Obama/Cameron, Cameron/Obama?

This is an interesting view of the debates in the US:
http://blogs.ft.com/rachmanblog/

And in particular, this paragraph catches me - and says what has been troubling me about what I've seen and heard - of both Barak Obama and David Cameron...:

"All this leaves me baffled. I have watched Mr Obama speak live; I have watched him speak on television; I have even watched his speeches set to music on a video made by celebrity supporters… But I find myself strangely unmoved – and this is disconcerting. It feels like admitting to falling asleep during Winston Churchill’s “fight them on the beaches” speech."

I'm afraid that its the same with both of them for me - I just am not moved by anything they do. Cameron in particular makes a grand entrance look like sneaking in via the back door under cover of darkness, and last week's Northern Rock debates simply seem to have proved that the Tories are just as adept as ever at rescuing defeat from the jaws of victory. George Osborn, the great Tory hope, seemed to think he was on to a dead cert, and then watched all the criticisms they threw at Darling and Brown just fade away making them look foolish. Don't get me wrong, Labour certainly didn't come out smelling of roses, and didn’t deserve to either - only the Lib Dems managed that - thanks to Vince Cable showing the bigger boys how they should have dealt with the situation.

But Obama seems to be the living embodiment of the phrase "all mouth, no trouser" - spouting meaningless phrases that somehow catch the imagination and mood of the baying fans that have fallen under his spell. If anyone doubts this, please explain to me what the phrases "the audacity of hope" and "we are the change we've been waiting for" actually either mean or do for the mood of the US... As Mr Rachman points out in the article linked above, it would only genuinely be audacious to run for president for reasons of despair... And the second one, urgh, I don't know.

As for David Cameron, I appreciate that making fun of the government at every step, and shoving fingers into every hole in policy at the first opportunity seems to be working at the moment. But you may have many, many more months to wait for an election, and we've seen before that this behaviour wears thin very easily with the public - and support follows rapidly.

I don't actually want Mr Cameron to win an election - I'd far rather see Titus Bramble in the next England football squad - but if he's serious about being a challenge to Labour, he needs to realise pretty quickly that being able to walk and talk without notes, and being able to come up with a few priceless playground insults will not be the deciding factor in an election.

And if last week was anything to go by, maybe they ought to check that the gift horse standing in front of them doesn't have a "Made In Troy" stamp somewhere on it…

God bless you, Mr President

During 1999 and the first half of 2000, I reckon I spent, on average, about 15-20 hours a week in a cinema, usually in the company of Jon Monkhouse. We'd roll up to the cinema at roughly 11 or 12 (an achievement for a pair of students...) clutching our unlimited passes and then spend the rest of the day watching films, routinely seeing three or four a day. And we saw some brilliant films in that time. We also saw some stunningly awful films (Down To You – I can picture Jon’s expression just at the mention of the title - and Frequency to name just two). When Nikki and I started working in London (in 2004), we took out unlimited passes again. This time, it was just for 1 or 2 films a week, but we picked our films, and saw some really good ones, with the occasional disappointment. Obviously, since Luke’s birth, our movie-going habits have been somewhat… restricted. I have no complaints – as I would far rather see Luke’s little face every day than any film, and I have yet to hear of a film to change my mind (no, not even Batman Begins changed my mind…), so I happily recline in my ignorance.

I am, along with any other potential signs of geekdom, completely unable to commit to being a film fan. And yet, that is what I am. But I don’t much care at the moment. I love films, I really do. But I have finally (and very, very belatedly) discovered The West Wing



Can TV get any better than this show? I’ve never seen something that had me hooked within minutes, caring about the characters enough to want to know more by the end of episode 1 and when I saw the season climax I was beside myself!

I suppose it does help that I have an interest in US politics, and that I like this kind of drama – something that is simultaneously unafraid to address proper, heavyweight issues (the first episode has a potential scandal with a White House staffer and a call girl, and within a few episodes a drug scandal breaks) use humour, and make sure we all understand that these are normal, everyday people going through something extreme every day.

It probably also helps that I’d love to do the job. I’d love to be one of the actors, obviously, but there’s a part of me that aspires to be that essential to the running of the country, and be under that kind of pressure. But its not my priority to get there – there are far, far more important than work, or a career (just as well, the way mine has stalled).

But as far as I am aware, The West Wing isn’t repeated on terrestrial TV… Channel 4, who originally broadcast the series, constantly and tediously repeat Friends and ER (and magnificently, Frasier) during the day, so why not this? The only way I have seen what I’ve seen is through begging and borrowing other people’s copies – downloading, in case you’re wondering, takes far far far too long on my humble little creaky laptop (donations gratefully received). I’d love it if Channel 4 starts repeating it other than on a digital channel that not everyone can receive… And if they’d start showing the Daily Show on the regular channel – shunting it to More4 is a waste and an insult – its better than anything we have on tv at the moment over here in terms of satire.

Opening A Vein

There was a time, years ago now, when I wanted - more than anything - to be an actor. I loved, and I still do love, the feeling of being on stage, of showing all those people gathered in front of you that you could be someone else, that you could make them laugh, appall them, shock, frighten, warm, comfort, sadden them, with just an action or a phrase.

There's a very good saying that Phil Hammond used on last Friday's News Quiz on BBC Radio 4: "Knowledge is knowing that a tomato is a fruit. Wisdom is knowing not to put tomatoes in a fruit salad."

I don't know whether I was ever any good as an actor - I was certainly told that I was quite a few times, but confidence is a huge part of doing it. My confidence was always battered by a memory that is fast-attaining legendary status for its faliures. After all, it's all very well being able to recite Stanislavski's acting system, but being able to do it is far more valuable than knowing it.

But there was a moment - one of those moments that you know will affect how the rest of your life will go. It happened at school. I was in the sixth form (year 13 for those of you who are too young to remember proper school years...), and I was rehearsing for my A-Level drama practical exam. I'd chosen one of my favourite speeches from Shakespeare for my monologue piece - its in Much Ado About Nothing (my favourite Shakespeare...), when Benedick first believes that Beatrice loves him - in the Branagh film, it's the bit when he's wandering around the garden with a deckchair...

I knew the speech inside and out, I'd researched into it, I'd concentrated and worked on every inflection of every syllable, and worked out timings. I'd even begun blocking the scene. Then my teacher asked me what I was doing again. I told her. She stared at me as if I'd just accused her of eating students during detentions (she was, after all, big enough for that to be believable).
Her words have stayed with me ever since:

"You'll have to change it. You can't do Benedick - you don't look like a romantic hero."

Well, to me, that's the point of acting. If I was any good at all, it wouldn't matter one little bloody jot if I didn't look like a romantic-sodding-hero. If I didn't look like one, I could act like one and speak like one. I could BE one. But instead, I had to do the only soliloquy anyone ever remembers from Richard III. And I hated it. I like the play, and I thoroughly recommend the film version with Ian McKellen as Richard III, but I hated doing it. If there's one thing I was probably less suited to be than a romantic hero, I'd have guessed at murderous hunchback king... Still, I suppose I was lucky she didn't get me to be Othello...

It was that moment, when she said that preposterous, insulting sentence, that I decided that it wasn't for me. I was going to follow something I'd been doing for just a few months - writing. I wanted, instead of being on the stage speaking someone else's words - I wanted to be the person who'd put those words in the actor's mouths.