Communication Breakdown - June 2002

I'm trying to be as careful as I can, because last year I slagged it off initially and then became so engrossed that I took it upon myself to have a "Big Brother" Party. Ok, Ok, I'm sad, it's official - but as the aforementioned shindig involved a huge, and rather potent, absinthe punch, I did retain some of my street credibility. This year, I'm purely interested in the contents of my party punch as opposed to the merits of the contestants. It's been a week, so it is early days, but has anyone else noticed the not-so-surreptitious way in which the producers have attempted to match-make from the word off? I know that the Paul & Helen story was a huge ratings winner, but it was the gradual way they got soppy on each

other that made for the good TV. This lot are like feral cats on heat. Will somebody give Kate one before she spontaneously combusts - no doubt there are several thousand blokes in the country who would step forward. Even more volunteers, I daresay, would be willing to put PJ out of his misery - and I'm not talking about a shag here, People. I may be backtracking in abundance this time next month, but for now I'm putting my neck on the line - Sunita had the right idea, this lot are not worth the time or the effort. Wooden, highly-strung and infuriatingly pretentious - and that's just Lynne. Let's hope they put in a contestant who's capable of raising a collective national smile or "BB3" will be lost forever in the sweeping tide of World Cup fever and Jubilee hell. On to bigger and infinitely better things..."24" is still the dogs nads - it's 100 percent official! This week left the rapt audience literally panting for more. I got so worked up that I couldn't sleep 'til 6am after watching a bumper double instalment this week (if you've been away skating on the ice lakes of Mars, you won't know that an additional preview episode of "24" is shown straight after the BBC2 edition on a Sunday night). How exciting was 10-11am? How loud did you cheer when Jack got the girls? How many prayers did you babble concerning Alberta Green - "Oh please Lord, let her be a goodie" etc etc? I sweat, I swear, I leap and I yell blue-murder. This programme will be the death of me yet. Don't agree? Fine. But don't think you'll be getting a Christmas card from me this year, Sunshine. We only schmooze with those who have the same immaculate good taste here in the land of Communication Breakdown. And if you've got that selfsame good taste you'll have been pleasantly surprised by Hugh Grant's performance in the cuddly Brit-flick "About A Boy". A diamond among the dust of the many other much-hyped and undeniably disappointing new movies of late (Clones, Panic Room....), "About A Boy" showcases a whole new side to Hugh. No longer the bumbling, floppy-fringed aristocratic git, Hugh turns in a solid performance as the lazy, self-enveloped, Will. You've forgotten about those nightmarish "Toff" turns in "Four Weddings" and "Notting Hill" within the first ten minutes, which leaves you free to settle in to a remarkably strong, well-scripted and heart-warming film. Badly Drawn Boy's kitsch-as-you-like soundtrack adds to the pleasure. If you haven't seen it already, don't wait for the Dvd release. It's too good. Badly Drawn Boy (in addition to Doves) is one of the only British musicians doing any decent new material at the mo. Unless you're willing to join in with the phoney punk revival there's not much happenin out there in the world of decent pop. But who wants to spend their well-earned cash on making former-punk, John Lydon, even richer? What's he been doing to oust the monarchy for the last twenty five years?, you may ask. Not a blasted lot, I can tell you. There's much more important things to rattle your sabre about (Kashmir, Afghanistan, Nepal...???) in today's crazy world than the bloody Queen and her overdose of nostalgic Golden Jubilee celebrations. Rotten's back, though, to promote the punk "ideal" and force his outdated whinging down our necks once more in the name of "controversy". The old fart should leave the 21st century's anarchic talk to today's plastic, pop-up controversy courtiers. Frankly, I'm more impressed by the spectacle of Brian May playing the National Anthem atop Buckingham Palace than the 'Pistols silly reunion at Crystal Palace. I'm no royalist, but what's the alternative? President Blair? Blimey, the Queen Mum would vibrate in her grave. God save The Queen. But this column isn't about politics, so let's wrap up this month's scintillating instalment with a good, old-fashioned pop at Oasis, who have released a right old turnip of a record. "Stop Crying Your Heart Out"? I wish you would, Liam. What a shocker this really is. A cloned cousin of "Slide Away", this God-awful example of Brit-dross makes like "What's The Story Morning Glory?" never happened. It's not the nineties any more boys, and if you hadn't noticed, Liam's vocals sound more and more like grating carrots. Still, I have found myself absent-mindedly singing along a couple of times (I punish myself with sharp sticks and hot irons). And that, my friends, is that. Don't forget to point me in the direction of anything you'd like to see within my Aladdin's Cave of entertainment commentary - and until next time, don't forget - it's only a game....c'mon Eng-er-land! Johanna Payton. johanna_payton@hotmail.com © Johanna Payton 2002. All rights reserved. Reproduction without permission is strictly forbidden. Click here to read last month's column.

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