This column was first published in The Canberra Times on 14 April 2008.
In case you were wondering, I don’t spend my entire week writing this column. I also write other, completely different things. Occasionally I even write for free (which isn’t vastly different from this column, but I digress). I’ve recently been helping some friends with a special event, using my media and writing skills as best I can. The other night, I saw an invitation to the opening ceremony, which advertised the presence of (among other celebrities) “Olympic champion” Tatiana Grigorieva. Casting my editorial eye over this, after it had already been printed (which is generally not the order in which it should be done), I noted a minor inaccuracy. Olympic champions, by definition, are gold medallists. Princess Tat (as some people called her back in 2000) did us proud, but her incredible pole-vaulting achievements only garnered a silver medal. Princess Tat is an “Olympic medallist” or a “Commonwealth Games champion”, but sadly, not an Olympic champ. I thought I should inform the organiser of this.
Another volunteer, who had helped bring this error to publication, thought that it didn’t matter. Not one bit. In fact, he was so convinced of its triviality that he desperately tried to stop me. “She’s already had it printed! Telling her serves no purpose whatsoever!” He was so keen to defend this woman’s honour that he grabbed several dictionaries and reference books, trying valiantly to find a definition of “champion” that suited this misuse.
Perhaps he was attempting to make etymological history. As you know, words change their meanings over the years. According to legend, “coward” used to mean “cow herder”, until the herders somehow got a bad reputation. “Blowhard” used to mean “big, loud party”, but now it means “braggart”. And “Howard” used to mean “Prime Minister of Australia”, but now it means “old has-been with nothing new to say”.
In recent years, a few words have been changing their meanings from under our very noses. Yes, we’ve been able to witness history!
COWARDLY: There are certain dates when history changes dramatically, and as we’re still reminded, 9-11 is one such date. Yes, whatever else happened that day, the word “coward” suddenly changed meaning overnight. Just ask American comedian Bill Maher, whose career suddenly took a nosedive when he suggested that it wasn’t accurate to call suicide bombers “cowardly”. “Insane fools”, perhaps, but it’s not exactly cowardly to go on a suicide mission. I later read someone describe the human shields in the Middle East as “cowardly”, even though it would take guts (and yes, a certain degree of nuttiness) to take that job. Still, an insult’s an insult! It’s just like when we call people “morons” or “idiots”, even though they don’t necessarily have low IQs. “Coward”, it seems, has simply joined those all-purpose insults like “bozo”, “dope” and (in Australia) “raving poofter”, which no longer actually mean anything, but we’d be most grateful if you could take offense if we call you that.
IRRESPONSIBLE: Bill Maher was “irresponsible” after 9/11, apparently. It was Dick Cheney’s favourite word to describe anyone who disagreed with him. Like Shakespeare or Noah Webster, America’s vice-president can now claim to have changed the lexicon. “Irresponsible”, once a fitting way to describe people who start wars or shoot their friends on hunting trips, now means “not seeing eye-to-eye with Dick Cheney”.
TRAGIC: “The death of any person is tragic,” I read in a magazine recently. “It’s more so when they die young, as Heath Ledger did in New York in January.” Ledger’s death was indeed tragic. Still, I don’t wish to sound insensitive, but no, death is NOT always tragic. John Button’s death at 74 wasn’t tragic, though as he probably had a few years of wise commentary left in him, it was sad. Yet I’ve heard the word “tragic” passed around to describe the deaths of nonagenarians like Katharine Hepburn and Don Bradman. These people, from what I can tell, were fine human beings. But they had lived full lives, in which they had achieved more than most. If every death is tragic, then “tragic” must now mean “inevitable”. Oh gosh I’m depressed!
GENIUS: Once meant “someone with an abnormally high IQ, such as Molly Meldrum”. Now there are comic geniuses, business geniuses, sports geniuses, creative geniuses, musical geniuses, house-cleaning geniuses (no doubt)… Now come on! Sports geniuses? I’m wary of any word that links Warnie with Einstein! Even worse, the word “genius” is chronically overused, demeaning those great moments when a real genius (like Shaun Micallef) is discovered. The same goes for “phenomenon”, “celebrity”, “legend”, “hero” and “the new-look Kylie”.
LIBERAL: Once referred to generosity and sharing. Now it seems to be one of those all-purpose insults (see “cowardly”). Otherwise, it means you’re in a certain political party, which is even more insulting.
CHAMPION: Used to mean “winner”. Now, in Australian parlance, it just means anyone who “has a go”, even if they’re not doing anything even remotely impressive. Expect to hear it a lot to describe our losers in Beijing (as in “She’s a champion to us!”), and presumably, our one-time silver medallists.
24 June 2009
17 June 2009
Column 50
This column was first published in The Canberra Times on 7 April 2008.
I’ve read a theory that most newspaper columnists only have 50 decent columns in them. That strikes me as very interesting right now, because this is my fiftieth column for The Canberra Times.
I imagine that some of you are lighting up at this point, saying “Great! He’s about to announce his resignation, and this page will now be filled with the musings of a less ridiculous Fairfax columnist like Miranda Devine!” Sadly for those people, I wish to continue in the page, if only to see whether the “50 columns” theory is correct. Of course, some will say that I exhausted my good column ideas within the first month. Others will roll their eyes, muttering to themselves that I never had any good columns (to which I would reply “Why are you still reading? Yeesh!”). And a few people would say “He’s a genius! The best is yet to come. At least, I hope it gets better.”
Give it time. A few weeks ago, you might recall, the Times published a “30 Years of Pryor” liftout as a tribute to their departing political cartoonist, the brilliant Geoff Pryor. But though he had been working at the paper since 1978, the earliest cartoon in the “Best of Pryor” section was from 1985. If columnists develop their art like cartoonists, it will be 2014 before I start producing my best work. Sadly, this will require vast reserves of patience from everyone else.
Then again, a few years ago I was contributing a weekly film column to Saturday’s Panorama section. Between 2003 and 2004, I wrote 75 of those. Before that, as some people might recall, I was a regular film reviewer. Not including the reviews (mainly because I can’t be bothered counting them), this is actually my 125th column for the Times, which makes me feel like a veteran. (Of course, if you go back a looooooong way, I was writing short columns for the TV guide section. But as I wrote those before anyone was born, including myself, I won’t mention them.)
Anyway, enough raving. As this is the fiftieth column, I’ll devote it to a few of the thoughts that entered my mind over the past year, but didn’t really sustain an entire column.
Do you realise how far into the future we are? It is now nine years since 1999. Not so long ago, science fiction writers, fortune-tellers, new-age hippies and eccentric visionaries with messy hair were all talking about 1999 as THE crucial year. The year when the world ended, or everyone started loving each other, or at least we would all be living either in magnificent colonies on the moon, or like the drones in the movie Metropolis, beavering away like a swarm of ants before disappearing into our mole-holes. (With that sentence, I’m hoping to win the Walkley Award for “Most Mixed Animal Metaphor”. Not sure if they’ve introduced that category yet, though.)
