A Jeff Bridges Too Far

I was watching a bad pirate copy of Iron Man. I didn't know Jeff Bridges was in it. Even when watching it, I didn't know it was him – partly because it was a bad copy and partly because Bridges was playing a bald baddie. I didn't know it was him until he took a loud slurp of his drink – and I immediately recognised that slurping as the same slurping in The Big Lebowski.

Jeff Bridges looks like he's never had to make an effort – is this why he was never as big as he should have been? Look at Tom Cruise – someone who has worked ruthlessly hard to get where he is, never mind that he has no talent and has yet to be in a good film – we like people who get somewhere by working hard regardless. Jeff Bridges has ambled by amiably with his lazy charm and youthful good looks. His natural acting style is the opposite to the school of the more popular De Niro and Pacino – a method actor Bridges is not.

I first remember watching him in my childhood playing an alien (in Starman – for which he was Oscar nominated) and in a video game (Tron). I didn't then know that his best films had been the decade previous: The Last Picture Show (watch him strutting out of the motel room after having laid Cybil Shepherd), Fat City (as a small-time boxer and my favourite ending of any film ever), Thunderbolt and Lightbolt (looking good as a woman), Winter Kills and Bad Company (great low-key western directed by the writer of Bonnie and Clyde) are some of the best American films of the decade.

In the 1980s, the noirish Cutter's Way and western flop Heaven's Gate are key films – for better and worse – of the decade. The 90s saw him somewhat frantic in The Fisher King, The Vanishing, Blown Away and Arlington Road until The Big Lebowski (1998) gave him the iconic role of The Dude he was born to play.

Along the way there's been a bag of other decent films too: Jagged Edge, The Fabulous Baker Boys, Tucker – The Man and His Dream, Texasville – a belated follow up to The Last Picture Show, Fearless, Masked and Anonymous (yes, I liked it) with Bob Dylan, Seabiscuit... among many others I haven't seen so shouldn't comment on. He also takes great on set photos.

My Top 5 DVD Box Sets

1. Bob Dylan – Dont Look Back: 65 Tour Deluxe Edition (Columbia)
This feels like the ultimate (if you're a fan): Dont Look Back movie and extra DVD 65 Revisited. Plus reprinted (from 1968) paperback book of the film and cute flick book of the Subterranean Homesick Blues opening sequence, all nicely packaged.
2. Luis Bunuel collection (Optimum)
Eight mainly late but great Bunuel features plus postcards of original posters and booklet.
3. Jan Svankmajer – The Complete Short Films (BFI)
Superb collection of Svankmaker's short animated films spanning some 40 years over 3 discs. Also includes documentaries, interviews and rarities.
4. The Jodorowsky Collection (Tartan)
Three remastered Alejandro Jodorowsky features and a rare short as well as a feature-length documentary. Also comes with soundtrack CDs of two of the films and postcards.
5. The John Cassavetes Collection* (Optimum)
No amazing extras for this but great films in a nicely designed box.

(I was going to include Dawson's Creek: The Complete Collection – 34 discs with every episode but it might have ruined my art house credentials)

*It would have been good to have Gloria included in the set. The ever excellent Gena Rowlands plays a tough-as-nails moll on the run (with a heart). She's the kind of broad who has a beer for breakfast and she's more gun crazy than Travis Bickle – and better looking. Rowlands was Cassavetes' wife and acted in three of the films included in the box-set.

Let Me Ad One More Thing...

One thing on TV which was better in the distant past (the 1980s to early 90s) was its advertisements. Ads used to have style, imagination, surrealism, eroticism and wit. It's hard now to believe a time when ads actually tried to convince Jo (or Joanne) Public to buy its product with such flair.

For the last 5-10 years all ads have needed to do is show the product and add a celebrity. It doesn't matter what the ad's like. There's no need to try and convince people to buy stuff anymore – they don't need any encouragement. Consumerism has won and ads are as bland as the programmes between them. Maybe advertisers finally believe the old maxim that bad ads work better than good ones.

Sky + Rubbish = A Waste of Time

Seeing that I watch virtually nothing on TV, I find Sky's research findings of the UK's viewing habits somewhat perplexing. Those with Sky+ (I'm still not exactly sure what it is, but I'm guessing those who have it like TV) watch (or "timeshift" – don't ask) 3 and a half hours of TV a day. A day! Where they find the time, and why they bother, alas, the survey does not answer. It does, however, answer what they watch. Well, seeing that viewers have a multiverse of channels to watch I was expecting (not) an eclectic smorgasbord of cutting edge TV.

