The Revolution Will Not Be Televised. Or Happening At All.

 So, Russell Brand thinks, according to his recent interview, that we should all do nothing as a means to affect social change, and that this will somehow lead to some sort of apathy-based revolution.

 The kids seem to like Russell Brand, which is largely because kids are fucking idiots. He's a preening pseud who seems to think he knows what "real life" is like after spending the first half of his smacked out of his tree on heroin, and the second half as a millionaire comedian and actor, just like absolutely none of the real people he claims to champion.

 He is also guilty of spectacular intellectual cowardice, demanding to be heard and then, when questioned, falling back onto his "oh, don't listen to me, I'm only a comedian" defense. He wants us to listen to his opinions, as long as we don't take them seriously. Or maybe we're meant to take them seriously, but only if we blindly agree, and if we question, then it was all a joke. Or was it? He's the socio-political equivalent of the irritating drunk who calls you a cunt and then adds "just kidding" to try to look blameless.

 Also, like a lot of hippy idealists, he's absolutely convinced that there's going to be a revolution, like people were absolutely convinced there was going to be a revolution in the sixties, and in the early eighteen-hundreds, and all the other times that a revolution failed to materialise.

 The truth, sadly, is that whilst Brand may be right that politicians are useless corporate lackeys, he's wrong about everything else. Conditions in this country aren't anywhere near bad enough that people will take to the streets. We are all apathetic, and lazy, and too well fed to rise up from the sofa, let alone rise up against the ruling classes. We are, in the words of another champagne socialist, "doped with religion and sex and TV," and most people are happy about that. Orwell said that if there was hope, it must lie withe the proletariat, and a quick glance at the proletariat proves that we're all conclusively fucked.

 Proof that we'll never cast off our shackles came, oddly, in the form of AMC's The Walking Dead. In the new series of the zombie soap opera*, the main characters are sheltering from the undead in an abandoned prison. According to the writers of the show, they had planned to have the characters dig a moat for safety, but the ground around the prison where the show is filmed was unsuitable and the idea was nixed.

 Meanwhile, on internet message boards, people have reacted to this information by starting long, tedious arguments about the mechanics of digging an anti-zombie moat, the number of workers required to do it, suitable depths, breadths and dimensions, and a hundred other things besides. The arguments dragged on for several pages, proving that most people can't even agree on the best way to dig a hypothetical moat around a fictional prison which the writers have already ruled out. When people can't even organise "imaginary ditch digging" without descending into an arguments and backbiting, there's little hope for a grand social upheaval.

 So Brand's Glorious Revolution won't happen, but this is a good thing. Despite what Russell thinks, it's impossible to teleport ourselves magically out of whatever shit we're in. When asked about any sort of overarching plan for change by Jeremy Paxman, Brand claimed that a brief TV interview was not the correct format for a complicated manifesto, but he also singularly failed to produce any sort of cogent ideological thesis when given an entire issue of the New Statesman in which to do it. Beyond platitudes ("don't destroy the planet") Brand doesn't have much to offer.

 In truth, as every journey begins with a single step, the only way to fix the system which Brand not-unreasonably calls broken is to do it in increments. Incremental change is what democracy is all about, and although this can prove frustrating, it is, as Churchill pointed out, "the worst possible system of government except for all the other ones."

 I admit that I didn't vote in the last election, largely due to the self-same disaffectation and apathy that Brand describes, but having now seen the colossal, cataclysmic damage done by another Tory government, I'll be first in line to get Labour in on the next chance. That's not to say that Labour isn't a party riddled with career politicians and stooges to big business, but dammit, they're a step in the right direction, and that's what counts. Taking one step at a time is necessary to affect any sort of lasting change, personally or socially, and this should be crystal clear to a reformed addict like Russell Brand.

 A new, democratically elected government would not be the full, sunburst, revolutionary dawn that Brand wants. But it would be a chink of light in the darkness. A star in the night by which we might set a compass.

