At the end of 2005, Eminem seemed to have completely wiped his hands of the business that had, whether he liked it or not, given him fame and fortune. In this year the Detroit rapper released his ominously titled greatest hits collection, Curtain Call and the equally ominous single When I’m Gone. Most of the lyrics of this flagship single all but told the world that Mr. Mathers was giving up his alter ego, Slim Shady, as well as his pen name, Eminem, so that he could get back to just being Marshall and more importantly to being ‘Dad’.
Lyrics like, ‘I turn around, find a gun on the ground, cock it, put it to my brain, scream “Die Shady” and pop it’ are not really the words of a person who is happy pretending to be someone else, but then again The Way I Am told us early on that Eminem was not happy being Slim Shady all of the time. But, in When I’m Gone, Eminem also said ‘Slim Shady’s crazy, Shady made me but tonight Shady’s rock a by baby’, the inclusion of the lullaby suggesting that this persona was not being killed off, but merely being put to sleep for a while.
And so he was.
On Monday 18th May 2009 Relapse was released, thereby reintroducing Eminem into the industry he seemed to have turned his back on, an industry that had become ridden with talentless and tacky pop rappers in his absence. Fans of Eminem will surely be somewhat unsure of what to make of this new album being as though the first release from it was Crack A Bottle – a collaboration between Eminem, his mentor and producer Dr. Dre, and his own (not so) little protégé 50 Cent. The beat on the song was great (when is a Dre beat not great?) but the effort stank of the commercial rap that 50 Cent has made a habit of firing out; the type that will be catchy, sell loads and get played in clubs but is not what Eminem has been, or ever will be loved for – Ass Like That or Smack That anyone? No? Didn’t think so.
The second single was We Made You, one of Eminem’s celebrity-observational-comedy tunes that, although funny, was not offering the Eminem fans what they really wanted. The beat was again produced by Dre, as all but one of the 20 songs on the album are, but this still failed to convince that Slim Shady was really back.
Patience was wearing thin and the album release date was approaching. Was Eminem’s new album going to be a shameless effort to make up the money he lost due to his messy second divorce from Kim?
Thankfully, 3am said, in a blood curdling scream, “No!”. It was the release of this fantastical, autobiographical horror tale of having a relapse in rehab and killing everyone in the hospital which confirmed that not only had Slim Shady returned, but he was stepping into places darker than those he had previously strayed into, after all, even though there are definitely darker songs in Eminem’s discography, most obviously Kim, none of these have been released. So Slim Shady was starting to show a broader audience just how disturbed a life lived with an alleged drug abusing mother, suicidal ex-wife, and Bizarre, can leave you. On the album, 3am is introduced effectively by a skit featuring British actor Dominic West, a.k.a. McNulty from The Wire, a.k.a. the best cop ever, but in this instance known as the pretty scary shrink, Dr. West.
Dr. West and 3am are promptly backed up by My Mom. In this last track Eminem experiences a beautiful piece of the-apple-doesn’t-fall-far-from-the-tree realisation and accepts that his past abuse of all things drug-ish has made him just as bad as the woman he has slated for over 10 years, although his being like this may still be her fault. It is funny and fresh and Eminem does not ignore the criticism that he tends to talk about his mum a lot, instead acknowledging it but going about his business anyway.
Insane is the fourth track on the new album and is about as sick as Eminem’s lyrics have ever been and that isn’t ‘sick’ in the modern complimentary sense. The track describes (what we can only hope to be) fake, incestuous gay rape from his step-father in disturbing graphic detail and includes other lyrics like: ‘Don’t you know what ‘felch’ means? (Yeah) Well then tell me, would you rather get felched or do the felching? Fuck ‘em in the ass suck the come out while you’re belching’. Strong stuff. If Eminem somehow decided to release that song he would undoubtedly have to deal with more trouble from the media than ever before, and this is a man who was almost investigated by the United States Secret Service for saying ‘I don’t rap for dead presidents, I’d rather see the President dead’ in We As Americans, a bonus track on Encore.
Track eight is Same Song & Dance, another scary tale of murder inspired by Eminem’s obsession with serial killers, laid over a disturbingly mellow beat, resulting in memories of ’97 Bonnie & Clyde being woken from the depths of the fans’ minds – only ever a good thing. A similar effect is produced by Stay Wide Awake, but this is more about getting into the dark reaches of Eminem’s imagination and sounds almost like a more perverted version of The Watcher on Dr. Dre’s 2001.
Dre’s production on the album is typically flawless and Eminem has definitely benefitted from being able to let one of the best producers in the history of hip-hop do what his does best, allowing him to concentrate his own mind on the lyrical content. Highlights of Dre’s production include his and Eminem’s collaboration on Old Time's Sake, more of a Dre tune than an Eminem one, the jovially perverse Hello, and the explosive Underground which is preceded by a skit with Steve Berman.
The skits on Eminem’s albums have always proven to be humorous additions, thrown in to brake down unrelenting ear assaults into manageable chunks and simultaneously provide listeners with background information about songs, albums and other, usually fictional, parts of the rapper’s life. The skits on Relapse may not be as funny as the skits on previous albums (Em Calls Paul on Encore is still the firm favourite for me), but they provide essential contextual information for fans unaware of where Eminem has been hiding all these years. In addition to this, fans will be pleased to know that Ken Kaniff does make an appearance on Relapse, although they will definitely be disappointed to know, unlike on The Marshall Mathers LP, that this time he is not being given a blow job.
One skit is from Eminem’s ever-present manager, Paul Rosenberg, whose presence on any Eminem album usually summarises what kind of trouble his lyrics provide for his manager. This time around, Paul is faced with the challenge of dealing with the incest spoken about above, as well as an unprovoked, but nonetheless shamefully funny, attack on Eminem’s favourite whipping boy, Christopher Reeve, who is, of course, dead.
This is the Eminem we love and the Eminem that many love to hate, this is Slim Shady.
In promoting the new album to the UK public Eminem has recently crossed the pond to make appearances on Friday Night with Jonathan Ross and Zane Lowe’s Radio 1 programme as well as doing an interview for The Observer with journalist Anthony Bozza (see http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2009/may/17/eminem-urban-music-relapse). Each interview has been dominated by the subject of Marshall Mathers’ addiction to prescription drugs and his subsequent rehabilitation. The only song produced by Eminem on the new album is Beautiful, the first verse of which was written by Eminem when he was in rehab, and it shows. Beautiful is a deep and sad tune that brings the album to a depressing halt for a moment. This is not a bad thing however; it merely makes all the other tracks seem all the more uplifting despite the sick content they may possess. Juxtaposing Beautiful with tracks like 3am, Same Song & Dance and Stay Wide Awake makes murder seem like Eminem’s prerogative or even his god-given right, since it becomes evident that the rapper has been to hell and back in the time between giving us an Encore and then having a Relapse.