Of course, back when people were making such bold predictions about 1999, it seemed so far away. Now it seems even further away, simply because (unlike then) we’re not getting any closer. We’re not only in the far future. We’ve gone beyond the far future. Wow!
Crocodiles are scarey.
The U.S. election campaign, which seemed set to become the most interesting in years, is now officially the most tedious. And it’s only April! I was in the U.S. in January, when the country was already obsessed with the campaign. It wasn’t “Republican or Democrat?”, but “Hillary or Obama?” (Everyone’s on first-name basis with Hillary so as not to confuse her with her husband. There aren’t many famous Obamas, however.) Even then, when it was exciting, some candidates had already become remarkably tedious.
Rudy Giuliani, for example. The “hero” of 9/11 (remind me: exactly how many people did he save?) kept a surprisingly low profile, but he still managed to bore me to sleep. “What are your thoughts about tax cuts, Mr Giuliani?” an interviewer would say. “I’m ready to step in and talk about tax cuts,” he will answer, “just as I stepped in to save the world after 9/11!”
“How will you tackle climate change, Mr Giuliani?” “It’s a serious topic. The temperature could go from nine to 11, which is ironic, because that sounds like 9/11, doesn’t it?”
Is he this bad in his private life? “How are you feeling this morning, dear?” “Certainly better than I felt after 9/11!”
It’s all showbiz, of course. When people complain that they see too much showbiz news, I just say “Stop reading about politics!” While the media is less interested in Kevin Rudd’s sideburns and Julia Gillard’s home decorations, then I’ll start complaining that too many words are devoted to Brangelina. (Sorry? The media’s stopped talking about Kev’s sideburns? OK then: I’m really, really, REALLY tired of hearing about Brange-bloody-lina!!)
GREAT PIECES OF TRIVIA: According to Guinness World Records, the world’s largest violin, constructed in 2004, is 4.2 metres long, with a four-metre bow.
Huh? What sort of idiot would make a four-metre violin? A very large pencil or cake, of course, could still be used. But a very large violin? Who could play that?
I’ve read a theory that most newspaper columnists only have 50 decent columns in them. That strikes me as very interesting right now, because this is my fiftieth column for The Canberra Times.
I imagine that some of you are lighting up at this point, saying “Great! He’s about to announce his resignation, and this page will now be filled with the musings of a less ridiculous Fairfax columnist like Miranda Devine!” Sadly for those people, I wish to continue in the page, if only to see whether the “50 columns” theory is correct. Of course, some will say that I exhausted my good column ideas within the first month. Others will roll their eyes, muttering to themselves that I never had any good columns (to which I would reply “Why are you still reading? Yeesh!”). And a few people would say “He’s a genius! The best is yet to come. At least, I hope it gets better.”
Give it time. A few weeks ago, you might recall, the Times published a “30 Years of Pryor” liftout as a tribute to their departing political cartoonist, the brilliant Geoff Pryor. But though he had been working at the paper since 1978, the earliest cartoon in the “Best of Pryor” section was from 1985. If columnists develop their art like cartoonists, it will be 2014 before I start producing my best work. Sadly, this will require vast reserves of patience from everyone else.
Then again, a few years ago I was contributing a weekly film column to Saturday’s Panorama section. Between 2003 and 2004, I wrote 75 of those. Before that, as some people might recall, I was a regular film reviewer. Not including the reviews (mainly because I can’t be bothered counting them), this is actually my 125th column for the Times, which makes me feel like a veteran. (Of course, if you go back a looooooong way, I was writing short columns for the TV guide section. But as I wrote those before anyone was born, including myself, I won’t mention them.)
Anyway, enough raving. As this is the fiftieth column, I’ll devote it to a few of the thoughts that entered my mind over the past year, but didn’t really sustain an entire column.
##
Do you realise how far into the future we are? It is now nine years since 1999. Not so long ago, science fiction writers, fortune-tellers, new-age hippies and eccentric visionaries with messy hair were all talking about 1999 as THE crucial year. The year when the world ended, or everyone started loving each other, or at least we would all be living either in magnificent colonies on the moon, or like the drones in the movie Metropolis, beavering away like a swarm of ants before disappearing into our mole-holes. (With that sentence, I’m hoping to win the Walkley Award for “Most Mixed Animal Metaphor”. Not sure if they’ve introduced that category yet, though.)
Of course, back when people were making such bold predictions about 1999, it seemed so far away. Now it seems even further away, simply because (unlike then) we’re not getting any closer. We’re not only in the far future. We’ve gone beyond the far future. Wow!
##
Crocodiles are scarey.
##
The U.S. election campaign, which seemed set to become the most interesting in years, is now officially the most tedious. And it’s only April! I was in the U.S. in January, when the country was already obsessed with the campaign. It wasn’t “Republican or Democrat?”, but “Hillary or Obama?” (Everyone’s on first-name basis with Hillary so as not to confuse her with her husband. There aren’t many famous Obamas, however.) Even then, when it was exciting, some candidates had already become remarkably tedious.
Rudy Giuliani, for example. The “hero” of 9/11 (remind me: exactly how many people did he save?) kept a surprisingly low profile, but he still managed to bore me to sleep. “What are your thoughts about tax cuts, Mr Giuliani?” an interviewer would say. “I’m ready to step in and talk about tax cuts,” he will answer, “just as I stepped in to save the world after 9/11!”
“How will you tackle climate change, Mr Giuliani?” “It’s a serious topic. The temperature could go from nine to 11, which is ironic, because that sounds like 9/11, doesn’t it?”
Is he this bad in his private life? “How are you feeling this morning, dear?” “Certainly better than I felt after 9/11!”
It’s all showbiz, of course. When people complain that they see too much showbiz news, I just say “Stop reading about politics!” While the media is less interested in Kevin Rudd’s sideburns and Julia Gillard’s home decorations, then I’ll start complaining that too many words are devoted to Brangelina. (Sorry? The media’s stopped talking about Kev’s sideburns? OK then: I’m really, really, REALLY tired of hearing about Brange-bloody-lina!!)
##
GREAT PIECES OF TRIVIA: According to Guinness World Records, the world’s largest violin, constructed in 2004, is 4.2 metres long, with a four-metre bow.
Huh? What sort of idiot would make a four-metre violin? A very large pencil or cake, of course, could still be used. But a very large violin? Who could play that?
09 June 2009
Why I Love Kids' TV
This column was first published in The Canberra Times on 24 March 2008.
A few years ago, I was given a rare opportunity when Jonathan M Shiff offered me a job. Shiff, for those who don’t know, is the Stephen J Cannell of Aussie kids’ television drama, the man who gave us Ocean Girl, Cybergirl and various other girls. People over 35 might be unfamiliar with his work, but others might know Pirate Islands, Thunderstone and many others. Now he was working on a new children’s sitcom, and wanted me on the story crew. To me, it sounded like a dream job. If there are two things I’ve always wanted to write (apart from newspaper columns, of course), they are sitcoms and children’s TV shows.
