London Fields # 70
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 14 October 2009
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here
Perhaps the most contentious section of comedian Richard Herring’s Edinburgh show Hitler Moustache began when he chose to use the term “Paki” to make a point. In the UK it is no mere abbreviation, but one of the most taboo terms of racist abuse, a derogatory catch-all for anyone from the Asian subcontinent. I felt myself catch my breath as he uttered it, for it’s dangerous territory to tread. Herring is not a racist by any stretch, but there’s a risk in being quoted out of context, such as the furore that surrounded his “maybe the racists have a point” comment from elsewhere in the show. His expansive conjecture was that an extreme racist’s ‘us and them’ mentality was only one step away from the truly enlightened state of seeing that we’re all the same; so those liberals who see hundreds of separate races on Earth were hundreds of steps further away from the ideal. He went on to illustrate that if people from India and Pakistan saw themselves as a racist sees them (the same), they’d be no conflict between the countries. Now this was never meant to be a serious proposition; the whole point of his show was to challenge perceptions and assumptions.
There’s been another recent TV race row playing out in the papers, where Strictly Come Dancing contestant Anton Du Beke saw the spray-on tan of his partner Laila Rouass and exclaimed “You look like a Paki”. The comment was made off air, and apologies were quickly made and accepted. Yet it’s still shocking that such a remark could be made, even in ‘jest’. ‘Only joshing’ was Carol Thatcher’s excuse earlier this year too, when she used the word “golliwog” to describe tennis player Jo-Wilfried Tsonga. It was also an off-air remark – the difference was that she refused to apologise (at least initially), saying there was nothing wrong with it. Rightfully, the BBC dismissed her, yet there are those who claim that the Beeb has not been even-handed in its handling of such incidents. Both the Celebrity Big Brother affair and Manuelgate are still fresh wounds in TV Land, and the BBC faces an uncertain future, particularly if there is a change in government at the next election.
Hence the BBC Trust’s latest broadcasting guidelines are reactionary, and the new restrictions on bad language feel like a visit from the ghost of Mary Whitehouse. Yet the modern world is one wherein you need to be more aware that certain, seemingly innocent words may carry a hidden weight. Only the other I week a responded to a ribald remark from a fellow employee with “cheeky monkey”, only to then freeze as I remembered that in England that word has nasty associations to anyone of black decent. And a few weeks earlier I was completely dumbfounded when a handyman at my flat started expressed some pretty hateful opinions, and used some racist expressions I’d never heard used in real life and hoped had been lost in the 1970s.
Yet the most shocking example of TV gone wrong recently wasn’t any of these, but the Jackson Jive act on Hey Hey It’s Saturday. It’s thirty years since Bert Newton wrongfooted Mohammed Ali with his infamous (yet genuinely innocent) “I like the boy” remark, and longer since The Black And White Minstrel Show was consigned to the cultural dustbin. So you’d have hoped that a true multicultural society might have become more attuned, yet the “Where’s Kamahl?” cartoon genuinely served to bundle all races of colour into the one basket that Richard Herring satirised. It isn’t about political correctness; it’s about being aware of a wider world - one in which the Lucky Country, with its detention camps and belated ‘Sorry’ is sometimes viewed as backward, homophobic and racist. Personally, I was simply embarrassed, and somewhat glad that this didn’t become a bigger story here, as it would have been impossible to defend my homeland. It’s not necessarily a question of racism, but it’s certainly one of sensitivity and awareness. Would they have been allowed to perform in blackface holding boomerangs, didgeridoos and a copy of the Mabo Treaty? To put it simply - “Wake Up Australia!”
© James McGalliard 2009
Showing posts with label Richard Herring. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Richard Herring. Show all posts
Wednesday, 14 October 2009
Wednesday, 16 September 2009
Edinblur
London Fields # 69
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 16 September 2009
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here
Edinblur tends to strike the Scottish capital each August, as those journeying to the annual Edinburgh Fringe Festival try and cram as much as possible into the time and space available. This is my attempt in words. Pappy's Fun Club's World Record Attempt: 200 Sketches in an Hour is an immediate highlight. They are able to make a large venue feel quite intimate, and it’s clear that they’re actually really enjoying it and each other. Their best material is imbued with a childlike wonder that makes it rather special. It’s very funny with running gags that work really well, some great ‘home made’ props, but mostly it’s about how they take you along on the ride with them, so much so that you’re literally dancing in your seat by the end.