Eminem also had to deal with the death of his best friend and fellow D12 member, Deshaun Dupree Holton, a.k.a. Proof in April 2006. This hit the man hard and only exacerbated his already terrible drug addiction. I personally thought that Eminem would have a lot to say on Relapse about the murder of such as good friend, but he merely nods his head towards it in Déjà Vu, perhaps choosing to keep such an emotional matter a bit closer to his chest, a tactic he has been forced to learn the hard way.
Relapse is obviously a suggestion that Eminem is going back to his old ways prior to his detox and year long sobriety, but, for Eminem, the album title was not about going back to drugs, but instead about going back to the days of The Slim Shady LP and The Marshall Mathers LP, the two most critically acclaimed albums he has produced. Despite The Eminem Show and Encore being excellent too, most fans know in their heart of hearts that Eminem’s first two studio albums are definitely his best to date, with the artist seeming to suffer from the law of diminishing returns as he tried to churn out new CDs. The first two albums will always be held in high esteem because of how ground-breakingly offensive the content in them was and, especially with The Slim Shady LP, how offensive it was for a white rapper to invade a genre reserved for black artists in such a Just Don’t Give A Fuck way.
Although it would be hasty to say that Relapse is Eminem back at his absolute best, he does come very close, and elements of the new album are better than anything he has done before. Also, it would be unfair to judge him negatively for not being able to capture that energy and raw talent that made the first two albums exceptional because of the adversity he has had to fight through, and because of the way that no one can stay energetic and raw forever.
Relapse is a complete violation of your hearing, a feat achieved by all of Eminem’s albums, just never before has it been achieved to the same degree. You are forced to deal with a barrage of abuse aimed not at you, but mainly at Eminem himself, along with many, many celebrities. His derision of the latter makes you think that maybe the boom in the celebrity culture could have happened because Eminem has not been around to keep the idiots that dominate it in check. Eminem’s piss-taking abilities are unsurpassed in music, he manages to ‘diss’ anyone with consummate ease and does so in many glorious and different ways, from the obvious – threatening to rape the Pussycat Dolls, piss on Rihanna and glue and fold Madonna into a La-Z-Boy and sit on it on Medicine Ball – to the not so obvious – mimicking the voice-modification technique that seems to be proliferating in urban music amongst many artists (e.g. Kanye West, Jamie Foxx and the Black Eyed Peas) on Bagpipes From Baghdad.
It is great to have Eminem back, and even better that he brought Slim Shady with him. They have both been sorely missed. Another piece of good news for fans is that Relapse II should be released towards the end of the year after Eminem wrote enough material for three albums during his hiatus, all of which has been refined to two albums’ worth on the Dr.’s orders. So we can definitely expect a lot more from Mr. Mathers in the future.
Eminem’s musical relapse has allowed him to get back to his ways of old and will affect the lovers of The Slim Shady LP in the same way. Listening to this album will allow you to forget about the horrific realities of the world around us in this tough time and allow you to escape into a much more horrific place created for you by Slim Shady. You can forget all that maturity and responsibility 10 years has forced upon you and sink into Eminem’s twisted little world again.
...Shady’s back...tell a friend.
Monday, 27 July 2009
Tuesday, 17 March 2009
Watchmen Review
Watchmen was released into UK cinemas on Friday 6th March and having utilised the first Orange Wednesday since its release to go and see the film last week I thought it would only be right to force my opinion of it on other people, after all isn’t that what reviews are all about – journalists masquerading their opinions as world truths?
The graphic novel is, and always will be, loved by fanboys the world over, giving director Zack Snyder the unenviable task of converting into film material described by its embittered co-creator, Alan Moore, as “inherently unfilmable”. Being a lover of the book himself surely influenced Snyder’s initial decision to take the film on in the first place, but also his decision to remain so true to the original work. That is, after all, exactly what the film does, in a similar fashion to Snyder’s 300 which held true to Frank Miller’s graphic novel of the same title. It may be seen as the easy way out; stick slavishly close to the fanboys’ ‘precious’ and they won’t demand your balls on a platter immediately after storming out of the cinema two minutes into the film. But, in the case of Watchmen sticking close to the original material is the bravest step any director could take. When taking into account the weighty content of the Watchmen novel, any director that has managed to remain steadfast and not bowed to the pressure applied by glutinous studios to produce a film that is actually worthy of carrying the novel’s title to screen has to be applauded.
If you add to this the fact that Snyder has altered the material with a little help from his friends, namely screen writers David Hayter and Alex Tse, you can really see that the chap has got his wits about him. The ending of the novel is somewhat unbelievable, and remember that this is in a novel including a blue ‘man’ who can appear wherever he wants, whenever he wants, whatever size he wants, complete with blue cock for all to see. Changing the ending of the story ever so slightly prevents the less open minded movie goer from alienation and further bum-numbing with the film already notching up a 2 hours 42 minutes running time. Forcing in the original ending would have required an additional story line and character development running along the many already on the go and would have, in turn, required a pause button of some sort.
Watchmen comes at you with an 18 rating held aloft so that you know it is not a kiddie’s comic-book vehicle. The fight scenes are brutal to the point of eliciting synchronised grimaces from the cinema audience as numerous baddies suffer compound fracture after compound fracture and other, more violent injuries and/or deaths. But it is not just the violence in the film which makes it unfit for young eyes, the sexual content of the book is also transformed to the screen so seamlessly that you realise the bars separating the windows in the graphic novel are seams which the film does not have to put up with, placing into your head an idea about why almost every graphic novel and comic book produced or in production is steadily making its way to the screen, if it hasn’t done so already.
In the film Nite Owl (Patrick Wilson) and Silk Spectre (Malin Akerman) give us an essential ingredient; genuine human characters, warts and all, who magnify how crazy the other pieces of the puzzle are. Dr Manhattan (Billy Crudup) displays superbly in bold, blue letters how alien a being with infinite knowledge and power would be made to feel by a race born with a major inferiority complex. Ozymandias (Mathew Goode) puts us all to shame with his knowledge, physical prowess and wealth all while remaining a homo sapien. However, it is Rorschach and The Comedian, portrayed excellently by Jackie Earle Hayley and Jeffrey Dean Morgan respectively, who stand out from the crowd. They share an uncompromising, no-nonsense approach to cleaning up a world that they, in their own individual ways, realise is full to the brim with evil. Rorschach sees it and is disgusted, turning inwards and becoming a hateful loner that you can’t help but love. Whereas The Comedian, whose brutal murder is the catalyst for the story, simply laughs at how sick and twisted the world is. Rorschach says of The Comedian: ‘He saw the true face of the twentieth century and chose to become a reflection, a parody of it’. In short, Rorschach and The Comedian make Batman look like a joker.
We are brought into their worlds to see if we can sample them and come out the other side still seeing good and evil as absolutes, and if we can, do we remain on the right side of the fence?
