Paddington 2

When the trailer for the first Paddington came out, I remember turning to The Girl and saying, “This looks shit.” Cut to a few months later and the film is five star feted. My hero Mark Kermode has described it  ‘a family treat.” And my loved one declares, “You were completely wrong: Paddington is amazing!” Like Michael Fish and the great storm, I’m question my prophesy. I know I must prepare to eat humble pie. (Oh, how I hate humble pie! The crust is soggy. The filling dry. The whole combination an abomination. Not something to savour, but masticate. Humble pie, oh it's the worst!)

At Christmas she bought it for me on DVD, and it was every bit as funny, heartwarming and beautiful as she and the critics said. Also, at a time when refugees were being castigated for having the gall to leave their war-torn homes for places where they weren’t under constant threat of death; here was a story of an immigrant being accepted in Britain.

Written by Michael Bond, following the Second World War, Paddington Bear found celebrity early. Such was their success, Bond was able to retire from his BBC work (he was once a camera man on Blue Peter) to devote time to writing. The first film is similar to Bond’s first story in that it describes how Paddington arrived in London. 

Born in darkest Peru, Aunt Lucy sends him to the UK in hope of a better life. Eventually, he’s found at Paddington station by the Brown family, who come to christen him with the aforementioned. It’s not long before Paddington is embroiled in Crocodile Dundee escapades, having to contend with escalators and train systems. Although he gets himself into scrapes, the family love him for the flavour he brings to their lives. To all extents and purposes, it’s an advert for immigration, promoting the notion that Britain benefits from open borders.  (I do worry Paddington worries too much about assimilating though. First, there’s his honey-coated British accent: what’s happened to his Spanish? Then, there’s the blue duffel coat: what’s become of his colourful South American identity? Finally, there’s the marmalade sandwiches- this is a British citizenship test too far. No one born outside of this country should have to eat marmalade. I know Paddington is content with his British life, but I do hope he visits the Peruvian restaurants in Soho from time to time, just to avoid being called an Uncle Tom – or the equivalent – by his birthland.) 

Michael Bond and bear.

It’s funny isn’t it, deconstructing children’s stories? A lot of alternative comedians could get at least twenty minutes out of doing a routine on Paddington as product of cultural colonialism. (I’ve chosen a fairly mainstream subject for today’s blog, but through this section I’ve still found a way to alienate the public. I do it mainly because I worry that I’m just a successful blog post away from being asked to appear on I’m A Celebrity. If vlogger Jack Maynard can go into the jungle, then I need to do everything in my power to diminish my online appeal. I appreciate my brand is strong, so it’s important I maximise these bracketed diversions to stop it growing any stronger.)

Paddington 2 is the sequel to Paddington. (This pointing-out the bleeding-obvious joke is the kind of thing that will keep the reality TV execs at bay.) And you know what: Paddington 2 is the funniest film I’ve seen this year. I loved The Big Sick and enjoyed Get Out, but Paddington 2 is in a class of its own. And I know what detractors will say: they’ll see it's a kids film, it can’t be that funny. They’ll say you’re nothing more than a kidult, enjoying childish movies in a hopeless attempt to reclaim your youth. They’ll say you’re an idiot. Because these people aren’t intelligent enough to come up with three coherent arguments. Well, those fictitious people, contrived by me to add drama into the piece, are wrong.

Paddington 2 is written by Paul King and Simon Farnaby, two creative that worked together on The Mighty Boosh. (Interested now, aren’t you hipsters?) King directed 20 Boosh episodes and Farnaby featured in them. With Farnaby having appeared in Horrible Histories, Dectectorists and House of Fools, he’s a man that knows his onions. Together, the pair have woven a British comedy that has slapstick for children and sight gags for adults. With its farcical fun and literary puns, it reminded me of Nick Park’s Wallace and Gromit, only here you have a greater reservoir of feeling to go alongside it.

King and Farnaby.

