Monday, 21 December 2015

Amy Poehler: Yes Please

Comedy memoirs are my thing. If you look at my bookcase you’ll find half of the books are by comedians. Part of the appeal is that a comedian’s autobiography is often more revealing than other celebrity memoirs. In an age where everyone is trying to promote their own Cult of Stalin via tweets, posts and Instagrams, the comedian through honesty inverts this. The comedian’s image is as contrived as any celebrity, but where the celebrity raises a glass to success, the comedian downs theirs to disappointment.

The veracity required for good comedy lends itself to the memoir form. Comedians are used to sharing ideas, values and opinions that others may find unsavoury, so they’re not going to stop when it comes to putting their feelings down into print. On top of this, the competitive nature of comedy means you need a distinct voice. The worst thing you can be called in comedy is ‘hack’ (a derogatory term for comedians that deliver crowd-pleasing but tired tropes of ‘have you ever noticed…?’ routines); consequently, this need to be different often makes the comedy memoir more revelatory and innovative.

I have one of these comedy books. For my own self-respect, I hope you guess correctly which one..


Recent examples of illuminating memoirs are Johnny Vegas’ Becoming Johnny, a cautionary tale of how Michael Pennington’s creation, Johnny Vegas, supplanted his creator. Ostensibly, the tale is told by Pennington, but with the vituperative Vegas never far away there's always the risk the thing will implode into Jekyll and Hyde. Observing how a charismatic character can overpower their meek master makes this a fascinating read. 

Further, Stewart Lee’s book How I Escaped My Certain Fate illuminates the creative process of comedy. Comedy as Art is rarely recognised in high society; you only have to look at how it is treated alongside other culture to see that. Take Alan Yentob’s reverential Imagine series: he often pays tribute to authors, musicians and painters – but rarely comedians. The Academy Awards often shortlist dramatic performances – but rarely comedic ones. The Booker Prize judges wouldn’t know a joke if an Englishman, Irishman and Scotsman walked into their Private Members Bar. Lee’s book demonstrates how a comic’s job is arguably more difficult than other artists, as the failure is all the more public. Unlike conventional writing, a comic performs their drafts live; the audience are the editors: green-lighting jokes with laughs; red-penning them with silence. For comedians, the stage is both light bulb and waste paper bin; it is a ladder to the muses and a trapdoor to the hounds. Lee articulates this life and death dichotomy brilliantly.

Amy Poehler’s Yes Please is another brilliant comedy memoir. Doing– like Lee and Vegas – something different with the format. Mainly known in this country for co-hosting the Golden Globes and starring in Parks and Recreation, Poehler eschews the formula of chronological life telling, opting instead for thematic sections titled ‘Say whatever you want,’ ‘Do whatever you like’ and ‘Be whoever you are.’ Traditional tropes of autobiography are here with recollections of childhood and jobs prior to comedy; but with polemics on sex, motherhood, privilege and technology the whole thing reads more like a humorous manifesto than A-B journey-destination tittle-tattle. Fans of Parks may be surprised with the candour of some of these opinions. Whilst her sitcom character, Leslie Knope, is the squeaky clean poster-girl for feminism; Amy Poehler is the mischievous moustache on the hoarding.  Like Leslie she believes in putting personality before appearance and doing what you can for the sisterhood; unlike Leslie she confesses to the recreational use of drugs and pornography. Whereas Leslie lacks self-awareness, Poehler is acutely familiar with the world around her. In one of the funniest chapters in the book, she skewers society’s pregnancy paranoia- exemplified in the 'birthing plan-' by outlining her own natal demands - (An annoying nurse with an unfunny and teasing manner on whom we can focus our anger would be a welcome addition. The mother would also like a punching bag, a screaming pillow, a mirror to smash and a small handgun. The father would like a George Foreman grill, just to have). Further, she satirises the shame of being a divorcee through imagined book pitches (‘Divorce: Ten Ways Not to Catch It!’ Divorce is contagious. Haven’t you heard? It’s like cancer but only worse because no one really feels that bad for you.) In reading Poehler’s book you get some of the glass half full optimism of Leslie, but you also get the glass half empty rage of a person who resents the pressures put upon her gender.


Poehler as Leslie Knope in Parks and Recreation.