Alas, the truth was more mundane. For the most part the results could have been taken 10 or even 20 years ago when we had only 4 terrestrial channels. It's a predictable mix of drivel and crap including Eastenders, Casualty, Dr Who, The Apprentice and a bunch of other programmes I haven't heard of (but I'm sure are still crap) such as Ashes to Ashes, Flood, Waking the Dead (British TV viewers I presume?) and Britain's got Talent – surely an ironic title.

The rest of the survey is as inconsequential as the programmes we're (they're) watching: women in Scotland watch the most TV on Wednesday mornings; men in Lincolnshire watch the most on Tuesdays between 11pm and 12:30am; women in London watch more TV than men on Friday nights... you get the idea.

I'll admit to being hooked by recent American imports Lost, Heroes and 24 (and comedies such as Curb your Enthusiasm and Arrested Development) – but Sky's research reveal nothing American (or outside the UK) in the top ten.

I'm not one of those people who look back on the "golden age" of TV before reality shows and Graham Norton set in. No, by its very nature, it's always been bad. If I do watch it, I'll invariably switch on BBC4 (yes, I've just got a Freeview box). I am officially one of BBC4's 12 viewers and proud of it. The pretentious life is a tough one but someone's gotta live it.

Own Up To Your Earnings

I know how much Hollywood actors earn, I know how much David Beckham* and Gordon Brown* earn. I even know how much Brown put on expenses to have his second home painted. I know how much pop stars and fat cat bosses of multinationals earn. I even know what their bonuses were. The other day I read that BBC executive directors are getting payrises of up to £107,000. In papers and magazines we constantly read about famous/rich peoples earnings. But people where I work, who I've sat next to for years? I have no idea what they earn. All I know is it's more than me.

The very rich, and the very poor – the Asda shelf stackers and the McJobbers, the minimum wagers (£5.52ph) – we all know what they earn. But workmates, colleagues – people I spend 8 hours a day with, five days a week with, fifty weeks a year with, and socialise with, many of them won't tell what they earn (of course, some do). The one's who don't, usually earn a lot more than me – do they not tell because they feel guilty or because they've been told not to? The ones who do tell, usually earn the same, or less – and don't care who knows. Helen* (54, mother of three, divorced) earns just £14,000 as a purchase ledger clerk (five tube stops along, and with a decent company, she'd get at least double).

There used to be a joke (I haven't heard it for years and it never was that funny) that the first thing an American asked a Brit when they met was what they earned. An American never asked me but I guess the point was Americans were more forthcoming about the whole pay issue than us uptight English. I've never understood the problem but it seems some office colleagues would rather discuss their (dismal) sex lives than their salary. It seems a completely mis-guided sense of company loyalty – it is essentially making the company earn more and the individual earn less. Companies of course encourage this secrecy – if we all knew what each other earned there'd be a revolution, or – heaven forbid – fair pay for all.

It is hoped that the Government's new (July 2008) proposals to prevent companies having pay secrecy clauses and to let employees discuss their pay openly will prevent such large pay discrepancies between colleagues doing essentially the same job within the same company.

*Real names used.

Weather slips to No.2

Recent studies* show talking about the weather, that bastion of banal British conversation, has been overtaken by an equally trite topic – how was your journey**?

Unlike the weather – where the conversation tends to run dry after a minute or so – discussions about your car (or bus, train, bike, etc) journey to any destination can be epic and take in many sub-topics including route taken (and possible alternative routes), weather (before, during and after) conditions, accidents, jams, delays, sights, landmarks, music, etc. The scope is almost endless – as endless, in fact, as the journey itself probably felt.

*Probably
**Only, of course, if one or more of the party has actually taken a journey to get where they are

Voyage

I boarded a clipper bound for the Asias
In the year 1869
When the weather was rough
But I was rougher.

I read the World Atlas like a book
From start to finish.
And later,
Much later,
I put faces to the names.

Architect Drawers*: Important Update

Yes, I actually bought some architect drawers at the weekend – in an antiques/junk shop in Warminster. No, they're not really nice old ones but they're still great. I got them down from £120 to £100. A relative bargain, I reckon. They open and close real smooth and although quite new have a 50s or 60s retro feel to them. I'm pretty happy. Oh, and I got an old coat rack too – down from £89 to £60. Yes, I know this should really be in Barngains (www.barnflakes.com > barngains) but it feels more spontaneous doing it here.
* See post January 06 2008

The New Shape

Backstage at a Lionel Richie concert, I met a beautiful, kooky French woman who told me she'd invented a new shape and got it patented too. She worked in PR.
Typical French I thought, and asked her what the hell she was talking about.
– I've got it in my bag, she said, and proceeded to take a shape out of her handbag. I was intrigued; it was a shape I'd never seen before.
I asked her what she was going to do with her shape.
– Photo holders, she said.
– Eh? I said back.
– You know, holders for photos. I'm going to manufacture them.
I loved the concept of a new shape, never seen before, but the idea of photo holders and manufacturing them, I don't know, it somehow took away from the essence and purity of the shape. Still, that's the hard reality for a new shape. You can't just be a new shape. You've got to have something to do.