The most engaging aspects of Watchmen are the moral dilemmas it imposes on us – Should a child molester merely be sent to prison? Does war make it okay to kill anything that tries to kill you, even if that includes children? Should you really help people who do nothing but try to destroy themselves? Each small quandary makes you question your very own integrity. But the real dilemma is saved for the end. It is very hard to watch the film without putting yourself into the shoes, knee-high boots, blue-skinned bare feet, etc. of the heroes. In the event of impending global catastrophe would you do what NEEDED to be done?
The film does what many thought it would never do; it works. The stylised camera work Zack Snyder was inevitably going to bring with him fits perfectly with the brutal action sequences that cannot jump off of a page as well as they can a screen. The soundtrack is strange but excellent; sometimes acting as comic relief from what should be a horrific sight – e.g. Vietcong exploding – making us think about whether or not we should be laughing at what our eyes are seeing, but at other times supplying heightened drama to scenes where our focus is in no doubt.
Watchmen picks up where The Dark Knight left off, bringing the genre of the comic-book movie kicking and screaming into adulthood. It is simultaneously an action movie that pulls no punches and a psychodrama that will change your idea of heroism forever.
9/10
The graphic novel is, and always will be, loved by fanboys the world over, giving director Zack Snyder the unenviable task of converting into film material described by its embittered co-creator, Alan Moore, as “inherently unfilmable”. Being a lover of the book himself surely influenced Snyder’s initial decision to take the film on in the first place, but also his decision to remain so true to the original work. That is, after all, exactly what the film does, in a similar fashion to Snyder’s 300 which held true to Frank Miller’s graphic novel of the same title. It may be seen as the easy way out; stick slavishly close to the fanboys’ ‘precious’ and they won’t demand your balls on a platter immediately after storming out of the cinema two minutes into the film. But, in the case of Watchmen sticking close to the original material is the bravest step any director could take. When taking into account the weighty content of the Watchmen novel, any director that has managed to remain steadfast and not bowed to the pressure applied by glutinous studios to produce a film that is actually worthy of carrying the novel’s title to screen has to be applauded.
If you add to this the fact that Snyder has altered the material with a little help from his friends, namely screen writers David Hayter and Alex Tse, you can really see that the chap has got his wits about him. The ending of the novel is somewhat unbelievable, and remember that this is in a novel including a blue ‘man’ who can appear wherever he wants, whenever he wants, whatever size he wants, complete with blue cock for all to see. Changing the ending of the story ever so slightly prevents the less open minded movie goer from alienation and further bum-numbing with the film already notching up a 2 hours 42 minutes running time. Forcing in the original ending would have required an additional story line and character development running along the many already on the go and would have, in turn, required a pause button of some sort.
Watchmen comes at you with an 18 rating held aloft so that you know it is not a kiddie’s comic-book vehicle. The fight scenes are brutal to the point of eliciting synchronised grimaces from the cinema audience as numerous baddies suffer compound fracture after compound fracture and other, more violent injuries and/or deaths. But it is not just the violence in the film which makes it unfit for young eyes, the sexual content of the book is also transformed to the screen so seamlessly that you realise the bars separating the windows in the graphic novel are seams which the film does not have to put up with, placing into your head an idea about why almost every graphic novel and comic book produced or in production is steadily making its way to the screen, if it hasn’t done so already.
In the film Nite Owl (Patrick Wilson) and Silk Spectre (Malin Akerman) give us an essential ingredient; genuine human characters, warts and all, who magnify how crazy the other pieces of the puzzle are. Dr Manhattan (Billy Crudup) displays superbly in bold, blue letters how alien a being with infinite knowledge and power would be made to feel by a race born with a major inferiority complex. Ozymandias (Mathew Goode) puts us all to shame with his knowledge, physical prowess and wealth all while remaining a homo sapien. However, it is Rorschach and The Comedian, portrayed excellently by Jackie Earle Hayley and Jeffrey Dean Morgan respectively, who stand out from the crowd. They share an uncompromising, no-nonsense approach to cleaning up a world that they, in their own individual ways, realise is full to the brim with evil. Rorschach sees it and is disgusted, turning inwards and becoming a hateful loner that you can’t help but love. Whereas The Comedian, whose brutal murder is the catalyst for the story, simply laughs at how sick and twisted the world is. Rorschach says of The Comedian: ‘He saw the true face of the twentieth century and chose to become a reflection, a parody of it’. In short, Rorschach and The Comedian make Batman look like a joker.
We are brought into their worlds to see if we can sample them and come out the other side still seeing good and evil as absolutes, and if we can, do we remain on the right side of the fence?
The most engaging aspects of Watchmen are the moral dilemmas it imposes on us – Should a child molester merely be sent to prison? Does war make it okay to kill anything that tries to kill you, even if that includes children? Should you really help people who do nothing but try to destroy themselves? Each small quandary makes you question your very own integrity. But the real dilemma is saved for the end. It is very hard to watch the film without putting yourself into the shoes, knee-high boots, blue-skinned bare feet, etc. of the heroes. In the event of impending global catastrophe would you do what NEEDED to be done?
The film does what many thought it would never do; it works. The stylised camera work Zack Snyder was inevitably going to bring with him fits perfectly with the brutal action sequences that cannot jump off of a page as well as they can a screen. The soundtrack is strange but excellent; sometimes acting as comic relief from what should be a horrific sight – e.g. Vietcong exploding – making us think about whether or not we should be laughing at what our eyes are seeing, but at other times supplying heightened drama to scenes where our focus is in no doubt.
Watchmen picks up where The Dark Knight left off, bringing the genre of the comic-book movie kicking and screaming into adulthood. It is simultaneously an action movie that pulls no punches and a psychodrama that will change your idea of heroism forever.
9/10
Thursday, 12 February 2009
You
On March 6th 2009 stage two of the maturation process for the comic-book movie will come into force. Watchmen will be released into UK cinemas following the settlement of the legal battle between Warner Bros. and 20th Century Fox over who ‘owns’ the movie. Stage one was of course put into action last year by the money spinning behemoth ‘The Dark Knight’.
Directed by the nice chap who brought us the almost lethal dose of testosterone that was ‘300’, Zack Snyder, Watchmen promises to pick up the baton passed on at a Usain Bolt-like pace by its fellow DC Comics creation and run hell for leather. It would be unfair though to suggest that Watchmen may live up to The Dark Knight as it, like most things, does not have the pulling power of Gotham’s favourite son. It does, however, have the substance needed to carry the genre further into adulthood.
The graphic novel on which the movie is based includes lots of naughty swears, violence, rape, full-frontal nudity, sex (the kinky, costumed type mind) and of course murder. With the movie striding towards us bearing an R rating emblazoned on its muscular, hairy chest, we can gather that Zack Snyder has, as promised, stuck very close to the original source material and not pulled any punches for the sake of box office returns.