 And it will never happen unless we all get out and vote for it.




*That actually makes the show sound better than it is...

Movie Review: "Escape Plan."

 It's been a bad year for Arnold Schwarzenegger and Sly Stallone. Or at least, as bad a year as it can be for two enormously successful movie stars with legions of fans.

 Arnold's most recent movie, comeback attempt "The Last Stand," made significantly less money than the average Hotdog Stand, and Stallone's "Bullet To The Head" proved about as popular with movie goers as a Kick To The Nuts.*

 With their reputations suitably bruised, the two have teamed up for "Escape Plan," a movie that was originally entitled "The Tomb," until, presumably, someone worked out that if it died at the box office the headlines would just be too, too easy to write.

 For the unaware, "Escape Plan" sees Stallone playing a security expert who specialises in escaping from maximum security prisons in order to test their effectiveness. After being double-crossed, Sly is incarcerated in a supposedly perfect prison and left to rot, teaming up with Arnold's veteran convict to hatch a Tomb. ...Sorry. "Escape Plan."

 Having sat through "The Last Stand", personally accounting for about 20% of its ticket sales in the process, I can safely say it was amusing, but also an objectively terrible, terrible film. "Bullet To The Head" was rumoured to be even worse, but, like me, Stallone's character in the movie was a fan of Bulleit Bourbon (geddit?!) so when watching it I began playing "drink along with Sly," and as a result can't remember much of what happened. It's accurate to say I've sat in front of "Bullet To The Head" for its duration, but I still haven't actually seen it.

 Either way, going into "Escape Plan," I had pretty low expectations. Was I wrong?

 Surprisingly, I was. At least a little.

 There's a lot wrong with "Escape Plan." Vinnie Jones and 50 Cent are both in it, for starters, making Arnie and Sly look like classical thespians in the process. The script is nowhere near as clever as it thinks it is, and occasionally goes too far into the ridiculous - without giving anything away, you'd be surprised what Stallone can do with a ballpoint pen and a stolen pair of glasses.

 The morality of the story is also a little worrying, at times. The Tomb (the nickname for the unbreakable super-prison) is supposedly home to extremely dangerous political prisoners whom the world's governments would like to see vanish. Ignoring the fact that when a government wants someone to disappear, they usually just assassinate them, we are asked to sympathise at times with a devoutly Muslim inmate. Whilst it's nice to see Hollywood attempting to play a laborious "not all Muslims are evil!" note, one wonders whether any sympathy should really be saved for someone who is almost certainly, based on the evidence, a terrorist bomber.

 Whilst I'm generally not a fan of the idea that viewers should switch off their brains during a film, I do accept that it would be asking a lot for a Stallone/Schwarzenegger team up to be meticulously plotted or ponder the intricacies of the geopolitical scene too deeply. With that taken as read (or at least taken as explained by someone literate), there's actually a lot to like about the movie.

 The word that kept coming back to me again and again was "timeless." Not in the sense of a timeless masterpiece, as this is resolutely not the case, but in the sense that this film really could have been made in the mid-to-late eighties. Sure, the stars have aged, Stallone seeming to have come off the worst over time, or at least seeming to have the less gifted plastic surgeon, but the film is unapologetically fun in the style of... well, a Stallone or Schwarzenegger movie.

 For the first time in recent memory, there is also a refreshing lack of age jokes. Both men are still believably fit, and seeing them run a hundred yards or climb a ladder or punch someone in the face doesn't remotely stretch credulity. Rather than making tired old "we're so tired and old" references, the stars just go about their business of making an action film. Indeed, far from playing the burned out Sheriff in "The Last Stand," Arnold's true comeback moment seems to be at the end of this film when he turns in slow motion and does something that can only be described as Schwarzeneggeresque.

 In fact, "Escape Plan" may even mark a bizarre high-point in Arnold's career in that, for the first time ever, he actually succeeds as an actor. Interestingly, this moment comes when he is speaking his native German, but in his own language he conveys genuine emotion. It's quite surprising, and makes me wonder if, in another time and place, he could have actually been a respected actor in Austria instead of a dramatic punchline in English.

