One of the interesting phenomena I’ve encountered on Twitter is the whole celebrity thing.
Celebrities sign up to Twitter, allegedly, to “get close to the fans”. And some celebrities are really into the whole Twitter thing. They will tweet quite a lot throughout the day.
Now I do appreciate that they have a lot of followers and will often have hundreds of responses to each tweet. But the ultimate effect is that most of their followers are left with the distinct impression they are being ignored.
I’ve devised various tactics for generating a response from the celebs, with minimal success. A weak joke about paparazzi prompted Lindsay Lohan to tell me to fuck off and die.
Kirsty Alley responded to a tweet gently complaining about her typing in caps all the time by claiming it was a sign of intelligence. I unfollowed her, stating at the time that she seemed to be the only celebrity using Twitter to become less popular with fans.
My latest attempt to provoke a response was to tell Ashton Kutcher that he was the only person now capable of stopping the civil war in New Zealand.
He ignored me.
Now the New Zealand Civil War doesn’t get a lot of publicity. In fact, hardly anybody knows about it. That’s because it’s being bitterly waged in the hearts and minds of… well… me.
Yet, according to Statistics New Zealand, 80 people a day are dying in New Zealand. And because it’s a civil war, these people can be claimed as casualties of war. That’s closing in on 600 people a week; or over 2200 a month – 29,000 a year.
And all Ashton Kutcher has to do is tweet that the New Zealand civil war is over and the bloodshed can stop. A truce will be declared and my multiple personalities can go back to living in peace.
Eighty people a day is an awful karmic burden to bear, Mr Kutcher, sir. I urge you end the conflict now.
Peace.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Sleepyhead thinks you're an idiot
One thing I really hate; I mean I loathe, as in bring on the bamboo shoot manicure despise is advertisers who think you are stupid.
They want you to purchase their product with your hard-earned cash but they also, in their ads, demonstrate that they think you are a moron.
In New Zealand there’s one company that is like fingernails on the blackboard every time I hear their jingle. This is odd, because I have absolutely no problem with the company or their products… just their ads.
The company is Sleepyhead. They make beds.
Their ads all start with a jingle they’ve had for years, where some guy cheerily sings: “Now you don’t buy a bed every day…”
There used to be a whole song, but that’s gone by the way. The announcer then cuts in with the mattress of the week specials etc.
The ads end with the end of the jingle: “…you can sleep on it!”
Brainless condescending bastards they are.
“Now you don’t buy a bed every day.” Think about it. Could there be a more bloody obvious statement?
"OH MY GOD! LOOK! The sky isn't falling!"
Or possibly:
*Yawn* *Stretch* Well, that was a good night’s sleep, I’ll just hit the bed destruction button and Sleepyhead will deliver a new one this afternoon. Not that there’s anything wrong with this one, it was brand new yesterday, but hey, I buy a bed every day.
What a waste. Thank God we have Sleepyhead to prevent such scenarios by warning us not to buy a bed every day, despite it being to their obvious economic advantage. Oh crap, my sarcasm meter just went off the dial.
So we come to the end of the ad: “You can sleep on it!”
WTF? That’s like trying to sell a new car by saying: “You can drive it!”
Here, buy the new Porsche 911 Carrera – it has four wheels, a motor and look, even a steering wheel. The driver sits here, in the driver’s seat, and uses these controls to make the car go brmmmm brrmmmm.
So Sleepyhead – a little heads up (so to speak). The only time I’ll be caught sleeping on one of your mattresses is if your ads give me a brain aneurism and I have no choice.
They want you to purchase their product with your hard-earned cash but they also, in their ads, demonstrate that they think you are a moron.
In New Zealand there’s one company that is like fingernails on the blackboard every time I hear their jingle. This is odd, because I have absolutely no problem with the company or their products… just their ads.
The company is Sleepyhead. They make beds.
Their ads all start with a jingle they’ve had for years, where some guy cheerily sings: “Now you don’t buy a bed every day…”
There used to be a whole song, but that’s gone by the way. The announcer then cuts in with the mattress of the week specials etc.