The sequel begins with Paddington happy at home. He’s loved by his family and by the community. Everything appears to be going to plan. Yes, he worries about Aunt Lucy in Peru, but with her birthday on the way he’s sure he can find a present that will show how much she means to him. Visiting an antique shop, he sources a beautiful pop-up book that showcases London’s landmarks. Aunt Lucy always wanted to see London – here’s her opportunity. So Paddington must do what all bears must when saving for a gift: undertake a series of low-paid jobs to secure the necessary income. Catastrophe inevitable ensues in the barbershop, where his approach to male grooming comes out of the sheep shearer’s manual. A window-cleaning job is more up his street though, as he puts paw and backside into making it a success. With the money earned, he can now afford the book. But fate has a wicked way of conspiring against talking bears. Earlier at the opening of a steam fair, Paddington announced to ribbon-cutter Phoenix Buchanan (Hugh Grant) his gift plans. Little did Paddington know, but fading actor Buchanan wanted the book for himself. Now he knows where it is, he can steal it from right under the bear’s nose. This is what he does. In the ensuing foot chase, Paddington is arrested for the break in. Paddington has been framed, caught in a bear-trap of a thespian’s making.

Hugh Grant

The scenes of Paddington in prison are priceless. Again, the best of British comedy comes out to play with Tom Davis (Murder on Successville), Jamie Demetriou (Fleabag) and Noah Taylor (Submarine) all providing hilarious support. Most funny though is Brendan Gleeson’s Knuckles McGinty. Knuckles is the head chef and chief bruiser of the prison. Behind bars, his word is law. The slop that he serves would leave Oliver begging, “No more.” His cooking is a crime worse than murder. Paddington armed only with a marmalade sandwich manages to win him round. The camaraderie that ensues is mined for wondrous laughs. Just hearing a prison hardman say "chocolate roulade" was comedy to my ears.

Behind bars.

Hugh Grant as the villain is perfectly cast too. Being a master of disguise, he steals the book in the guise of Dickens’ Magwitch. Later, we find he’s a master of accents too, jumping between Hamlet, Poirot and Macbeth. Often Grant plays the bumbling fop; here, he demonstrates versatility, playing more personalities in one movie than he has in his career. Stay to the closing credits too, otherwise you’ll miss further proof of his comedic range.

I loved what Simon Farnaby and Paul King did with Paddington 2. It truly is a film that walks that Pixar tightrope of being child and adult friendly. If you have a family, going is a no brainer. It’s after all, a more wholesome bear movie than Ted. If you don’t have kids, go anyway. I promise you will laugh all the way through – maybe have a little cry too. For me, Paddington 2 joins The Godfather 2 in being better than rarest of things: a film better than its predecessor.

Quite simply, Farnaby and Bird have made an offering you can’t refuse.

Paddington 2 is in cinemas now.

The Ayahuasca Diaries

A few years ago I was doing stand-up on a nightly basis. Being on the bottom rung meant turning up early to secure a spot. The best way to wile away the hours was to talk to other comedians. Sometimes this was lovely, other times it was not. Comedians by their very nature are egotistical shitheads, deeming their thoughts worthy of amplification. At open mic level it’s easy to forget sometimes you’re a small fish in a big pond. When a gig goes well you feel like the most popular kid in school. For comics who were picked last at school, this can induce feelings of euphoria and delusion. Delusion because although for that moment you may feel like the best kid in the town, in reality you’re a drop in the ocean, small fry against TV's whale sharks. A lot of right-thinking acts are aware of this. Some less so.

The whale sharks of comedy.

Home Counties born, Doug Stanhope bred, this clique of deluded comics were from a school of thought that thought ridiculing struggling amateurs made them in someway counter-culture. Often these big-I-am comics were successful on stage because they had the coked-up self-confidence of Canary Wharf, only with material that spoke Shoreditch Anarchist: “Aren’t bankers wankers?” Yes, I’m being reductive here. These comics were all more talented than me, but my view of them will forever be clouded by the arrogance they wore off stage as well as on.

The people that I always liked spending time with before a gig were comics that were from the British tradition of stand-up. People that didn’t attack topics head-on, but took a sideways glance at them. Comedy is suited to broad brush strokes because audiences enjoy hearing certainty during chaotic times. On the other hand, I've always appreciated comics that mirror the uncertainty of their audience. None of us have a clue of what’s going on, what it’s for and what it all means, so why should performers pretend they do.