So what of this source material? Many may not have even heard of Watchmen, let alone salivated over its imminent arrival. For those people the movie trailer, which can easily be found on the internet, will give you a good indication about the kind of quality source material screenplay writers David Hayter and Alex Tse were blessed with when it says: ‘The most celebrated graphic novel of all time’. It is something else.
The creation of Brits Alan Moore (writer) and Dave Gibbons (illustrator), Watchmen was first published in 1986 and is set in an alternate 1985 that sees political tension between the US and Russia escalating since the introduction of a certain blue doctor (see below).
The characters that play out the story are what make it so spectacular. Alan Moore apparently wanted to use existing DC Comics characters to portray his story in Watchmen, meaning Bats and Supes could have been using all their might to stop World War 3 from beginning as the doomsday clock counted down. Luckily for us all though DC were not keen on the idea and Moore was forced to create his very own fresh batch of crime fighters. Here is a brief summary of what they are about:
Rorschach (Walter Kovacs)
A psychopathic vigilante who refused to throw in the towel when the US
Government said all masked crusaders had to in 1977. He wears a white mask with patterns on it similar to that of a Rorschach test, hence the name. It is because of Walter Kovacs that you will never trust gingers again (that’s if you did before).
The Comedian (Edward Blake)
Don’t let the name fool you, he doesn’t joke about. He is the member of the group with the loosest morals and uses big guns as well as a bigger ego to deploy them. It is the Rorschach-lead investigation into his death that sparks the unravelling of the story.
Nite Owl (Dan Dreiberg)
The sensible one. He has cool gadgets, which include a flying owl-ship, and a suit more akin to the usual DC superhero attire, i.e. mask, cape, etc. He retired from vigilante work when the government said so and has developed a bit of a gut since then. Dan Dreiberg is in fact Nite Owl mark II, as he took over the reins from Hollis Mason when he grew too long in the tooth.
Silk Spectre (Laurie Juspeczyk)
If ‘sex sells’ Silk Spectre will have Watchmen stimulating the economy as much it will the lecherous fanboys. She is the attraction for the Nuts readers, but don’t let that put you off, she doesn’t shy away from her duty. It is also her complicated relationships with her fellow crime fighters that prevent them all from being filed among the also-rans populating most half-hearted comic-book adaptations. Laurie Juspeczyk, like Dan Dreiberg, is another second edition of the same hero, having been pretty much forced into taking over the role from and by her retired mum, Sally Jupiter.
Dr. Manhattan (Jon Osterman)
The only ‘superhero’ of the bunch, in that he is the only one with ‘powers’. Imagine if Superman didn’t give a flying eff about the fate of the human race, purely because he was too intelligent to waste his time thinking of such infantile things; then you will have an idea of what this chap is all about. He can multiply himself, appear wherever he wants (including Mars) whenever he wants, lift anything, create and destroy objects at will and grow to sizes which would make the proposed Angel of the South look like a miniature pony. Some might say he also has a distinctive look, being completely blue and bald.
Ozymandias (Adrian Veidt)
The most intelligent human in the world. He uses his crime fighting image as a vehicle for his vast business empire. If Bill Gates, Stephen Hawking and [insert favoured hard man] fused together like the girls on those Lynx adverts, Adrian Veidt would emerge from the smoke smiling wryly back at you.
They are the heroes and they are the villains. Each has a dark side to their personality, whether it be murderous, adulterous or ignorant, neither of the above are what you would expect a hero to be, having grown used to the merry Marvel marching band.
The title of the book is a reference to the quote by Roman poet Juvenal, ‘Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?’, which roughly translates as ‘Who watches the watchmen?’ and appears as graffiti throughout the disgruntled New York streets. It rouses ideas of the abuse of power which no other comic book movie has questioned when looking solely at the heroes within it, such dilemmas are reserved almost exclusively for the megalomaniac ‘baddies’.
Watchmen the movie will not be a literal translation of Watchmen the graphic novel. The ending has been altered. This may be a very good thing as the ending to the graphic novel is a little weak and far-fetched, but who is to say that the new ending has not been fetched from farther? Only time will tell. And with the doomsday clock counting down to March 6th the question answered by the title of this blog must be asked:
Who should watch the Watchmen?
Directed by the nice chap who brought us the almost lethal dose of testosterone that was ‘300’, Zack Snyder, Watchmen promises to pick up the baton passed on at a Usain Bolt-like pace by its fellow DC Comics creation and run hell for leather. It would be unfair though to suggest that Watchmen may live up to The Dark Knight as it, like most things, does not have the pulling power of Gotham’s favourite son. It does, however, have the substance needed to carry the genre further into adulthood.
The graphic novel on which the movie is based includes lots of naughty swears, violence, rape, full-frontal nudity, sex (the kinky, costumed type mind) and of course murder. With the movie striding towards us bearing an R rating emblazoned on its muscular, hairy chest, we can gather that Zack Snyder has, as promised, stuck very close to the original source material and not pulled any punches for the sake of box office returns.
So what of this source material? Many may not have even heard of Watchmen, let alone salivated over its imminent arrival. For those people the movie trailer, which can easily be found on the internet, will give you a good indication about the kind of quality source material screenplay writers David Hayter and Alex Tse were blessed with when it says: ‘The most celebrated graphic novel of all time’. It is something else.
The creation of Brits Alan Moore (writer) and Dave Gibbons (illustrator), Watchmen was first published in 1986 and is set in an alternate 1985 that sees political tension between the US and Russia escalating since the introduction of a certain blue doctor (see below).
The characters that play out the story are what make it so spectacular. Alan Moore apparently wanted to use existing DC Comics characters to portray his story in Watchmen, meaning Bats and Supes could have been using all their might to stop World War 3 from beginning as the doomsday clock counted down. Luckily for us all though DC were not keen on the idea and Moore was forced to create his very own fresh batch of crime fighters. Here is a brief summary of what they are about:
Rorschach (Walter Kovacs)
A psychopathic vigilante who refused to throw in the towel when the US
Government said all masked crusaders had to in 1977. He wears a white mask with patterns on it similar to that of a Rorschach test, hence the name. It is because of Walter Kovacs that you will never trust gingers again (that’s if you did before).
The Comedian (Edward Blake)
Don’t let the name fool you, he doesn’t joke about. He is the member of the group with the loosest morals and uses big guns as well as a bigger ego to deploy them. It is the Rorschach-lead investigation into his death that sparks the unravelling of the story.
Nite Owl (Dan Dreiberg)
The sensible one. He has cool gadgets, which include a flying owl-ship, and a suit more akin to the usual DC superhero attire, i.e. mask, cape, etc. He retired from vigilante work when the government said so and has developed a bit of a gut since then. Dan Dreiberg is in fact Nite Owl mark II, as he took over the reins from Hollis Mason when he grew too long in the tooth.