The ads end with the end of the jingle: “…you can sleep on it!”
Brainless condescending bastards they are.
“Now you don’t buy a bed every day.” Think about it. Could there be a more bloody obvious statement?
"OH MY GOD! LOOK! The sky isn't falling!"
Or possibly:
*Yawn* *Stretch* Well, that was a good night’s sleep, I’ll just hit the bed destruction button and Sleepyhead will deliver a new one this afternoon. Not that there’s anything wrong with this one, it was brand new yesterday, but hey, I buy a bed every day.
What a waste. Thank God we have Sleepyhead to prevent such scenarios by warning us not to buy a bed every day, despite it being to their obvious economic advantage. Oh crap, my sarcasm meter just went off the dial.
So we come to the end of the ad: “You can sleep on it!”
WTF? That’s like trying to sell a new car by saying: “You can drive it!”
Here, buy the new Porsche 911 Carrera – it has four wheels, a motor and look, even a steering wheel. The driver sits here, in the driver’s seat, and uses these controls to make the car go brmmmm brrmmmm.
So Sleepyhead – a little heads up (so to speak). The only time I’ll be caught sleeping on one of your mattresses is if your ads give me a brain aneurism and I have no choice.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
The Curse of Miscasting
I watched a film last night called Hero Wanted. I’m hoping you haven’t seen it or know anything about it because I want you to take a little test.
Put your casting director’s hat on.
Now, the plot is fairly twisty-turny but follows certain must-haves of the action-drama genre. There’s the protagonist who’s basically a nobody at the start but then ends up in a violent showdown gun battle with a gang of bank robbers at the end.
The hard drinking protagonist’s name is Liam Case. His brother Dylan is dead, and when we see the cemetery scene we also see his mother’s name was Marie. The woman in his life is named Kayla McQueen.
Although it’s never overt, you get the feeling Liam’s the good Irish Catholic type when he says the Lord’s Prayer before heading off for the final showdown.
This is after Liam’s learned the shooting and killing ropes from his dear old dead dad’s best friend, Gill. Gill has an English accent so I was picking him as former SAS.
Now, with these story points in mind who would you pick to play Liam?
I was watching the film and thinking: “This was written for Colin Farrell. Only it’s so badly directed he wouldn’t have had a bar of it.”
It was just a little too by-the-numbers to attract Farrell, I think. I posed the question to a workmate who suggested maybe Ben Affleck or Matt Damon?
In fact, the closest he got to the truth was when he jokingly suggested Jackie Chan.
Liam Case was played by Cuba Gooding Jr.
He tried. Oh God he tried to show that he’s got an Oscar at home. But what are you to do with a story that’s so blatantly written for someone else? Well, maybe change a few character names for a start.
Bring in a director who has a knack for telling a story. And a real vision; not just some vague semblance of an idea of how to set up a confusing end-of-story shootout.
So, if you want to watch a severely badly miscast film; try to find Hero Wanted. The title is oddly appropriate.
Put your casting director’s hat on.
Now, the plot is fairly twisty-turny but follows certain must-haves of the action-drama genre. There’s the protagonist who’s basically a nobody at the start but then ends up in a violent showdown gun battle with a gang of bank robbers at the end.
The hard drinking protagonist’s name is Liam Case. His brother Dylan is dead, and when we see the cemetery scene we also see his mother’s name was Marie. The woman in his life is named Kayla McQueen.
Although it’s never overt, you get the feeling Liam’s the good Irish Catholic type when he says the Lord’s Prayer before heading off for the final showdown.
This is after Liam’s learned the shooting and killing ropes from his dear old dead dad’s best friend, Gill. Gill has an English accent so I was picking him as former SAS.
Now, with these story points in mind who would you pick to play Liam?
I was watching the film and thinking: “This was written for Colin Farrell. Only it’s so badly directed he wouldn’t have had a bar of it.”
It was just a little too by-the-numbers to attract Farrell, I think. I posed the question to a workmate who suggested maybe Ben Affleck or Matt Damon?