Sadly, I had to turn it down. On the very week he offered me the job, I had to go overseas for health reasons. Yes, seriously! If that were not true, I assure you, I would have leapt at the opportunity. But after much teeth-gnashing and momentarily questioning the existence of God, I regretfully declined.
Friends of mine in the industry seemed very disappointed when I told them of my plight. You can’t just turn down such golden opportunities in the television business! Hey, didn’t they hear me say I was “going overseas for health reasons”? Yeesh! Does that sound serious enough? Perhaps, just perhaps, I’d rather live in regret than stop living altogether. (I won’t go into detail, but my health is much better now, thanks.)
“But it’s kids’ TV!” I can hear some of you say (which demonstrates my incredible hearing). “What’s the big deal?” Well, I’ve been offered doors that might potentially have given me gigs on Neighbours and other soapies, and I’ve practically ignored them.
Kids’ TV, however, is something I’ve loved since I was a kid. I’ve loved kids’ shows that weren’t even produced until I was too old for them. In the past 15 years, there are sadly few adult drama series that have been nearly as much fun (or as intelligent) as Round the Twist, Press Gang, Short Cuts, Mortified, or Shiff’s hilarious Scooter – Secret Agent. Some people might think it’s sad that I should enjoy kids’ television, but I imagine that these people are probably addicted to grown-up shows like Cashmere Mafia or Women’s Murder Club. Now that's sad! Besides, like the best kids’ TV of my own childhood, from Doctor Who to The Muppet Show, discerning adults enjoy Press Gang and Mortified as much as children do.
These shows benefit from a quality they share with the Golden Years of Hollywood: an appalling degree of censorship! Producers can’t be “daring” or “gritty”. Characters can’t talk incessantly about sex. Instead, the best shows resort to hackneyed, old-fashioned techniques like great stories and characters. If anyone says that kids’ shows are unrealistic because nobody has trouble with drugs, alcohol, or the law, then let me tell you this: neither do most kids (whatever Skins might have you believe). They have more mundane, widespread problems, and good kids’ television can tackle those rather well.
I’m not sure what happened to the kids’ sitcom on which I was invited to work. Perhaps they shelved it, realising that it was no good without me. (Or perhaps not.) Shiff, however, has been doing rather well with H2O, a series about three girls who find themselves with a problem with which most Aussie teens can relate: whenever they get even slightly wet, they turn into mermaids. Their bottom half turns magically into a tail. (Ah, we all remember what that was like!) I’m not sure what happens to their pants, but fortunately for this timeslot, their clothing reappears just as miraculously whenever they dry off. Oh, and they get cool super-powers too.
Now this concept is cool enough on its own, but it got even better with the second season (which finished on Channel 10 last week) when another mermaid entered the scene. She was introduced as meek, quiet and wholesome. As a super-powered mermaid, however, she made a compelling villain: not exactly evil, but jealous, reckless and somewhat vicious. So much for the old “alienated kids are always nice” cliché.
This show tackles issues that only a teen would understand. In a recent episode, the bad mermaid used her powers to trap two of the good mermaids in a dampening room, making them lose their legs. A well-meaning but dunderheaded friend tries to break them out, even as they say “We’re OK! Leave us alone!” If it were me, I would have come to the logical (if incorrect) conclusion and left them alone. This guy, however, was as innocent as much of the viewing audience.
While kids can watch this as gripping fantasy drama, someone clever like me can see it as a metaphor for something. Yes, H2O is really a series about adolescent alienation, societal change and sexual awakening. There’s probably a statement in there about global warming as well.
This is probably why shows like H2O are made for kids. They see them as fun adventure series. As such, they’re the only ones who deserve shows like this.
A few years ago, I was given a rare opportunity when Jonathan M Shiff offered me a job. Shiff, for those who don’t know, is the Stephen J Cannell of Aussie kids’ television drama, the man who gave us Ocean Girl, Cybergirl and various other girls. People over 35 might be unfamiliar with his work, but others might know Pirate Islands, Thunderstone and many others. Now he was working on a new children’s sitcom, and wanted me on the story crew. To me, it sounded like a dream job. If there are two things I’ve always wanted to write (apart from newspaper columns, of course), they are sitcoms and children’s TV shows.
Sadly, I had to turn it down. On the very week he offered me the job, I had to go overseas for health reasons. Yes, seriously! If that were not true, I assure you, I would have leapt at the opportunity. But after much teeth-gnashing and momentarily questioning the existence of God, I regretfully declined.
Friends of mine in the industry seemed very disappointed when I told them of my plight. You can’t just turn down such golden opportunities in the television business! Hey, didn’t they hear me say I was “going overseas for health reasons”? Yeesh! Does that sound serious enough? Perhaps, just perhaps, I’d rather live in regret than stop living altogether. (I won’t go into detail, but my health is much better now, thanks.)
“But it’s kids’ TV!” I can hear some of you say (which demonstrates my incredible hearing). “What’s the big deal?” Well, I’ve been offered doors that might potentially have given me gigs on Neighbours and other soapies, and I’ve practically ignored them.
Kids’ TV, however, is something I’ve loved since I was a kid. I’ve loved kids’ shows that weren’t even produced until I was too old for them. In the past 15 years, there are sadly few adult drama series that have been nearly as much fun (or as intelligent) as Round the Twist, Press Gang, Short Cuts, Mortified, or Shiff’s hilarious Scooter – Secret Agent. Some people might think it’s sad that I should enjoy kids’ television, but I imagine that these people are probably addicted to grown-up shows like Cashmere Mafia or Women’s Murder Club. Now that's sad! Besides, like the best kids’ TV of my own childhood, from Doctor Who to The Muppet Show, discerning adults enjoy Press Gang and Mortified as much as children do.
These shows benefit from a quality they share with the Golden Years of Hollywood: an appalling degree of censorship! Producers can’t be “daring” or “gritty”. Characters can’t talk incessantly about sex. Instead, the best shows resort to hackneyed, old-fashioned techniques like great stories and characters. If anyone says that kids’ shows are unrealistic because nobody has trouble with drugs, alcohol, or the law, then let me tell you this: neither do most kids (whatever Skins might have you believe). They have more mundane, widespread problems, and good kids’ television can tackle those rather well.
I’m not sure what happened to the kids’ sitcom on which I was invited to work. Perhaps they shelved it, realising that it was no good without me. (Or perhaps not.) Shiff, however, has been doing rather well with H2O, a series about three girls who find themselves with a problem with which most Aussie teens can relate: whenever they get even slightly wet, they turn into mermaids. Their bottom half turns magically into a tail. (Ah, we all remember what that was like!) I’m not sure what happens to their pants, but fortunately for this timeslot, their clothing reappears just as miraculously whenever they dry off. Oh, and they get cool super-powers too.