One of my favourite acts to socialise with and watch was Benji Waterstones. Benji was my contemporary at the time, but was always better than me. Where he got to the So You Think You’re Funny final, I got to the semi-final. Where he got to the Leicester Square New Act final, I got to the quarter-final. Where he won the Manchester Beat The Frog competition, I now spend my days dissecting them. (EB White: 'Analysing humour is a lot like dissecting a frog. Few people are interested in it and the frog dies.') I’m delighted that his career has gone from strength to strength, with this past year seeing him selected to spearhead the Edinburgh AAA, a showcase for emerging talent. He’s also written his first solo show, The Ayahuasca Diaries, which he premiered at Edinburgh this year. All in all, Benji’s career is on the up and up. (Did you notice I used strength to strength, all in all and up and up within a few lines of one another? I’m the Andy Warhol of writing: doing something interesting with the cliché. And to think you don’t even have to pay to read this blog. You lucky things.)

Benji beating the frog, whatever that means.

I didn’t go to Edinburgh this year because I bought a house (The Girl’s money too, some inheritance as well, the bank contributed 80%, but essentially I bought a house), which meant I didn’t have the money to watch comedy in the summer like I normally do. I was therefore relieved when he sent a notification saying that he was bringing his show to London. (This always sounds impressive, but given he lives in London and just has to carry his laptop to the pub, I feel this utterance is nothing more than showbiz hyperbole.) Using brackets is a really bad habit of my blog writing and I apologise if the last few paragraphs have felt stifled by them. I promise not to use any more for the duration of the piece.

 So this is why I find myself at The Bill Murray pub on a Thursday night. Before I get onto Benji’s show, I should just add that the venue is something of a marvel. Funded by a Kickstarter campaign, impresario Barry Fearns has created something truly special. Purpose built for comedy, open seven days a week, it is quickly becoming the go to place for London comedy. With an artistic façade featuring Robin Williams, Eddie Izzard and Victoria Wood, the establishment is becoming a Mecca for comedy fans. The fact that most shows are free-on-entry (put something in the bucket though- you’ve got to give me a pass on that bracket, because that was a selfless one, as opposed to the self-serving ones of earlier) means that anyone can go, irrespective of what they earn. Benji’s show is on the backroom and three more will take place that night, meaning the turnaround is quite tight: we must score quick laughs in the craic den before the fuzz turns us out.

It's free and brilliant.

The Ayahuasca Diaries is based around Benji’s odyssey to Peru, where he hoped to find some kind of enlightenment. A psychiatrist by profession, Benji’s stock in trade is mental health. This stand-up show is therefore something of a busman’s holiday, as he inquires whether ayahuasca, a Peruvian hallucinogenic, can really alleviate symptoms of depression. The tale begins with Benji introducing his self-effacing personality. These self-deprecatory jokes are important: in the wrong hands, any comedy on drug-taking can feel a bit try hard, an exercise in “Aren’t I dangerous?” With Benji though it feels like he’s scratching a professional itch: can this drug really be the answer to mental health? Should I be referring my patients to Peru, as opposed to western pharmacies? More than that, Benji was going though a difficult time in his own life: lonely in love and London, the anxiety he felt as a younger man was exacerbated by 21^st century life. A shrink searching for a solution to his own mental health is the premise then for this stand-up show, a piece of situational irony handed to him by the comedy Gods. Benji doesn’t let his good blurb goes to waste: he runs with it, eliciting great laughs along the way.

For a first show it’s expertly structured. Like I said the opening establishes Benji as a mild-mannered, lovelorn NHS worker. How couldn’t you root for someone with that description? The middle is smart too: because in telling the story of his trip to Peru, Benji manages to work in tried and tested jokes using his diary framework. Before going on his literal drug trip, Benji was told by the Peruvian go-between that he must write a diary, outlining his past problems and phobias. This gives him a washing line to hang his old material on. It’s a clever move in a debut show as it means he’s got solid gold routines in the middle. A routine about the FAQ’s of a Tesco Clubcard is particularly funny, so too being kept on hold by the Utterly Butterly helpline. When we get onto the trip to Peru, Benji brings in his holiday snaps, which prove as enlightening as the drug itself.