Barnoffee Pie

8oz shortcrust pastry
3oz butter
2oz light soft brown sugar
2 tablespoons milk
8oz can condensed milk
5 medium bananas
10oz double cream
lemon juice
2oz caster sugar

1. Use pastry to line a 9" round and 1" deep flan tin (loose bottomed). Bake blind until light golden and dried out.

2. Place butter and brown sugar in a small heavy based saucepan. Heat gently until butter melts and sugar dissolves. Bring to boil and bubble for one minute only, stirring frequently. Off the heat add the milk and condensed milk, bring to boil and bubble two minutes or until texture thickens to consistency of a very thick sauce and turns golden. Stir constantly or mixture will burn.

3. Meanwhile slice four of the bananas and place in pastry case. Spoon the warm fudge thinly but evenly over the bananas to cover completely. Leave to cool. Chill until set (about 45mins).

4. Whisk cream until it just holds its shape. Pile cream into centre of pie. Refrigerate for at least one hour so that the caramel acts on it.

5. Slice remaining banana, coat with lemon juice. Pile on top of cream.

6. Put caster sugar in small saucepan. Heat gently until sugar melts and turns to a golden caramel colour. Cool for one minute until the caramel thickens and darkens, then spoon over the banana (the caramel will run through the cream). Chill immediately to set.

Yummee!

Stutter Blues

Yes I'm a stut-stut-stutterin' man
And I can't ta-ta-ta-talk worth a damn
And I can't ta-ta-ta-talk worth a damn
Sometimes I wanta cry cry
Sometimes I wanta die
John Lee Hooker, Stuttering Blues (1953)

Lately you've started to stutter
As though you had nothing to say.
Leonard Cohen, The Old Revolution (1969)

A recent song that got a lot of radio airplay is Stuttering by Ben's Brother – one in a long line of songs in popular music either about or featuring stuttering, or both.

One of the earliest known examples is K-K-K-Katy, written in 1917 by Geoffrey O'Hara and hugely popular in both the first and second World Wars at military training camps. Advertised as 'The Sensational Stammering Song Success Sung by the Soldiers and Sailors', it concerns Jimmy, a young soldier who stuttered when trying to speak to girls. He eventually manages to speak to the eponymous Katy, the "maid of hair of gold":

K-K-K-Katy, beautiful Katy,
You're the only g-g-g-girl that I adore;
When the m-m-m-moon shines,
Over the cowshed,
I'll be waiting at the k-k-k-kitchen door.

From the 1960s until the 80s various popular songs have featured singers (purposely) stuttering but not been about stuttering. The most famous ones include:

My Generation – The Who (1965)
Changes – David Bowie (1971)
Benny and the Jets – Elton John (1973)
You Ain't Seen Nothing Yet – Bachman Turner Overdrive (1974)
Psycho Killer – Talking Heads (1977)
Bad To The Bone – George Thoroughgood (1982)

These songs didn't appear to be attacking stutterers or about stuttering in any way. Stuttering just sounded good. Stuttering as a musical effect, if you will. There was no electronic trickery in these songs – the stuttering was done by the singer.

With the explosion of rap music, electronic recording and sampling in the 1980s, it seemed every song needed a sampled stutter – which could now be done with ease electronically. Most famously, Paul Hardcastle's 19 (1985) with its repetitive beats and stuttered spoken samples seemed to herald the birth of a new kind of music – on Top of the Pops anyway.

Predictably, advertising also got into the act. Most memorably (and annoyingly) L'Oreal's Studio Line ad, featuring jazz playing models against a background of post-modern Mondrian with "Sculpt your hair, any way you like it. Studio Line – create your look" as its chorus. This was "borrowed" from another song from the time also featuring stuttering, Chaka Khan's I Feel For You.

With rap, having a stutter was seen (understandably) as a weakness, much in the same way as a tennis player with a racket without strings or a runner without legs – not impossible, but pretty difficult, and not very cool but possibly quite amusing to watch. So you had LL Cool J boasting, "When I'm involved all the amateurs stutter" on .357-Break It On Down (1987); Rob Base and DJ EZ Rock saying simply "I won't stutter" (It Takes Two, 1988); "When you start to stutter that's when you had enough of / Biting it, I make you choke, you can't provoke" say Eric B and Rakim on I Ain't No Joke (1987); and NWA "didn't stutter when I said "Fuck Tha Police"" in 1988, to name but a few.