In fact, the closest he got to the truth was when he jokingly suggested Jackie Chan.
Liam Case was played by Cuba Gooding Jr.
He tried. Oh God he tried to show that he’s got an Oscar at home. But what are you to do with a story that’s so blatantly written for someone else? Well, maybe change a few character names for a start.
Bring in a director who has a knack for telling a story. And a real vision; not just some vague semblance of an idea of how to set up a confusing end-of-story shootout.
So, if you want to watch a severely badly miscast film; try to find Hero Wanted. The title is oddly appropriate.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Tribute to a hot extra
I’m quite a fan of the theatre sports TV show Whose Line Is It Anyway?
It apparently originated as a British radio show which became a popular British TV show, hosted by Clive Anderson. It was then revived by Drew Carey and Ryan Stiles in America where it ran for about six seasons, rating reasonably well.
Producers loved it. It cost nothing to produce but was very funny.
But for me, one of the funniest things about the show was the American TV producers’ subtle manipulation of who’s visible on camera.
If you look behind Drew Carey as he’s seated at the desk, there’s inevitably about three super-model hot women sitting among the audience. There's never an uggo on screen. They all look like they've just stepped from the pages of some Anorexia Today glossy.
For the UK version; look behind Clive Anderson and it looks like a selection of rejects from a genetics research laboratory – all glasses, teeth and Adam’s apples. And that’s just the women.
It works in theory; people expect to see only attractive people on TV unless it's 60 Minutes or Jerry Springer. But there is a risk. In one episode of the American show there was one woman who was so hot… like a young Denise Richards on a good hair day hot… that I completely lost track of the show.
I was sitting there saying: “Just hurry up and finish the hoe-down and cut back to the hot girl!”
I was nearly in tears of regret when that episode ended. I had been briefly in love. Or at least infatuated.
So here’s to you hot girl over Drew Carey’s shoulder. Gone but not forgotten.
It apparently originated as a British radio show which became a popular British TV show, hosted by Clive Anderson. It was then revived by Drew Carey and Ryan Stiles in America where it ran for about six seasons, rating reasonably well.
Producers loved it. It cost nothing to produce but was very funny.
But for me, one of the funniest things about the show was the American TV producers’ subtle manipulation of who’s visible on camera.
If you look behind Drew Carey as he’s seated at the desk, there’s inevitably about three super-model hot women sitting among the audience. There's never an uggo on screen. They all look like they've just stepped from the pages of some Anorexia Today glossy.
For the UK version; look behind Clive Anderson and it looks like a selection of rejects from a genetics research laboratory – all glasses, teeth and Adam’s apples. And that’s just the women.
It works in theory; people expect to see only attractive people on TV unless it's 60 Minutes or Jerry Springer. But there is a risk. In one episode of the American show there was one woman who was so hot… like a young Denise Richards on a good hair day hot… that I completely lost track of the show.
I was sitting there saying: “Just hurry up and finish the hoe-down and cut back to the hot girl!”
I was nearly in tears of regret when that episode ended. I had been briefly in love. Or at least infatuated.
So here’s to you hot girl over Drew Carey’s shoulder. Gone but not forgotten.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
I’m Ready for My Close-Up Now, Mr Muhammad
I watched a couple of movies at the weekend that are part of the new Hollywood genre – Mr Smith Goes to Baghadad.
These tend to be political dramas where the American armed services or covert operations units are called in to sort out problems in the Arab world and make the point that, well, nothing is particularly clear-cut.
It really is a terribly ambiguous area and there is no simple answer. There are religious and political and economic interests all colliding from all social strata to create an effective chaos. This is something Hollywood generally doesn't take to; except when there’s a buck to be made or a message to be pushed.
I guess Hollywood has this thing where the latest conflict is fodder for new movies. I’ve been amazed at how many World War 2 films were made in 1942 or 1943. I mean, they weren’t even sure at that point who was going to win; but they were busy churning out their patriotic promos.
It’s more discerning now. The two films I watched at the weekend, Rendition and Body of Lies each featured what I like to call EAS (or, Exploding Arab Syndrome). This can easily be translated as: In any street on the Persian Gulf, when the cameras are rolling, and there is a crowd, then there shall be a suicide bombing.