Now this concept is cool enough on its own, but it got even better with the second season (which finished on Channel 10 last week) when another mermaid entered the scene. She was introduced as meek, quiet and wholesome. As a super-powered mermaid, however, she made a compelling villain: not exactly evil, but jealous, reckless and somewhat vicious. So much for the old “alienated kids are always nice” cliché.
This show tackles issues that only a teen would understand. In a recent episode, the bad mermaid used her powers to trap two of the good mermaids in a dampening room, making them lose their legs. A well-meaning but dunderheaded friend tries to break them out, even as they say “We’re OK! Leave us alone!” If it were me, I would have come to the logical (if incorrect) conclusion and left them alone. This guy, however, was as innocent as much of the viewing audience.
While kids can watch this as gripping fantasy drama, someone clever like me can see it as a metaphor for something. Yes, H2O is really a series about adolescent alienation, societal change and sexual awakening. There’s probably a statement in there about global warming as well.
This is probably why shows like H2O are made for kids. They see them as fun adventure series. As such, they’re the only ones who deserve shows like this.
02 June 2009
Performance-enhancing Drugs
The column first appeared in The Canberra Times on 17 March 2008.
Nobody is despised as much as someone who was previously adored. That might help explain why the current Federal Opposition is blaming their former Beloved Leader for everything; why President Bush is so universally loathed nowadays (even in the good ol’ USA); why many of the great rock stars of the eighties were so utterly pilloried in the nineties; and why teenaged girls speak of their ex-boyfriends with such unrelenting spite.
It makes things even worse for American ex-athlete Marion Jones, who has already been humiliated, forced to return her Olympic medals, named Foreign Sporting Villain of 2007 by our own Inside Sport magazine, and last week began a six-month prison sentence for lying to investigators about her use of steroids. It looks like she won’t be forgiven until she is forgotten, and with all the news of her misdeeds, that won’t be for a while.
But if you recall Sydney 2000, she was a hero, known as much for her dazzling smile and her gracious, friendly attitude as for her on-field exploits. She even said nice things about Our Cathy (who wasn’t one of her main rivals, of course). Discovering that Jones was on steroids, that she was cheating all that time, was a terrible blow. Nothing is worse than finding that the “next big thing”, in athletics or any other field, is just a good-for-nothing cheat.
Next time some party animals insists that drugs are fun, you can tell them that drugs are slowly taking all the fun out of one of the world’s favourite fun activities: watching sports. Years ago, when an athlete broke a world record, it was a triumph of sporting prowess. Now it’s a triumph of biological technology, which isn’t quite as thrilling. The phrase “How did he do it?” now takes on new, sinister overtones. Not only that, but performance-enhancing drugs have had nasty side effects on some athletes that make Jones’ prison sentence look rather tame.
So, much as it’s terrible to hear about the latest sports drug bust, I’m pleased that people are being busted. In fact, why limit it to sports? What about rock music? Just as the Olympic history books are being rewritten as we speak (with Marion Jones being recast from “Wonder Woman” to “Goofy”), music history should also be rewritten. In a business that’s long been rife with performance-enhancing drugs, the Beatles were the Marion Jones of music.
As you probably know, “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds”, “Yellow Submarine” and “Strawberry Fields Forever” were all drug songs. But then, so was “Got to Get You into My Life”. Even “With a Little Help from My Friends” (a song I first heard on “The Muppet Show”) was apparently about drug dealers. I’m sure that someone will one day explain to me that “She Loves You” was all about a girl taking Ecstacy (which hadn’t been invented yet, but the Beatles were so stoned at the time that they imagined the whole thing).
The sad thing is, the Beatles were writing great songs well before they could even afford to take drugs. Just like Jones, or Ben Johnson (who was already an Olympic medallist before he took up drugs, or at least we assume so), they were talented people who took performance-enhancing drugs to increase their talents to an unnatural degree. Now, just as Jones returned her medals, the Beatles should return all their placings in the all-time top-10 albums. So should Dylan, the Beach Boys, the Rolling Stones and all the other drug cheats in the recording industry.
Of course, this would have some unpleasant consequences. For starters, Engelbert Humperdink might go down in history as the greatest recording star of the sixties. Secondly, once the offending material is cancelled, the last Beatles album would have been “Revolver”, and it would have had only three or four songs.
While we’re at it, let’s expose a few comedians. On Monty Python’s twentieth anniversary, troupe member Terry Gilliam finally confessed that it was drugs that had made them so innovative. Then again, he could have been joking. But on the other hand, it’s difficult to imagine that they could have devised the fish-slapping sketch or the Spam routine WITHOUT drugs. While they are often called geniuses, they should be stripped of that title.
And don’t forget the literary greats. Jacques Kerouac couldn’t have written “On the Road” without drugs. Cheats! It’s about time they were brought to justice.
Oh, and before you say “But Marion Jones was taking illegal drugs!”, let me point out that the Beatles, Kerouac and Monty Python were taking something stronger than Tylenol.
If I succeed in my quest to wipe drug-assisted works of art from the record books, I can be one of those famous anti-drug crusaders, like the ones in the International Olympic Committee. Besides, think of what a break it will be for those underrated people who are (presumably) not on drugs. It’s about time that Hi-5 got the recognition they deserve!
Nobody is despised as much as someone who was previously adored. That might help explain why the current Federal Opposition is blaming their former Beloved Leader for everything; why President Bush is so universally loathed nowadays (even in the good ol’ USA); why many of the great rock stars of the eighties were so utterly pilloried in the nineties; and why teenaged girls speak of their ex-boyfriends with such unrelenting spite.
It makes things even worse for American ex-athlete Marion Jones, who has already been humiliated, forced to return her Olympic medals, named Foreign Sporting Villain of 2007 by our own Inside Sport magazine, and last week began a six-month prison sentence for lying to investigators about her use of steroids. It looks like she won’t be forgiven until she is forgotten, and with all the news of her misdeeds, that won’t be for a while.
But if you recall Sydney 2000, she was a hero, known as much for her dazzling smile and her gracious, friendly attitude as for her on-field exploits. She even said nice things about Our Cathy (who wasn’t one of her main rivals, of course). Discovering that Jones was on steroids, that she was cheating all that time, was a terrible blow. Nothing is worse than finding that the “next big thing”, in athletics or any other field, is just a good-for-nothing cheat.
Next time some party animals insists that drugs are fun, you can tell them that drugs are slowly taking all the fun out of one of the world’s favourite fun activities: watching sports. Years ago, when an athlete broke a world record, it was a triumph of sporting prowess. Now it’s a triumph of biological technology, which isn’t quite as thrilling. The phrase “How did he do it?” now takes on new, sinister overtones. Not only that, but performance-enhancing drugs have had nasty side effects on some athletes that make Jones’ prison sentence look rather tame.
So, much as it’s terrible to hear about the latest sports drug bust, I’m pleased that people are being busted. In fact, why limit it to sports? What about rock music? Just as the Olympic history books are being rewritten as we speak (with Marion Jones being recast from “Wonder Woman” to “Goofy”), music history should also be rewritten. In a business that’s long been rife with performance-enhancing drugs, the Beatles were the Marion Jones of music.
