Polite People are So Boring

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There’s something wrong with journalists today. Just look at Krishnan Guru-Murthy’s last interview with Quentin Tarantino.

 It began with some amiable but rather suburban exchanges. Then Murthy asked, “How can you be so sure that there is no link between enjoying movie violence and enjoying real violence?” Not the first time that’s been asked, admittedly. But this time, Tarantino erupted into a spluttering rage. “I refuse your question,” he spat. “I’m not your slave and you’re not my master!” The square-headed Guru should have been roused for battle.

But Murthy wibbled  “I’m just…  I – I ca – can’t make you answer anything!”

“I refuse” brawled Tarantino.

“Th – I was just asking you why, th – that’s fine…” said Murthy in a high-pitched voice whilst fumbling with his papers; presumably looking for his broadcasting integrity back on page one.

 Just a few moments previously, the amply-chinned director had been celebrating the “dialogue about slavery” that had arisen out of Django Unchained’s release. But he foamed at the mouth when asked to contribute to the debate that his films so ardently fuel. John Humphreys would have wasted no time in pointing out his hypocrisy, and probably would have rephrased the question into something louder and more antagonizing.  

 Once upon a time, journalists were allowed to bring their personalities to work. Now, delicately scripted and diplomatic Q&As have become popular. It all makes me rather teary-eyed when I realize that one day David Dimbleby will retire and there will be only a handful of gutsy, cantankerous old crones left in broadcasting who dare to make their subjects hot under the collar.

Of course, asking direct, sharp and searching questions of a carefully primed guest does not always win admirers, and I have friends who think of the old guard as arrogant, aggressive oafs. But the more docile breed of reporters, clutching a woolly microphone and wearing a smile that exactly replicates the impression given by a NICE biscuit couldn’t get a straight answer out of a ruler; even if they gave it the biscuit.

With broadcasters like this, in twenty years time the Today program will sound like Loose Women chatting over breakfast. Dispatches will look like Newsround. Jon Snow will turn into Jon Scattered-Showers with all the colour and charisma of John Major. Who then will be firing off the questions that pierce their victims’ smokescreen? Who will be probing their evasive subjects with the dexterity and menace of an airport security guard?

 The two ages of broadcasting could be witnessed passing each other recently when a young journalist tottered up to Jeremy Paxman as he was leaving the BBC and trilled, “Do you have any comments about the Newsnight investigation?”

“No,” he replied. “Have you?”

The poor girl quavered lamely on, but soon her prey had left for lunch and her cameraman would go no further. Paxman called out some veteran advice over his shoulder that we could all take heed of: “Keep trying – I would.” 

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banks

Geroge Banks Esq.

… have I got news for you?

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Whilst watching the BAFTA’s the other night I was woefully watching the Loved and Lost montage when a familiar face popped up – that of Michael Winner, the film director whose deep tan and startlingly white hair are of such contrast that he resembles a squashy Mr. Whippy. Or rather, resembled a Mr. Whippy, since the Michael Winner has passed away, as I discovered after a swift google. I really thought at first they might have put it in as a joke – a very bad taste joke, I might add, but not in Ricky Gervais territory. But it turned out the poor man had in fact died, and did so on the 21st of January. And I completely missed it.

You see, the news is rather like this nowadays. If you blink you’ll miss it. Maybe on that day I gave my newsfeed an all-too-cursory glance, and perhaps I watched Dave instead of the news, and perchance my dad forgot to pick up the paper the next day. And the death of this British catch-phrase colossus completely passed me by.

This is not the only occasion I’ve discovered a blank void where the news should be. Last year I was speaking to a university friend of mine over the phone and mentioned Anders Breivik, whose trial was then being followed live online, months after the terrible shootings. But she innocently remarked that she’d never heard of him. The Norway killing spree, I said, a nation in mourning; a lone assassin acting against perceived ‘Islamist Marxism’? But she pleaded ignorance of the whole case. It was absolutely bizarre.

One would have expected that by August 2012, over a YEAR since the worst mass killings in Norway since World War II, someone would have turned to my friend at work, in church, in the pub, and said, ‘I can’t believe what’s happened in Norway,’ or, ‘Did you see that Breivik is pleading sane?’ If I felt out of the loop for missing Michael Winner, how much more of a peasant must she have felt?

