… I mean… had another cup of PG Tips.

Then came Ray Davies of The Kinks doing his love song to London “Waterloo Sunset” – y’know, that song your mum likes. No, I kid, there’s nothing wrong with a bit of The Kinks. What was less agreeable was Davies’ habit of telling the crowd when to do the “sh-la-la’s” which just put me in mind of the Old Jewish Man from The Simpsons. The section was capped of by a rendition of “Read All About It” performed by Emeli Sande.

More Power To Your Elbow.

Next, it was time to invite the Olympians to the party. And who better to do that than Elbow (who were also responsible for this). First came the 204 flags of the competing nations, each one carried by a national hero – with Ben Ainslie bringing up the rear flying the flag for Great Britain. Next came other assorted medallists, entering straight through the crowds. And finally, the waves upon waves of other competitors – winners, losers and runners-up alike.

All of this playing out to the sounds of “Open Arms”– a song that never fails at the best of times but, on this occasion, represents the most acutely chosen song of the whole ceremony. Watching the athletes wash-in in casual and festive mood – I found myself thinking, not of the heroes of golden glory, but of those amongst them who did not achieve their dreams – particularly when the song reached the refrain: “We got open arms for broken hearts” – it just seemed to re-enforce the notion that everyone was welcome. The song also contains another moment where Guy Garvey repeats the phrase “Everyone’s here” – neatly reflecting the theme from the Opening Ceremony – “This is for everyone.”

This was followed  by the songs spiritual predecessor – “On A Day Like This”  – which is one of those tunes that always makes me think of Glastonbury. I make a date to watch the BBC’s coverage of the Glastonbury Festival every year – it’s one of my favourite parts of the summer. Its a nice way to hear some new and interesting music but, what we are really waiting for, are those Glastonbury Moments – were the band is firing on all cylinders, the audience is alive with electricity, even the light is just right and the sound just moves you. Unfortunately, there was no festival this year – well the calender was a little full – but, thanks to Elbow, we did get a Glastonbury moment.

This section over-ran a little bit – I guess the athletes were having too much fun whilst coming into the stadium. But who cares, it was their party really – we were merely spectators. Besides, it was good to see Olympians at play – waving flags, dancing, displaying their medals, doing back-flips and the like. Also, as the previous batch of songs replayed to fill the gap, we were provided with an appearance from The Genius Camera Man aka Perv Cam (depending on your point of view)

Genius Camera Man refers to the habit of broadcasters at spectated events, particularly sporting events, to scan the crowds in order to pick out the prettiest fans to be put on the big screens. His ironic appearance came as the One Direction song “What Makes You Beautiful” replayed and Perv Cam cut to the Swedish women’s team celebrating. Genius!

More Tea Anyone?

The next bit was more than a little weird. In a tribute to Minecraft (or possibly Tetris), a multitude of luminous blocks were carried into the stadium by, what I can only describe as, zombie-mummy-robots. This all happened while a trippy remix/cover of Kate Bush’s (popularised by Placebo) “Running Up That Hill” played. The blocks were placed and arranged, first in a pyramid (probably just to make the conspiracy nuts wet their pants) and then a large, white monolith (which will come into play later).

Standing on Ceremony.

Next, we pause a moment to observe some of the more traditional elements. Chief amongst these being the presentation of the medals for the men’s marathon event. I’d like to contemplate that for a moment. Imagine being awarded your medal (well, imagine winning a medal in the first place.) on the centre stage, not only in front of all those people, not only in front of all your peers, but in front of the entire world. If Superman was ever to be awarded a gold medal – this would be the occasion to do it. So by that specious logic, Stephen Kiprotich of Uganda is Superman! (And then, of course, it’s your anthem that gets played)

Then a bit of business involving the Athletics Commission and a thank you to the volunteers – or “games-makers” as we were instructed to call them. I never liked that word – “games-makers” – it just sounds too much like a title conjured by committee. What’s wrong with the word volunteers? It tells you everything you need to know – these people gave their time, of their own accord, in order to help out. That’s a volunteer. Anyway, they got a quick tannoy of thanks and some flowers (Hardly the rapturous praise much of the general public would liked to have given them).

 The Show Must Go On.

