Why do I Have to Listen to Your Inane Gibbering?

A pointless, pointless one and a sad, pointless one.


Pointless Poetry from the Bus Seat #2

'Train to be a manager -
'You'll be on loads more money;
'Then you can buy that dress you want
'And wear it when it's sunny.'


Pointless Poetry from the Bus Seat #3

A careworn mum sits stern, sits still,
Her kids run wild, destroy her will.
Her teenage son, an angry lad,
Tells Junior 'F*ck off like your dad.'

Why do I Have to Listen to Your Inane Gibbering?

Why do I Have to Listen to Your Inane Gibbering?
(Pointless Poetry from the Bus Seat #1)

There's a chap who sits beside me chatting with his friend called Sara
And she's off to Boots in Sherwood to purchase some new mascara
Then I think it's rather fortunate her parents named her Sara
'Cos I cannot find another word that rhymes well with mascara.

Sara's off soon to South Africa to see her friend Janine
Where she lives with wealthy parents and is treated like a queen
I imagine such a life of money, polo, sun and chicks
Then I realise that Boots is closed 'cos now it's half past six.

Promises

Ricardo's dilemma set me thinking (as his dilemmas invariably do):
What constitutes a good opening?
I could look at his six suggested openings and determine instantly which did and didn't work ... but what is the decision-making process used by my head? Tell me head.

Professor Tudor Parfitt

Last night, Professor Tudor Parfitt gave me a clue as Channel 4 broadcast a ninety minute documentary charting the Prof's search for the Lost Ark of the Covenant.
Tudor opened by explaining that twenty years ago he began his search for the Ark, and now he believes he has found it. Many will be surprised by his discovery and some will be offended, he suggests!
Cool!
And so we sit back and watch as his journey unfolds and he heads off to the Temple of Solomon in Jerusalem - the last known resting place of the Ark.

Then I fell asleep.
Then I woke up five minutes from the end with Tudor showing off a CG representation of some mangy wooden drum. The Ark. A wooden drum.

I've considered on many occasions the importance of anticipation. Here, the anticipation is framed in stark contrast with my slumber.
In those opening minutes, Tudor made promises to me. He promised me an exciting adventure drawn out over twenty years of his life, and a surprising conclusion. I was so annoyed that I had fallen asleep, because I wanted to be a part of this adventure. Tudor had offered me something that I wanted - he had secured anticipation in my heart - and I let us both down.

This simple concept tallies neatly with Sunset Bickham's advice on openings:

Begin with forward movement.

It also tallies with my thoughts on prophesies (and prophetic misdirection) in which the audience is invited to anticipate something that may or may not attain fruition. Perhaps Michael Palin is boarding a ship that will take him across the Yellow Sea and, as he walks up the gangplank, he observes that this ship has been attacked by pirates twelve times in the last month alone!
Or, if we consider the most unputdownable book I have read - Ghost Girl (for shame!) - we witness a teacher on her way to a new life in a new town and a new school with new children.
Or, we can consider Rose Tyler's brief appearance in episode one of the new season of Doctor Who.

A good opening makes promises. It prepares the reader for a particular genre, style and tone, and looks to the future.

What is also apparent reading through ricardo's opening variations is that we need to share this promised journey with someone, be it Professor Tudor Parfitt or Indiana Jones. Without that bond - that poppet - all the emotions in the world have nowhere to lay their weary heads. This is a part of the reader's orientation: who, where, when ..? Until the orientation is complete, the reader remains restless.

Not the Ark of the Covenant

Here's a poem for Prof Parfitt. It's a bit of fun and I have tremendous respect for the chap.

*Ode to Professor Tudor Parfitt*

Professor Tudor Parfitt said he'd found the holy Ark

So I watched with baited breath to see him raise it from the dark;

Then I fell asleep and when I woke he'd found a drum of bark:

Just a shabby, crabby tympanum not worthy of remark.

My Family

My Family

I can't confess to being a fan of this show, but season eight (season eight!) started last night so I felt obliged to watch.
The previous season had its critics. James Donaghy, writing for the Guardian Unlimited Arts Blog, suggested:
... Yet still too many episodes fell flat and the gags written to pump up ailing scenes felt forced in with little concern for situation or character. They replicated the technical aspects of the American shows without capturing their spirit. They could not escape the fundamental play-it-safe conservatism of the plotting nor avoid plumping for the fail-safe comedy archetypes of useless husband and nagging wife.

My Family always reminds me of the time I met my first steady girlfriend's father (this is me now, not James). He took me to one side and we talked about motorways and then he admitted to fancying Zoe Wanamaker, describing her as 'elfin'.
Anyhoo, last night's episode demonstrated the perfect example of 'topping the gag'.
Here's the set up:

Susan is mother to the teenage Michael. Michael's new girlfriend, Nikki, has been kicked out of her parents' house and Susan has agreed to allow her to stay under her roof for a time.

Susan: Nikki, I'll show you up to Michael's room.
Nikki: Oh, that's okay ...
(a beat: audience is given just enough time to predict the punchline)
... I know where it is.

Then Michael tops the gag:
Michael: Oh, actually that was my parents' room; mine's down the hall.

One more noteworthy point from the episode:
Sunset Bickham discusses the importance of exaggerating character. Time and again, he suggests that the audience needs a constant stream of clear and (almost patronizingly) obvious clues in order to quickly understand character and motivation and the like. He laments his students' stubborn attachment to subtlety. It's a common and fundamental mistake made by us rookies: we assume too much; we fear being obvious. We fear being obvious.

So consider Nikki's father, Mister Baker. We are instantly and repeatedly encouraged to see him in a certain light:
He enters the house carrying a bible and, on several occasions, he taps the bible whilst quoting from it.
Furthermore, when Ben exclaims 'Oh God yes', Mister Baker responds with 'There's no need for blasphemy thank you.'

As I watched, I did wonder if this characterisation was laboured; I wondered how many Christians wander around with bibles in their hand, tapping it each time they chastise the non-believers with a quote from Psalms or Matthew. I wondered if this was jumping stoutly on the toes of cliché and stereotype. Or, as James Donaghy proposes, the archetype.
But the point was made (and this point was important as it set-up the episode's major twist). Or, put another way, if this point was not made, the contrast that the major twist relied on would not have been created, and the twist would have lost its potency.
Better safe than sorry eh?

The episode is on iPlayer for six more days ...