Disgusting Bliss: The Brass Eye of Chris Morris by Lucian Randall , published by Simon & Schuster (Review for The Culture Vulture, 2010)
Those of you who were lucky enough to attend the UK Premiere of Four Lions held at the National Media Museum a few weeks ago might have been a tad surprised by the appearance of Chris Morris. He was, well, just so charming and normal. The enthusiastic man energetically introducing his comedy about suicide bombers based in the North seemed far removed from the persona that had appeared on TV shows such as The Day Today and Brass Eye during the mid-90s. Where was the barking arrogance the typified his News Presenter (“Peter, next time you cross the road, don't bother looking. “)? The steel-eyed fearlessness that had him getting celebrities to make fools of themselves in Brass Eye whilst simultaneously approaching real-life drug dealers to ask for a litany of made-up drugs (“Got any Clarky Cat?”)? The anarchic streak that caused a young Morris, whilst at BBC Radio Bristol, to release helium into the news studio during a report? As Lucian Randall attempts to discover, these are all important parts of the legend of Morris. But just how much of the legend has been carefully crafted by Morris?
Indeed, one of the think that Randall points out is just how clever Morris is at controlling his persona. This is partly due to his policy of rarely speaking to the press – he declined to be interviewed for the book, but still gave it his blessing – and turning much of the media’s lazy practise against itself. Morris’ mischievous releasing of helium into a newsroom is often quoted in profiles and stories about the satirist – yet it seems to have originated in a press release written by Morris himself. It’s what gives the book much of its fascination – as Randall peels back the layers to discover the man behind the myth. He discovers a popular and charming man who grew up with a particular love of the Goons, Bonzo Dog Doo Dah Band and Peter Cook and music in general. He also discovers a man of fierce intelligence and a biting black humour that would serve him well when he started at Radio Cambridgeshire. He sheds light upon a person with a obsessive drive (one anecdote sees Morris with caked blood over his fingers after staying up all night editing a radio show with nothing but a razor blade and some tape) and a fearlessness that gives the BBC – and many of his other employers in the future – plenty of causes to worry.
He also finds a person whose collaborators are fiercely loyal. Whilst people such as Charlie Brooker, Armando Iannucci and David Quantick are ultimately happy to take part it’s telling that they made sure that Morris was happy that they talked. But Morris fans will be delighted to learn more about Morris working practises (which often involved him working alone), discover little nuggets of information (such as his contributions to Brooker’s TV Go Home) and find out just how some of the celebrities were duped during Brass Eye. But, whilst his techniques are carefully dealt with, Randall is at pains to point out just how funny Morris is (and, if you’ve seen the current campaign, so are the PR people for Four Lions). Whilst the many controversies of his career – such as the Brass Eye Paedophilia Special, his ‘special message’ for Michael Grade and announcing the possible death of Michael Heseltine on air – are comprehensively dealt with, Randall attempts to show a person who is genuinely funny. The rhythm of language, the use of words and a gleeful grasp of nonsense and the surreal go towards some of Morris’ most hilarious moments. Shows such as the neglected Why Bother (in which Morris engaged in a series of brilliant semi-improvised interviews with an ailing Peter Cook) also showed a sharp wit and his radio work allowed him to utilise his love of music.
It’s disappointing that Randall doesn’t probe go beyond the final episode of Brass Eye (just briefly touching upon Nathan Barley and his short film My Wrongs ) as he feels that this represents a move into narrative. I do think it would have been productive to follow this more – one of Morris’ trademarks has been a willingness to move on and it would have also been interesting to dissect the more negative reaction that Barley received to the generally positive feedback to his earlier work (well, unless you’re The Daily Mail). But this is a well-researched and excellently written examination of one of the most prominent comedian and satirists of the past few decades.
Indeed, one of the think that Randall points out is just how clever Morris is at controlling his persona. This is partly due to his policy of rarely speaking to the press – he declined to be interviewed for the book, but still gave it his blessing – and turning much of the media’s lazy practise against itself. Morris’ mischievous releasing of helium into a newsroom is often quoted in profiles and stories about the satirist – yet it seems to have originated in a press release written by Morris himself. It’s what gives the book much of its fascination – as Randall peels back the layers to discover the man behind the myth. He discovers a popular and charming man who grew up with a particular love of the Goons, Bonzo Dog Doo Dah Band and Peter Cook and music in general. He also discovers a man of fierce intelligence and a biting black humour that would serve him well when he started at Radio Cambridgeshire. He sheds light upon a person with a obsessive drive (one anecdote sees Morris with caked blood over his fingers after staying up all night editing a radio show with nothing but a razor blade and some tape) and a fearlessness that gives the BBC – and many of his other employers in the future – plenty of causes to worry.