New Art Club mix dance and humour in This Is Now, a reminiscence of 1983, first loves, cassette tapes, bad hair and the dawn of the Now That’s What I Call Music chart compilation LPs. Never again will I hear Give It Up by KC and The Sunshine Band again without picturing their accompanying choreography of IRA kneecappings and executions by balaclava-wearing dancers. Manchester’s Lady Garden were also busting with energy, and the multi-faceted performers have a pretty good grasp of when to end a sketch. From the simple supermarket announcements, to what real ladettes would be like, to the Six Wives of Henry VIII as Britain’s Next Top Monarch, they are a troupe to watch for.
Former Perrier Award winner Laura Solon returned with Rabbit Face Story Soup, a self-composed multi-character one-woman show, in which aspiring literary agent’s assistant Diana Lewis relates the story of her entry into the world of publishing. Solon takes on a kaleidoscope of roles to tell the tale, and inhabits each part in a bravura performance, which additionally introduces the concept of Crocodile Scrabble to the world. Elsewhere Pythonesque attempted to tell the story of Monty Python via a pastiche of their sketches. While a clever conceit, for the most part it lacked the anarchic edge of the source material, with only James Lance’s turn as Eric Idle bemoaning Python fanatics and theatre crowds coming anywhere close to capturing what it sought to honour. Over at the Traverse, The Interminable Suicide Of Gregory Church saw Daniel Kitson combine theatre and stand-up in a tale which effortlessly slipped from the real to the imagined as he unravelled the mystery of a suicide that took twenty-four years to succeed. It may seem like dark matter for comedy, yet Kitson’s skill is to gradually get you to care about his characters by the building of a complex jigsaw that mirrors a real life lived. It makes for a genuinely affecting, beautifully humanistic and eventually uplifting and life-affirming evening.
Australian cinema may never recover from its potted history as depicted in The Scottish Falsetto Sock Puppet Theatre Goes To Hollywood. Their last show was my highlight of 2008, and this year’s return featured a suitably irreverent Michael Jackson tribute, the best costume fast-changes on the Fringe, light sabres making music and a song about swine flu – to the theme of Footloose! On a more serious note, Hitler Moustache, the 25th consecutive show Richard Herring has taken to Edinburgh, felt like the culmination of all that he’d done before. It cunningly challenged perceptions of racism and pushed boundaries in a cleverly considered and thought-provoking way in which even liberals were not beyond baiting or criticism. Some of the gratuitousness was extremely funny, but he also successfully linked the recent political successes of far-right parties to general apathy without it feeling too much like a lecture.
The sheer physical skill and dexterity of the acrobats of ThisSideUp’s Controlled Falling Project provided many moments of jaw-dropping wonder, while Stewart Lee proved that his point that the last taboo of stand-up is to do something sincerely and well, by closing with a beautiful rendition of Steve Earle’s Galway Girl. Festival veteran Simon Munnery jumped from light to deeply personal in his AGM 2009, and his quiet self-assurance had me really liking what he was doing without being able to explain exactly why afterwards. Ophelia (drowning) by 3Bugs Fringe Theatre recreated Millais’ famous painting in a hotel swimming pool, and having the audience leaving her floating corpse in a pool, with no applause to break the mood or signal the end, was a chilling coup de théâtre. On my last night, Edwyn Collins was joined by fellow Orange Juice cohort Malcolm Ross for a few numbers. The band’s instruments were all amplified acoustic, performing new arrangements that really worked well, especially a gripping version of Rip It Up. The love in the room it was particularly touching, and it was a special way to end this year’s experience.