Silk Spectre (Laurie Juspeczyk)
If ‘sex sells’ Silk Spectre will have Watchmen stimulating the economy as much it will the lecherous fanboys. She is the attraction for the Nuts readers, but don’t let that put you off, she doesn’t shy away from her duty. It is also her complicated relationships with her fellow crime fighters that prevent them all from being filed among the also-rans populating most half-hearted comic-book adaptations. Laurie Juspeczyk, like Dan Dreiberg, is another second edition of the same hero, having been pretty much forced into taking over the role from and by her retired mum, Sally Jupiter.
Dr. Manhattan (Jon Osterman)
The only ‘superhero’ of the bunch, in that he is the only one with ‘powers’. Imagine if Superman didn’t give a flying eff about the fate of the human race, purely because he was too intelligent to waste his time thinking of such infantile things; then you will have an idea of what this chap is all about. He can multiply himself, appear wherever he wants (including Mars) whenever he wants, lift anything, create and destroy objects at will and grow to sizes which would make the proposed Angel of the South look like a miniature pony. Some might say he also has a distinctive look, being completely blue and bald.
Ozymandias (Adrian Veidt)
The most intelligent human in the world. He uses his crime fighting image as a vehicle for his vast business empire. If Bill Gates, Stephen Hawking and [insert favoured hard man] fused together like the girls on those Lynx adverts, Adrian Veidt would emerge from the smoke smiling wryly back at you.
They are the heroes and they are the villains. Each has a dark side to their personality, whether it be murderous, adulterous or ignorant, neither of the above are what you would expect a hero to be, having grown used to the merry Marvel marching band.
The title of the book is a reference to the quote by Roman poet Juvenal, ‘Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?’, which roughly translates as ‘Who watches the watchmen?’ and appears as graffiti throughout the disgruntled New York streets. It rouses ideas of the abuse of power which no other comic book movie has questioned when looking solely at the heroes within it, such dilemmas are reserved almost exclusively for the megalomaniac ‘baddies’.
Watchmen the movie will not be a literal translation of Watchmen the graphic novel. The ending has been altered. This may be a very good thing as the ending to the graphic novel is a little weak and far-fetched, but who is to say that the new ending has not been fetched from farther? Only time will tell. And with the doomsday clock counting down to March 6th the question answered by the title of this blog must be asked:
Who should watch the Watchmen?
Tuesday, 10 February 2009
Shine a light
The Villa are good now. The day Blues fans have been dreading is finally upon us as the claret and blue side of the West Midlands readies itself for years of competing at the very top of the best league in the world.
Some may say that Aston Villa deserve nothing less than to be rubbing shoulders with the big boys and forcing that ‘Big Four’ to jump up a digit, or alternatively get rid of some dead wood. After all, Aston Villa do have a prestigious history that extends far beyond that of Manchester United, Liverpool and Chelsea, being one of the 12 teams that started the first division back in 1888. If you believe Wikipedia (which you shouldn’t) it was actually Villa’s director William McGregor who founded the league.
So yes, Villa do have a prestigious history, one that many ‘new-money’ teams aspire to buy, to which many fans revel in reminding them of the impossibility of such a feat.
However, football has to be played in the here-and-now, not in yesteryear; in this quality Villa have previously lacked lustre. Sure Villa won the league cup twice in the 1990s and reached the F.A. Cup in 2000, but for a team of Villa’s credibility, such achievements leave a lot to be desired. And the Villa fans have done a lot of desiring, relying heavily on the aforementioned history whenever a Bluenose would pipe up about the huge defeats Birmingham City incurred upon their fierce rivals when the former arrived in England’s top flight.
But the days of Enckelman-slips seem like a distant memory when we glance at the Premier League table today. Villa sit very pretty in third, two points ahead of Chelsea and only five from that illustrious number one spot.
As a West Ham fan that grew up in Birmingham, it breaks my heart to see Villa doing so well. The club is a shining beacon of light to the rest of the glutinous trophy-hungry toy ships of billionaires mingling around them. Even my beloved West Ham should take a leaf, no, a few chapters, out of Villa’s book. But that is what hurts so much. I had to turn up to school and face the ridicule of my tactless peers when the ‘mighty’ Irons succumbed to relegation in 2003. When this happened I hung tight to the fact that Villa were mind numbingly boring; firing out mid-table after mid-table finish. I defended West Ham with the fact that at least relegation is heart wrenching enough to provide us masochistic Hammers fans with the entertainment that is our life-blood. However, this defence will no longer hold up if Sheffield United get their way and we are dumped into the Championship again because, as I said before, Villa are good now. Not only this, but Villa will get better and better. Randy Learner, Martin O’Neill et al have laid foundations which will ensure Aston Villa have a future in the top four, three, two or even one of the Premier League.
Villa do everything right; they buy English players, don’t pay through the nose for them, play attractive football, invest in their already stellar youth system, give money to charity, and generally show the Liverpools, Tottenhams and Manchester Cities of this world that they really should be ashamed of themselves. They do things so well that I could easily fall in love with Aston Villa. But the Villa fans that made me cry about going to school when West Ham lost to Stockport years ago have guaranteed that will never happen. There is also a great deal of Villa fans who will show zero humility in this golden age they have entered.
So, I will carry on hating Villa fans with a shameless glint of envy in my eye as I see them crawl out of the woodwork to promptly hop on the fastest bandwagon in the West. But I will gladly embrace those who have been waiting for this moment in time for years, and who will enjoy every minute of it with proud modesty.
Up the Villa…until you play the Irons.
Some may say that Aston Villa deserve nothing less than to be rubbing shoulders with the big boys and forcing that ‘Big Four’ to jump up a digit, or alternatively get rid of some dead wood. After all, Aston Villa do have a prestigious history that extends far beyond that of Manchester United, Liverpool and Chelsea, being one of the 12 teams that started the first division back in 1888. If you believe Wikipedia (which you shouldn’t) it was actually Villa’s director William McGregor who founded the league.
So yes, Villa do have a prestigious history, one that many ‘new-money’ teams aspire to buy, to which many fans revel in reminding them of the impossibility of such a feat.
However, football has to be played in the here-and-now, not in yesteryear; in this quality Villa have previously lacked lustre. Sure Villa won the league cup twice in the 1990s and reached the F.A. Cup in 2000, but for a team of Villa’s credibility, such achievements leave a lot to be desired. And the Villa fans have done a lot of desiring, relying heavily on the aforementioned history whenever a Bluenose would pipe up about the huge defeats Birmingham City incurred upon their fierce rivals when the former arrived in England’s top flight.
But the days of Enckelman-slips seem like a distant memory when we glance at the Premier League table today. Villa sit very pretty in third, two points ahead of Chelsea and only five from that illustrious number one spot.