He also finds a person whose collaborators are fiercely loyal. Whilst people such as Charlie Brooker, Armando Iannucci and David Quantick are ultimately happy to take part it’s telling that they made sure that Morris was happy that they talked. But Morris fans will be delighted to learn more about Morris working practises (which often involved him working alone), discover little nuggets of information (such as his contributions to Brooker’s TV Go Home) and find out just how some of the celebrities were duped during Brass Eye. But, whilst his techniques are carefully dealt with, Randall is at pains to point out just how funny Morris is (and, if you’ve seen the current campaign, so are the PR people for Four Lions). Whilst the many controversies of his career – such as the Brass Eye Paedophilia Special, his ‘special message’ for Michael Grade and announcing the possible death of Michael Heseltine on air – are comprehensively dealt with, Randall attempts to show a person who is genuinely funny. The rhythm of language, the use of words and a gleeful grasp of nonsense and the surreal go towards some of Morris’ most hilarious moments. Shows such as the neglected Why Bother (in which Morris engaged in a series of brilliant semi-improvised interviews with an ailing Peter Cook) also showed a sharp wit and his radio work allowed him to utilise his love of music.
It’s disappointing that Randall doesn’t probe go beyond the final episode of Brass Eye (just briefly touching upon Nathan Barley and his short film My Wrongs ) as he feels that this represents a move into narrative. I do think it would have been productive to follow this more – one of Morris’ trademarks has been a willingness to move on and it would have also been interesting to dissect the more negative reaction that Barley received to the generally positive feedback to his earlier work (well, unless you’re The Daily Mail). But this is a well-researched and excellently written examination of one of the most prominent comedian and satirists of the past few decades.
Whatever Happened to The Man of Tomorrow? / Whatever Happened to the Caped Crusader? by Alan Moore (Man Of Tomorrow) and Neil Gaiman (Caped Crusader), published by Titan Books (Review for Sci-Fi London, 2009)
As I’ve mentioned on these pages previously, it’s pretty difficult for superheroes to die. They’ll be re-invented, retconned and resurrected rather than permanently laid to rest. As such, it’s tough to end their stories in any meaningful way: after all, we know that they’ll be back. But, that’s exactly what Alan Moore and Neil Gaiman have managed to do for two of the most important characters of the DC Universe.
In 1986 DC were wiping the slate clean with Crisis On Infinite Earths, which would effectively reset the histories of all their characters, eliminate more than 50 years worth of complicated continuity and usher in a new era for the comics giant. Faced with this, Superman editor John Byrne was racking his brains of what to do for his final issues of Superman before the comic reverted to issue 1. And then it occurred to him: he would do the last Superman story ever. And who would be better to do it than Alan Moore? (who, if rumour is to believed, used physical violence to get the job).
Described from the outset as “An Imaginary Story”, Whatever Happened to The Man of Tomorrow begins with an older Lois Lane recounting the story of the last time she saw the protector of Metropolis. It begins with some of the most innocuous of Superman’s foes turning killers, leaving close friends dead and his secret identity revealed to all. Soon it becomes apparent that all his deadliest foes – including Brainiac, Lex Luthor and Kryptonite Man – are gathering together to finish off the Man of Steel once and for all. Getting his friends together, Superman gets ready for one final showdown with his old enemies.
For a writer famous for deconstructing the superhero, Moore’s story is remarkably traditional consisting of not much more than Superman battling a rogues gallery of villains whilst saying goodbye to his closest friends. But this is what makes it so fun: despite its simplicity, there’s a sense of the operatic as people die, careers end and new relationships form. Yet Moore’s writing still has a sly sense of humour (such as reducing Lex Luthor to a mere bystander to proceedings) and it’s affection for the character evident, with a ending which is a literal wink to Superman and his fans. If the story of Superman ever was to end, this would be a perfect way in which to do it and it’s little wonder that this is still one of the most fondly remembered comic stories of the 80s
It was one that was in the back of Neil Gaiman’s mind when it was proposed that he also pen the ‘final’ Batman story in the light of the Batman RIP saga. Thus Whatever Happened To The Caped Crusader was born. Unsurprisingly, Gaiman’s take is darker than Moore’s as The Dark Knight attends a funeral. Strangely, it seems to be his own. Soon some of his greatest friends and foes are delivering eulogies, all at odds with one another. Before the end of the night, Batman must use his skills to uncover the mysteries surrounding his apparent demise.