And so it did, with a choral rendition of “Imagine”. But then, projected on the big screen (that constructed monolith), the man himself – as though live! Forgive me for being excited by that, but I come from a generation that has only known covers of that song (some good, some not so good – but always included in any celebration of British culture). A particularly apt choice, especially with the lines about “a brotherhood of man” which syncs nicely with the Olympic spirit of friendship.

I wish I could be as glowing with the next, flesh and blood, performer – George Michael. First he performed “Freedom” – a song that is completely empty aside from that one word. Then came one of those crappy techno ones that he periodically tries to shit down our throats. “I’m Alive” as far as I could gather but I fail to see why. The funniest part for me was watching the choir desperately trying to emote the repetitive refrain and believe it while their souls gradually leaked out of their pores. I mean seriously, is anyone proud of George Michael? Maybe you like his music, perhaps his antics amuse you – but proud? For me, watching this prancing Bono-wannabe proclaim “you are the centre of the universe” didn’t exactly fill me with pride.

This was capped of by a rendition of “Pinball Wizard” originally by The Who – accompanied by a flock of mod’s on motorbikes.

Dedicated Follower of Fashion.

Next came a David Bowie crash-mash of all his hits finally settling on “Fashion”. So came the next segment, a celebration of British fashion. Massive black and white billboards wheeled into the stadium depicting style icons. Then some models showed up and I got bored.

Viene tormenta!

After that it all got a bit dark and stormy. A huge longship-type-thing heralded the coming of The Dark One: Annie Lennox. She stood, Titanic-style, at the helm of this pirate-ship – steered by a crew of vampire-pirates (Who would win between a hoard of zombie-mummy-robots and a mob of vampire-pirates??) while she sang “Little Bird” from Bram Stoker’s Dracula. Yeah, that was odd.

Next was another cover, this time Ed Sheeran doing Pink Floyd’s “Wish You Were Here”. It’s hard to go wrong with this song – especially when you have a veritable dream-team of classic rock musicians backing you up – but what I really liked was it was a straight cover and he didn’t feel the need to “make it his own” or “bring it up to date”. Sometimes, a classic is a classic and should remain unmolested.

For this one step forward, we took two large ones back. Enter that Essex-born pillock Russell Brand claiming, first to be Willy Wonka, and then to being The Walrus. NO, YOU ARE NOT! Now get down off that bus and put the megaphone down before you embarrass someone.

Pops, Bangs and Screeches.

Inevitably, we had an appearance from Fat Boy Slim (well, the top of his middle-aged head anyhow). He played… well, y’know, the same few tunes he’s been playing since the 90’s.

Then came Jessie J, looking awkward in a headline grabbing “see-through” catsuit, which might have been titillating had it not been so transparent. Even-so, perv cam’s head exploded along with the trousers of his loyal band of teenage boys. Jessie is an odd one, she certainly has the talent to be taken seriously but, pulling stunts like this, is not going to make that happen. Lady GaGa she is not – nor should she try to be. [I’ll say it now, Jessie J has the potential to go on long after we have all gotten bored of GaGa’s shenanigans – she just needs to pick a camp.]

Jessie was joined on stage by a procession of interchangeable pop ‘stars’ – the kind who like to tell their audience where they are every five seconds. [“London 20 12” apparently – apart from that one time when Jessie nearly shouted “Glastonbury” and probably hoped no-one noticed. Sorry, someone did.]

Then the “much anticipated” appearance of the Spice Girls happened. Their inclusion at the event had been leaked a few days prior and was one of the only things I knew about before hand. Seriously, who still cares?? Did anyone really jump up and down when they found out the Spice Girls were reforming again? If so, who? The fans from the first time time around? Surly they have long-since realised that their catalogue of songs is nothing but shameless self-promotion proclaiming nothing deeper than “we are the Spice Girls” and the hollow “movement” called “girl power” was about as important to women’s liberation as the right to wear false nails in the workplace. Or maybe, the second generation of fans from one of their multiple reunions – constantly disappointed by a lack of new material and cancelled tour dates? As for the performance itself – OH GOD – MY EARS, I THINK THEY ARE BLEEDING! Seriously girls, for the sake of music, break up again – please.

But the raping and rewriting of adolescent memories didn’t stop there – oh no. Here comes Beady Eye. Who? Beady Eye, y’know, Liam Gallager’s new band formed from the remnants of Oasis (minus the talented one). They performed “Wonderwall” a song which Noel performs better and that Liam has performed better i.e. not like someone who needs their adenoids taken out with a rusty coat-hanger. I guess nostalgia will only forgive so much.

