I find that Brendan O’Carroll’s Mrs. Brown tends to polarize the audience; either you love it or you hate it. I think it’s great, so does my dad. It’s really old-fashioned panto humour, and he is as sharp as a knife. However, some people seem keen to begrudge him. So on Sunday evening, I showed one of the begrudgers the clip above, as a kind of a told-you-so. (Dad had shown it to me, which is generally a good means of quality control.) And guess what, the begrudger cracked his heart laughing.
Brendan O’Carroll’s Mrs. Brown appears to be the surprise big hit of 2011. It appears that he’s been a big hit with my parents as well, so we all sat down as a family to watch Mrs Brown’s Christmas Special on Christmas night. It had been commissioned by the BBC, and probably had an audience that day of a multiple of the entire population of Ireland. Anyway, the five of us added to that number and it was thirty minutes of quality good-humoured family television.
Have a look at this clip. I was in tears I laughed so hard. Nothing beats a good sing-song.
N.B. Turned out that Trevor, the son who was a prieesht in the Missions, actually turned out to a be a bit of alright.
No, not exams, Eurovision! Yes indeedy, this year Ireland once more enters the fray, boldly sending the Grimes Twins to to Dusseldorf, in a valiant attempt to regain her Eurovision crown and place it squarely (if such a thing were possible) on Jedward’s incredible coiffured locks.
So naturally Pantibar has risen to the occasion, giving the gays a reason for a hooley in the otherwise dry period (as if, I’ve yet to meet a sober homosexual!) between the AMI and Pride in the form of a glamtastic Eurovision spectacular. It’s based on Panti’s familiar theme of “putting some colour into your poor, dreary, grey lives…”
The brains behind Opus Gei have put this together, and it looks like a hoot. Now, if you’ll excuse me I’m off the learn the words to Gina G whilst practicing my hAon Dó Trís…
Often, it can be difficult for a parent, especially a father, so hear that his son is gay. This is not homophobia (i.e. an irrational fear of gay people), but rather a defensive parental instinct, as they do not fear homosexuality, but rather they fear that their child will suffer as a result of it. And no parent ever wants to see their child suffer.
It’s also important to remember, that when I came out in 2003 (eight years ago! How did that happen?) Ireland was a very different place. There simply were no gay role models. The only two gay men that anyone in Ireland knew were Senator David Norris and Elton John, and they could hardly be described as “normal”. Not only that, but civil partnership was so unrealistic, that one could only dream of it, and civil marriage was never going to happen. That meant that when I came out, my dad had no cultural references. I was only seventeen and he was pretty sure that I wasn’t a West Brit Joycean scholar, nor was a confidant of Lady Diana with a bad toupee. There was no framework, no role models; nothing for a parent to grasp onto, and therefore all the more difficult to understand.
Look what’s changed! I know that progress has been slow (too slow, some might argue) but Ireland has been transformed. As of this month, civil partnership is a reality, or in common speak (because Lord knows, the straights really don’t know the difference) – “gays can get married”; we now have not one, but two, openly gay TDs in the Dáil (and some others representing the constituency of Narnia); Intercounty GAA players (well, player) have come out. Suddenly Ireland is a land of fairies once more! (Not that it ever wasn’t, but at least people can see them again.)
But thinking back to 2003, when I came out, I can totally understand my father’s reaction. I think that most parents are world-wary. They see a cruel world, full of hatred and injustice and bigotry; people who will use cruelty and terror just because you were “different”, and most parents will try and protect their children in the face of this. He was just being protective, and rightly so. I was still only seventeen, and despite thinking that I had it all figured out, I hadn’t. So I’m thankful to him for making me throw on the brakes a little.
Anyway, today I clicked on the Single Ladies American Football video from Glee, and I saw the particularly moving clip between Kurt and his father, which really struck home to me. I think that is a wonderful depiction of a father’s love. And that’s why I had a happy little cry in my kitchen.
I detest Eastenders; it is entirely loathsome. I cannot understand why any sane human being would willingly subject themselves to multiple doses of human misery by tuning in every week. And it’s not just normal misery; it’s misery on speed, plus poverty, plus misogyny, plus violence, plus aggression. In other words, angry poor people murdering one another. Not only that, it’s unrealistic; there is no way that any place could be that horrible, or could sustain that level of murder over such a prolonged period. There would be simply no one left to kill.