This mocking culminated in 1988 with Stutter Rap (No Sleep Til Bedtime) by Morris Minor and the Majors which managed to poke fun at stutterers, the Beastie Boys, and other songs featuring stuttering – in particular Paul Hardcastle's 19 (and Chaka Khan's I Feel For You):

"Well no-one's ever seen what I mean
From the age of n-n-n-n-n-n-thirteen
We've all been caught in a m-m-mouth trap
So join with us and do the st-st-st-st-st-st-st-stutter rap"

Since then, the tradition has continued steadily. In 1991, old skool rapper Kool Moe Dee rapped "Make no mistake, we don't shake or stutter" on Rise 'n' Shine. And in 2006, British rapper Lady Sovereign rapped, "Repeating yourself like you got a stutter with all you mutter" on Blah, Blah.

Can you imagine any other affliction that comes in for so much flack? Poets dissing dyslexics, perhaps? Or chocolatiers scoffing at diabetics?

Famously, the singers Carly Simon and Gareth Gates stutter. Singing was a way for them to overcome their stuttering: like most stutterers, they don't stutter whilst singing – but possibly would do if rapping. Interestingly, many stutterers also don't stutter whilst whispering, or putting on a voice, or speaking in a foreign language.

With the digital computer age, stuttering now more than ever feels like a technological thing – whether we want it or not (usually not). Technical glitches and hitches, hiccups and fuckups, crashes and mashes happen whether on digital TV, broadband, CDs, DVDs, hard discs, graphics, file formats – all from time to time seem to emulate stuttering when they go wrong.

Leonard Cohen albums with 'Songs' in the title

Songs of Leonard Cohen (1967)
Songs From a Room (1969)
Songs of Love and Hate (1971)
Live Songs (1973)
Recent Songs (1979)
Ten New Songs (2001)
Songs from the Road (2010)
=7

(Updated 2010)

Cock, Fany, Shag

Cock soup from Jamaica; Fany chewing gum from Morocco; Bali Shag from Holland. A great combination.

Son of a Rimbaud

'Man you oughta go to Hollywood and play Billy the Kid'
'Man I'd rather go to Hollywood and play Rimbaud'
– Jack Kerouac, Big Sur

Before I knew anything about it other than its title, I immediately thought, like many others did too I'm sure, that the recently released film Son of Rambow was about the life of French poet Arthur Rimbaud (or his son, if he had one). It's always struck me as somewhat perverse and problematic that Arthur Rimbaud is actually pronounced Arthur 'Rambo'. Eric Cantona encountered this when interviewed by the British press about his influences. He said 'Rimbaud', they all thought he said and meant 'Rambo'. There's no getting away from it: France's great symbolist poet is pronounced exactly the same as the mumbling murderous Vietnam war veteran (apparently the author of First Blood actually had Rimbaud's A Season In Hell in mind whilst writing it). So, for this reason, I thought Son of Rambow was a kind of play on that idea. But it's not. At all. That doesn't mean it's not good – it looks great. But what a shame it's not about Rimbaud. What a missed opportunity.

Arthur Rimbaud's amazing life story (the film Total Eclipse only concerns Rimbaud's relationship with Verlaine) deserves a full Bob Dylan-style I'm Not There (in which one of the characters is actually called Arthur Rimbaud) movie treatment – only transposed as I Is Another (Je suis un autre), Rimbaud's famously enigmatic quotation. From prodigious child poet, to doomed homosexual love affair affair with poet Paul Verlaine and being shot by him (in the hand), then giving up poetry aged 21 (no, not because of the bad hand), he spent the remaining years of his life travelling, finally settling in Ethiopia as a merchant, gun runner and possible slave trader, dying aged 37. His life is the stuff of legend.

Hugely influential – maybe more for his tragic romantic life than his poetry – Rimbaud's restless, mystic, rebellious, minstrel persona was picked up by beat writers in the 60s and musicians such as Jim Morrison, Bob Dylan and Patti Smith (hear her shouting "Go Rimbaud! Go Rimbaud!' in the song Land – they could have used it on the soundtrack in the latest Rambo movie – it sounds like she's saying 'Go Rambo!').

Pronunciation of foreign writers can be problematic – especially if you've never heard them pronounced by anyone else. Luckily there's hardly ever a situation when it happens. When it does, it can be embarrassing. It'll usually happen at a party when you're trying to impress some girl (or guy) studying French literature with your knowledge of 19th century French poetry and you'll say you love Arthur Rim-bald.

The contemporary misanthropic French writer Michel Houellebecq, although not Rimbaud's successor, has many similar qualities. Mainly the daunting name. It's like a question you don't know in a quiz: once you know it, it's easy, and you knew it all along anyway, and you're never going to forget it:

Michel Houellebecq is pronounced Michelle Well-beck.

Foreign Cigarette Packets

Cambodia, Morocco, Morocco, Laos