As a West Ham fan that grew up in Birmingham, it breaks my heart to see Villa doing so well. The club is a shining beacon of light to the rest of the glutinous trophy-hungry toy ships of billionaires mingling around them. Even my beloved West Ham should take a leaf, no, a few chapters, out of Villa’s book. But that is what hurts so much. I had to turn up to school and face the ridicule of my tactless peers when the ‘mighty’ Irons succumbed to relegation in 2003. When this happened I hung tight to the fact that Villa were mind numbingly boring; firing out mid-table after mid-table finish. I defended West Ham with the fact that at least relegation is heart wrenching enough to provide us masochistic Hammers fans with the entertainment that is our life-blood. However, this defence will no longer hold up if Sheffield United get their way and we are dumped into the Championship again because, as I said before, Villa are good now. Not only this, but Villa will get better and better. Randy Learner, Martin O’Neill et al have laid foundations which will ensure Aston Villa have a future in the top four, three, two or even one of the Premier League.
Villa do everything right; they buy English players, don’t pay through the nose for them, play attractive football, invest in their already stellar youth system, give money to charity, and generally show the Liverpools, Tottenhams and Manchester Cities of this world that they really should be ashamed of themselves. They do things so well that I could easily fall in love with Aston Villa. But the Villa fans that made me cry about going to school when West Ham lost to Stockport years ago have guaranteed that will never happen. There is also a great deal of Villa fans who will show zero humility in this golden age they have entered.
So, I will carry on hating Villa fans with a shameless glint of envy in my eye as I see them crawl out of the woodwork to promptly hop on the fastest bandwagon in the West. But I will gladly embrace those who have been waiting for this moment in time for years, and who will enjoy every minute of it with proud modesty.
Up the Villa…until you play the Irons.
Thursday, 5 February 2009
Won't somebody think of the children?
January. A month of depression. It’s so cold that the hands of the worker bees are unable to rub together the few pennies they have remaining after the ‘festive’ period. Is there a glimmer of light amongst this incessantly grey sky?
There used to be, but it has been snuffed out by the childish behaviour of bored entrepreneurs.
I am talking of the January transfer window.
As Christmas crept up on us, adopting the most camp woolly hat and stripy jumper combo in an attempt to pull off a wolf-in-sheep’s-clothing look, the January transfer window gave many something to occupy their thoughts other than impending debt. The appeal is obvious; every human being likes gossip. Women enjoy gossiping about people they know, people they don’t, people that are yet to exist and/ or people whose existence has come to an end. They do this on a regular basis. Whereas men stand back with upturned noses thinking ‘Bloody women, always gossiping’, as they take a big, manly gulp of their big, manly beer. However, when that beer comes to rest, briefly, beside the beer mat that it should be on, the men will say “Have you heard about [insert football team] being linked with [insert unlikely signing]?”. That is man-gossip (or ‘Mossip’ as I prefer to call it in accordance with my word-fusing fad).
Mossip is everywhere, and January is mossip’s goldilocks zone – everything is just right. It's dark, we’re poor, cold, fat dealing with the anti-climax of Christmas and New Year (that we really should have come to expect by now) and annoyed because of all of the above. What better way to treat your depression than by absorbing rumours and regurgitating them to feed your obsession in some kind of gossip shaped bulimia. There is no better way of fuelling your habit than by perching yourself in front of the budgie’s mirror that is Sky Sport’s News.
Sky Sports News is free and when you watch it in your house you can either have the heating on or go for the environmentally, and wallet, friendly option of immersing yourself in a duvet-cocoon (ducoon?). Once tucked away like a caterpillar you will not be able to get to the kitchen without becoming cold again, thereby ruling out the possibility of piling on the pounds through the consumption of unhealthy foods. Plus, as that bloke who used to be on Blue Peter reels off the same transfer rumours for the 18th time that day you will be thinking ‘Santa who?’ and ‘Auld Lang what?’. The January transfer window is the cure for the post-festive blues.
At least it used to be.
The puerile actions of supposedly savvy gents have tarnished the transfer window so much that we are left with the white-out reserved for unsuccessful businesses. These participants have made themselves look like awful clowns. Here (in no particular order) is a quick breakdown of the transfer-related idiocies we laughed at nervously in January:
1. Craig ‘Let me go to your most hated rivals’ Bellamy.
2. How much Manchester City paid for Nigel de Jong.
3. How many times Manchester City tried to buy Roque Santa Cruz.
4. Manchester City then being unable to justify spending £25million on Roque Santa Cruz.
5. The Kaka saga.
6. Manchester City.
7. AC Milan’s attempted theft of the jewel in the MLS tiara.
8. Charles Insomnia.
9. How much Wigan paid for ‘Charlie’.
10. Harry Redknapp’s explicit shopping list.
11. Tottenham buying back Jermain Defoe.
12. Tottenham buying back Pascal Chimbonda.
13. Tottenham buying back Robbie Keane.
14. Tottenham.
15. Liverpool selling Robbie Keane.
16. How much Liverpool sold Robbie Keane for.
17. Liverpool.
18. Andrei Arshavin’s light switch transfer to Arsenal.
19. Julien Faubert’s loan to Real Madrid.
20. Carlton Cole being linked with Juventus.
The 20 points above are not to be taken lightly; they display in HD quality the beginning of the end for football. Although people now ask “What team do you support?” they will soon be saying “Whose transfers are you interested in?”. The real ‘game’ is being played in offices by juvenile business-folk who have absolutely no interest in the magic happening on the turf every week. They are purely interested in results, and results are not what count in football; what is done with the football is what really counts, results should be seen as a mere by-product of such talent. The tremendous skill possessed by the likes of Kaka is glossed over by the astronomical figures welded to their names as a way of proliferating ticket and shirt sales in an attempt to boost profits. The Premier League is Football Manager for billionaires.
Ironically, the child-like actions of few have taken the fun out of the transfer window for everyone. It brings to mind when you play-fight with a sibling, only for a responsible adult to shout “It’ll all end in tears!”.
Even stranger is the way that this immaturity has forced the transfer window into becoming a carbon copy of the ultimate O.A.P. trap – bingo. The wealthy teams assume the role of the callers; hollering random, huge numbers to the financially challenged in the hope they will shout “House!” and hold up their star-player so he can be checked and then exchanged for vast sums of money.
Even when played by the mature population Bingo is the most ridiculous version of gambling to have been created by mankind; however, when played by the less-mature it becomes a poor joke in the repertoire of unfunny clowns.
When children can't play nice, they shouldn't be allowed to play at all. Shut the window.
There used to be, but it has been snuffed out by the childish behaviour of bored entrepreneurs.
I am talking of the January transfer window.