Stereotypical? Of course not. Because everybody knows that: In any street in Los Angeles, when the cameras are rolling, and there are Hispanics, then there shall be a drive-by shooting.
In any street in New York, when the cameras are rolling, and there are people, then there shall be a mugging.
In any part of New Zealand, when the cameras are rolling, and there are mountains, then there shall be hobbits.
These are all well established cinematic facts. Inevitably some acronym agency (the CIA, the NSA, the FBI or BKSB – the Burqa King Special Branch) is sent in to sort things out.
They discover that there is one featured Islamic terrorist who’s responsible for it all, and who is deluding all his followers to make them blow themselves up. They track Bad Muhommad down and arrest him. Which is where the story ends.
Except that the story doesn’t end there, because the interrogation, torture and murder of the Islamic terrorist chief and the retribution of his followers is sadly omitted. Such are the muddy waters of Hollywood plots in the Arab world.
Either way, the good guys win out at the end. With no one questioning why the Americans are getting their feet and reputations dirty in Iraq in the first place when it was their allies in Jordan who helpfully provided most of the 9/11 terrorists.
Do I have a point here? Um, not really. Basically I’m just rambling about how Hollywood has embraced the Persian Gulf as a setting for political action thrillers. Which really only serve to whitewash a complex political-economic-religious situation with plots so simple a blind wombat could follow them.
If Hollywood wanted to do some serious damage to the Nation of Islam, to really bring it crying to its knees begging for mercy, there’s really only one sure-fire way to do it – Ishtar 2.
These tend to be political dramas where the American armed services or covert operations units are called in to sort out problems in the Arab world and make the point that, well, nothing is particularly clear-cut.
It really is a terribly ambiguous area and there is no simple answer. There are religious and political and economic interests all colliding from all social strata to create an effective chaos. This is something Hollywood generally doesn't take to; except when there’s a buck to be made or a message to be pushed.
I guess Hollywood has this thing where the latest conflict is fodder for new movies. I’ve been amazed at how many World War 2 films were made in 1942 or 1943. I mean, they weren’t even sure at that point who was going to win; but they were busy churning out their patriotic promos.
It’s more discerning now. The two films I watched at the weekend, Rendition and Body of Lies each featured what I like to call EAS (or, Exploding Arab Syndrome). This can easily be translated as: In any street on the Persian Gulf, when the cameras are rolling, and there is a crowd, then there shall be a suicide bombing.
Stereotypical? Of course not. Because everybody knows that: In any street in Los Angeles, when the cameras are rolling, and there are Hispanics, then there shall be a drive-by shooting.
In any street in New York, when the cameras are rolling, and there are people, then there shall be a mugging.
In any part of New Zealand, when the cameras are rolling, and there are mountains, then there shall be hobbits.
These are all well established cinematic facts. Inevitably some acronym agency (the CIA, the NSA, the FBI or BKSB – the Burqa King Special Branch) is sent in to sort things out.
They discover that there is one featured Islamic terrorist who’s responsible for it all, and who is deluding all his followers to make them blow themselves up. They track Bad Muhommad down and arrest him. Which is where the story ends.
Except that the story doesn’t end there, because the interrogation, torture and murder of the Islamic terrorist chief and the retribution of his followers is sadly omitted. Such are the muddy waters of Hollywood plots in the Arab world.
Either way, the good guys win out at the end. With no one questioning why the Americans are getting their feet and reputations dirty in Iraq in the first place when it was their allies in Jordan who helpfully provided most of the 9/11 terrorists.
Do I have a point here? Um, not really. Basically I’m just rambling about how Hollywood has embraced the Persian Gulf as a setting for political action thrillers. Which really only serve to whitewash a complex political-economic-religious situation with plots so simple a blind wombat could follow them.
If Hollywood wanted to do some serious damage to the Nation of Islam, to really bring it crying to its knees begging for mercy, there’s really only one sure-fire way to do it – Ishtar 2.
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