This is a paean to the mythology of Batman that it manages to be both poignant and exciting as it recognises the many forms that The Caped Crusader has taken. From the campy crimefighter to the dour avenger of the night, Gaiman reflects upon each of these incarnations and certainly shows why the character has such longevity. Andy Kubert’s art is stunning, with some fine interpretation of famous Batman artists (there’s a lovely reference to The Joker of The Killing Joke fame) and the final product is a wonderful encapsulation of the mystique of the character and an explanation of his legend.
Both of these are released as Deluxe Editions with extra stories (includings Moore’s Superman/Swamp Thing crossover and Gaiman’s brilliantly disturbing explanation of the origins of Poison Ivy) and are an extremely worthy purchase. Superheroes may never die, but if they did, this is the way in which they would want to go out…
In 1986 DC were wiping the slate clean with Crisis On Infinite Earths, which would effectively reset the histories of all their characters, eliminate more than 50 years worth of complicated continuity and usher in a new era for the comics giant. Faced with this, Superman editor John Byrne was racking his brains of what to do for his final issues of Superman before the comic reverted to issue 1. And then it occurred to him: he would do the last Superman story ever. And who would be better to do it than Alan Moore? (who, if rumour is to believed, used physical violence to get the job).
Described from the outset as “An Imaginary Story”, Whatever Happened to The Man of Tomorrow begins with an older Lois Lane recounting the story of the last time she saw the protector of Metropolis. It begins with some of the most innocuous of Superman’s foes turning killers, leaving close friends dead and his secret identity revealed to all. Soon it becomes apparent that all his deadliest foes – including Brainiac, Lex Luthor and Kryptonite Man – are gathering together to finish off the Man of Steel once and for all. Getting his friends together, Superman gets ready for one final showdown with his old enemies.
For a writer famous for deconstructing the superhero, Moore’s story is remarkably traditional consisting of not much more than Superman battling a rogues gallery of villains whilst saying goodbye to his closest friends. But this is what makes it so fun: despite its simplicity, there’s a sense of the operatic as people die, careers end and new relationships form. Yet Moore’s writing still has a sly sense of humour (such as reducing Lex Luthor to a mere bystander to proceedings) and it’s affection for the character evident, with a ending which is a literal wink to Superman and his fans. If the story of Superman ever was to end, this would be a perfect way in which to do it and it’s little wonder that this is still one of the most fondly remembered comic stories of the 80s
It was one that was in the back of Neil Gaiman’s mind when it was proposed that he also pen the ‘final’ Batman story in the light of the Batman RIP saga. Thus Whatever Happened To The Caped Crusader was born. Unsurprisingly, Gaiman’s take is darker than Moore’s as The Dark Knight attends a funeral. Strangely, it seems to be his own. Soon some of his greatest friends and foes are delivering eulogies, all at odds with one another. Before the end of the night, Batman must use his skills to uncover the mysteries surrounding his apparent demise.
This is a paean to the mythology of Batman that it manages to be both poignant and exciting as it recognises the many forms that The Caped Crusader has taken. From the campy crimefighter to the dour avenger of the night, Gaiman reflects upon each of these incarnations and certainly shows why the character has such longevity. Andy Kubert’s art is stunning, with some fine interpretation of famous Batman artists (there’s a lovely reference to The Joker of The Killing Joke fame) and the final product is a wonderful encapsulation of the mystique of the character and an explanation of his legend.
Both of these are released as Deluxe Editions with extra stories (includings Moore’s Superman/Swamp Thing crossover and Gaiman’s brilliantly disturbing explanation of the origins of Poison Ivy) and are an extremely worthy purchase. Superheroes may never die, but if they did, this is the way in which they would want to go out…
Outlaw Journalist: The Life and Times of Hunter S. Thompson by William McKeen published by Aurum Press (Review for The Culture Vulture, 2009)
He drank like there was no tomorrow. He enjoyed shooting guns just for the pure hell of it. He ranted. He raved. And he was one of the best American journalists on the planet. When Hunter S. Thompson took his own life in 2005 he left behind an unparalleled legacy of work that – some would argue – changed the very face of modern literature. His ‘invention’ of Gonzo Journalism eschewed the notion that the journalist had to be neutral in pursuit of the story. Indeed, the journalist WAS the story with the attempt to get the to the heart of things as important as the end result. With a keen disregard for the traditional mores of journalistic practice, Thompson unleashed classics such as Fear and Loathing In Las Vegas onto the world. Taking centre stage – often under his pseudonym of Raoul Duke – Thompson used his work to examine the death of the American Dream, rallied against the venality of US politics and generally vented his spleen at the swine who seemed to have taken over the US. With his persona so prominent in his writing, it’s no wonder that Hunter S Thompson became which was – for the time – something of an oxymoron: a famous journalist.