One of the things that really shines through in Poehler’s book is her love for collaboration. She refers to Tina Fey as her ‘comedy wife,’ remarking: ‘we don’t compete against each other, we compete against ourselves.’ Anyone who has seen the two side by side at the Golden Globes knows how well they work to create something truly special. Recent reviews of their new festive movie Sisters corroborate this too. Her book is also a collaboration of sorts as she has friend Seth Meyers write a chapter, and in the section on Parks and Recreation has script editor Mike Schur add margin notes to what she is saying. There are very few comedians who would be happy to have other people contribute to their book; Poehler, you get the feeling, wouldn’t have it any other way. Her background at Second City (America’s seminal improv school) has made her appreciate that comedy doesn’t have to be done in isolation; it’s often funnier in conversation.


Tina Fey and Amy Poehler



Poehler’s book wears many hats moving from memoir to parody to feminist essays. The fact that this balancing act is carried out with such aplomb is perhaps no surprise to a woman who juggles filming, parenting and charity commitments. Poehler worked hand to mouth for fifteen years to be an overnight success. If you read this warm, witty book, you’ll agree Poehler is a rare example of someone who deserves their riches.     

Yes Please is out on paperback now.

Saturday, 12 December 2015

Master of None

In a previous blog I wrote about Aziz Ansari’s star turn in Amy Poehler’s Parks and Recreation: there he played Tom Haverford, a white collar civil servant with pop-ya-collar pretensions of being a Hip Hop entrepreneur. As the series progressed though, Tom shedded his swag, morphing into a fully rounded human being. This chrysalis of character demonstrated the showrunners trust in Ansari- a stand up by trade- to be more than his one-dimensional stage character. It was this experience I imagine that gave him the confidence to write his debut sitcom, Master of None.

Master of None is a ten-part Netflix comedy co-written by Ansari and Parks and Recreation writer, Alan Yang. The sitcom follows Ansari's Dev's struggles in life, love and acting. Recently, there has been a glut of comedies that take place behind the studio door, but very few do it with the incisional insight as this. To offer a caveat though, the pilot episode doesn't corroborate this: it is a fairly mechanical rendition of a song that’s been sung before- think Girls without the drama and you’ll be there.



But the second episode is a textbook case of why you should stick with a sitcom after episode one. Other than The Office I can’t think of a great pilot episode. Comedies, in particular, need time to bed in: we have to get to know the characters; it is the familiarity that breeds laughter. So it is with this wonderful show.  The second episode is titled ‘Parents,’ whom form the backbone of the narrative. At the beginning Dev and his friend Kelvin are in their respective family homes being asked to do a job by their fathers: Dev’s father wants help with his iPhone, and Kelvin’s wants his son to get him some rice. Both refuse to help, arguing that they’ll be late for the film trivia questions that precede the trailers of the movie they’re going to see. For their hardworking parents to ask them to do simple tasks is a gross impertinence when popcorn trivia is at stake.


What elevates these scenes are the hilariously poignant flashbacks of the fathers as they retreat into their pasts, remembering the hardships they faced in getting to America. Witnessing their hard-won journeys to America and the subsequent racism they faced as first generation immigrants makes their children’s selfishness darkly humorous. Later in the episode, Dev learns that in India is father worked for two years in a zipper factory, which causes him to re-evaluate his treatment of his parents and take them out for one meal to repay them for their lifetime of service.  

Ansari's real life mother and father play his character's mother and father.

It is how Ansari’s touches on stories like this that make his sitcom vital and progressive. So many viewers haven’t had their immigrant experiences televised with such nuance and depth. As a child of an immigrant, I appreciate that I’m as guilty as Dev for not appreciating my dad’s journey from familiar Tamil home to fish out of water England. My dad cleaned caravans, worked security and cashed tills at petrol stations to survive those English winters. That proverbial land of coconut milk and honey must have seemed very far away. And what do I do when he asks me to help him with the shed? Look at my watch and tell him I can give him five before I have to get back to watch a programme that's available on catch-up. Ansari captures the disjuncture between the first generation of immigrants that fought for their footholds against a second generation that used their parents struggle as climbing frames.

Although the comedy deals with modern themes of race and identity, it also benefits from Ansari's field research to say something about the tradition of love. This year, Ansari along with sociologist Eric Klinenberg wrote the book Modern Romance that chronicled love in the digital age. The findings from the book are imbued throughout the sitcom. In episode 1 Ansari and Rachel have to summon Plan B when a condom breaks under sexual interrogation. Their trip to the chemist lampoons how male chivalry has become a credit card across the counter. In a later episode Dev has 48 hours to find a date for a concert; so playing the percentage game texts four girls, hoping the one he wants replies. Seeing how he heartlessly withdraws his offer to one girl when his number comes up with another shows how electronica has made love insensitive and cold.