The promotional poster for the show.

For me, this end material really showcased Benji’s skill as a craftsman. Here, he manages to blend great jokes (I met my shamam Willow. She talked a lot about energies, which the doctor in me was skeptical about until she told me ... I had good energy), comments on photos (a girl rivalling Bez in the gurning stakes is described as ‘a returning guest’) and trippy visuals (the best way of describing Benji’s drug trip reconstruction is to imagine Alan Bennett in an Aphex Twin video). The use of short film to accompany stand-up material reminded me of Tim Key, a comparison I’m sure Benji won’t mind me making. The coda of the show is wonderfully feel-good too. It brought to mind a really wonderful documentary where you’re relieved to see everything has worked out ok for the participants.

I know I could be accused of bias for writing about a friend, but I’m completely sincere in saying how impressed I was. Morrissey once sang, “We hate it when our friends become successful and if they’re northern, it makes it even worse.” I don’t mind that Hull born Benji is heading for success. He might be a better comic than me. But he'll never be able to use brackets like me. I'll always have that. :)

Follow Benji @its_benji. Here's his website too: http://www.benjiwaterstones.com

The Butterfly Effect

A coincidence occurred this week. I’ve been preparing my class for their GCSE Mocks by reading Ray Bradbury’s A Sound of Thunder. The story is set in the future and revolves around Eckles, a big game hunter that wants to step into the past and shoot the biggest quarry of all: a dinosaur. The year is 2055, a time when the technology exists to make time travel possible. There is however one condition to Eckles journeying back in time: he must follow a circumscribed route. If he deviates from the path, he risks altering the very fabric of the universe. This is known as the butterfly effect: the theory that one small change can lead to huge consequences.

Sound of Thunder

The reason why I say a coincidence occurred is because I’d just started listening to Jon Ronson’s Butterfly Effect, a new seven-part podcast produced by Audible. Ronson has been writing for twenty years now, but I only began taking notice when I heard him interviewed on Richard Herring’s Leicester Square Theatre Podcast (RHLSTP!). On there, he talked about his oeuvre, along with his most recent work So You’ve Been Publicly Shamed. Plugging this, he spoke about how his own issues with the Internet made him want to investigate the effect it had on others. I’ve long thought social networking sites appeal to the worst side of our character, making us judge people not by the content of their character, but by the content of their characters. Before the Internet, we could make verbal mistakes and apologise to people sincerely, using our eyes and tone to show we really meant it. Now you can slip up and be set upon by a pack of keyboards that cry ‘justice,’ despite wearing a uniform that resembles mob rule. Difference is healthy; it gives rise to debate; on the Internet though, it often leads to shame-calling, something that really shouldn't happen in our ‘advanced’ age.

So last year I bought my first Jon Ronson book and absolutely loved it. It confirmed that people really are using their laptops as judge, jury and executioner. Ronson's books take the picaresque form, which mean we’re propelled from one story to the next. One particularly interesting tale revolved around Justine Sacco, a PR consultant, who in 2013 ironically tweeted: ‘Going to Africa. Hope I don’t get AIDS. Just kidding, I’m white.” Yes, this isn’t a great joke. She doesn’t have the comic chops to satirise white privilege; even if she did Twitter doesn’t have the nuance to prove someone is ‘just kidding.’ As a result, the tweet was re-tweeted to the firm she worked for. The firm made it known that this behaviour was unacceptable. Whilst Justine flew through the air, Twitter users rubbed their genitals with glee, taking pleasure in the enveloping storm. Justine was going to be fired. Before long Twitter was amok with flight paths and lookouts, all seeking her arrival. When she set off to South Africa she was a bright, educated woman; by the time she landed, she was an unemployable racist. If you look at how former Conservative cabinet minister Priti Patel was treated this week, you will see that online behaviour hasn’t improved. In writing So You’ve... Ronson caught the zeitgeist. I’ve read every one of his books since.

I've heard open mic comedians make worse jokes.