The Five Ring Circus.

To lift our spirits, we had a snatch of ELO’s  “Mr. Blue Sky” – which everyone likes and is particularly amusing when played at night. As this played, a huge human cannon was wheeled into view and a fire-suited, crash-helmeted human cannonball made his entrance with a heroes handshake for everyone he met. Then it all went horribly wrong! The cannon tilted and the ball tumbled ineffectually into the floor.

So who was this would-be daredevil heartthrob? None other than Eric Idle – giving Rowan Atkinson and Daniel Craig a run for their money in the comedy stakes. He gave us a very welcome rendition of the song from Monty Python’s Life of Brian “Always Look on the Bright Side of Life.” Who could fail to smile at that?

Musings and Monarchs.

Then, finally, Muse took to the stage to perform “Survival” – a song criminally underused in coverage of The Games. I have been waiting to hear some of their new stuff for a while, particularly live (various teasers only serving to whet my appetite further). I was not disappointed but, this performance seemed to be plonked in the middle with no particular dressing as though as a last minute insertion.

Now, there is an inherent problem with this track in that The Olympics has an ideology rooted in the spirit of ‘friendship’ and Matt Bellamy decided to compose a track evoking the spirit of competition. There is a contrast in this- one could be said to be expounding the virtues of civilisation (The Olympic Spirit) and the other could be said to be examining mankind’s compulsion towards more animistic tendencies (The Spirit of Competition) – which could be difficult to harmonise. This could be why Muse were included, but not necessarily celebrated (which is a shame).

Next, the big building block screen came back into play – once again resurrecting a lost idol – this time proving (if proof were needed) that Freddie’s classic warm-up routine has lost none of its charm and will always ride again.

Enter Brian May, featuring hair that increasingly resembles Doc Brown’s after the bolt hit him, with a live solo which, as only the best guitarists can do, was completely unaccompanied yet somehow sounded multi-layered.

Soon after Roger Taylor joined with the “Rock You Thump”. How pleased must he have been when he came up with that cheeky little refrain? Y’know, when society finally falls and our ancestors revert back to the status of mud-flinging cavemen – one of them will pick out the fractured femur of his vanquished rival and beat the “Rock You Thump” into his skull.

Then Jessie J returned to fill in the vocals but they left far too much echo on her voice.

Hand It Over, Boris.

Then we came to the winding down portion of the evening, heralded by the traditional playing of the Greek national anthem. Then a humours example of translation dissonance.

As you may or not know, the three languages spoken at The Olympics are French (for some reason), English (because lots of people speak it) and the language of the host nation (in this case English again so they only used the first two) [Its a bit like how in the chambers of the United Nations they only speak in about half a dozen languages on the understanding that most people can speak (or learn) at least one of them]. Well there was a habit by the French translator (a common one I suspect) for saying any name in the same tone and intonation of the language it comes from. In this case, he was talking in French then would suddenly switch to an English accent and back again – making it appear as though their was no French word for “London Male Voice Choir” (or for “Boris Johnson” for that matter) when they were introduced to sing The Olympic Anthem.

Then, Boris flies the flag again – and once again we feared he’d drop it and once again we sighed when he didn’t. It was his role to hand the flag over to Rio, the host of the next games, a ceremony he himself took part in four years previous, only this time he was the incumbent not the recipient.

You could see he was a little reluctant to give it up – and I can’t blame him. No one wanted this golden festival of sport to end – No one wanted to see this once in a lifetime moment finally pass into history and memory. But that is, ultimately, the true spirit of the games – succession. As Beijing gave to us, we must give to Rio and they must give to the next, so that the promise can be kept and the games can be contested once again.

A Taste of Rio.

Next came another traditional bit, a show within a show, giving the next host nation the chance to show us all what they have in store. And so, the Brazilians representing Rio de Janeiro. Was you expecting a carnival? Well good, because that’s what we got – complete with flashing neon versions of those peacock tail dresses they wear.