As you probably know, “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds”, “Yellow Submarine” and “Strawberry Fields Forever” were all drug songs. But then, so was “Got to Get You into My Life”. Even “With a Little Help from My Friends” (a song I first heard on “The Muppet Show”) was apparently about drug dealers. I’m sure that someone will one day explain to me that “She Loves You” was all about a girl taking Ecstacy (which hadn’t been invented yet, but the Beatles were so stoned at the time that they imagined the whole thing).
The sad thing is, the Beatles were writing great songs well before they could even afford to take drugs. Just like Jones, or Ben Johnson (who was already an Olympic medallist before he took up drugs, or at least we assume so), they were talented people who took performance-enhancing drugs to increase their talents to an unnatural degree. Now, just as Jones returned her medals, the Beatles should return all their placings in the all-time top-10 albums. So should Dylan, the Beach Boys, the Rolling Stones and all the other drug cheats in the recording industry.
Of course, this would have some unpleasant consequences. For starters, Engelbert Humperdink might go down in history as the greatest recording star of the sixties. Secondly, once the offending material is cancelled, the last Beatles album would have been “Revolver”, and it would have had only three or four songs.
While we’re at it, let’s expose a few comedians. On Monty Python’s twentieth anniversary, troupe member Terry Gilliam finally confessed that it was drugs that had made them so innovative. Then again, he could have been joking. But on the other hand, it’s difficult to imagine that they could have devised the fish-slapping sketch or the Spam routine WITHOUT drugs. While they are often called geniuses, they should be stripped of that title.
And don’t forget the literary greats. Jacques Kerouac couldn’t have written “On the Road” without drugs. Cheats! It’s about time they were brought to justice.
Oh, and before you say “But Marion Jones was taking illegal drugs!”, let me point out that the Beatles, Kerouac and Monty Python were taking something stronger than Tylenol.
If I succeed in my quest to wipe drug-assisted works of art from the record books, I can be one of those famous anti-drug crusaders, like the ones in the International Olympic Committee. Besides, think of what a break it will be for those underrated people who are (presumably) not on drugs. It’s about time that Hi-5 got the recognition they deserve!
25 May 2009
Too Much About Cate
This column originally appeared in The Canberra Times on 10 March 2008.
Oh boy, I’m looking forward to the Prime Minister’s 2020 Summit! Already it has everyone talking. All this discussion of the “best and brightest” Australians, and exactly how many of them are women, strikes me as very strange. I haven’t noticed such a peculiar debate since the National Trust compiled their list of “Australia's Living National Treasures” back in 1997.
The original list was altered in 2004, with replacements for everyone who’d since passed away. One problem is that, even though the dead people were replaced, there seems no space for anyone who falls from grace. Imagine if they’d done this list back in 1987. It would presumably have included the likes of Alan Bond, Mel Gibson, Paul Hogan and Peter Hollingsworth. Oh sorry, Hollingsworth made the list anyway.
It seems that the smart thing to do is to quit while you’re ahead, rather than outstay (or outlive) your welcome. World leaders like Soeharto and Mugabe would possibly be remembered as great leaders had they retired early, rather than stayed on and become ruthless despots. If Nixon had only served one term as U.S. president, he’d probably be remembered as the guy who started detente with China and the USSR, rather than the crooked leader who was forced to resign. Tony Blair might have been remembered as one of the great British PMs, if he had finished after a few years and avoided the Iraq War.
Perhaps that’s why it’s great to finish while you’re young. James Dean’s tragic death assured him a place in history as one of Hollywood’s greatest stars. Had he survived, he might have eventually become famous again for playing the lead role in the original series of Battlestar Galactica, or as a fat character actor playing Adam Sandler’s grandfather in a few hit movies. Jeff Buckley’s death after one album elevated him to greatness, but who knows what he would have done at age 50? We might well have been spared from albums like “Christmas with Jeff Buckley” or “Buckley sings the Bee Gees”.
Anyway, back to Australia's Living National Treasures. This list of 100 people is really rather silly, a look at who was well-liked and respected around the time they asked (and re-asked) for the votes. The result is a peculiar list, with Kieren Perkins but not Ian Thorpe, Tim Winton but not Bryce Courtenay, Nicole Kidman but not Cate Blanchett.
Ah, Cate Blanchett! That brings us back to where we started: the 2020 Summit. There have been many protests that the summit leaders, handpicked by the PM and his staff, were nine men and Our Cate. Frankly, I’m just as appalled as everyone else! Why on earth was Cate Blanchett put in charge of something like this?!
In all this talk about gender imbalance, I’ve heard nothing about the fact that the one female leader is someone with no credentials. Everyone likes Cate, and so do I! She’s a fine actor. But just because she can play Elizabeth I, Katharine Hepburn, Bob Dylan, Charlotte Gray and a flamboyant Russian showgirl (probably all at the same time, if she had to), it doesn’t make her a Summit leader. True, she also comes across as very intelligent, but does that make her a leader? She and her husband run the Sydney Theatre Company, but they haven’t been doing it for long. The jury is still out.
Across the ocean, commentators complain that inexpert movie stars get too involved in politics (which is disgraceful, of course, because they disagree with the commentators). Over here, our PM obviously thinks that’s a good thing, giving an important position to one of them. Once we become a republic, she will no doubt be appointed our first president (presuming Melissa George is unavailable).
Why? Because the PM is, by his own admission, “an average dude”. Like the rest of us, he’s starstruck! Blanchett (or The Luminous Cate Blanchett, as critics seem to have renamed her) has become the intelligent, mature, sophisticated, worldly person’s Paris Hilton, if such a thing is possible. When she was nominated for two Oscars, a majority of Australian punters actually thought that she would win both of them. When she didn’t, it was an outrage. Proof that the world had gone mad. Why would the Academy give an Oscar to Marion Cotillard, basically for doing a good impersonation of a famous musical star? Blanchett played, um, Bob Dylan. OK, scrap that argument.
What is this magical thing about Blanchett? Cynics who think that Kidman can’t act or that Toni Collette has no star quality will still fall head over heels for The Luminous One.
As I said, I agree that she’s wonderful. But what do I like most about her? Is it her magnificent talent? Her superhuman luminosity (which I mainly notice because I keep reading about it)?
No, it’s the way that she seems to disprove the existence of that shameful Australian quality: tall poppy syndrome. So what if she’s likeable, clever, successful and, er, luminous? Still we forgive her.
But a summit leader? We should someone more suitable. What’s Judy Davis doing right now?
Oh boy, I’m looking forward to the Prime Minister’s 2020 Summit! Already it has everyone talking. All this discussion of the “best and brightest” Australians, and exactly how many of them are women, strikes me as very strange. I haven’t noticed such a peculiar debate since the National Trust compiled their list of “Australia's Living National Treasures” back in 1997.