Ronson’s latest work is The Butterfly Effect, a podcast that’s been available to buy on Audible for a while, but has just been made free to all. I’d heard an excerpt on the brilliant This American Life and was really intrigued to hear more. Throughout the years Ronson’s dispatches have come from the hinterland of existence, taking in UFO’s with Robbie Williams, investigating the murky Bilderberg Group and befriending real life superheroes. This time round he’s turned his attention to porn – in particular, the porn industry. This then isn’t a Louis Theroux Weird Weekend episode where the focus is limited to the performers; this is an all-encompassing study of the economic framework that underpins the porn millions consume everyday. It is The Wire of podcasts, exploring the hierarchical structure from the top down.

In the first episode we’re introduced to the kingpin Fabian Thyimann, a German businessman raised in Belgium. As a teenager Fabian’s hormones led him to pornography. Being underage, however, meant he sometimes found it hard to come by. Before long he was on chat-rooms exchanging passwords with other users, ensuring access to restricted content. By harnessing the power of online users to satiate his needs, Fabian- unwittingly- founded a business.

Thyimann: the porn magnate.

Fast-forward a few years on and Fabian, along with a huge loan, buys up a Montreal company that specialises in user-uploaded porn. Just as Napster destroyed the music industry, many believe Fabian has torched the sex industry. With his bandit of tech whiz kids, Fabian purloined the money away from recognised artists and producers, putting it into his invisible corporation instead. To all extents and purposes, it is the heist of the century, one that’s netted him a reported $200 million dollars.

Each episode in the series follows the effect of Fabian buying that initial company - the butterfly effect, if you will. A theory that states a single flap of a butterfly’s wing in New Mexico can cause a hurricane in Japan. (This is because of something called Chaos Theory- a theory I have neither the intelligence nor the patience to understand.) Over the course of the pod, we hear how Fabian’s butterfly has created a hurricane that shows no signs of abating.

The first big casualty of the cyclone is San Fernando Valley, affectionately known as ‘Silicone Valley’: the Hollywood of porn. With users now putting pornography online, the producers can no longer make money through DVD sales. If they’re not making money, the porn stars don’t make any either. All of this has meant the producers, directors and artists have to work twice as hard for twice as less. As soon as their movies are recorded they find themselves online. Their only option is to be subsumed by Fabian’s business or walk away. For people who have worked in porn all their life, it’s difficult to leave (filming gang-bangs isn’t exactly something you put on your curriculum vitae). 

This establishing shot makes for a wholesome postcard. Don't send your grandma the zoomed in version though.

Some enterprising spirits have found a third way, however. Just as Arctic Monkeys and Lily Allen responded to the changing face of the music industry, pornographers have too. Episode two looks at bespoke porn that has been tailored to meet a client’s exact specification. These Saville Row producers have hired out their service to fulfil the quite bizarre fancies of their customers. So if someone wants a video of a porn star swatting a fly, they can have it. If someone wants their stamp collection destroyed by a group of DD’s then that option is available too. Nothing is off-limits. The people get what the people want. Bizarrely, the customer as auteur approach leads to much sweeter and gentler material than the ‘conventional’ kind beloved by so many.

Although my analogy puts Fabian as butterfly, many in San Fernando see him as the antichrist, hellbent on destroying their world. I see him as Oliver Twist’s Fagin. He has online users pick the pockets of Valley workers, consequently profiting big from it. In Dickens' novel, an innocent Oliver is unwittingly brought into Fagin’s lair: he never wanted to be there; but there is where he finds himself. Episode 4 shines a tragic light on children that have been affected by visiting a world they’re not meant for. With pornography accessible on every handheld device, teenagers are learning about intimacy through Sex Ed. teachers called Seamore Butt and Belladonna. Unfortunately in our society sex remains a closed lipped topic; until we talk about it these problems will only grow.

The Butterfly Effect culminates with Ronson presenting his findings to Fabian. With the evidence presented before him, will Fabian concede he’s more than an innocent butterfly? The confrontation is delicious, exhibiting Ronson’s skill as a journalist in friend’s clothing. 

Jon Ronson holding an umbrella.

I understand the subject matter might put some of you off, but this really isn’t a prurient look at porn, rather an intelligent dissection of it. As a fan of Ronson's work, hopefully this blog creates its own ripple, resulting in more listeners. I'll push the publish button now and find out ...

The Butterfly Effect is available to download now.