This part, although brief, actually had a much stronger and more easily identifiable narrative than the broader ceremony that surrounded it. The story, such as it was, involved a little road-sweeper fella introducing another man in a suit to the sights and sounds of Rio. So after the obligatory carnival, there was some odd stuff involving fluorescent green hats (that particular shade of green that always puts me in mind of the pharmacy scene from Natural Born Killers – not that that has anything to do with this) and then a celebration of samba, which to my uncultured ears sounds a lot like a Latino version of those soul singers from the seventies. Then the party was capped off with the entrance of one of Brazil’s greatest sporting legends – Pele. In the international game of Top Trumps, were we would most likely put up David Beckham, I have to say: fair play, you win.

In all seriousness, based on this display, I’m quite looking forward to the next games – I can’t wait to see which flavours the South Americans bring to the mix and, if I start saving now, I might even try to book a flight myself to join the carnival.

The Power of Speech.

As the games continued to wind down, it was time to hear once more from Sebastian Coe and Jacques Rogge. A massive cheer echoed around the stadium as Seb Coe stepped up to speak and then he proceeded to thank everyone as though he had just been handed an Oscar – at one point I was waiting for that music to fade up to rush him off the stage. Then he thanked the volunteers (for I will never call them Games-Makers) and received an even bigger cheer – the British public providing a much more apt tribute in that one sound than anyone else could. I would like to echo what Coe said – Thanks for keeping everyone safe and making sure everything went without a hitch so we could all focus on the sport – or as Rogge put it – they were the “heroes of these games”.

Seb went on to talk about the overall aim of these games – the capacity and desire to inspire a generation (and we all appreciate that this coming generation is in dire need of something inspirational.) and the concept of ‘legacy’ (which I’m sure will soon start to irritate). He rounded off his speech reflecting on his previous statement that London 2012 should be “a games for everyone”  adding that we had produced “a games by everyone” and that “we did it right.” And, yes, in my humble opinion, we did – in the face of everything that a skeptical British public could throw at it – we delivered.

In Rogge’s speech he commented on the enthusiasm of the cheering fans throughout the games. This amuses me. We are very well aware of our reputation internationally (as Brits – and in particular as The English) for being reserved, repressed or even up-tight. While individually you could probably build quite a good picture of this stereotype; when you put us together in a group or crowd – something different happens. If you have ever witnessed Brits abroad you can attest to this – ‘reserved’ is not the word I would use and it is not their upper-lips that remain stiff over the weekend.

He closed his portion by calling the event a “happy and glorious games” which was a nice and faintly touching nod to our culture (with Team GB taking care of “send[ing] us victorious”) and the traditional “call to the youth of the world” to meet in four years to contest the games again – even more potent thanks to all that talk of legacy previously.

Tears for a Dying Flame.

If you didn’t like the part where Boris handed over the flag, you really aren’t going to like this next bit. The time had come to extinguish the flame and  put the final full stop on the 30th Olympiad.

Having drawn together in the opening ceremony – each arm representing a different nation – it was time for the cauldron to separate again, dispersing the countries back to their rightful places on the planet. The structure, a true testament to British engineering, fanned out into a dome-shape from which a Phoenix rose. [pictured above]

This was followed by a performance from Take That who sang “Rule the World”. I wonder whether this song might get lost in translation – whether what is essentially an over-powered love song might worry foreign listeners into thinking we were reasserting our claim for world dominance. Nah, probably not.

Next came the obligatory fireworks display that seems to follow the band like a particularly fanatical pyromaniac. From the smoke another Phoenix swept down onto the stage. It was, in fact, Darcey Bussell – prima ballerina – who led what I can only describe as a techno-ballet. The sort of thing that fans of The Fifth Element’s take on “Lucia Di Lammermoor” would be excited by and leaves us uncultured-types mystified (but in a good way though).

After this performance, the dome finally lowered into its original ring position and the flame gradually died. That was a sad moment when it had finally gone. We had seen that flame travel the length and breadth of our country – carried by celebrities, legends, heroes and common-folk alike – touching everyone it met. One tiny, symbolic flame had somehow reignited the latent fires stoking this country – had brought unexpected hope to the ever increasing cold and darkness of a nation under crisis. We had watched it burn brightly, illuminating such dreams and heartaches that we shall never see again – always standing guard over the games and ensuring The Olympic Spirit was upheld.

Then it faded away to darkness, as it must, leaving only ashes and memory. It was over. The flame was gone. Its for us now to relight it once again, on our own. Its for us to remember that flame, those two glorious weeks when we was its keeper – when we showed to ourselves and everyone that: We can do this. Its not impossible. Its for us to remember that flame, make it blaze again and to teach our next generation how to carry it.

