One of you will be fired

OK, so I've got this great idea for a TV show. A bunch of hopefuls have to compete for a job by undertaking a variety of soul-destroying tasks, with unsuccessful candidates sacked for our viewing pleasure. What's that? Already been done?

No worries, I'm sure GMTV will buy it anyway. After all, they attempted to capture some of the X-Factor's bottled lightning with its own talent contest - Number One Family.

Although maybe it's best if we don't dwell on that. Winners Beardsmith didn't exactly set the charts alight - not sure whether anyone mounted a Facebook campaign to stall their assault on the charts. They were clearly the judges' favourite, and let's face facts, no-one knows talent like Bernie Nolan.

What's not to love about GMTV, it's the televisual equivalent of Meals on Wheels. All those soft pastels, gently animated weather maps, and charming emails from viewers in Norfolk. Nothing too shocking or confrontational, just warmly condescending presenters and a sense that everything's just a few years out-of-date, like the yellowed newspaper pages you discover when you lift the carpet in an old house.

Hang on a minute. It looks like they've already got their own Apprentice knock-off. But here's the twist - they're using their own presenters as the contestants. You see, budgets are tight at GMTV, and somehow they've got to find a way of making the show even cheaper.

So the axe is going to fall on two presenters. But who will it be? According to one leading paper (no prizes for guessing which one), they're all twitching with anticipation as they wait to discover who's for the chop.

The news story suggests that Ben is safe, since he's a 'massive face on the channel' (although he could just try sitting back a bit), and new girl Emma Crosby is pretty in a 'Young Conservatives' sort of a way so she'll be OK too. But the rest of them are getting on a bit and have the collective charisma of a damp Warburton's loaf. It's anyone's guess really.

I'm sure some critics will moan that it's inappropriate for the public to be told that redundancies are about to be made before the employees find out what's what. But they don't understand how TV drama works.

If GMTV really wants to make the most of this, they'll open the phone lines and start compiling highlights tapes for each of the presenters. Lorraine Kelly can even be on standby to offer consolation and platitudes, and maybe they could rope Brian Friedman in to coach them on giving their presenting style a bit of pizazz.

And since The Apprentice has been pushed back to the summer this year, they could get Sir Alan in for a quick interview, then get him to do the firing live on air. Now you tell me that wouldn't be worth waking up for?

All that glitters...

Coming soon to a cinema near you - Precious: Based on the Novel "Push" by Sapphire. Aside from its rather complicated title (engineered so that no-one would mistake it for the similarly named Dakota Fanning sci-fi thriller), the film is garnering rave reviews for its powerful central performance by Gabourey Sidibe as Claireece "Precious" Jones, an obese, illiterate 16-year old subjected to a life of rape and abuse at the hands of her parents.

Perhaps more surprising, is the fact that one of the other stand-out performances is delivered by Mariah Carey, a woman whose film debut was so bad her equity card should have been retracted. Frumped up and toned down, Carey has put the diva on hold and turned in a sensitive portrayal of a street-smart social worker. And it's not unfeasible to think that an Oscar nomination may even be on the horizon (looks over shoulder for four horsemen).

This has obviously sent a ripple of jealousy coursing throughout Divadom, with Mariah's peers regarding her success with envious eyes. Top of the list is Jennifer Lopez, who was first a dancer, then a reputable actress, then a ropey actress, then a singer, then a fashion designer, then a parfumier, and is now an actress again. Her CV is littered with more turkeys than Bernard Matthews' backyard, but she has, on occasion, managed a few half-decent performances.

Her 2006 film El Cantante, which told the story of the King of Salsa, Hector Lavoe, is one such film. J-Lo got some of the best reviews of her career for her role as Hector's fiery wife Puchi, although as the star of Anaconda and Gigli that can't have been too much of a stretch.

Speaking with characteristic modesty to Latina Magazine, Jenny from the block has shared her belief that she deserved some golden, man-shaped baubles for her efforts: "I feel like I had that [Oscar worthy role]... but I don't even think the academy members saw it. It was funny; when the Oscars were on... I was sitting there with my twins--I couldn't have been happier--but I was like, 'How dope would it have been if I would've won the Oscar and been here in my hospital bed accepting the award?'"

But don't shed a tear for the ego-driven multi-hyphenate, she knows her time will come - "Things will happen when they're supposed to happen. I have the utmost faith and no doubt that it will one day, when and if it's supposed to. You can't get all crazy twisted over it."

She's absolutely right. But if you really want to see crazy-twisted, let's make sure there's a camera trained on her all night on March 7th, just in case Mariah gets her moment on the stage of the Kodak Theatre. Now wouldn't that be 'dope'?

From bad to worse

Regular readers of this blog will know that p0pvulture has something of a love-hate relationship with the Daily Mail. I love the fact that it aggregates a whole host of celebrity and entertainment stories, but lament the sneery, bullying tone it adopts when reporting them.