Ansari’s comedy has earned him rave plaudits and the moniker ‘the new Woody Allen.’ In Master of None this comic is doing something new with an old format. Ansari the stand up, author, actor, writer-director has proved he is the Jack of all trades, isn't it time you watched his Master of None?


Master of None is available of Netflix now.

Saturday, 28 November 2015

Podcasts

The format of this blog is to write about a single thing that has made me cheerful in the week. Having already written about Detectorists and Catastrophe (my two favourite shows on the box), I was at a loss as to what to write about. Therefore, I’ve decided to write about things that have been keeping me entertained all year round. 

I have a podcast obsession; I listen to them everywhere: on the john, in the bath, whilst cooking, ensconced in bed and travelling to work. If I’m honest, this medium of talk has replaced my music listening habit - I can’t remember the last time I sat down to savour an album.  An old colleague prophesied this might happen.  He said that after thirty he never listened to anything current; that music for him was tied up in being a teenager; it was what gave him identity, a tribe to belong to, a fashion to pursue; but now older and more content he had found his place and was therefore happy to listen again to the old without listening out for the new. 

To some extent, I feel the same. 

Podcasts are my new favourite bands. I find I’m always recommending them to people and telling them to get into them. The trouble with podcasts is that people either fall into two camps: believers or non-believers. There are very few agnostics. When I’m telling my Irish dominated department to listen to Jarlath Regan’s An Irishman Abroad podcast I can hear a choir of furrowed brows sing, ‘Podcast? What’s that when it’s at home?’ People either listen to podcasts or they don’t. In my experience it’s harder for a podcast to pass through the ear of the uninitiated than it is for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle. But in this blog I hope to change that. Because today I’ll be chronicling the podcasts that entertain me on a weekly basis. And I’ll be doing this via the exciting medium of a countdown. From 5-1: here are my favourites.

5/ Desert Island Discs
Desert Island Discs has been on Radio 4 before the wireless was even invented. Its current incarnation is presented by the purr that is Kirsty Young (my girlfriend has given me a pass to run off with her voice should the chance ever arise). The format of the show is a guest of notable repute – might be a celebrity, might not – is interviewed about their life and its works whilst choosing eight tracks they would take with them on a desert island. The joy of the show comes from hearing an insightful, incisive interview with a person that doesn’t have a film or tour to promote. I love Graham Norton, but the need for a celebrity to entertain a studio audience comes at the expense of them saying anything noteworthy or interesting – the privacy of the radio studio allows intimate talk to take place. My favourites from the archive are Johnny Vegas, David Walliams, Kathy Burke and Morrissey.



4/ A Good Read
I’m one of those people who knows a lot about books without having read any. (This lame attempt at an Austen witticism is only partially true: I do read but it’s mainly book reviews, saying what I should read). A Good Read is presented by Harriet Gilbert and involves her and her two guests bringing in a book they recommend. Through listening I’ve read Jeremy Paxman’s choice, Billy Lynn’s Long Halftime Walk, which I loved; Colin Murray’s choice, In Watermelon Sugar, which contains my all-time favourite line - “Hands are very nice things, especially after they have travelled back from making love” ­– and been reminded why I love The Great Gatsby. 
3/ The Football Ramble
 I used to listen to The Guardian Football Podcast because I had a man-crush on honey-toned journalist, Barry Glendening. Then, my brother recommended The Ramble, saying it was much more fun and engaging. He was right. The Ramble feels completely fresh, despite dealing with the time-worn formula of men discussing football. The knockabout humour that defines the show showcases what banter used to mean (good-natured ribbing between friends) as opposed to what it means now (euphemistic bullying). Pete is mocked for his unique brand of Geordie surrealism; Luke for being the Michael Fish of football forecasting; Jim, the professional stand-up, for being the least funny of the four; and Marcus for his unwillingness to divulge if he actually supports a team. Lovely stuff.