In his account of Thompson’s life, William McKeen does an excellent job in managing to separate the fact from the fiction. As the character of Raoul Duke/Hunter S Thompson became firmly etched in people’s minds, many failed to realise that – at its core – his journalistic ‘character’ was a construct. For all his rage and external insanity, McKeen reveals Thomspon to have been the quintessential Southern gentlemen. It was only if you managed to raise his ire would you find yourself in the forefront of his verbal – and sometimes physical – attacks. From his early upbringing – where his fierce intelligence was only matched by his rebellious nature – to his early years living in poverty (which was, try as he might, hard for Thompson to romanticise) McKeen presents us with plenty of startling anecdotes from Thompson’s life. Inevitably, many of them concern drink and drugs. He also attempts – with the hep of Thompson’s editors at such magazines as Rolling Stone – to analyse just what it was that made his writing so vibrant, exciting and vital.
This certainly feels as the most accurate portrait of the man that we are ever going to get, with McKeen speaking to many major players in Thompson’s life including illustrator Ralph Steadman, his former wife Sandy and interviews conducted with Thompson himself during the 70s and 90s. McKeen admits that there are people who wouldn’t speak to him – out of loyalty to the Thompson – and there does sometimes seem to be a few things that are glossed over. These include the death of Thompson’s grandmother – cited as a major influence on his life but her passing is giving one sentence – and the hints at a darker and privately abusive Thompson are not explored more fully.
Yet, if you’ve enjoyed books such as The Rum Diary and Generation Of Swine, and marvelled at the Johnny Depp’s portrayal of Thompson in Terry Gilliam’s version of Fear and Loathing In Las Vegas then this is an well written peek behind the myth of the man who could terrify the establishment, inspire the masses and keep whiskey manufacturers in business for a long, long time.
In his account of Thompson’s life, William McKeen does an excellent job in managing to separate the fact from the fiction. As the character of Raoul Duke/Hunter S Thompson became firmly etched in people’s minds, many failed to realise that – at its core – his journalistic ‘character’ was a construct. For all his rage and external insanity, McKeen reveals Thomspon to have been the quintessential Southern gentlemen. It was only if you managed to raise his ire would you find yourself in the forefront of his verbal – and sometimes physical – attacks. From his early upbringing – where his fierce intelligence was only matched by his rebellious nature – to his early years living in poverty (which was, try as he might, hard for Thompson to romanticise) McKeen presents us with plenty of startling anecdotes from Thompson’s life. Inevitably, many of them concern drink and drugs. He also attempts – with the hep of Thompson’s editors at such magazines as Rolling Stone – to analyse just what it was that made his writing so vibrant, exciting and vital.
This certainly feels as the most accurate portrait of the man that we are ever going to get, with McKeen speaking to many major players in Thompson’s life including illustrator Ralph Steadman, his former wife Sandy and interviews conducted with Thompson himself during the 70s and 90s. McKeen admits that there are people who wouldn’t speak to him – out of loyalty to the Thompson – and there does sometimes seem to be a few things that are glossed over. These include the death of Thompson’s grandmother – cited as a major influence on his life but her passing is giving one sentence – and the hints at a darker and privately abusive Thompson are not explored more fully.
Yet, if you’ve enjoyed books such as The Rum Diary and Generation Of Swine, and marvelled at the Johnny Depp’s portrayal of Thompson in Terry Gilliam’s version of Fear and Loathing In Las Vegas then this is an well written peek behind the myth of the man who could terrify the establishment, inspire the masses and keep whiskey manufacturers in business for a long, long time.
Screen Burn by Charlie Brooker, published by Faber & Faber (Review for The Leeds Guide, 2005)
In my opinion, any person who describes David Dickinson as “an aging Thundercat,” deserves a Knighthood. However, considering that the author of said comment also describes The Queen as “perpetually wearing an expression like someone’s … opened a packet of shitbiscuits under her nose,” this is not likely to happen.
This collection of Charlie Brooker’s columns from ‘The Guardian Guide’ provides a welcome counterbalance to the ‘Heat’ generation of TV criticism that has slowly pervaded culture. Brooker dissects televisual offerings from 2001 onwards with an always hilarious - and often scatological - outlook.
