September 15, 2012
"

The Duchess of Cambridge is topless in the French magazine Closer, and it is too close. The Duchess is no feminist, or anything like one. She is a semi-silent, semi-saintly doll (the recent photographs of her in a headscarf touring the Far East invite comparison with plastic Madonnas), who in her engagement interview clutched her husband’s hand and called him “a good teacher”, as the feminist clock tick-tocked in the wrong direction.

She is a reactionary figure, and this is a reactionary crime, even if the editor-in-chief of Closer – a self-serving monster called Laurence Pieau – calls it great fun. “What we see is a young couple, who have just got married, who are very much in love, and who are splendid,” Pieau said. “She’s a real 21st-century princess,” Pieau said. “It’s a young woman who is topless, the same as you can see on any beach in France or around the world.” Why couldn’t she just tell the truth and admit that Kate’s breasts are profitable, easily converted into gold? Any defence of these photographs is nonsense, including the tired press freedom argument. Poor press freedom, wanting to be free for Kate’s breasts, or Harry’s bottom, and not more interesting things; the Windsor family is right to sue. We bought the clothes. We do not own the flesh.

Perhaps the most offensive thing is that it will do the monarchy no harm, because it is a love of sorts. (What her controlling husband will say to this mistake is another thing.) Enjoy the photographs, or hate them, or both; they will only add to her myth. The worst nightmare for monarchy is indifference. Tabloid tales and tawdry soap opera do not diminish it, if other family members are more stable, or too old to take their clothes off, or to play strip pool. Fascination, no matter the vessel, no matter how squalid, is essential.

It is grating to ascribe victimhood to a woman so privileged, especially now, when other victims are many, and growing, but she is a victim. The government’s assault on the poor is ever more vicious, even as the coverage of Kate would melt even Edward Longshanks’ heart. The London Evening Standard’s front-page headline on Thursday was “Kate’s kindness”, accompanied by a photograph of the Duchess sitting with a child who has leukemia; the next step is obviously to imbue her with healing powers, like the old monarchs, who “cured” with touch. Her trajectory whizzes on to who knows where. No one can live for long in a euphoric dream, as Auden wrote. It will end badly.

"

— Tanya Gold on Kate Middleton

July 23, 2012
"

“Visiting athletes enjoying their first taste of an East End curry have just discovered a new purpose for their Olympic Rings!” That was the tweet that started it all. Fans of me and my comedy work will know I am an inescapable presence on the Twitter social networking site and have more than 900,000 followers. It’s not an ego thing. Drip-feeding a few gags every 20 minutes helps me to maintain my customer base and the discipline of being humorous in 140 characters or fewer forces me to develop different kinds of comedy from the multi-award-winning, long-form, idea-driven monologues I am best known for. When you’ve won two British Comedy awards, a Bafta and a Chortle award all in the same year, it’s easy to rest on your laurels and I find that grappling with Twitter’s stylistic limitations helps me keep my wits sharp and my comedy muscle match-fit.

The throwaway Olympic Ring gag isn’t among my best work, admittedly, drawing as it does a simple and direct comedic comparison between the Olympic Rings themselves and the perhaps inflamed anuses of visiting Olympians who might perhaps have gone out for a curry in the East End of London, maybe around Brick Lane, and who might then perhaps have ordered a dish that was somewhat hotter than advisable, perhaps leading to soreness later when defecating. I’m not saying this did happen or ever will happen. It probably didn’t and probably never will. What I am saying is that if it did happen, and the information that it had happened were somehow to leak out into the public domain, then there would be more than ample opportunity for we satirists to use the word “ring” in both its Olympic and its rectal sense.

Anyway, the gag, which I made on the Twitter network three days ago, wasn’t intended to be analysed to death. It was just supposed to be a bit of spur-of-the-moment fun, something to keep my fans in the loop and my follower numbers up until the next pithy bon mot, although I noticed David Baddiel had re-tweeted it to Jonathan Ross, who in turn had re-tweeted it to United Nations secretary general Ban Ki-moon, who in turn had re-tweeted it to Ricky Gervais, who had then sent it to all his followers, without clear attribution, sadly. But what I could not have anticipated was the Olympic ring of fire that the gag would cause to surround me over the next 48 hours.

I wasn’t aware of the extent to which unauthorised use of key Olympic phrases is being policed during the Games this year. Nearly 300 “Advertisement Enforcement Officers” are on hand to ensure that only the Olympics’ official sponsors get sole commercial use of a list of Olympics-associated phrases so extensive it even includes “summer”, “bronze” and “London”.

Astonishingly, an independent butcher, Dennis Spurr of Weymouth, has already been told to remove a sign showing his bespoke sausages in the shape of Olympic rings. Had I known this, I perhaps wouldn’t have been so surprised when, on Friday at 5am, a team of a dozen Olympic Advertisement Enforcement Officers dressed in matching McDonald’s- and Coca-Cola-branded NBC suits battered down my door and pinned me up against a bookcase while my wife and children looked on in horror.

