Something Other Than Everything

Since I started this blog in 2015, I have written about Daniel Kitson more times than anyone else. In 2008 I went to my first Kitson gig, The Impotent Fury of the Privileged. Since then I’ve made the pilgrimage biannually, meaning I've visited his shrine at least twenty times. Before Kitson, I never understood fandom. I never understood why someone would journey across the country to see their favourite act, to see them perform the same material on separate tour dates, to listen to their bootlegs. With Kitson I’ve become that person. Last year, The Girl and I went to Liverpool to see his show Mouse: The Persistence of an Unlikely Thought because I knew it wouldn’t be performed in London. Why do I keep going back? I go back because it’s exciting seeing what he’ll do next. If you go online you can download his earlier Edinburgh shows; there you’ll hear how a sea-saw of humanity and misanthropy made him into the 5-star rated comedian. These shows were still ambitious, allowing for digressions and deconstructions, but they were fairly linear in structure, making them easy to follow. Having perfected the content of stand-up, Kitson has spent the last ten years pushing how he tells it. Coils of electronica were used in Where Once Was Wonder, analogue tape decks in Analog.Ue, iPods in his follow-up show, Polyphony – he is to all extents and purposes The Radiohead of comedy: having written the hits, he’s determined to transcend the form.

Set for Analog.Ue. Pic. courtesy of vicstercorner.59

His new show Something Other Than Everything has been much anticipated. Over the past few years, Kitson has concentrated on the theatrical, concocting characters for Tree and Ana.logue. These shows staged at The Old Vic and The National Theatre, respectively, evoked comparisons with avant-garde playwright Samuel Beckett. (That’s not something people say about Michael McIntyre.) This show though is Kitson’s return to stand-up – or at least, a more autobiographical form of comedy. In his précis Kitson talked about ‘alter(ing) the function of language’ and ‘invent(ing) a new form of stand up comedy.’ Now for those of you who’ve never visited the church of Kitson, you might think this all sounds a bit Shia LaBoeuf: a joker dressing up as an artist; but for fans of Kitson this doesn’t sound so far-fetched. Kitson re-wrote the comedy rulebook once before (after winning the Edinburgh Comedy Award in 2002  he turned his back on straight stand-up for the visionary shows I discussed earlier) so why couldn’t he do it again?

Shia LaBoeuf: artist, thinker, prophet.

Kitson’s Something Other Than Everything, I should say from the outset, doesn’t invent a new form of stand up. The man that re-invented the wheel hasn’t patented a new tyre. What he has done is pack a two-hour show with more ideas and jokes than most comedians have in a lifetime. Standing in the round, Kitson begins by discussing isolation- how we’re all alone. We might think that our friendships and relationships makes us a company of players, but when it comes down to it we’re all Hamlets, internal monologists doomed to sit and ponder the sadness of our lot.  Existentialism isn't necessarily the most auspicious start for a comedy show, but the man is laying the track for the two hours to come. He talks about the Brexit result and whether to wear a pin to show solidarity with immigrants. Then, with a shift of feet he’s onto Orkney seaweed eating sheep. Another anti-clockwise rotation and he’s talking about eating alone in a restaurant. The feet slide again and we’re onto an encounter with a homeless man. Rotating again, we hear his paean to living alone. His blocking is wholly necessary: with five narrative strands to balance the position of his feet remind the audience of the section they’re on. Although this sounds confusing, it doesn’t take long before you’re processing all the separate plots and searching for the through-line that unites them. This is why I love Daniel Kitson. He respects the intelligence of his audience. There is an expectation that you’ll keep up- and you do. David Simon, the creator of The Wire, was once asked whether he was worried the casual viewer wouldn’t keep up with his labyrinthine story, he remarked ‘Fuck the casual viewer.’ Kitson is the same: he creates a HBO world of sub-plots, whereas lesser acts settle for laugh track sitcom.

It's not comedy. It's Daniel Kitson.

