Why JJ Abrams Sucks

It started (although I didn't know it at the time) with Armageddon, a film from 1998 that sucked. It dealt with the subject of the earth being struck by a meteor, and it came out about 8 seconds after Deep Impact, which dealt with the same theme but was a much more interesting, sensitive, and well-thought-out film. 

JJ Abrams was a writer on Armageddon, from there on he made the TV series Alias, which featured Jennifer Garner looking like she was trying to suck milk out of a diamond, and then he went on to make Lost.

The next slew of episodes has just hit UK television, and it sucks. Now, I know I'm saying nothing new here, but here's the thing:

THERE WILL BE NO ANSWERS, AND THERE WILL BE NO PAYOFF. EVER.

EVER.

Thing is, I can PROVE THIS. 

Series One of Lost was one of the most exciting things ever. We all watched, chewing our knuckles, wondering what it all meant, what GENIUS masterplan was at work, what MONUMENT of televisual EXCELLENCE was being built on these EXHILARATING foundations?

And the answer is none. None monument. In series one, we had to endure the unending flashbacks to the characters' lives before they crash landed on the island. We sat patiently through them for the 90 seconds of gratifying plot advancement each episode afforded. 

And so it continued with Series Two. More mysteries! Lordy, it sure would be nice to have something explained, or some mystery revealed at some point, but gosh darn it, it's all so exciting!

Then JJ Abrams started making Cloverfield, and then we realised he was a fucking liar and a bullshit merchant and a substanceless piece of sucky fuck. Don't believe me? Click on this link and watch:

http://www.ted.com/index.php/talks/j_j_abrams_mystery_box.html

(Incidentally, don't let it put you off www.ted.com, which is one of my favourite websites)

And there it all is. Let me save you the precious minutes of humanity - I'll paraphrase his little talk. What he basically says is "I think it's way more exciting when you don't get to find out what's going on. And Macs are way cool." 

Oh, SUPER. Well, sorry, but isn't that part of the contract between the creator and the audience? We agree to watch your film or TV show or read your book, and you promise to give us some kind of fucking payoff.

Around Cloverfield time, Lost started doing flash... forwards, instead of flashbacks. A fantastic move, that suddenly made the time on the island, formerly the exciting part, the boring part. And in fact, we all started not to care about any of it, because nobody was really telling us anything about anything anymore. 

And this evening's episode, after a year's hiatus, is the most incomprehensible mess of bollocks I have ever seen. At any given time you don't know if you're watching a flashback, a flashforwards, a 'time-loop' on the island, or the delusions of Hurley, the mentally-disturbed fat guy, who must surely be on danger money for maintaining that weight for so many years. Dude, just looking at him makes me feel a little... Hurley.

The whole thing smacks of a play mounted by two six-year-olds who are frantically trying to raise the stakes as they sense the endgame of bedtime approaching:

"And, then, er, and then, a THING comes out of the trees and it's made of SMOKE!"

"No, come on JJ, it's bedtime, isn't it...?"

"No, and then... And THEN! They discover they are travelling in TIME!" (Starts bouncing on sofa.)

"Come on JJ... Teeth"

"But, no, and then, then, one of them's DEAD but he's not!" (Leaps off sofa.)

"Teeth and bed."

"No, TWO of them!" (Smashes into brand new DAB radio with iPod dock.)

"Right. That's it."

Getting into a mess is a piece of cake. Getting back out of it without losing your audience is the hard part. JJ Abrams, you SUCKY PIECE OF COCKING SHAFT. 

Oh, and isn't it awful what's going on in the Middle East.

It's Officially the Saddest Day of the Year

Another one of those official-but-pointless press releases.

Now look.

There’s plenty to be unhappy about. God knows we’re all facing those foul little squirts of adrenalin with the credit crunch, and this morning it seems Britain has been hit by a water cannon, but come on.

You could be living in the hottest part of the world, where people every day have to walk a 30-mile round trip to fetch their water in sweltering heat, and when the water comes out of the ground, it is literally boiling.

You could be George W Bush, about to give way to someone approximately 8 billion times more popular than you – no money is worth that, dude.

You could be an animal – would you like to spend your life as a dung beetle? I would, actually, but I’m a bit weird like that.
Or you could be a patient awaiting dentistry in the 18th Century. That was not fun.

And if you really want to widen the frame on the luckiness thing:

Arthur C Clarke said we are nothing but chemicals risen to consciousness, so be grateful that the chemicals that make up you aren’t currently being used as a swamp, or a cow pat, or a lamp, or spinning through the vast, cold vacuum of space as a lifeless comet, or Gary Bushell’s Beard, getting covered in bits of egg and venom.