By way of a swansong, we were treated to a medley performed by The Who comprised of “Baba O’Riley”, “See Me, Feel Me” and of course culminating with  “My Generation” – a song comfortably re-appropriated by each succeeding generation – belonging, really, to none of them. That’s how it should be, and long may it continue, and perfect way of rounding out the party. I no longer view “My Generation” as a Who song – it’s ours now – and this is when they gave it to us.

In Closing.

After all’s said and done, what did I think of the closing ceremony? Well, compared to the seminal spectacle of the opening ceremony, it was certainly a less coherent affair – sometimes having the feel of a pop concert desperately trying not to be a pop concert.

I also had a slight issue about who it was aimed at. If the open was “For Everyone” designed with an eye toward what the rest of the world would make of it – the closing seemed to be “For Us” with an eye toward what the British public would enjoy. Now, there is no real problem in doing this but, if I didn’t speak English and was unfamiliar with western popular music, I would have found the whole thing mind-numbingly boring. Sorry, but its true.

But perhaps the reason I didn’t enjoy it as much as I could have is for the same reason that you can’t enjoy that one last Sunday of the summer holidays – that part of your brain that likes to tell you “its back to work on Monday” keeping you from fully enjoying that last party.

Maybe that’s it. I don’t want to wait another four years to do it all over again.

Thankfully, we got the Paralympics to celebrate before we say goodbye for good.

———

Note to self: Next time I write something this long I’m gunna do it in parts or something because it takes a lot of patience to sit here and read this entire thing in one go.

A Thing to be Shared

Hey, look – I know I said that a “review” of The Olympic Opening Ceremony was imminent – and it is, I’m about 3/4 of the way through it – but I just gotta share this thing with any or all people who might stumble through here on the off-chance.

I have to share this because, basically, I think it’s important

So there you go – just be cool to each other and no one has to get aggravated. Alright? Good, well done.

{P.S. It it surprisingly difficult to type whilst drunk}

Post-Olympic Optimism.

It is my intent to do a review (of sorts) of the London 2012 closing ceremony but, just as before, there is a little bit of business to address beforehand.

Now, I’m not one to gloat in I-told-you-so’s but… I told you so! Admit it, even the most skeptical and grumpiest of my countrymen (even the northerners – and especially the Yorkshire-men) found the Olympic spirit irresistible. We all got swept up in it – young, old – sports fanatics and casual fans – doubters and dreamers.

We all came together to cheer on our favourites, to celebrate achievement and share heart-break. Shouts were loosed and breath was held. Laughs were had and tears spilled. New heroes took to the world stage and veteran legends took their final bow. Memories forged for a lifetime.

And that, my friends, is The Olympic Games – one of mankind’s greatest endeavours.

Here in Britain, we had much to celebrate – as athletes from around the nation declared a new age of British sport and returned with an impressive haul of sixty-five medals (twenty-nine gold, seventeen silver and nineteen bronze).

Also, living in our unique multi-cultural environment (and I meant to bring this up before) the parties were not restricted to just the domestic nation. My heritage is strictly tied to Great Britain (it seems my ancestors rarely stepped off this sceptred isle) so I was firmly behind Team GB, but my neighbour (for example) migrated to this country and was able to root for both Team GB (as his home nation) and his country of origin. This meant that the streets of London was washed in colour on a nightly bases – best shown by the Jamaican street parties that erupted after their successes on the athletics track.  Also, I always keep half an eye on our neighbours to the west Ireland who picked up five medals (one gold, one silver and three bronze) [which has stopped Andy Parsons from doing that joke].

So what were my particular highlights? Well you have to give a nod to our continued success at the velodrome, in particular the parting performances of Chris Hoy and Victoria Pendleton, and also on the water in the rowing and sailing (but not swimming).

But these examples of continued success (though impressive) are not what caught my imagination. I found myself captivated by the athletics (screw you Greg Proops), the boxing (including the first ever women’s events) and what has been dubbed “Super Saturday”.

Special mentions to the Brownlee brothers (always nice to see a bit of friendly sibling rivalry), Mo Farah for taking gold in both the Men’s 5000m and Men’s 10,000m and Tom Daily  who won his first medal – bronze, but it may as-well have been gold for the relief and elation we all felt.