What of the jokes though? Is this guy you venerate actually funny, Ryan? Or is he just a pretentious schmuck that thinks he’s too good for Mock The Week? Well, firstly who are you Imagined Cynic? Using the American epithet ‘schmuck’ alongside the British cultural reference Mock The Week? I can only assume in using both you’re Anglo-American and I don’t know anyone of that ethnicity, so I should just disregard your curtness on the grounds of being a figment of my imagination; however, I’ve got some time on my hands so I’ll respond to your challenge in full.

Even though Kitson is reaching for the stars, his feet remain on the ground. The passage about his domestic life is particularly hilarious. There’s diatribes on brushing your teeth in the morning – a dentistry racket according to him; exaltations on balling socks – even better than putting your balls in socks – and surreal riffs on how moths discovered a taste for knitwear. Amongst these playful observations, there’s rich laughs that come out of his own prejudice: he satirises confirmation bias by claiming to use a greater range of news sources than anyone else – his variety of media? The Guardian newspaper, The Guardian App and The Guardian online. Despite the mock-arrogance of being comedy's self-appointed ‘king of kings’, he understands that when it comes to life he’s a work in progress.

Staging for Something Other Than Everything.

As a caveat I do have to say that this is early days with the show. Some critics have criticised it for being too long, others for being unnecessarily technical. These are fair complaints. It was the first time in a while when I’ve felt Kitson didn’t have full command of stage and script. Working in The Bill Murray comedy club right up until deadline, you get the feeling that Kitson hasn’t quite got the whole thing locked down. But then, so what? It mightn’t be the finished article but it’s still better than everyone else. Ultimately, Kitson achieves the impossible in making the avant-garde entertaining. He is one for the head. He is for the heart. He will make your belly laugh. He will make your mind unfurl. He is as good as I say he is. He is as good as he says he is. Believe my hype. Believe his. Kitson is the greatest thinker in comedy today.

Daniel Kitson's show runs until the 29th July. Tickets can be bought here:

http://www.roundhouse.org.uk/whats-on/2017/daniel-kitson/

The Handmaid's Tale

In sixth form I studied Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale. Politically unaware, I was naive to her broadside against patriarchal rule. Despite this, I loved the book. I enjoyed it because on a basic level it’s an underdog story of a character struggling against a system. Like Winston Smith in 1984 and Montag in Fareneheit 451, Offred is an enemy of the state, trying to destabilise it with minor acts of revolt. At the time, I had no idea these science-fictions were rooted in fact; I perceived them to be works of imagination, unfounded in reality. Especially when it came to The Handmaid’s Tale, I just didn’t have the context. I didn’t know that creating ‘false’ enemies distracts a populace from resisting political corruption. I didn’t know that keeping people scared is a surefire way of a Government holding onto power. I didn’t know that women hadn’t achieved parity with men. As far as I was concerned, sexism ended in 1928 when all women gained the vote. I had no idea that in Saudi Arabia women couldn’t drive. I had no idea that in Northern Ireland women couldn’t get an abortion. I had no idea that women were under-represented in top jobs. When it came to the issue of feminism I was completely oblivious. For me, the book was completely hypothetical; it could never happen. The truth, of course, was in so many ways it already had.

Everything was fine after 1928.

I’m revisiting The Handmaid’s Tale this week because of Bruce Miller’s TV adaptation. Unquestionably, it’s the show of the moment. Nothing is capturing the zeitgeist more than this piece of programming. In electing a president that brags about grabbing women by the pussy, who in turns appoints a running-mate that's virulently anti-choice, the political climate in America feels horrifyingly akin to the book. In The Handmaid’s Tale a president is assassinated- middle-eastern terrorists are falsely accused -amidst the instability a far-right Christian organisation seizes control. Sound familiar? Trump too created an atmosphere of chaos by making scapegoats out of the free press and immigrants; from this he and his male cronies took power. Distraction is the friend of the illusionist; it can make a man appear magical when he’s simply a man. It can make you miss what’s going on. One minute he’s there standing in front of Trump Tower, the next he’s in front of The White House. This 1985 novel is a warning to pay attention, because nothing changes instantly. As the book's narrator says, 'in a gradually heating bathtub you’d be boiled to death before you knew it.’