© James McGalliard 2009
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 16 September 2009
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here
Edinblur tends to strike the Scottish capital each August, as those journeying to the annual Edinburgh Fringe Festival try and cram as much as possible into the time and space available. This is my attempt in words. Pappy's Fun Club's World Record Attempt: 200 Sketches in an Hour is an immediate highlight. They are able to make a large venue feel quite intimate, and it’s clear that they’re actually really enjoying it and each other. Their best material is imbued with a childlike wonder that makes it rather special. It’s very funny with running gags that work really well, some great ‘home made’ props, but mostly it’s about how they take you along on the ride with them, so much so that you’re literally dancing in your seat by the end.
New Art Club mix dance and humour in This Is Now, a reminiscence of 1983, first loves, cassette tapes, bad hair and the dawn of the Now That’s What I Call Music chart compilation LPs. Never again will I hear Give It Up by KC and The Sunshine Band again without picturing their accompanying choreography of IRA kneecappings and executions by balaclava-wearing dancers. Manchester’s Lady Garden were also busting with energy, and the multi-faceted performers have a pretty good grasp of when to end a sketch. From the simple supermarket announcements, to what real ladettes would be like, to the Six Wives of Henry VIII as Britain’s Next Top Monarch, they are a troupe to watch for.
Former Perrier Award winner Laura Solon returned with Rabbit Face Story Soup, a self-composed multi-character one-woman show, in which aspiring literary agent’s assistant Diana Lewis relates the story of her entry into the world of publishing. Solon takes on a kaleidoscope of roles to tell the tale, and inhabits each part in a bravura performance, which additionally introduces the concept of Crocodile Scrabble to the world. Elsewhere Pythonesque attempted to tell the story of Monty Python via a pastiche of their sketches. While a clever conceit, for the most part it lacked the anarchic edge of the source material, with only James Lance’s turn as Eric Idle bemoaning Python fanatics and theatre crowds coming anywhere close to capturing what it sought to honour. Over at the Traverse, The Interminable Suicide Of Gregory Church saw Daniel Kitson combine theatre and stand-up in a tale which effortlessly slipped from the real to the imagined as he unravelled the mystery of a suicide that took twenty-four years to succeed. It may seem like dark matter for comedy, yet Kitson’s skill is to gradually get you to care about his characters by the building of a complex jigsaw that mirrors a real life lived. It makes for a genuinely affecting, beautifully humanistic and eventually uplifting and life-affirming evening.
Australian cinema may never recover from its potted history as depicted in The Scottish Falsetto Sock Puppet Theatre Goes To Hollywood. Their last show was my highlight of 2008, and this year’s return featured a suitably irreverent Michael Jackson tribute, the best costume fast-changes on the Fringe, light sabres making music and a song about swine flu – to the theme of Footloose! On a more serious note, Hitler Moustache, the 25th consecutive show Richard Herring has taken to Edinburgh, felt like the culmination of all that he’d done before. It cunningly challenged perceptions of racism and pushed boundaries in a cleverly considered and thought-provoking way in which even liberals were not beyond baiting or criticism. Some of the gratuitousness was extremely funny, but he also successfully linked the recent political successes of far-right parties to general apathy without it feeling too much like a lecture.
The sheer physical skill and dexterity of the acrobats of ThisSideUp’s Controlled Falling Project provided many moments of jaw-dropping wonder, while Stewart Lee proved that his point that the last taboo of stand-up is to do something sincerely and well, by closing with a beautiful rendition of Steve Earle’s Galway Girl. Festival veteran Simon Munnery jumped from light to deeply personal in his AGM 2009, and his quiet self-assurance had me really liking what he was doing without being able to explain exactly why afterwards. Ophelia (drowning) by 3Bugs Fringe Theatre recreated Millais’ famous painting in a hotel swimming pool, and having the audience leaving her floating corpse in a pool, with no applause to break the mood or signal the end, was a chilling coup de théâtre. On my last night, Edwyn Collins was joined by fellow Orange Juice cohort Malcolm Ross for a few numbers. The band’s instruments were all amplified acoustic, performing new arrangements that really worked well, especially a gripping version of Rip It Up. The love in the room it was particularly touching, and it was a special way to end this year’s experience.
© James McGalliard 2009
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