 It would be disingenuous to say "Escape Plan" is great, but it really is pretty good. Marketing is probably going to kill it stone dead - the previews before the screening were all for CGI-heavy hokum like Keanu Reeves' awful-looking "47 Ronin" and a pointless sequel to "300," neither of which appealed to the viewing audience who had turned out to watch aging meatheads crack skulls in a prison. But, if you're one of the dwindling group of people to whom aging meatheads cracking skulls appeals, then "Escape Plan" gives you exactly what you want. It's a lot like finding an Greatest Hits album by a band you'd forgotten you liked - often familiar, and never revolutionary, but still a lot of fun.



*Yeah, there's no way I'm not starting work on that screenplay as soon as I'm done here...

Church Morality.

 Due to the rapid-fire, instant nature of modern news, headlines often have to be abbreviated to within an inch of their lives.

 I remember being amused several years ago when country musician Buck Owens died and The Sun, rather than focus on his legacy as a guitarist or songwriter, or his influence on the Beatles, went with the ultra-curt headline "Buck Stops."

 Today I noticed a headline that ran "'Stars Treated As Sex Objects,' Says Church." I considered ignoring it, but clicked on it anyway to see why religious people were getting their panties in a bunch this time.

 As it turns out, the truncated headline was actually referring to singer CHARLOTTE Church, who was, admittedly, getting her panties in a bunch about not showing a bunch of panties.

 ...I'm probably not making things clear.

 Charlotte Church has come out against sexualising young women in music, having been a victim of it herself. In the process, she becomes the second most famous Church to be interested in sexualising minors, after the Catholic one.

 She weighs in on the whole Miley Cyrus/twerking debate, because you're not allowed to voice an opinion in the media these days without referencing that incident, and admits that she was constantly pressured by record execs to show more skin and behave with more faux-promiscuity.

 While all this is obviously horrible, she seems to miss the point somewhat when she complains that pop music has an adolescent mindset.

 Ignoring the fact that the target market for pop music is, of course, adolescents, Charlotte also seems oblivious to the wish-fulfillment aspect of music.

 Here, to illustrate a point, is Mick Jagger riding a giant inflatable cock:

I do not wish, for the record, to ride Mick Jagger's cock...

 There's a reason you never see the London Philharmonic doing something like that - although god knows I'd like them to for sheer comedy value. Rock'n'Roll, and by extension, pop music, are fantasies. Hyper-sexualised, high energy escapism for the masses. Pop isn't just about sex, it's about giant, inflatable cock sex with impossibly attractive partners. It's not about driving, it's about driving a Mustang at 90 miles an hour with the top down and a beer.

 In the same way that most of us will never shoot a man in Reno, just to watch him die, or even probably tell someone that you've just met that this is crazy, but here's your number, so call you, maybe, we turn to music for an escape from the humdrum, tedious lives we tend to live. We'll never get to trade in our wings for some wheels and pull out of a town full of losers to win, so we turn to pop stars to tell us about it.

 Pop is meant to be catchy and energised, and do for our bodies and hormones what classical symphonies do for our higher functions.

 In effect, this makes even "adult" pop music into an adolescent medium. It speaks to the childish, restless parts of us that wants to be sexy and young and free and wild, and our pop stars work best when they seem to embody those qualities. 

 Whilst the exploitation of young women in pop music is shameful and degrading, I fear Charlotte Church is too far inside the bubble to really understand the appeal. She's too close to the tree to see the woods. 

 It would be impossible to ever take the sex out of pop music (or even to take sex out of jazz or the blues or folk, although god knows folk is trying its hardest), but what's wrong isn't the sex so much as the way it is portrayed.

 We need our pop stars to be virile, youthful and sexy, and the real problem is that people have come to confuse the phrase "sexy" with the phrase "tits out." Pop stars were sexier when they purred and inferred and cajoled their audience than they are when they're yelling and gyrating at us.