"Hands up if you believe life should be about serving your own narcissistic interests." 

The adaptation of the novel begins in a different place to the source material. One of the things I’ve enjoyed in re-reading Handmaid’s is seeing how Miller has achieved the paradox of being unfaithful and faithful to the text. It’s unfaithfulness lies in its sequencing: his starting point is a woodland chase, which culminates in the kidnapping of June’s daughter. This foot-chase is thrilling and disorientating: why are officials seeking a child? Why is a family on the run? Conversely, the book begins with a description of a gymnasium with ‘Aunt Sara and Aunt Elizabeth patrolling.’ What type of society are we in? Why are adult women being infantilised and made to sleep in dorms? Who are these Aunts? It’s a benign title Aunt: warm, familial, your Nan’s friend. Why are these women on guard? The TV’s cold opening is heart-racing, whilst the book is more head-scratching: both do the job of hooking the audience into Atwood’s world.

On the run.

In terms of faithfulness, Miller may have juggled with the order, but he hasn’t dropped the ball on content. The TV version doesn’t divert from telling the story of how June became Offred, and how Offred seeks to reclaim June. Just as the book flits in and out of past and present, Miller’s version does too. Sure some details are updated: Moira and June discuss Tinder profiles; Luke meets June when he’s asked for his opinion on the profile; June works at a publisher’s as opposed to a library – however, these modifications are necessary: it makes the show current, illustrating how this could happen today.

June has become Offred because the new state of Gilead requires handmaid’s, women whose sole purpose in life is to procreate. An environmental fall-out has brought this world into being: fertility rates are low, meaning functioning wombs are in short supply. If you can’t breed, you can accept monotonous labour or take your chances with radiation out in 'the colonies.’ The regime then has poured petrol on Offred’s former life of love and literature, from these dying embers she must find the hope to keep on existing.

Sex without intimacy.. 

Each month Offred must lie back and think of Gilead. A Commander visits her bedchamber reciting the Rachel and Leah story of the maid who had a baby on her mistress’s behalf; he then proceeds to fuck her lower half – it can’t be called copulating because ‘that would imply two people and only one is involved.’ In a warped reading of religion, the clock has been turned back, women here are nothing more than a vagina and a womb; the brain they once cultivated with learning has gone to seed – lies and indoctrination have made sure of that. Yet Offred hasn’t quite relinquished control. The regime may have nationalised her body, but it hasn't yet bought out her mind. She is the heroine of our story. On the surface she's demure in her red conservative robes, yet she conceals a wolf within, one that chews up Gilead with caustic narration. 

A wolf in sheep's clothing.

With the TV show having included much of the source material already, I’m surprised to hear that the series will run and run. It stands to reason that the subsequent seasons will be fresh material, maybe exploring the Historical Notes of the book for ideas. All we can hope is when the writers do consider future story ideas, they tune in to the deep recesses of their mind and not the news for inspiration.

The Handmaid’s Tale is on Channel 4, Sunday at 9pm.    

Baby Driver

Three years ago, director Edgar Wright walked out on Ant-Man. The film, nearly ten years in production, was a true labour of love. Wright had undertaken the project because he adored the comic and its creator Stan Lee. Writing alongside Joe Cornish, Wright was finally at a stage where filming could commence. On looking at the script, however, Marvel began to balk. It’s worth remembering a few years earlier Wright’s Scott Pilgrim Vs The World failed to recoup its budget. Fearful that they too would count the cost of the director’s playfulness, production stalled; without discussion, the company proffered the script out to other screenwriters, requesting a second opinion. This understandably enraged Wright. All the other movies he had made had him as writer-director, auteur, custodian; now, he found himself sidelined and, in his mind, maligned.

The one that got away.