The original list was altered in 2004, with replacements for everyone who’d since passed away. One problem is that, even though the dead people were replaced, there seems no space for anyone who falls from grace. Imagine if they’d done this list back in 1987. It would presumably have included the likes of Alan Bond, Mel Gibson, Paul Hogan and Peter Hollingsworth. Oh sorry, Hollingsworth made the list anyway.
It seems that the smart thing to do is to quit while you’re ahead, rather than outstay (or outlive) your welcome. World leaders like Soeharto and Mugabe would possibly be remembered as great leaders had they retired early, rather than stayed on and become ruthless despots. If Nixon had only served one term as U.S. president, he’d probably be remembered as the guy who started detente with China and the USSR, rather than the crooked leader who was forced to resign. Tony Blair might have been remembered as one of the great British PMs, if he had finished after a few years and avoided the Iraq War.
Perhaps that’s why it’s great to finish while you’re young. James Dean’s tragic death assured him a place in history as one of Hollywood’s greatest stars. Had he survived, he might have eventually become famous again for playing the lead role in the original series of Battlestar Galactica, or as a fat character actor playing Adam Sandler’s grandfather in a few hit movies. Jeff Buckley’s death after one album elevated him to greatness, but who knows what he would have done at age 50? We might well have been spared from albums like “Christmas with Jeff Buckley” or “Buckley sings the Bee Gees”.
Anyway, back to Australia's Living National Treasures. This list of 100 people is really rather silly, a look at who was well-liked and respected around the time they asked (and re-asked) for the votes. The result is a peculiar list, with Kieren Perkins but not Ian Thorpe, Tim Winton but not Bryce Courtenay, Nicole Kidman but not Cate Blanchett.
Ah, Cate Blanchett! That brings us back to where we started: the 2020 Summit. There have been many protests that the summit leaders, handpicked by the PM and his staff, were nine men and Our Cate. Frankly, I’m just as appalled as everyone else! Why on earth was Cate Blanchett put in charge of something like this?!
In all this talk about gender imbalance, I’ve heard nothing about the fact that the one female leader is someone with no credentials. Everyone likes Cate, and so do I! She’s a fine actor. But just because she can play Elizabeth I, Katharine Hepburn, Bob Dylan, Charlotte Gray and a flamboyant Russian showgirl (probably all at the same time, if she had to), it doesn’t make her a Summit leader. True, she also comes across as very intelligent, but does that make her a leader? She and her husband run the Sydney Theatre Company, but they haven’t been doing it for long. The jury is still out.
Across the ocean, commentators complain that inexpert movie stars get too involved in politics (which is disgraceful, of course, because they disagree with the commentators). Over here, our PM obviously thinks that’s a good thing, giving an important position to one of them. Once we become a republic, she will no doubt be appointed our first president (presuming Melissa George is unavailable).
Why? Because the PM is, by his own admission, “an average dude”. Like the rest of us, he’s starstruck! Blanchett (or The Luminous Cate Blanchett, as critics seem to have renamed her) has become the intelligent, mature, sophisticated, worldly person’s Paris Hilton, if such a thing is possible. When she was nominated for two Oscars, a majority of Australian punters actually thought that she would win both of them. When she didn’t, it was an outrage. Proof that the world had gone mad. Why would the Academy give an Oscar to Marion Cotillard, basically for doing a good impersonation of a famous musical star? Blanchett played, um, Bob Dylan. OK, scrap that argument.
What is this magical thing about Blanchett? Cynics who think that Kidman can’t act or that Toni Collette has no star quality will still fall head over heels for The Luminous One.
As I said, I agree that she’s wonderful. But what do I like most about her? Is it her magnificent talent? Her superhuman luminosity (which I mainly notice because I keep reading about it)?
No, it’s the way that she seems to disprove the existence of that shameful Australian quality: tall poppy syndrome. So what if she’s likeable, clever, successful and, er, luminous? Still we forgive her.
But a summit leader? We should someone more suitable. What’s Judy Davis doing right now?
15 May 2009
People You Hate Watching TV With
This column was first published in The Canberra Times on 3 March 2008.
Possibly the most overrated social custom is going to the movies, the only common communal gathering in which, ideally, everyone keeps quiet and doesn’t interact with anyone else. Perhaps this is part of the allure of television and DVDs. As we are no longer like our distant ancestors, who would worship television as a god from the heavens and meditate silently on its altar (pausing during commercial breaks to sacrifice oxen), it’s not usually considered a mortal sin to talk during television shows.
Still, there are some people who make DVD and television viewing a chore, meaning that my preferred DVD-watching machine is usually not my 147cm Viera hi-definition plasma screen (mainly because I don’t have one), but my laptop, in the privacy of my home office. Among the chief offenders:
CRITICS: As a former movie reviewer and an occasional TV critic, I am not immune to mouthing off, in case people would rather listen to me than to the actual show. In my defence, I’m trying hard to give up this abhorrent practice. Also in my defence, it’s not exactly a rare ailment, and it amazes me that, with all the fun things that we can do with our time, some people will sit there watching TV, complaining loudly about the “rubbish” that’s on. A common line is “This isn’t going anywhere!” To which you reply: “How would you know?”
DEFENDERS: Occasionally someone will put on a DVD that truly is rubbish. If you don’t want to watch, they take it personally, and insist that the movie is a masterpiece that you simply don’t understand. “It’s really exciting and action-packed,” they say about the 1980s Schwarzenegger flick, as if you didn’t already know. Sometimes you don’t want “exciting” and “action-packed”; you just want “good”. And until they can provide that, you’d rather go somewhere else and read a book.
TOUR GUIDES: Some people rave about a brilliant movie, bring in the DVD for you to watch, then find a way to ensure that you don’t. Confused? Well, so was I. One guy once visited to show me The Wedding Singer, excitedly flicked on the first ten minutes (laughing all the way), then fast-forwarded it, saying “This is a boring romantic bit.” He then showed me another hilarious bit, before pressing the fast-forward button again and explaining to me the “dull” bits of plot that I was missing. So did I enjoy The Wedding Singer? I don’t know; I still haven’t seen it! I haven’t been inspired to watch, because I understand it has too many boring bits.
LATECOMERS: I don’t mind people coming late to a TV show or a DVD, but I’d just rather they didn’t keep asking me to explain what they missed. One particularly annoying person, as a matter of habit, asks questions, then a few seconds into my answer, snaps “Shush!” so he can listen to the dialogue. Advance confession: I think I will kill him next time.
CHATTERBOXES: Probably the worst of all. Forgetting that you occasionally want to listen in silence, even if it’s only television, they chat pointlessly, just loud enough to make the television inaudible. I still remember someone loudly telling someone else about his day at work, and the witty comments he made that truly impressed his boss, and doing it THROUGH AN ENTIRE JACQUELINE McKENZIE INTERVIEW! To my credit, I silently tolerated this. Anyway, I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, especially those who died mysteriously later that night.
OBSESSIVES: Sorry, these are the worst. I once knew a Blake’s Seven fan whose life was so meaningless that he knew the dialogue of every episode by heart. That’s his business, unless you were watching it with him and he wanted to recite it to you.