It's the paper's innate sense of superiority that troubles me, even more than its loathsome xenophobia or fanatical dedication to a Britain that only ever existed in Enid Blyton's most halucinogenic cheese dreams.

Thankfully though, there's a delicious irony in the fact that its tone seems to be growing ever more supercilious, even as the quality of its reporting spirals irrevocably down the drain. Three examples in today's edition really caught my eye.

The first was a story about Gemma Arterton who has spoken out about the way Brits love to build up home-grown talent, only to knock it down at the first sign of success. Let's be honest, the woman has a point. So how does the Mail trail the feature in its margin?


Not getting off to the best of starts then. Addressing Gemma's claims, the Mail says "According to her, we simply don't like pretty girls who do well." Perhaps they're going to disprove her theory with an even-handed approach to the subject? "Obviously being a woman of both beauty and ability can be a burden. But Miss Arterton, it seems, is confident she can handle the pressure."

I'd say that was a 'no'.

OK, so Gemma's young and hot - she can take care of herself. What about Sylvester Stallone? The 63-year old film-maker recently broke his neck while filming the action movie The Expendables. He told FHM Magazine "Actually, my fight with Stone Cold Steve Austin was so vicious that I ended up getting a hairline fracture in my neck. I'm not joking...I had to have a very serious operation afterwards. I now have a metal plate in my neck."

That all sounds pretty painful. The Mail's headline?


But it's not all just snide remarks and holier-than-thou editorial. Sometimes it's just the laziest journalism on record. Today's finest non-story is a 'before they were famous' piece about everyone's favourite spinster songbird Susan Boyle. Prepare yourself now, this is some exciting stuff...

In a Daily Mail showbiz exclusive, the paper breathlessly announced that a woman called Tori Graham found half of someone who may have been Susan Boyle, in a photo that was taken at Edinburgh Waverley station in 2002. This is what the Pulitzer was invented for.


To paraphrase Oscar Wilde - we are all in the gutter press, but some of us are looking up the skirts of the stars.

Sherlock Homo?

As Avatar passed the $1 billion mark in just seventeen days, it's easy to forget that there's another blockbuster doing brisk trade in your local multiplex (two if you count Alvin and the Chipmunks: The Squeakquel). The ex-Mr. Madonna's Sherlock Holmes managed the biggest Christmas Day opening of all time, and has been packing them in ever since.

But despite the film's huge success at the box office, there are concerns that there may not be a sequel, thanks to the suggestion that Holmes and Watson knew a thing or two about 'packing them in'. Whilst on the publicity circuit for the Victorian-era action thriller, Robert Downey Jr and his co-star Jude Law frustrated studio executives by playing up their own burgeoning bromance, so much so that there were concerns that it might put off some more traditional movie-goers.

It didn't help matters when RDJ appeared on 'The Late Show With David Letterman' and suggested that the characters were engaged in 'the-love-that-dare-not-speak-its name-so-leaves-obvious-clues-instead'. The exchange went as follows:

Letterman: “Now, from what I recall, there was always the suggestion that there was a different level of relationship between Sherlock and Dr. Watson.”
Downey: “You mean that they were homos…”
Letterman: “In a manner of speaking, yes…that they were closer than just out solving crimes. It’s sort of touched on in the film, but he has a fiancée, so we’re not certain. Is that right?”
Downey: “She could be a beard. Who knows?”
Paul Shaffer: “What are they, complete screamers? Is that what you’re saying?”
Downey: “Why don’t we observe the clip and let the audience decide if he just happens to be a very butch homosexual. Which there are many. And I’m proud to know certain of them.”

All very chuckle-worthy, I'm sure you'll agree. But Andrea Plunket isn't laughing - she owns the US copyright to the characters and has said that she will not allow any follow-up films to be made if Holmes takes Watson up the Bakerloo.

She said “I hope this is just an example of Mr. Downey's black sense of humour. It would be drastic, but I would withdraw permission for more films to be made if they feel that is a theme they wish to bring out in the future."

There's no doubt that Robert was joking with Letterman about Sherlock's proclivities, but there's an interesting point here. Guy Ritchie's film is not the first to observe the symbiotic, borderline co-dependent relationship between the sleuth and his sidekick - so it's not as though he's adding a subtext that wasn't there all along.

As attitudes and morals change with time, sometimes the significance of a word, phrase or scenario can evolve accordingly, affording readers and viewers alike a fresh insight into the context of the characters. That there are few literary examples of the gay experience dating from Victorian England is not to say that there was no such thing. Like most elements of human sexuality in that era, it simply wasn't spoken or written about explicitly.

Instead, writers relied upon hints, clues and inferences. You know, the sort of thing that Sherlock would have picked up in an instant...