But for me, the big moment was when Jessica Ennis won gold in the women’s heptathlon. If you read my previous post, where I talked about how the multiple-disipline events (decathlon, heptathlon, pentathlon, triathlon) are the best all-round athletes at the games: well,  Jessica is the personification of this. Going into the final contest of the event (the 800m) she already had the lead and was practically guaranteed gold. It’s plainly not for her to rest on her laurels however, as she dug down deep for her home crowd and went on to win the final race. That is what makes a champion – and that is why she is my national hero.

Outside of Team GB, the Olympic superstar was – once again – Usain Bolt. His countryman Yohan Blake however, was hot on his heels the entire way and a new great sporting rivalry feels imminent. We also waved goodbye to the most decorated Olympian of all time as Michel Phelps announced his retirement.

In the larger picture, the USA and China renewed their rivalry once more for dominance at the top of the table. The US won out in the end, thanks largely to their success in the pool. But my heart goes to Cyprus, Guatemala and Grenada – who each got to bring a medal back home for the first time ever.

So, in the end, it was the Olympic Games we all hoped for, not without controversy, but disaster-free. A theatre that promised the greatest show on earth, and the athletes who provided it. Even the organisers and administrators didn’t let us down but the highest praise has to go to the thousands of volunteers who made it possible.

Britain welcomed the world and the world didn’t disappoint.

The world came to London and (I’d like to think) left with the spirit of friendship.

And, y’know what, Team GB took on the pressures of performing in-front of  their home crowd and was rewarded with our adulation – smashing our expectations to pieces.

It’s just a shame it’s all over – well at least for another four years – where the party moves to Rio de Janeiro and our first ever South American Olympics. And I wish them all the best!

(As for the Thank you’s – I’ll leave that to the Mayor: Boris Johnson)

[Again, I did intend on talking about the actual closing ceremony itself – but it seems I filled this post up with positivity. So next time [sometime during the week] I expect I should probably go over that because I feel that I should cap this thing off properly.]

Chomp Chomp [that’s me biting the hand that feeds me]

Very quick one (a rarity for me)

I don’t really understand WordPress!

This is a rather insular blog (written by a rather insular person) but I have been trying of late to reach out the tendrils a bit and seek out some new experience by reading what some other people have been writing in their own little corners of the sky [I was starting to think that the Ad-bots and internet ghosts were the only beings inhabiting this strange yet verdant land]

I have tried this in the past but each attempt has borne only frustration. I can’t work out how you navigate this strange system given to me. The reader doesn’t seem to provide what I seek and the freshly pressed seems a little too random (yeah, the irony of that is not lost on me).

I clicked on a ‘recommended’ button which sorted blogs by category. “Eureka!” I thought, but it was premature. I was indeed presented with a list of blogs specific to the topic at hand but was not allowed to click on it to be redirected to the blog itself. The only option was to ‘follow’ said blog unread (and I don’t want to do that). What if the person behind it is the author of another insular, small scale blog like mine and I click ‘follow’ in order to find it – decide it’s not for me and then ‘unfollow’ them. All that’s going to do is bum said person out (and I REALLY don’t want to do that).

“Okay,” I thought “I’ll just type the name of it into a search bar.” – but then WordPress doesn’t have – has never had – a search bar [even though individual blogs do]. Since I don’t know how to filter out all other websites from Google (other search engines also available) – I was stuck and annoyed by that point. [Okay, I know it is infinity possible to perform that particular search but – why would I leave the WordPress unnecessarily only to come back?]

They do have the tagging system, but that’s not exactly the same thing.

I know this ‘problem’ is due in a large part to my own stupidity, which is why I have resisted the urge to complain about it publicly in the past.

I’m not looking for more traffic [I quite like being the author of a small scale, insular blog] but I am looking to indulge in the promised exchange of ideas between like minded (and friendly – that’s important too) people. If only I could find them!

So, if you have written something that you think I might enjoy or you fancy a good conversation, I fear you have to find me because (try as I might) I can’t find you. [This is not a typical post BTW – please don’t think me a whiny lil bitch]

Just say ‘Hello’ in the comments and point me in the right direction – I won’t think you big headed or anything – I understand this is the only sensible way of doing it. Because, while being insular and introverted is absolutely fine, isolation is never particularly healthy.

Go for it – you’ve nothing to loose!