But he was not as tragic as Des, another friend I had in my teens, a fan of splatter movies. Somehow, a few of us once accepted an invitation to visit Des's place one night. He showed us his favourite video: an hour-long, self-made compilation of all the most depraved, gratuitous scenes from his favourite splatter movies. After a few minutes of observing people's arms being sliced off by chainsaws and pick-axes lodging into their heads, I felt queasy, and ran to the bathroom to throw up.
Ten minutes later, I wandered precariously back to his living room. To my relief, the video was no longer running. "What took you?" said Des. “We've been waiting.” He had kindly paused the video so I wouldn't miss any of it. As he excitedly pressed “play”, I told myself that, next time Des invited me over, I would be having a kidney operation.
So those are the people with whom it’s not worth watching DVDs. Still, there is only so far you can go with this. A friend once said that he didn’t like watching television with me, which I found remarkable, because he is guilty of most of the heinous crimes listed above. Somehow, as we escape into the world of the small screen, we presumably become oblivious to our own annoying habits.
Possibly the most overrated social custom is going to the movies, the only common communal gathering in which, ideally, everyone keeps quiet and doesn’t interact with anyone else. Perhaps this is part of the allure of television and DVDs. As we are no longer like our distant ancestors, who would worship television as a god from the heavens and meditate silently on its altar (pausing during commercial breaks to sacrifice oxen), it’s not usually considered a mortal sin to talk during television shows.
Still, there are some people who make DVD and television viewing a chore, meaning that my preferred DVD-watching machine is usually not my 147cm Viera hi-definition plasma screen (mainly because I don’t have one), but my laptop, in the privacy of my home office. Among the chief offenders:
CRITICS: As a former movie reviewer and an occasional TV critic, I am not immune to mouthing off, in case people would rather listen to me than to the actual show. In my defence, I’m trying hard to give up this abhorrent practice. Also in my defence, it’s not exactly a rare ailment, and it amazes me that, with all the fun things that we can do with our time, some people will sit there watching TV, complaining loudly about the “rubbish” that’s on. A common line is “This isn’t going anywhere!” To which you reply: “How would you know?”
DEFENDERS: Occasionally someone will put on a DVD that truly is rubbish. If you don’t want to watch, they take it personally, and insist that the movie is a masterpiece that you simply don’t understand. “It’s really exciting and action-packed,” they say about the 1980s Schwarzenegger flick, as if you didn’t already know. Sometimes you don’t want “exciting” and “action-packed”; you just want “good”. And until they can provide that, you’d rather go somewhere else and read a book.
TOUR GUIDES: Some people rave about a brilliant movie, bring in the DVD for you to watch, then find a way to ensure that you don’t. Confused? Well, so was I. One guy once visited to show me The Wedding Singer, excitedly flicked on the first ten minutes (laughing all the way), then fast-forwarded it, saying “This is a boring romantic bit.” He then showed me another hilarious bit, before pressing the fast-forward button again and explaining to me the “dull” bits of plot that I was missing. So did I enjoy The Wedding Singer? I don’t know; I still haven’t seen it! I haven’t been inspired to watch, because I understand it has too many boring bits.
LATECOMERS: I don’t mind people coming late to a TV show or a DVD, but I’d just rather they didn’t keep asking me to explain what they missed. One particularly annoying person, as a matter of habit, asks questions, then a few seconds into my answer, snaps “Shush!” so he can listen to the dialogue. Advance confession: I think I will kill him next time.
CHATTERBOXES: Probably the worst of all. Forgetting that you occasionally want to listen in silence, even if it’s only television, they chat pointlessly, just loud enough to make the television inaudible. I still remember someone loudly telling someone else about his day at work, and the witty comments he made that truly impressed his boss, and doing it THROUGH AN ENTIRE JACQUELINE McKENZIE INTERVIEW! To my credit, I silently tolerated this. Anyway, I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, especially those who died mysteriously later that night.
OBSESSIVES: Sorry, these are the worst. I once knew a Blake’s Seven fan whose life was so meaningless that he knew the dialogue of every episode by heart. That’s his business, unless you were watching it with him and he wanted to recite it to you.
But he was not as tragic as Des, another friend I had in my teens, a fan of splatter movies. Somehow, a few of us once accepted an invitation to visit Des's place one night. He showed us his favourite video: an hour-long, self-made compilation of all the most depraved, gratuitous scenes from his favourite splatter movies. After a few minutes of observing people's arms being sliced off by chainsaws and pick-axes lodging into their heads, I felt queasy, and ran to the bathroom to throw up.
Ten minutes later, I wandered precariously back to his living room. To my relief, the video was no longer running. "What took you?" said Des. “We've been waiting.” He had kindly paused the video so I wouldn't miss any of it. As he excitedly pressed “play”, I told myself that, next time Des invited me over, I would be having a kidney operation.
So those are the people with whom it’s not worth watching DVDs. Still, there is only so far you can go with this. A friend once said that he didn’t like watching television with me, which I found remarkable, because he is guilty of most of the heinous crimes listed above. Somehow, as we escape into the world of the small screen, we presumably become oblivious to our own annoying habits.
29 April 2009
Make 'Em Laugh, Girls
This column first appeared in The Canberra Times on 25 February 2008. Rebel Wilson wrote to me to say how pleased she was to be mentioned in the story - and that she'd been considered (and turned down) for a role in the American Kath & Kim. Maybe they should have used her... because it turned out to be a critical and ratings disaster.
You know those moments when you can’t stop laughing uncontrollably? There you are at a funeral, a meditation class, or a budget meeting with the board of directors, when suddenly a silly moment infiltrates your mind from a three-month-old episode of Newstopia or Little Britain. It was funny enough when you saw it, but now it has matured, taking on such unbelievable, incredible hilarity that you are overcome with chortles.
I have just the solution: Small Wonder. This, for those fortunate enough not to know, was one of those truly dreadful family sitcoms of the eighties. The premise: the scientist father of a wholesome family builds a robot in the shape of a six-year-old girl. The family pretends that she is the daughter, and her robotic behaviour is presumably explained away as the result of bad acting classes. Most of the laughs came from her none-too-human behaviour. Actually... no. They came from an overly generous laugh track.
In one scene, for example, they want to move a cupboard. Using her robot strength, she lifts it. Cue laugh track. They tell her to put it down. She puts it down. Cue laugh track. Cue cries of “What’s so funny?” from living rooms around the world. Cue the off switch. (I didn’t have a remote-control back then, but I’m certain that it was invented just for this show.)
When I’m about to burst out laughing at an inappropriate moment, I think of a scene from Small Wonder. It takes away all desire to laugh. I’m told that some of the series can now be seen on YouTube, which is great, because I’ve finally discovered a practical use for it.