So what do you do when you’ve given a huge chunk of your life to something that bears no fruit? Figuratively, Wright got into his car, wound down the window, put on some loud tunes and drove; drove until he could no longer see Marvel in his rear-view mirror. Unwilling to play passenger to corporatism, Wright took hold of the steering wheel and sought, yet again, to blaze his own trail. The film he turned to was Baby Driver, an idea that had been in his head since the age of twenty-one. Then, he was living in London, a fledgling director without the means to turn his visions into reality. He remembered hearing the Jon Spencer Blues Explosion track ‘Bellbottoms’ and visualising a heist movie. Twenty years later, his imaginings have been made manifest, forming as they do the opening sequence of the film.

Baby Driver begins with Baby, a handsome young driver listening to ‘Bellbottoms.’ Enthral to the music, confined to the car, he covers the track, playing percussion with the wheel, synchronising the guitar parts to windscreen wipers.  Attached to his headphones owing to tinnitus, he is clearly in love with music. Soon after a gang of bank thieves join him. It soon becomes clear why Baby is the ‘stickman’ of the group: he may not be the front and centre hype man, bawling, ‘Put your hands up motherfuckers,’ but his behind the scenes work on foot pedals form the backbeat for their escape. Baby, you see, uses music in the same way a seeker uses mantras: by dissolving into the cadence he achieves a kind-of transcendence, becoming at one with the wheel, finding nirvana on the road, achieving deification when he brings the criminals home.

The opening scene is followed by a homage to Saturday Night Fever with our hero doing a celebratory dance to Bob & Earl’s ‘Harlem Shuffle.’ As Baby walks back with coffees for the group, he sidesteps, twists and shuffles to the tune. Quite imaginatively, song lyrics are transposed onto the screen in the form of shop fronts, posters and street art. A music shop with a hanging sax allows our hero to lean in and play along. It’s one big audacious set-piece that demonstrates Wright’s brio and ambition.

Early on in the film we learn that Baby is driving under duress. On being paid for the job, Doc (Kevin Spacey) only gives him a small piece of the pie. It isn’t until later in the movie we find out why Baby is happy to settle for less. Even though, Baby works for criminals, he doesn’t hang with them. He is a devoted son to his deaf foster father, fixing him meals and mirth. The two may be on opposite ends of the hearing chart, but when it comes to one another they’re in perfect pitch. Otherwise, Baby is something of loner, spending his free time locked away in his bedroom, sampling real-life conversations into music. That is until he meets Debora (Lily James), a waitress in a diner, who so happens to be humming along to Carla Thomas’ ‘B-A-B-Y.’ Immediately Baby is smitten. The waitress has taken his order and given him her heart. The two swap names, agreeing that when it comes to song titles one outscores the other. From there, Baby follows Debora to the launderette, where under the whirr of washing the two do the most intimate thing a couple can do: share headphones.

Come be my waitress tonight. Serve me the sky with a big slice of lemon.

Along with the romance and the car chases, there is humour to be had. For many years Edgar Wright worked in collaboration with Simon Pegg, creating the award-winning sitcom Spaced and the ‘Cornetto Trilogy’ Shaun of the Dead, Hot Fuzz and World’s End. It’s true that this film doesn’t chase laughs in the way those did, but it easily passes Mark Kermode’s ‘six laughs test’ with a hilarious hat joke and fancy dress mix up being just two standout moments. Even though there are laughs, it’s undeniable that there aren’t as many as in his previous offerings – this is no bad thing. In his earlier works, Wright stuck to his tried and tested formula of supplanting big-budget American genre onto suburban English settings; here, the action leads the movie, letting the laughs arrive organically.

It’s clear that I really love this movie, but I would be lying if I said I loved it all. I felt that the end was a mess. Whilst the rest of the movie displays excellent clutch control, moving seamlessly through the gears of action, romance and comedy; the end felt like it was all gas – someone really could have done with putting the brakes on. There’s something to be admired about shooting a running scene like a car chase, and a car chase like a fight scene, but it felt like it had been done at the expense of the plot.

For all my reservations about the denouement, I’ve come to the conclusion that Baby Driver is one hell of a ride. After the disappointment of Ant-Man, Wright has re-written history, creating his own box-office marvel. Just like The Great American Songbook, he has found redemption on the open road. You can too, but only if you see this picture. 

It would be a sin to miss it.