I know there are some pretty terrible urban centres in the UK, but surely it has to be exaggerated; surely no where could be that bad. So why do people watch it? Is it to make their own miserable lives feel better? Or does Eastenders actually speak to the great British unwashed? Are poverty, aggression, misery and violence the fundamental characters in their language? Or is it just entertainment?
Several years ago, when it was announced that the London Olympics would be taking place in the East End, I held a faint glimmer of hope. Maybe they could film a live episode of Eastenders, in which the RAF bombed Albert Square flat, in order make space for the construction of an Olympic Stadium. It could be an amazing live finale, as millions of people turned in to watch that horrible cesspit of misery and aggression implode on itself, helped out by a couple of F16s. How fitting, and just imagine the ratings! As of yet though, there doesn’t appear to be any such grand finale, and the Olympic village is well under construction. Perhaps I should write a letter to the BBC…
P.S. Charlie Brooker has written a fantastic column about Eastenders latest storyline, which was got me thinking of this in first place. Read it here.
I’ve just seen this on TV, and it is absolutely brilliant! It’s an ad for a company that makes television ads, and apparently they are rather good at it. It just goes to show that it’s really about how you sell yourself. I particularly enjoyed the bit when the dog started driving the kids to school.
I wonder should I make an ad for myself, so that some tall ginger fella will consider adopting me.
As I’m sure you will all know, I have great time and admiration for that fantastic British comedy duo: The Two Ronnies, and for Ronnie Barker most especially. It was with great sadness that wordsmiths around the world learned of his passing, some two years ago. He really was a marvelously clever and funny big man. I adore his wordplay, and he was instrumental in my realising that smart people could be funny, a fact that I had overlooked while in was being bullied in school. Alas, Ronnie Barker is no more, living on only in television reels and youtube clips, and in the hearts and minds of millions of fans.
However, a bird in the hand is better than two in Shephard’s Bush and it appears with this in mind that the BBC made a new series, starring Ronnie Corbett, The One Ronnie. Or more so it was because Ronnie C has turned eighty this year, but my God does he still look marvellous in drag. Anyway, here’s a sketch from the new show; fans will of course recognise it as an homage to the Fork Handles and Ice Cream Parlour sketches. Ronnie Barker might not be around to write them anymore, but it’s just as good.
Niamh was in town shopping yesterday when she spotted Anne Doyle in Dunnes Stores. That’s right! Anne Doyle, off the telly!
It turns out that this fabulous gay-icon of rogue pronunciations i.e. “s-ex-u-al” – lives, breathes and even shops amongst us mere mortals. For a moment, Niamh and Anne’s eyes meet, and they both acknowledged that we were working the “power blonde” look.
Then it hit Niamh – maybe it wasn’t Anne at all, but someone even more fabulous – could it be that she’d just seen Lady Gaga?
King Solomon's Mines - H. Rider Haggard
Glengarry Glen Ross - David Mamet
The Tempest - William Shakespeare
The Eyes Were Watching God - Zora Neal Hurston
The Importance of Being Earnest - Oscar Wilde
Treasure Island - Robert Louis Stevenson
The Book of Laughter and Forgetting - Milan Kundeva
American Colonies - Alan Taylor
The Help - Kathryn Stockett
Frankenstein - Mary Shelley
Marx A Very Short Introduction - Peter Singer
The Playboy of the Western World - J.M. Synge
John Bull's Other Island - G.B. Shaw
Kathleen Ní Houlihan - Y.B. Yeats & Lady Gregory
The Plough and the Stars - Sean O'Casey
The Story of Lucy Gault - William Trevor
The Woman Who Walked Into Doors - Roddy Doyle
Fahrenheit 451 - Ray Bradbury
Death of a Salesman - Arthur Miller
The Blackwater Lightship - Colm Toibín
Things Fall Apart - Chinua Achebe
Macbeth - William Shakespeare
WIde Sargasso Sea - Jean Rhys