Now for the talent section...

Annoying Swedish dance act Basshunter looks like a thin Tony Hadley and is happy getting his kit off. Well, I suppose he has to be good at something. After all, he makes the kind of music you only usually hear while a gypsy is flinging you round a waltzer and smoking a roll-up. He's dressed up and looks rather dapper, he even managed some wordplay, which always sounds smarter when someone's able to do it in a second language. Stephanie Beecham licked her lips as he walked in, maybe she's just checking she can still feel them.

Our next guest is Katya Ivanova, whose sole claim to fame was screwing a man old enough to be her ancestor. She small and perky, I don't think we'll be seeing her on Question Time anytime soon. Wonder what she'll say when people ask her what she does?

Good lord, it's Vinnie Jones. I guess the Hollywood career isn't going so well after all. He's done it all, football, music, movies, talk shows. Seriously, I'm not making that up - you can just imagine the witty banter, it was like QI but with more laughs. Many of his film roles have seen him cast as a mute, here's hoping he demonstrates the 'method' during his time in the house.

Lock the doors and burn the place down

Say 'hello' to Sisqo, who managed to shift six million copies of his debut album off the back of a really annoying novelty record. Who's next for the house, Bob the Builder, Mr Blobby? He's come through the double doors and launched into a live performance of The Thong Song, which sounds as annoying today as it did back in 2000. That's timeless entertainment for you. He's looking forward to seeing some beautiful ladies - I do wish rappers would learn to assert their heterosexuality a little more. But then again, perhaps he needs to after lisping "I'm a little taller when I thtand on my wallet."

Here's another notch on Jordan's bedpost (which by now has been whittled down to a toothpick) - Dane Bowers. She looms over this series like a pair of mahogany zeppelins. Perhaps Dwight, Gareth and Peter are waiting behind the double doors? He's also working on a cage-fighting movie, so he and Alex will have lots to talk about. He's also denied their New Year scuffle, suggesting that Jordan is still happy to phone the papers and say any old shit in the hopes of scoring another cover story.

If you put Pete Burns and Chrissie Hynde into a blender, then scraped the pulp onto a slice of granary toast, you'd have Heidi Fleiss. She's a Hollywood madam who, according to Davina, worked in the "illegal prostitute business" (as opposed to the legal alternative?) and now works with a another bunch of dogs in Nevada. The word 'grim' seems somehow insufficient. She has sparkly cowboy boots. Stephen Baldwin greeted her with "It's been a long time" giving us more insight into his life BC.

Oh God, it's as bad as we feared

The tabloids were right. Next in it's Alex Reid, Jordan's insignificant other. He was at least smart enough to wear a jacket, and is proud of his "various TV and film" projects - presumably not the rapey ones.

Stephanie Beecham has starred in Bad Girls, so knows what it's like to be imprisoned with a bunch of shrieking ne'er-do-wells. Her Grandson calls her 'Glamma' rather than 'Grandma' - see what they did there? The four shirtless boys heralding each celeb's arrival must be a little nippy, those flaming torches will come in handy later. She's looking very well turned out, in a sensible version of Nicola T's outfit - i.e. a coat rather than a nighty.

"Yeah what's up - I'm Lady Sovereign, but most people call me Sov." I'm sure that's not all they call her. She likes appearing in photos sneering through her hands, and her single 'Love Me or Hate Me' (shouldn't be too hard to choose) sold a million copies. She shuns the celebrity world, so made great career move by going on a reality show with 'celebrity' in the title. The audience are rather kindly chanting "chav chav chav" at her, thus setting the tone for tonight. She just looked in a mirror and said "Oh gosh!" - not very council really.

Who's going in?

Given that this is the final year of Big Brother I thought it would be worthwhile writing a live blog as we're introduced to the willing lab rats who'll be making their home in Hertfordshire for the next few weeks.

The press has been filled with stories already about who might be going in, with names ranging from MC Hammer and Pamela Anderson to Jedward and Gazza. We've also been treated to stories already about Alex Reid and Dane Bowers fighting over Jordan at her New Year's Eve party prior to going in...

Davina's wearing a black sheepdog around her shoulders - hardly surprising given that temperatures are lower than the profile of some of the rumoured housemates. Time to look around the house - the kitchen's based on an autopsy room, which is apt considering the long-dead careers attempting a resurrection on the show.

Hey, here's our first housemate - it's Stephen Baldwin, who hasn't done anything of note since the mid-nineties, except find Jesus and go bankrupt. He hosts an evangelical talkshow and plans to show "the light of truth", which should give a pretty good insight into the level of coherence we can expect. Time hasn't been kind to his face - he now looks like Jon Culshaw doing an impression of Alec Baldwin.