I need a show like this. Like most people, I am easily amused by certain things that most people would find rather uninteresting. When people from overseas casually use Australianisms in their usual accents, I find it very funny. Of course, that makes perfect sense. When someone says “we’ve got heaps of time” or “how’s it hanging?” in a Canadian or a Belgian accent, I’m sure you’ll agree, there’s something comically unusual about that. Right? (Please say yes.)
Also amusing: a pretty girl with a false moustache. Now that's funny! There’s probably something Freudian about that, but I can’t help it. Sienna Miller in those two scenes from Casanova, doing the least convincing cross-dressing since Priscilla? I still laugh at that. Gwyneth Paltrow dressing in drag for Shakespeare in Love? Um... strangely, I didn't find that funny, which says something about Gwyneth’s overall blandness.
And you know what else I find funny? Women in general (except maybe Gwyneth). The things they do are hilarious! And they say we blokes are the crazy ones? Hysterical!
Which is why I’m surprised that female comedians aren’t taken more seriously. (Or funnily. Look, you know what I mean.) Nature has made them funny, but they still can’t get a break.
Take Saturday Night Live, the show that has discovered most of America’s top comedians over the past 33 years, from Bill Murray to Will Ferrell. Yet while this is a show that leads average-looking men to major movie stardom (even Adam Sandler, for heaven’s sake!), the women have gone on to something else. I’m afraid I don’t know what. Ever heard of Molly Shannon, Cheri Oteri or Ana Gasteyer? They were NOT “token females”. They were among the show’s most popular cast members in their day. Yet while you’ve probably heard of Rob Schneider (oh dear), you might not know those women.
Fortunately, Shannon will be playing Kath in the U.S. version of Kath & Kim (with Selma Blair, the “other woman” of countless romantic comedies, as her obnoxious daughter). In Australia, Kath & Kim reminds that at least some female comedians are doing very well, thank you very much. Indeed, Tina Fey seems to have found a cure for the Saturday Night Live women’s curse with her critically acclaimed sitcom 30 Rock, even if nobody watches it.
“Women aren’t funny,” some bozo in the industry once said. Funnily enough, many women seem to agree. They are usually the serious ones at school, letting the boys do the jokes and silliness. The Chaser team doesn’t have any women, though not for want of trying. Monty Python had no women, though they hired Carol Cleveland to play all the good-looking females. (Except for the episode where she wore a false moustache. She was hilarious in that one!)
But why do most female radio announcers just act as foils for the funny men? Why do female comedians go unnoticed? And what’s the story with Thank God You’re Here? With all the female comedians out there (witness the Melbourne Comedy Festival next month), every episode has three guys and a girl (who is usually a radio announcer). Except for the special season finales, when it’s four guys and a girl. Yet if you watch the antics of Cal Wilson, Rebel Wilson or Julia Zemiro on that show, you realise what you might never have noticed at school: women can be really funny.
And those ones don’t even need moustaches!
You know those moments when you can’t stop laughing uncontrollably? There you are at a funeral, a meditation class, or a budget meeting with the board of directors, when suddenly a silly moment infiltrates your mind from a three-month-old episode of Newstopia or Little Britain. It was funny enough when you saw it, but now it has matured, taking on such unbelievable, incredible hilarity that you are overcome with chortles.
I have just the solution: Small Wonder. This, for those fortunate enough not to know, was one of those truly dreadful family sitcoms of the eighties. The premise: the scientist father of a wholesome family builds a robot in the shape of a six-year-old girl. The family pretends that she is the daughter, and her robotic behaviour is presumably explained away as the result of bad acting classes. Most of the laughs came from her none-too-human behaviour. Actually... no. They came from an overly generous laugh track.
In one scene, for example, they want to move a cupboard. Using her robot strength, she lifts it. Cue laugh track. They tell her to put it down. She puts it down. Cue laugh track. Cue cries of “What’s so funny?” from living rooms around the world. Cue the off switch. (I didn’t have a remote-control back then, but I’m certain that it was invented just for this show.)
When I’m about to burst out laughing at an inappropriate moment, I think of a scene from Small Wonder. It takes away all desire to laugh. I’m told that some of the series can now be seen on YouTube, which is great, because I’ve finally discovered a practical use for it.
I need a show like this. Like most people, I am easily amused by certain things that most people would find rather uninteresting. When people from overseas casually use Australianisms in their usual accents, I find it very funny. Of course, that makes perfect sense. When someone says “we’ve got heaps of time” or “how’s it hanging?” in a Canadian or a Belgian accent, I’m sure you’ll agree, there’s something comically unusual about that. Right? (Please say yes.)
Also amusing: a pretty girl with a false moustache. Now that's funny! There’s probably something Freudian about that, but I can’t help it. Sienna Miller in those two scenes from Casanova, doing the least convincing cross-dressing since Priscilla? I still laugh at that. Gwyneth Paltrow dressing in drag for Shakespeare in Love? Um... strangely, I didn't find that funny, which says something about Gwyneth’s overall blandness.
And you know what else I find funny? Women in general (except maybe Gwyneth). The things they do are hilarious! And they say we blokes are the crazy ones? Hysterical!
Which is why I’m surprised that female comedians aren’t taken more seriously. (Or funnily. Look, you know what I mean.) Nature has made them funny, but they still can’t get a break.
Take Saturday Night Live, the show that has discovered most of America’s top comedians over the past 33 years, from Bill Murray to Will Ferrell. Yet while this is a show that leads average-looking men to major movie stardom (even Adam Sandler, for heaven’s sake!), the women have gone on to something else. I’m afraid I don’t know what. Ever heard of Molly Shannon, Cheri Oteri or Ana Gasteyer? They were NOT “token females”. They were among the show’s most popular cast members in their day. Yet while you’ve probably heard of Rob Schneider (oh dear), you might not know those women.
Fortunately, Shannon will be playing Kath in the U.S. version of Kath & Kim (with Selma Blair, the “other woman” of countless romantic comedies, as her obnoxious daughter). In Australia, Kath & Kim reminds that at least some female comedians are doing very well, thank you very much. Indeed, Tina Fey seems to have found a cure for the Saturday Night Live women’s curse with her critically acclaimed sitcom 30 Rock, even if nobody watches it.
“Women aren’t funny,” some bozo in the industry once said. Funnily enough, many women seem to agree. They are usually the serious ones at school, letting the boys do the jokes and silliness. The Chaser team doesn’t have any women, though not for want of trying. Monty Python had no women, though they hired Carol Cleveland to play all the good-looking females. (Except for the episode where she wore a false moustache. She was hilarious in that one!)
But why do most female radio announcers just act as foils for the funny men? Why do female comedians go unnoticed? And what’s the story with Thank God You’re Here? With all the female comedians out there (witness the Melbourne Comedy Festival next month), every episode has three guys and a girl (who is usually a radio announcer). Except for the special season finales, when it’s four guys and a girl. Yet if you watch the antics of Cal Wilson, Rebel Wilson or Julia Zemiro on that show, you realise what you might never have noticed at school: women can be really funny.
And those ones don’t even need moustaches!
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