 We'll always need pop stars to be hot, and pop music will always be juvenile. This doesn't make it okay to try to make juveniles hot, but it does explain the real reason that there are a lot of young girls wearing not very much in the charts at any given moment; it's not that pop music is inherently misogynist so much that pop speaks to the fourteen year old in all of us, and fourteen year olds just aren't very good at understanding sex.

 It's not really Miley or Rhianna or even their record execs we should be scrutinising. It's whatever part of ourselves gets off on base, cartoonish sexuality. And that's something no Church has ever been qualified to fix.

Just Don't Look.

 Pop culture, much like bacteria or most species of vermin, is everywhere. We can't always see it, but it surrounds us at all times.
 As a result, and much to my own frustration, I know who Harry Stiles is, despite never having heard any of One Direction's music. I don't even know if they've released any songs. I'm told they have, but I've never heard them, and the whole "1D" phenomenon (named after the depth of the band members' personalities) seems to have just been manufactured overnight as a deliberate fad. They're the aural equivalent of POG.

At least Pogman had charisma...
 

 The ubiquity of pop culture tat, and the weird way in which it bleeds into our consciousness, was brought home to me today when I ended up reading a short piece about some asshole who won The X-Factor, saying that he'd auditioned for The Voice but had disliked the show and felt like it was rigged. He went on to say that he'd ditched The Voice and gone on to "win a bigger show," as though he's accomplished anything at all.

 Anyone who knows anything is aware that this gloating tit will be forgotten by Christmas - I've already forgotten his name and can't be bothered to look it up, but he has the sort of tattoos that make you want to punch him in the face and the sort of face that makes you glad you listened to the tattoos.

 In the interests of some semblance of fair play, I gave him a chance and watched a video of one of his songs, "You're Nobody 'Til Somebody Loves You," which was embedded at the bottom of the pointless article. I did this mostly just to check that Dean Martin hadn't risen from the dead and started working for Simon Cowell. It was awful, not just musically, but sonically. It had all the melody and charm of a chainsaw hitting a nail during a tourettes sufferers' logging competition.

 I'd go so far as to say that of all the unpleasant things I've put into the holes in my head - and I once got the top of a biro stuck up my nose for fifteen minutes when I was a child, because children are stupid - this song won the "worst thing put in my ears" category comfortably.

 Somewhere around here I also began tracing my own movements. How had I ended up mindlessly reading this shit, much less listening to the song? I realised that the link had come via my Twitter feed, because I follow Digital Spy, a mindless "celeb gossip" type website that occasionally has information about films I might like or musicians whose work I actually enjoy.

 The more I thought about it, the more I realised that the ratio of trivial, painful bullshit I don't care about (interviews with X-Factor "winners," plot details to upcoming Eastenders arcs) to things I'm actually interested in was about 99-to-1. 

 So I unfollowed Digital Spy. I'm also, from now on, planning to stop clicking any links that have "Daily Mail" anywhere in them. I'm going to make a concerted effort, for the next few weeks, not to pay any attention to this new media horseshit about dull, manufactured subjects. 

 And maybe, if I ignore this stuff, it'll all go away.

 Wish me luck.

"The Walking Dead" Promises "Even More Racism" For Series Four.

 Over the past three series, The Walking Dead has come under considerable criticism from viewers for what has been perceived as racial and cultural stereotyping - the Korean guy is nerdy, the Southern characters are racist hillbillies, the female lead wanted to be a housewife from the fifties, etc.
 Perhaps the worst indicator of this was the black character, T-Dog, who, aside from being named T-Dog, only had about four lines in the three series he appeared in. One of these was "aaargh!" when he got eaten by zombies, and at least one of the others was something about going to church. The other two lines weren't memorable, but might well have been some variation of "Day-um!" or "Tha's whack!"
 Attempts to redress the balance in the upcoming episodes by giving more screen time to new African-American characters Tyrese and Michonne have hit a snag with news that these characters will be opening a shoe-shine business in the Woodbury prison and bringing other characters meals at regular intervals.
 In an exclusive interview, co-producer and writer Col. Honky Asscracker spoke to us from his verandah in Georgia, over a mint julep.
 "We've always supported having black characters in the show," he drawled, "but I believe they should be in scenes and not heard!"
 Asked if his views were outdated or if he was some sort of time traveler, the Colonel revealed that he was all for showing off the wealth of talent that black performers brought to the show, possibly by "having them perform charming musical numbers" amongst the zombie slaughter and over-riding message of man's inhumanity to man.