Housemate number two is Nicola T, who was once the Sun's Page Three Idol. She's also been on WAG's Boutique and made a WAG's Workout DVD, as well as a single "out this year" - which doesn't exactly fill me with hope for her musical career. The audience are booing her, but that may just be an attempt to keep warm. She walked into the house and found Stephen Baldwin sitting reading the instructions. He looked up and greeted her as though they were meeting in a dentist's reception.

Whodunnit?

Over the last few years, Islam has turned into a convenient bogeyman for Middle Englanders. From the 'preachers of hate' who renounce western indulgences, through to girls who wish to wear a ḥijāb to school, Muslims represent a one-size-fits-all villain for guardians of Great British traditions, such as bigotry, ignorance and intolerance.

Mindful that their opinions might be considered racist, the vocal minority has astutely embraced the notion that the best form of offence is defence. This simply means that, in order to voice their noxious viewpoints, they need to play the part of innocent victim. If they can convince people that they are being persecuted or oppressed, they can give a name to their pain - in fact, they can call it any name they like.

It's a cunning bit of wordplay, but it's extraordinarily effective. So we shouldn't really be surprised that an experienced writer would feel comfortable applying the technique. Lynda La Plante, who seems to be transforming into a Spitting Image puppet of Nerys Hughes, has spoken out in an interview with the Telegraph, and opted to blame young Muslims for her lack of work.

She believes that the BBC is in the grip of an obsession with 'political correctness' (another imaginary but shadowy threat to our very existence), and as a consequence, is overlooking the 25 years she's spent trotting out the same three plots again and again.

"If you were to go to the BBC and say to them, ‘Listen, Lynda La Plante’s written a new drama, or I have this little Muslim boy who's just written one’, they’d say: ‘Oh, we’d like to see his script.’ If my name were Usafi Iqbadal and I was 19, then they’d probably bring me in and talk.”

Ben Stephenson, BBC Controller of Drama, was quick to respond, pointing out that "Lynda had two pieces in development with [the BBC]". Could it be that Lynda is simply using BBC commissioning policy as a way of legitimising her ugly opinions?

It's a little depressing to hear Lynda express such knee-jerk (with the emphasis on jerk) opinions, given that she must have been very much in the minority when she began writing dramas back in the mid-eighties. Diversity policies and progressive commissioners have no doubt supported Lynda throughout her career, but now that it's someone else's turn to reap the benefits, these factors suddenly become the death knell for quality TV.

After quarter of a century writing crime thrillers, Lynda's become pretty adept at uncovering who's really at fault. Like when the Sydney Morning Herald discovered the fact that she may have plagiarised whole sections of her 1993 Holocaust novel Entwined, from a book by an Auschwitz survivor called Olga Lengyel. Lynda responded to the accusations, through lawyers of course, blaming a research assistant who no longer worked for her - a researcher who received no credit or reference in the book itself. If only Jane Tennyson was around to unpick this complicated mystery...

Lynda's work is littered with hard-nosed, cold-hearted women constantly searching for someone to blame. I guess the old adage is true - write what you know.

Double exposures

Another TV milestone was made this week over in the States, as long-running soap 'One Life To Live' featured the very first gay sex scene to air on daytime TV. Given that the show runs on ABC, which recently caused a bit of a hoo-ha by cancelling Adam Lambert's live performances, this is something of a surprise.



To be honest, calling it a sex scene is a bit of a stretch. Characters Oliver and Kyle spend most of the scene either lighting candles or trying to undo each other's shirt buttons. By the time they fall into bed, they look so worn out from all the low-key face stroking that they can barely muster more than a chaste peck.

So far, the reactions seem to have been fairly neutral, with less of the fire-and-brimstone comments than we've come to expect. Writing in support of ABC's decision, one commentator on Huffington Post linked to a video that was made for a Maryland film festival in 2007. It's a compilation of 'scandalous' footage that theatre owners were forced to censor, or face prosecution. It's an interesting exploration of how society's definition of acceptability changes over time, as well as a major turn-on for any foot fetishists - apparently, a few seconds of exposed cankle was the 1920s equivalent of a daisy chain.



Back on this side of the pond, a different kind of over-exposure has also made the news. Matthew Horne has issued a mea culpa for his ubiquitous presence on our screens. As a result of his back-to-back appearances on Christmas Day in Gavin & Stacey and Nan's Christmas Carol. Still smarting from the beating he and James Corden endured over the worst sketch show since Russ Abbot was gainfully employed, he wrote on Twitter "I can only apologise on behalf of the Beeb for this scheduling. Even I’m bored of me."

TV schedules are full of things we don't necessarily want to see, whether it's two men spooning in slow motion or a comedy duo that has you longing for Hale and Pace to make a comeback. But as the Maryland video smartly argues, the answer isn't censorship, it's the off switch.