Once the hoo-hah had died down and I had tweeted my near-million followers to tell them I was OK, we all sat around the conservatory table with a pot of tea. While the Olympic Advertisement Enforcement Officers regretted their heavy- handed entrance, it transpired that the problem was that there was already a precedent for action against an Olympic Rings/anus comparison.

Last week, a cheeky chemist in Truro, Paul Deakley, put up a humorous handmade sign, written in marker pen, saying: “This summer, why not soothe your Olympic Rings with Anusol.” Even though the haemorrhoid ointment manufacturers had not asked Deakley to advertise their product in any manner at all, let alone such a controversial one, it was decided that Deakley’s business, which is not an official Olympic sponsor, was profiting by association with the Olympics. (Obviously I hadn’t known this Deakley guy had already done an Olympic Rings/anus gag, and if I had I wouldn’t have done mine, but it is difficult for professional comics to stay ahead of the pack now that any amateur clown has access to Twitter, online blogs, cardboard and marker pens.) But either way, Deakley’s Olympic Ring joke counts as “ambush marketing” and it’s just the sort of thing the Olympic Advertisement Enforcement Officers are cracking down on.

“But hang on,” I said. “My Olympic Rings tweet was just a joke. It had no commercial application.” “Well, we would argue that it did,” offered the lead Olympic Advertisement Enforcement Officer, Leslie Macintosh, and asked me what I thought the point of my Twitter feed was.

Without thinking it through, I answered: “Well, to flex my comedy muscle and to maintain links with the people who come and see me live and buy all my DVDs.”

“Exactly,” she said. “So in other words your appropriation of the Olympic symbol served the purpose of furthering your own business interests. We’re not monsters. We can’t, and wouldn’t, stop an ordinary member of the public using the phrase ‘Olympic rings’ to another member of the public, even if they were using it as a euphemism for anuses, but the fact that you can generate increased income by using the phrase means you are in contravention of our sponsors’ agreements.”

I packed a bag and said goodbye to my children. Leslie had explained the official questioning process might take some days. “I don’t understand,” said my son through his tears. “Am I allowed to say ‘Olympics’ or not?”

“Yes,” I told him. “I think you are allowed to say ‘Olympics’. But I’m not sure that I’m allowed to quote you saying the word ‘Olympics’ in a piece I might write for money. It’s all very confusing.”

I spent the next 48 hours waiting to be processed, sitting on a stone bench in a damp cell in Newham. By the end of the ordeal I had Olympic Ring problems of my own but realised it wouldn’t be appropriate to tell my million-plus Twitter followers anything about that!

"

- Stewart Lee

You wouldn’t believe the amount of people that don’t realise he’s joking. He doesn’t even have a Twitter account, for one thing.

(via thehellofitall)

(Source: Guardian, via thehellofitall-deactivated20121)

June 17, 2012
R.I.P Rodney King

In the early morning hours of that March 3rd, 1992, Rodney King was subjected to vicious assault at the hands of four white police officers at the side of a highway in Los Angeles. He told the Guardian, 20 years later that:

“It was like being raped, stripped of everything, being beaten near to death there on the concrete, on the asphalt. I just knew how it felt to be a slave. I felt like I was in another world.”

When the officers who beat him for no reason other than the colour of his skin were acquitted, despite video evidence of the more than fifty times the officers had hit King with their batons, King became a symbol of — and a victim of — the continuing and endemic racism in America. 

Though he struggled with alcoholism and the repercussions of the assault, he famously asked, at the height of the violence in Los Angeles “Can’t we all just get along?”.

R.I.P 1965-2012

June 13, 2012
"

If any proof were needed for church disestablishment, it is the capacity of canon lawyers to find quarrels in straws. What consenting adults do in private should be of no concern to governments, and that applies to worship as much as sex. If grownups want to dress in Tudor costume, douse babies in water, intone over the dead and do strange things with wine and wafers, it is a free country. But for a Christian sect to claim ownership of the legal definition of a human relationship is way out of order.

The Anglican church has long enjoyed a peculiar legal privilege of being able to register weddings in its own buildings. But such ritualising of a legal contract can now can take place in most stately homes. The church may moan about an offence to family tradition, but given its casual readiness to marry the absurdly young, it is hardly an ideal matrimonial counsellor. As for its complaint that gay marriage “raises the sort of problems that no one has had to address before”, it should try joining the 21st century.

The church has been on the reactionary side in almost every political and social reform of the past two centuries. It opposed popular enfranchisement, secular schooling, easier divorce and legalised homosexuality. It continues to defy the law on gender equality in respect of bishops. This may be lovably fuddy-duddy to some, but the claim to parliamentary and legal privilege is an anachronism.

The government is proposing no more than to remove what in secular and civil terms is a terminological distinction between men and women. If the church wants to make this a Thomas Becket issue, that is its affair. The issue should not condition the action of government.