As Christmas crept up on us, adopting the most camp woolly hat and stripy jumper combo in an attempt to pull off a wolf-in-sheep’s-clothing look, the January transfer window gave many something to occupy their thoughts other than impending debt. The appeal is obvious; every human being likes gossip. Women enjoy gossiping about people they know, people they don’t, people that are yet to exist and/ or people whose existence has come to an end. They do this on a regular basis. Whereas men stand back with upturned noses thinking ‘Bloody women, always gossiping’, as they take a big, manly gulp of their big, manly beer. However, when that beer comes to rest, briefly, beside the beer mat that it should be on, the men will say “Have you heard about [insert football team] being linked with [insert unlikely signing]?”. That is man-gossip (or ‘Mossip’ as I prefer to call it in accordance with my word-fusing fad).
Mossip is everywhere, and January is mossip’s goldilocks zone – everything is just right. It's dark, we’re poor, cold, fat dealing with the anti-climax of Christmas and New Year (that we really should have come to expect by now) and annoyed because of all of the above. What better way to treat your depression than by absorbing rumours and regurgitating them to feed your obsession in some kind of gossip shaped bulimia. There is no better way of fuelling your habit than by perching yourself in front of the budgie’s mirror that is Sky Sport’s News.
Sky Sports News is free and when you watch it in your house you can either have the heating on or go for the environmentally, and wallet, friendly option of immersing yourself in a duvet-cocoon (ducoon?). Once tucked away like a caterpillar you will not be able to get to the kitchen without becoming cold again, thereby ruling out the possibility of piling on the pounds through the consumption of unhealthy foods. Plus, as that bloke who used to be on Blue Peter reels off the same transfer rumours for the 18th time that day you will be thinking ‘Santa who?’ and ‘Auld Lang what?’. The January transfer window is the cure for the post-festive blues.
At least it used to be.
The puerile actions of supposedly savvy gents have tarnished the transfer window so much that we are left with the white-out reserved for unsuccessful businesses. These participants have made themselves look like awful clowns. Here (in no particular order) is a quick breakdown of the transfer-related idiocies we laughed at nervously in January:
1. Craig ‘Let me go to your most hated rivals’ Bellamy.
2. How much Manchester City paid for Nigel de Jong.
3. How many times Manchester City tried to buy Roque Santa Cruz.
4. Manchester City then being unable to justify spending £25million on Roque Santa Cruz.
5. The Kaka saga.
6. Manchester City.
7. AC Milan’s attempted theft of the jewel in the MLS tiara.
8. Charles Insomnia.
9. How much Wigan paid for ‘Charlie’.
10. Harry Redknapp’s explicit shopping list.
11. Tottenham buying back Jermain Defoe.
12. Tottenham buying back Pascal Chimbonda.
13. Tottenham buying back Robbie Keane.
14. Tottenham.
15. Liverpool selling Robbie Keane.
16. How much Liverpool sold Robbie Keane for.
17. Liverpool.
18. Andrei Arshavin’s light switch transfer to Arsenal.
19. Julien Faubert’s loan to Real Madrid.
20. Carlton Cole being linked with Juventus.
The 20 points above are not to be taken lightly; they display in HD quality the beginning of the end for football. Although people now ask “What team do you support?” they will soon be saying “Whose transfers are you interested in?”. The real ‘game’ is being played in offices by juvenile business-folk who have absolutely no interest in the magic happening on the turf every week. They are purely interested in results, and results are not what count in football; what is done with the football is what really counts, results should be seen as a mere by-product of such talent. The tremendous skill possessed by the likes of Kaka is glossed over by the astronomical figures welded to their names as a way of proliferating ticket and shirt sales in an attempt to boost profits. The Premier League is Football Manager for billionaires.
Ironically, the child-like actions of few have taken the fun out of the transfer window for everyone. It brings to mind when you play-fight with a sibling, only for a responsible adult to shout “It’ll all end in tears!”.
Even stranger is the way that this immaturity has forced the transfer window into becoming a carbon copy of the ultimate O.A.P. trap – bingo. The wealthy teams assume the role of the callers; hollering random, huge numbers to the financially challenged in the hope they will shout “House!” and hold up their star-player so he can be checked and then exchanged for vast sums of money.
Even when played by the mature population Bingo is the most ridiculous version of gambling to have been created by mankind; however, when played by the less-mature it becomes a poor joke in the repertoire of unfunny clowns.
When children can't play nice, they shouldn't be allowed to play at all. Shut the window.
Monday, 5 January 2009
Flying low...for now
The Flight of the Conchords is back, but not with a bang; with a bridge. The second series of Bret and Jemaine’s New York adventures begins pretty much where the last series left off, handing it the tough task of trying to equal or better all the goodness we received from our antipodean friends in the first chapter of their escapades. However, because the last episode of the first series was probably the worst, ending with band manager Murray being catapulted into unfamiliar territory by the despicable success of The Crazy Dogggz’s ‘Doggy Bounce’, the first episode of this new series has to put him back in the place where he shines. It is what the Simpsons do at the end of almost every episode, with the exception of Maude, Santa’s Little Helper, Dr. Nick and maybe some more (my Simpsons knowledge isn’t the best) so that the next episode can be created with everything in its right place, at least to begin with.
So, this new edition, entitled ‘A Good Opportunity’ is just a connection from one series to another. Bret and Jemaine have their usual chance at something good which is then, quite predictably, disrupted by their naivety. The songs in the episode seem to have been forced in brutally with a crowbar just because titles such as ‘Leggy Blonde’, ‘Mermaids’ and ‘Foux Da Fa Fa’ are the most memorable bits of the first showing, and are viewed by everyone on YouTube, including the Queen!* But if you’re expecting to see a new gem like ‘Bret, You’ve Got It Going On’ in this episode, you’re going to be disappointed, they’re nowhere near as good.
Those who loved the first series will no doubt be watching the new episodes on tenterhooks hoping, praying that it is as good as those that came before it, as you may have done when the second series of The Office was on, or when the third series of the Boosh came out. I am afraid to say that when I watched the new episode of FOTC (I know it’s gay referring to it like that but I’m getting fed up of writing the full name, although the contents of these brackets has taken longer to write, and read) I couldn’t help but feel that sinking feeling I felt when I watched Howard Moon and Vince Noir undo all the good they had done in chapters one and two. You know that feeling where you are desperate to think it is good, even though everything in your mind, body and non-existent soul is screaming ‘It is shit!’ at you every minute on the minute. Although, on a positive note I did feel that very early on in the programme when Murray sings the first, and probably worst, song of the season (a nice little Americanism for you there), and the episode gets a lot better and a lot funnier after that.
So there are my two cents (another Americanism, they’re coming thick and fast now – damn you globalisation!). I shall round off this review in the only way I know how – with an Empire-esque summary of the whole episode, written in a bold font so that you could have skipped all of the above and just read what is below, too late now though. I might even go with the Empire star system while I’m at it.
A bit disappointing, but still funny in the charming way unique to the Flute of the Commodores.
P.S. I decided against the star rating.