2/ The Comedians’ Comedian
Presenter Stuart Goldsmith has described the show as ‘Inside The Actor’s Studio for Comedians.’ Goldsmith, a comedian himself, started the podcast because he was curious about how other people crafted their stand-up, and how they found the perverse situation of travelling alone round the country to entertain a roomful of people. What has been most enriching is seeing Goldsmith’s evolve his interviewing technique from good cop slap-on-the-back to bad cop interrogation. When he gets a lead that someone might be unhappy with a part of their work, he chases it down until they capitulate into confession. A wonderful listen hosted by a thoroughly charming bloke.
1/ The Kermode and Mayo Film Show

For me, Kermode’s word is gospel. If he doesn’t like a film then I ain’t going to like it either. You might think this shows a lack of independence on my part - I don’t care. Kermode’s knowledge of film is hard-won: he’s sat through Michael Bay films so we don’t have to. Alongside him is Simon Mayo, a consummate radio professional, that keeps the good ship wittertainment on course. The two bicker endlessly (Mayo thinks Kermode is pretentious; Kermode thinks Mayo is a philistine) but the show would collapse into self-indulgence without one and insipidness without the other. If you want to see Kermode at his masterful best, check out his reviews of Sex and The City 2 and Entourage: never has a spleen been so poetically vented.  
Kermode and his flappy hands.
https://itunes.apple.com/gb/podcast/kermode-and-mayos-film-review/id73802698?mt=2

Monday, 23 November 2015

Detectorists



In Jerusalem’s fields two middle-aged men comb the land. In one hand stalks an oscillating detector; in the other a sentinel trowel. A machine's beep causes a Pavlovian going to ground: will this be the day their prayers are answered? Moving through the soil, there is anticipation of what is to come: is this the day the land coughs gold?  Lifted from the womb of the earth, the dirt is washed clean, enabling them to determine what it is: the realisation that- instead of treasure -a discarded ‘Jim’ll Fix It’ medal has been found is met with a wry smile. It doesn’t matter. The joy comes through being out in the open air, away from life’s pressures, able to breathe out after a week of breathing in. The beauty is in the search; the discovery can wait.

Detectorists is the brainchild of former star of The Office, Mackenzie Crooks. In a recent interview with The Guardian he explained how his father inspired him to write the show. His dad was a man of niche pastimes: dark evenings were spent holed up in lamp-lit sheds, poring over coins and other crafts that his young son failed to see the fascination with. Now a father himself, Crooks shares his father's fascination, realising a dormant love for the esoteric. His show then is a homage to men like his father who wile away hours on hobbies that are at best defined eccentric; at worst weird.

Crooks as Gareth Keenan in The Office.
Lance (Mackenzie Crooks) and Andy (Toby Jones) are the eponymous detectorists; land pirates navigating Suffolk’s green seas in search of nature’s plunder. Andy’s wife, albeit supportive of his pastime, can’t countenance why he spends so much time looking for the past when he should be searching for a future. With his toilsome job and recreational activity, Andy’s life - literally and figuratively - is looking down. Moreover, she is frustrated that he spends more time with Lance than her. This is understandable: Lance on the surface is a pompous bore: a car enthusiast, all too happy to play smug with specialist knowledge, but a lift under the bonnet would reveal the intricacies of his character. Like Andy, Lance is dissatisfied with life: his job shifting pallets is hardly the stuff of dreams; further his beloved Maggie’s desertion has left him heartbroken.  Lance and Andy, therefore, are linked by a shared love of the earth and a frustration with the world around them.


“See University Challenge last night?”
“Yeah.”
“Anything?”
“No.”
“Nearly got Benjamin Britten.”
“You can’t nearly get an answer.”
“I had it in my head. Didn't say anything though. Chickened out.”
“Were you on your own?”
“Yeah.”
“But you were still too scared to say it out loud.”
“Yeah.”





The offering above illustrates how naturalistic and perfectly judged the conversation is. It is clear why Lance can't move on from his ex-wife when he can't even pluck up the courage to answer a quiz show answer. Lance and Andy are so risk-averse they wouldn't take the gamble on a quiz show, even if they were playing at home. They are caught in arrested development, wanting to progress in life without having the spine to do so; consequently, more of their dialogue is spent on petty concerns of how people celebrate on University Challenge (“I hate the ones who have a sip of water and frown as if it’s no big deal") as opposed to how they can fix their love lives.


Although Lance and Andy are the focal points, there are wonderful secondary characters too. The pair are part of the DMDC (Danbury Metal Detecting Club), a seven-strong band of brothers – and sisters- that meet weekly to show and tell their troves. Other than exhibiting their spoils, there are special Q&A’s on subjects as riveting as ‘the history of buttons.’ (Andy: Are you going? Lance: Fuck that! Later scene: Andy and Lance seated for ‘button presentation.’) The club in many ways resembles Peter Kay’s Phoenix Nights with its group of outsiders trying and failing to get more people through the door. Other favourite characters are rival detectorists, ‘Simon and Garfunkel,’ so called because they physically resemble the songwriting duo. When the teams cross path, a merry skirmish of wits ensues with DMDC usually coming out on top.