And there are some momentous TV moments as well. The first series of ‘Popstars’ (in which Brooker points out the remarkable resemblance between Nigel Lythgoe and Admiral Ackbar from Return of the Jedi) gets his acerbic scorn whilst ’24’ gets his praise - until it becomes so silly that even he can’t defend it anymore. There are a particularly funny couple of columns in which he discusses Friendly TV’s ‘Morning Chat’, a low rent show in which two airhead presenters would discuss viewer questions that were texted in on screen. He urges his readers to take part which results in the unknowing broadcasters talking about such gems as “Do Spiders Live Alone?” and “If the Earth is round, how come a table is flat?”
But Booker is not some sneering columnist, wowing everyone with how clever and better he is than everyone else. He genuinely cares about good TV and his love of the medium shines through. How else could he get so worked up about the rubbish that we’re subjected to every day?
This is a laugh out loud collection that - make like Brooker’s previous TV Go Home - you will return to time and time again. And that’s just to read the bit about David Dickinson.
This collection of Charlie Brooker’s columns from ‘The Guardian Guide’ provides a welcome counterbalance to the ‘Heat’ generation of TV criticism that has slowly pervaded culture. Brooker dissects televisual offerings from 2001 onwards with an always hilarious - and often scatological - outlook.
And there are some momentous TV moments as well. The first series of ‘Popstars’ (in which Brooker points out the remarkable resemblance between Nigel Lythgoe and Admiral Ackbar from Return of the Jedi) gets his acerbic scorn whilst ’24’ gets his praise - until it becomes so silly that even he can’t defend it anymore. There are a particularly funny couple of columns in which he discusses Friendly TV’s ‘Morning Chat’, a low rent show in which two airhead presenters would discuss viewer questions that were texted in on screen. He urges his readers to take part which results in the unknowing broadcasters talking about such gems as “Do Spiders Live Alone?” and “If the Earth is round, how come a table is flat?”
But Booker is not some sneering columnist, wowing everyone with how clever and better he is than everyone else. He genuinely cares about good TV and his love of the medium shines through. How else could he get so worked up about the rubbish that we’re subjected to every day?
This is a laugh out loud collection that - make like Brooker’s previous TV Go Home - you will return to time and time again. And that’s just to read the bit about David Dickinson.
Seconds of Pleasure by Neil LaBute published by Faber & Faber (Review for The Leeds Guide, 2004)
Those who have seen the films of Neil LaBute will know the dark territory that he enjoys to explore: In The Company Of Men concerns an attempt to destroy the self-esteem of a woman for no other reason than to prove it can be done. His collection of short stories is no different, exploring the embarrassing moments and uncomfortable situations that are usually pushed into the back of the dark corners of the human psyche.
This is none more so apparent than in the story ‘Full Service’. Whilst waiting for his car to be fixed, a man makes a pass at the pretty female mechanic. Rebuffed, he has to endure the scorn of the shop floor. Like most of the stories, this is told in the first person and every moment is uncomfortably real. The way in which people can become convinced of things that are untrue (the story ‘Loose Change’ sees a woman finding an imprint in a wallet which means only one thing: her husband has been taking his wedding ring off when he’s away) and how emotions can flash to happiness to rage in the merest second are realised with an uncomfortable skill. ‘Time Share’ is particularly impressive, with a married couple’s argument over an affair almost unbearable as the man can only mouth clichéd epithets as her anger mounts.
There is no let up throughout and, by the final page, one may feel rather exhausted by the parade of human misery. Yet LaBute has a skill of making us empathise with the anonymous characters meaning that, even if we don’t like them, we can at least understand them. Seconds of Pleasure is uncomfortable but gripping.
This is none more so apparent than in the story ‘Full Service’. Whilst waiting for his car to be fixed, a man makes a pass at the pretty female mechanic. Rebuffed, he has to endure the scorn of the shop floor. Like most of the stories, this is told in the first person and every moment is uncomfortably real. The way in which people can become convinced of things that are untrue (the story ‘Loose Change’ sees a woman finding an imprint in a wallet which means only one thing: her husband has been taking his wedding ring off when he’s away) and how emotions can flash to happiness to rage in the merest second are realised with an uncomfortable skill. ‘Time Share’ is particularly impressive, with a married couple’s argument over an affair almost unbearable as the man can only mouth clichéd epithets as her anger mounts.
There is no let up throughout and, by the final page, one may feel rather exhausted by the parade of human misery. Yet LaBute has a skill of making us empathise with the anonymous characters meaning that, even if we don’t like them, we can at least understand them. Seconds of Pleasure is uncomfortable but gripping.