*This is not true. It would be good if Ol’ Liz was strutting around Buckingham Palace singing ‘Foux Da Fa Fa’ though wouldn’t it.
So, this new edition, entitled ‘A Good Opportunity’ is just a connection from one series to another. Bret and Jemaine have their usual chance at something good which is then, quite predictably, disrupted by their naivety. The songs in the episode seem to have been forced in brutally with a crowbar just because titles such as ‘Leggy Blonde’, ‘Mermaids’ and ‘Foux Da Fa Fa’ are the most memorable bits of the first showing, and are viewed by everyone on YouTube, including the Queen!* But if you’re expecting to see a new gem like ‘Bret, You’ve Got It Going On’ in this episode, you’re going to be disappointed, they’re nowhere near as good.
Those who loved the first series will no doubt be watching the new episodes on tenterhooks hoping, praying that it is as good as those that came before it, as you may have done when the second series of The Office was on, or when the third series of the Boosh came out. I am afraid to say that when I watched the new episode of FOTC (I know it’s gay referring to it like that but I’m getting fed up of writing the full name, although the contents of these brackets has taken longer to write, and read) I couldn’t help but feel that sinking feeling I felt when I watched Howard Moon and Vince Noir undo all the good they had done in chapters one and two. You know that feeling where you are desperate to think it is good, even though everything in your mind, body and non-existent soul is screaming ‘It is shit!’ at you every minute on the minute. Although, on a positive note I did feel that very early on in the programme when Murray sings the first, and probably worst, song of the season (a nice little Americanism for you there), and the episode gets a lot better and a lot funnier after that.
So there are my two cents (another Americanism, they’re coming thick and fast now – damn you globalisation!). I shall round off this review in the only way I know how – with an Empire-esque summary of the whole episode, written in a bold font so that you could have skipped all of the above and just read what is below, too late now though. I might even go with the Empire star system while I’m at it.
A bit disappointing, but still funny in the charming way unique to the Flute of the Commodores.
P.S. I decided against the star rating.
*This is not true. It would be good if Ol’ Liz was strutting around Buckingham Palace singing ‘Foux Da Fa Fa’ though wouldn’t it.
Friday, 21 November 2008
Ignorance is Bliss
So there I was, I’d just finished my bowl of Sainsbury’s Chocolate Hooplas (I can’t afford Weetos) and perused almost every internet site that I tend to check on a daily basis – Facebook, BBC Football, Myspace, Portalplus, etc, etc – when I decided to check the news, which should really be my first port of call, but I don’t want to see the atrocities of the world while I’m eating a bowl of chocolate do I?
When I got on the site there didn’t seem to be much news I could be bothered to read, but then, with my peripherines visuals (nothing like a good ol’ Boosh reference to perk the mood up) I saw Ozzie Osbourne’s scary grin beside a tagline about the Brummie accent. For my Sociolinguistics module at uni I entitled my summative assessment ‘Regional Variation – Social Attitudes towards the Birmingham Accent’, so having written over 3000 words on the subject, this article was bound to rouse my interest. Although, thinking about it, it would have been really nice to have had this information when I was actually writing my Sociolinguistics work.
Some of you may know that I have a slight Brummie accent. This was not always the case though. I was born in Essex and lived there until I was seven, hence the reason I support West Ham and not the other claret and blue of the Villa. Because I had a chirpy little Essex accent before the Brummie one got a hold of me like Venom did Spiderman I have become fascinated with how a difference in someone's speech can really say so much about them.
The story (http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk/7329768.stm) is about a study carried out by scientists at Bath Spa University which involved 48 volunteers comparing accents.
To sum up what I took from the story here is a snippet from it:
‘The study, which matched accents with perceived intelligence, found speaking in a Birmingham accent gives a worse impression than saying nothing at all.’
The cheek! To me this says, ‘If you have a Brummie accent, please don’t talk, we’d rather you said nothing at all.’ It gives a whole new meaning to ‘Ignorance is bliss’ doesn’t it.
Now, you may agree wholeheartedly with what the study found about the Birmingham accent, for all I know you may have even volunteered for it, part of me agrees with it too, but as bad as the Birmingham accent is, and there is no escaping the fact that it is bad, how does it say anything about someone’s intelligence?
I don’t think anyone believes that people in Birmingham are any less intelligent than the rest of the country, they just sound it. But how? Why? Is it the rising intonation? The nasal pronunciation? I really don’t know. I have my ideas. One of which includes the common confusion between the Black Country accent and the Brummie accent. But this doesn’t really explain much at all.
That is why I have written this blog. Maybe you can help me. What do you think makes Brummies sound unintelligent? Don’t feel you have to pull any punches by the way. I’m not easily offended, especially over something that I’m not too happy about having thrust upon me.
Cheers.
Joell
When I got on the site there didn’t seem to be much news I could be bothered to read, but then, with my peripherines visuals (nothing like a good ol’ Boosh reference to perk the mood up) I saw Ozzie Osbourne’s scary grin beside a tagline about the Brummie accent. For my Sociolinguistics module at uni I entitled my summative assessment ‘Regional Variation – Social Attitudes towards the Birmingham Accent’, so having written over 3000 words on the subject, this article was bound to rouse my interest. Although, thinking about it, it would have been really nice to have had this information when I was actually writing my Sociolinguistics work.
Some of you may know that I have a slight Brummie accent. This was not always the case though. I was born in Essex and lived there until I was seven, hence the reason I support West Ham and not the other claret and blue of the Villa. Because I had a chirpy little Essex accent before the Brummie one got a hold of me like Venom did Spiderman I have become fascinated with how a difference in someone's speech can really say so much about them.
The story (http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk/7329768.stm) is about a study carried out by scientists at Bath Spa University which involved 48 volunteers comparing accents.
To sum up what I took from the story here is a snippet from it:
‘The study, which matched accents with perceived intelligence, found speaking in a Birmingham accent gives a worse impression than saying nothing at all.’
The cheek! To me this says, ‘If you have a Brummie accent, please don’t talk, we’d rather you said nothing at all.’ It gives a whole new meaning to ‘Ignorance is bliss’ doesn’t it.
Now, you may agree wholeheartedly with what the study found about the Birmingham accent, for all I know you may have even volunteered for it, part of me agrees with it too, but as bad as the Birmingham accent is, and there is no escaping the fact that it is bad, how does it say anything about someone’s intelligence?
I don’t think anyone believes that people in Birmingham are any less intelligent than the rest of the country, they just sound it. But how? Why? Is it the rising intonation? The nasal pronunciation? I really don’t know. I have my ideas. One of which includes the common confusion between the Black Country accent and the Brummie accent. But this doesn’t really explain much at all.
That is why I have written this blog. Maybe you can help me. What do you think makes Brummies sound unintelligent? Don’t feel you have to pull any punches by the way. I’m not easily offended, especially over something that I’m not too happy about having thrust upon me.
Cheers.
Joell
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