Today after a little light housework
the Gees went to the nearby National Trust property of Sheringham Park, where the rhododendrons are in full swing.
Later that day the kids settled down to listen to my tapes of kittens being impaled on red hot skewers watch a DVD of the film of the Lionel Bart Musical Oliver!. You know the one, with Oliver Reed as a very scary Bill Sikes, Ron Moody as a show-stopping Fagin, and Shani Wallace (who?) as Nancy.
I’m minded to write this as the female Gees are partial to a televisual entertainment called I’d Do Anything, a talent show of some vulgarity in which young women compete for the role of Nancy in a West-End revival of Oliver!. This program has caused some upset – rightly so, in my opinion – as it represents effectively free advertising for a commercial production, on the nominally commercial-free BBC.
Having thought about it, what irks me more than anything else is not the vulgarity, not the exploitation, but the choice of role that has been opened up to public subscription, as it were. Because it’s the lead female role, TV audiences get a parade of sparkly frocks (which pleases the female Gees) and wenchsomely abundant Victorian cleavage (which entertains the … er … rest of us). So, basically it’s nothing to do with artistry and everything to do with eye candy.
Clearly, the only thing the BBC can do to salvage its reputation is to hold a talent show in which people can audition for the part of … Fagin. Face it, he has all the best tunes, and, because Fagin is a gentleman who, in the cockney London in which the piece is set, is of a four-and-two-ish persuasion, his tunes come straight outta shul. When I hear You’ve Got To Pick A Pocket Or Two or I’m Reviewing The Situation, all I hear is the Aleinu or Hashkiveinu.
But just think what my alt.talent show would be like. Instead of all those comely wenches in sparkly frocks we’d have a lot of beardy Jewish gentlemen of a certain age in grubby macs, competing for the attention of the judges by singing popular tunes of the day, such as, oooh, I don’t know…. YMCA or Knowing Me, Knowing You.
Sounds tempting. You know, this science-editor lark seems rather dull all of a sudden. I’m Reviewing The Situation…
I visited Down House yesterday, and the rhododendrons were in full bloom there, too. A wonderful experience. I’m still “there”, in my mind.
Henry – I’m not sure I agree about the eye candy bit, in the sense that most leading roles involve eye candy for one sex or the other (the predecessor to this show was providing a Joseph for the technicolor dreamcoat). Although I can sort of see the argument the BBC shouldn’t be promoting a West End show, this happens whenever, say, there’s a piece about the premiere of a Hollywood movie, and no one complains about that.
At least this kind of show gives some talented people a break, and isn’t too cruel. Compare and contrast with Britain’s Got Talent, which I’ve just blogged about.
I’m afraid it’s too late for Fagin, though – Rowan Atkinson was cast ages ago.
Rowan Atkinson? Blimey.
Aren’t you talking about “Fiddler on the Roof”, then? We’ll have young ladies trying out to be Hodel…
My mother once danced with Topol. Just thought you ought to know that.
To each their own claim to fame.
To each their own claim to fame.
A statement more profound than it at first seems. If I had one ambition, it is to leave something beyond death which will, in some small way, change peoples’ lives for the good. The urge to write books is part of that ambition, I guess. Or the compulsion, felt by all males in my family once they pass the age of about 45, to make rustic pine dressers (my own effort stands in the kitchen; my father’s is much finer and has pride of place in the sitting room).
Long ago when the world was young I bought a tour programme at a gig. The programme consisted largely of Smash-Hits-style profiles of the band. Their ambitions seemed mainly of the bland and worthy sort; the achievement of universal brotherhood and world peace. But I was struck by the entries of two members of the band. One was
To achieve something of lasting value
and the other was
To alight from the tube in sight of the exit sign
both of which have stuck in my mind, as watchwords, ever since.
I have never forgotten the old story of when Conrad Hilton was interviewed – he who founded the hotel chain and became a mega-multi millionaire. As the interview was closing, Mr Hilton was asked to share what he had learnt in life with the audience. His response was that he’d learnt, when taking a shower, not to hang the shower curtain outside the bath.