An Open Letter To Nuffield Health.

 Dear Nuffield,

 What was wrong with the old field?!

 I'm kidding. In actual fact, I applaud your promotion of healthy living. As a qualified nutritionist myself, I frequently try to prevent others from binge drinking.

 I do this by going out and trying to drink all the alcohol I can find before anyone else can get to it, which I think we can agree is both noble and a shitload of fun. During one of these sojourns, I came across an advertisment for your health club that, I must say, I objected to.

 Despite my heavy drinking, Nuffield, I like to stay in shape. I like running long distances and lifting heavy things, and whilst it's unfair to blame a health club for the decisions of marketing companies, your new poster pissed me off.

 The poster, showing a monochrome image of a huge bicep, in an almost perfect mirror image of Arnold Schwarzenegger in the promotional art for "Pumping Iron", bore the legend "That Picture You Have In Your Head Of Gyms. We're Not That."

Okay, fine, Arnold's is still bigger, but he is working right-handed, here...

 What this tells me, through a stark image, is that you're the gym (or, rather, health club) for people who don't want to work too hard.

 The image on the poster is over the top, sure, but who can honestly say that they don't want it? Who lifts weights, with the intention of getting bigger muscles, without thinking of the kind of huge arms on display in your poster?

 In the same way, who runs on a treadmill in an attempt to lose weight without envisioning, in some secret part of themselves, a perfect, toned, slimline figure?

 Your poster implies that you are the "health club" for the middle ground. For the people who only ever want to look average, rather than great - who want to achieve the bare minimum - and it speaks to a larger problem in society.

 Many times over, I've heard people who either don't work out, or who exercise in a different discipline (eg: distance runners) claim that weight lifting and body building are only for the vain.

 This is entirely a one-way street, incidentally. Bodybuilders and power lifters don't sit around bitching about marathon runners only doing it "to stay skinny," possibly because they're not insecure. It would be unfair to call distance runners and cyclists a bunch of spaghetti-armed pantywaists, so I won't, but I will, because they are.

 When it comes down to it, every single thing that every person does is down to vanity. If you're reading this with clothes on, it's only because you're too vain to be naked. If you've ever run, or lifted a weight, or played a sport of any kind, or learned an instrument or any other skill, it's always been out of self-fulfillment and self love.

 This is because anything in which a person can lose themselves - be it art, or music, or the zen of letting your body run while the mind wanders, or the focus of forcing a muscle through a hard rep to the silencing of all else - is a form of meditation, and this is essential to the upkeep of the human soul. People without hobbies - people without something in which to lose themselves - are the ones who are truly lost.

 Because of this, nobody should ever judge another person when it comes to hobbies, or dreams, or ambitions. And for you to say that "We're not a gym where you can get huge muscles - we're a gym where you can embrace the mediocre" is to cut the balls off of everyone who ever struggled through their fist chin-up with dreams of looking like Arnold, or every fat person who really wants to work it off and be thin.

 Like I say, Nuffield, I know individual branches aren't in charge of marketing, but get a grip. I go to the gym to work out. Not to play out, or to stretch out, or to lay out. Stop advertising yourself as the gym for people who aren't going to give it their all. Advertise yourself as the place that can make you look like this:

 [Picture is of the one and only C.T. Fletcher. 54 years old, steroid-free.]