"

— Simon Jenkins, in the Guardian today. Really, this is the final word on all the Church’s shit on gay marriage.

May 29, 2012
Steve Bell’s jubilee mug
Definitely getting one of these. “60 years on benefits/Never signed on”. 

Steve Bell’s jubilee mug

Definitely getting one of these. “60 years on benefits/Never signed on”. 

April 16, 2012
Charlie Brooker on top form again.

It must be awful, being a homophobe. Having to spend all that time obsessing about what gay people might be doing with their genitals. Seeing it in your mind, over and over again, in high-definition close-up. Bravely you masturbate, to make the pictures go away, but to no avail. They’re seared onto your mental membranes. Every time you close your eyes, an imaginary gay man’s imaginary penis rises from the murk, bowing ominously in your direction, sensing your discomfort. Laughing. Mocking. Possibly even winking. How dare they, this man and his penis? How dare they do this to you?

Obviously you can’t fight the big gay penis in your head. It has no physical form, so you can’t get a grip on it, much as you’d like to. You’d love to grab it and throttle it until it splutters its last. That might bring you closure. But no. So you do the next best thing. You condemn homosexuals in the real world. Maybe if they could just stop all this “being gay” business for 10 minutes, you’d get some respite from that scary headcock. It might shrivel away completely, leaving nothing behind. Except maybe a nice bit of bum.

No, dammit! Forget I said that! No bum either!

(Source: thistmblrisbetterthanyourlife, via hemingwaywallflowerperkspunch)

April 14, 2012
"They keep saying, we have to have a conversation about race in this country. Well, this is the conversation. We’ll see if it plays out, if it makes a difference in terms of not just the hate crime thing, but the law. It’s not like it is on television. The police are ill-trained and they’re corrupt, and they’re protected, and that’s what they do. All over. I don’t mean all police, but the system itself is protective. So yeah, they’re going to lie. [George Zimmerman’s] father calls up, the ex-magistrate? He calls up. Then the state prosecutor comes to the police station to talk and the lead detective wants to arrest the guy and he says no. And now we’re getting the demonisation of the kid. He was this, he was that, he wore his pants down."

— Toni Morrison, on the Trayvon Martin shooting and institutionalised racism.

(Source: Guardian)

April 9, 2012
So what did the troll actually say?

So, I can understand why people were pleased to see Liam Stacey, the student who posted a nasty Twitter comment about Fabrice Muamba and replied in racist language to those who criticised him, go to prison for it. I can see why newspaper columnists have spent the last week cheering the sentence and the lost appeal.

What terrifies me is that people are nodding happily all over the country, pleased to see a clampdown on internet trolling at last, as if the exact content of the tweets doesn’t matter. It matters enormously. If we’re going to send someone to prison for saying something, we damn well ought to know what it is he said. Anyone who’s pleased to see a person jailed for a piece of writing, without bothering to seek out the precise words that were deemed illegal, should be ashamed of themselves.

April 8, 2012
The British Government and the Torture Flights

What the Guardian has uncovered is something that I think we all knew would eventually come out: evidence that the British Government - Jack Straw, David Miliband and Tony Blair especially, knew of torture. The Guardian found that and more - they found evidence that the British Government wasn’t just complicit in CIA torture flights, turning a blind eye as the CIA refueled their planes at Manchester Airport, but that the British Government themselves sanctioned and even initiated torture flights to Libya and Afghanistan. 

I can’t really add anything to the article save that I can’t describe how sick I felt reading it, and that the victim’s case cannot be allowed to be heard in one of Cameron’s proposed closed Star Chamber courts.

March 1, 2012
How to spot lousy theatre

In the light of yesterdays post, I thought I might bring a recent Guardian blog to your attention. 

1. Any play in which a character aggressively masturbates within two feet of the front row.

2. The moment a child emerges from an upstairs room to describe, in graphic detail, his or her bad dreams.

3. Any site-specific show that seeks to intimidate the spectators by asking them to pose as concentration-camp victims or inmates of an institution to be pursued down darkened corridors by chainsaw-wielding figures.

4. Plays that treat sad divas (Judy Garland, Maria Callas) less as specific examples of showbiz misfortune than as tragic emblems of suffering humanity.

5. Plays that invoke memories of Fred West, Josef Fritzl, the Soham murders or the abduction of Madeleine McCann as an excuse for titillation without offering any compensating psychological illumination.

6. Any revival of a period comedy in which it takes approximately seven-and-a-half minutes to get to the delivery of the author’s first line.

7. Productions that start with an ear-splitting burst of pop music to announce their urgent contemporaneity.

8. Plays in which a run-down, travelling circus becomes a metaphor for cultural decay.

9. Family dramas in which parental sexual abuse is saved until the denouement, and produced like a rabbit from a hat, to explain the preceding two-and-a-half hours of unrelenting misery.

10. Any play in which defecation is used to cover up dramatic defects.

7:40pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZDZu3yHILdfF
  
Filed under: Theatre The Guardian