The thing is, the news is now so easy it’s cheap. It’s so quickly spoon-fed to us, then quickly surpassed by something else, by the time it gets back to our lips via our brains it’s already cold. It’s easy to avoid the serious stuff; we can ignore the news that we don’t find interesting; thus why any news site’s Top 10 stories are always populated with celebrities. We can manipulate the significance of the outside world by choosing what we surround ourselves with.

And therefore, when it comes to talking about the news, since we don’t know or care anything about Police Commissioner Elections, or the political crisis in Tunisia, it doesn’t come up. It is telling that it took me some time to dig out some significant world news that hadn’t occurred in the last 36 hours, or to remember any.

There are many more issues that need to be discussed about contemporary news dissemination. But alas, as I write, little #RIP’s are popping up everywhere, and now it is the wonderful, eternal uncle, Richard Briers, who has passed away. The irony is I’m sure all my friends will hear about this. But will we hear about the thousands of unnecessary deaths that occurred in the NHS last year? Will we talk about North Korea’s nuclear plans? Perhaps not. Perhaps it’s time we started behaving like the news wasn’t everywhere around us everyday. And then, maybe, we might take notice of it.

 

 

 

 

Image: http://www.rarusnet.com/product_info.php?products_id=14017

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Replication, Replication, Replication

Mr. Wonka enraged by his competitor's thievery

Illustration by Faith Jacques in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (Geroge Allen and Unwin: 1980)

Outside Tesco on Wednesday I noticed an advert for new Aero Balloons. They are little chocolate spheres with honeycomb centres. Sound familiar? That’s because they are Maltesers, by any other name. I remember feeling a similar wariness when I saw that Cadburys were producing their Bubbly range including, with no small measure of cheek, a Bubbly Mint bar. Is that not a mint Aero, one might cry? Likewise, when Galaxy produced their Ripple bar many a moon ago, a cursory glance would have told you that it was simply a Twirl in a cosmic themed disguise. What happened to accepting no imitations?

Choice is choice, and perhaps it’s fun that we can have exactly the gooey confectionary we want slathered in exactly the right type of chocolate. But all this replication bothers me. We have the same products under a different name everywhere we look.

In some retail areas, this is simply the way competition works. In technology, for example, the market leaders adjust, update, and turn out generation after generation of domestically trained computerized squares for your personal use. Each competitor tweaks their offering as per the tastes of their target market.  

But in other areas, like music, copycat styles produce rather a malaise in the listeners market. If you don’t like urban, rock, grunge, teen-boy pop, you can just enjoy the middle-of-the-road inoffensive guitar stylings of Boyce Avenue. If Bon Iver is a bit too ‘out there’ you can listen to Birdy, or Kina Grannis, or Gavin Mikhail. Vitamin String Quartet and Rhythms Del Mundo have made their living out of turning all songs by all artists into one niche sound. And of course, at the bottom of the music gene pile, X-factor winners and male voice choirs have capitalized on decent music in the worst way possible.

The same pattern is noticeable in TV and film too. ITV shoplifted from BBC’s The Paradise with more early 20th century retail revolutionizing in Mr. Selfridge. In the cinema last year you could enjoy the lighthearted Snow-White comedy Mirror Mirror or the darker adventure, Snow White and the Huntsman. And in case you’d forgotten the Spiderman films of 2002, 2004 and 2007, Columbia and Marvel decided in 2012 the time was ripe for a new Spiderman- this time, The Amazing Spider-Man. The hyphen makes all the difference.  

However, parody and genre-crossing have often birthed exciting developments. Not the Nine O’Clock News exploded the seriousness of solemn broadcasting. A spate of ska-punk covers of classic pop hits in the late 90’s brought popularity to a previously sub-mainstream genre. A brilliant spoof exposes trite formats – one word: Airplane! And where would we be without Time Out – the most obvious copy of Kit-Kat to ever arrive sans-lawsuit onto our shelves.

The way I see it, there are three options. 1, Forget originality – when does the next gritty crime drama start? 2, Go subversive – Mock the week, and mock comedy panel shows too. The underground poetry scene is calling. 3, Go uncompromising, and get creative. Why can’t you do better?  

 

rooms by the sea

Rooms by the Sea, Edward Hopper, 1951

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