Rival detectorists: Simon and Garfunkel,


The first series of the show earned Crooks a BAFTA for writing; it is easy to see why. In an age of loud obnoxiousness, the sitcom is a quiet work of finesse; it doesn't shout its virtues at you, instead like a good painting it makes you stand back and revel in its artistry. When asked in a recent interview if he wanted the BBC4 show promoted to BBC2, Crooks replied that he felt like the channel was its natural home, that only BBC4 would have allowed him to create the kind of sitcom Thomas Hardy may have enjoyed. Far from the madding crowd is where his baby belongs.

So readers, leave the mainstream terrestrial rat-race by taking a jaunt with The Detectorists. Let your lungs breathe in that comedy goodness. I promise you'll feel better for the walk.

Detectorists Season 1 is available on DVD. Series 2 is available on iPlayer.

Saturday, 7 November 2015

The Dresser

This week I've been enjoying BBC 2's adaptation of The Dresser.

Ronald Harwood’s play, The Dresser, is about a touring theatre company set against the backdrop of the Second World War. The troupe are headed by a mildly talented despot, known to the audience as ‘Sir’ (Anthony Hopkins). The group are a makeshift band of amateurs, only earning their place because better men, better actors are away at war. For them, the irony is that in escaping war with one fascist, they have to work with another. 

The play the actors are currently in is King Lear. Hamlet is the part all young actors want; Lear is the part all old actors want. Where Hamlet is about a character wanting to make sense of the world; Lear is about a character that has made sense of it and realised it’s not for them. King Lear explores what happens to a person when they’re stripped – literally and metaphorically – of their status. It asks what happens to the great and good when it’s their time to leave the stage. Will they be remembered, and if so, for what?

Lear on the heath.


Harwood’s creation, in another nod to Shakespeare, is a play within a play. Sir is playing Lear, but you get the sense Lear is playing him too. At the beginning, Norman (Ian McKellen), Sir’s dresser, informs Her Ladyship, Sir’s wife, about her husband’s uncommon behaviour. During the day a frenzy overtook him, causing him to disrobe in the streets and wail like Lear on the heath. Perturbed, Norman took him to hospital, believing he still lies there. Her Ladyship understands that this is curtains for tonight’s production and orders Madge, the Stage Manager, to cancel the play. Norman won’t countenance such a plan: still in theatre today the cliché, ‘the show must go on,’ pertains. During the Second World War, this was thought more so: with airwave and air raid warnings commonplace, the theatre offered people escape. Famously when Churchill was asked to re-direct art funding to the war effort, he quipped: “then what are we fighting for.” In a period that had yet to birth television, the stage was people’s emergency exit from the horrors of war.

Right on cue, Sir arrives from hospital, explaining how he checked himself out. Despite being clearly exhausted, he vows to perform. Concerned for his physical wellbeing, Her Ladyship protests. Concerned for his theatrical reputation, Norman complies. The dressing room dynamic that follows between Sir and Norman is delicious, the kind of stuff psychoanalytic therapists dream of. 

McKellen and Hopkins.


Norman and Sir's friendship is based on a shared view: they both love Sir. Norman is a working class lapdog: fawning and loving he will do whatever he’s ordered. While Sir sits slumped, appearing physically unable to perform, Norman awakens in him a zeal to rage forwards to the coming of the light. Essentially, it is a vicarious relationship where Norman lives his theatrical ambitions through Sir. After all, Norman knows the lines (he goes through them with Sir); he knows theatrical parlance (everyone is called “ducky”); to all extents and purposes, he is a resident of luvviedom; but for all of that, he is no actor. Unable to obtain his own dreams, he settles for sharing in someone else’s. Only the periodic reaches for the gin bottle shows he has any problem with this.

Just as King Lear moves from vanity to empathy, Sir does too. At the beginning, he is unkind to the other players, believing they’re a necessary evil to putting on a play. If he had it his own way, he would be Midsummer Night’s Dream’s Bottom and play all the parts. Moreover, he alleges that the repertory group are a “band of brothers” but really they’re subservient children to his tyrannical father. In performing Lear’s part with dwindling health, he learns the lessons of the character and returns to the dressing room aware he too has neglected those closest to him.

'In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is King.'


Ultimately, names are the thing in this play. Conventional Norman wants the stardom that his name denies; self-appointed Sir craves the fellowship that his ego prohibits. It is a play of dissatisfaction, one that I found hugely satisfying.


Fans of theatre: don't have regrets the size of Lear - watch this play.

The Dresser is available on BBC iPlayer.