So come on, brace up, let’s make the best of it. It’s really not so bad. Have a good day.

Exclusive Delia Smith 'Cheat!' Recipe

It's worth digging out the Xmas TV Chefs piece on the little Reverbnation Player-thingy at the bottom right of this page, if you haven't already heard it. It is not bad it is 7/10.

Anyway. I can now share with you this exclusive Delia Smith recipe from her Cheat! series, in which she shows you all the quick and easy shortcuts in cooking. I can share it cos it never made it into the final cut of BBC3's Most Annoying People of 2008, which featured me for a glorious nine seconds. Anyway, here's the recipe:

DELIA'S QUICK AND EASY CHEATER'S LASAGNE

Ingredients:

1 Loaf Sliced White Bread
2 Tins Sardines
1 Ready-Made Lasagne


Method:

Hammer slices of white bread flat. Layer in a dish/bucket with mashed-up sardines. Scrape cheese off top of lasagne ready-meal and put on your slices of bread. Microwave for a bit and hey presto! Quick and easy Sardine Lasagne.

Heaven and Eartha

See? Always the same. One little cold snap and it's all over.

Eartha Kitt, I see, has pegged it, the chanteuse who graced us with such unforgettable songs as:

I'm just an old fashioned girl with an old fashioned mind
Not sophisticated, I'm the sweet and simple kind.
I want an old fashioned house, with an old fashioned fence
And an old fashioned millionaire.
And an old fashioned fur coat made from old fashioned skins
From some old fashioned small mammals.

Since she has little objection to wearing the skins of others, now she's dead, may I put in my request now for a bit of hers? I'd like at least a pair of gloves, or ideally a little Eartha Kitt helmet, made out of her face.

Maybe a sturdy pair of boots, made from the unsympathetic old cow's hide.

A Minute's Silence for Harold Pinter...

...Not that you'd notice.

You Get What You Pay For.

In the last week I have done four standup 'gigs' (industry term) and consequently caught quite a few of the last trains out of Charing Cross station in London. If you don't know Charing Cross, it's like a King's Cross Lite, in that instead of exciting overnight sleepers to the highlands, trains only go about 20 miles to Orpington.

That's not completely true - some trains go to Dover Western Docks, which is exciting, and makes you think of great industrial landscapes with ramps going all over the place and ships and horns and France and holidays.

But I get the Orpington train.

And they are very suburban trains - not sleek Pendolinos with dining cars. They look like Fisher Price versions of tube trains, all very plasticky and primary coloured. There have been various brouhahas about these trains, as rail companies keep trying to rip more and more seats out, so they can squish more people into each carriage, reinforcing the notion that commuting Londoners are little more than self-herding cattle.

One of the most laughable notions they had with these trains was the installation of a First Class Compartment. About a third of one carriage is given over to an area with very slightly bigger seats, which are coloured maroon = not a primary colour = classy.

The point is, these areas are generally regarded as the rail companies' little joke, an ironic nod towards the days when customers were passengers, and service actually meant something other than taking £3.40 off you to make you stand up the whole way and arrive consistently behind schedule.

So last Thursday, I'm on the last train home, it's the last Thursday before Christmas, and the train is heaving with drunk people. It's what I like to call the Society Train - a civilised affair where people enjoy sophisticated repartee and four-for-a-fiver lagers. By around midnight in Charing Cross, they leave the ticket barriers open, as if understanding that most people are fare dodging, and that it's simply not economically viable to let your staff be assaulted by 8,000 people.

I get on the train, and I'm fairly sober, having been performing. I go into the First Class section, as I have many times, having failed to see that this train is, astonishingly, staffed by a conductor, although presumably he is just cadging a lift home. And he says to me, he actually says to me: "Have you got a first class ticket?"

People have spattered the whole train in sick, and are openly humping each other, writhing around in a combination of Burger King wrappers and WKD Blue. And this guy is asking me if I have a First Class ticket? Of course I don't. Is now really the time?

Maybe it's like chess. Maybe he was trying to protect the King. Maybe this pretentious little compartment is the last bastion of civilization. When falls the First Class compartment on the 00.10 to Orpington, England falls. Or maybe he could tell I was a soft target. Damn.

I should have asked him for an upgrade.

Podcast

Hallo!

My first podcast goes live today on iTunes, courtesy of Comedy 365:

Click here to see it in iTunes

It's a bit rude. If you know any 15-year-old boys, they'll go ape over it. There'll be more in the new year. Oh, and if you hate Macs, then you can get it direct from here:

www.comedy365.co.uk

Ace.

Jake