Sunday afternoon and it's certainly summer in Manchester. There's not a cloud in the sky, people are wandering round Didsbury in shorts and shades, determined to make the most of it, judging by the numbers enjoying a cold beer in the bars and cafes.
All of which would come as no surprise if you read a certain UK tabloid newspaper. Let's call it the Maily Sexpress, a paper of good standing which reported that hot weather was indeed on the way. "Forget the rain" was the headline, and it seems their Cassandra-like powers have worked for today at least.
But what's this? A front page from the same paper, from only two weeks ago? "It will rain till September"? Well, who'd thunk it? I often think weather reporting in the mass media is often a case of the journalist sticking his head of the window, seeing it's a bit drizzly and writes that the next few weeks will bring rainfall so hard that the biblical floods produced a puddle in comparison.
Mind you, the bod on weather is a journalism king compared to whatever clown they have covering football. Mediawatch noted that a story on Southampton signing a player from Crystal Palace managed to:
a) Get the player's name wrong.
b) The name of Southampton's manager wrong.
c) Stated that this will be Southampton's "maiden" season in the Premiership, ignoring the fact they spent all of the 1990s in the top flight and were only relegated in 2005.
Superb! Can anyone beat the record for most basic facts wrong in such a short story? Perhaps all the senior hacks have taken off on holiday, leaving the work experience kid to cover. Or maybe not. After all, football writing has often seemingly been a case of making any old shit up and printing it as "a source says". I know if my team had signed all the players that were said to be doing so in the newspapers, we'd probably have won about ten Champions Leagues by now.
Showing posts with label media. Show all posts
Showing posts with label media. Show all posts
Sunday, 22 July 2012
Saturday, 7 April 2012
Blunt Insight
It's been said by many before, including me, the standard of football pundits on the country's national broadcaster is absolute crap.
What's irked me this time is BBC favourite Mark Lawrenson. On Football Focus on Saturday lunchtime, he states 18-year-old Arsenal player Alex Oxlade-Chamberlain should be in England's squad for this summer's European Championships as you should take the form players. A fair enough stance.
However, fast forward a few hours to that night's Match of the Day and after we watch the Norwich City vs Everton clash, Gary Lineker asks young Mark about Norwich's striker Grant Holt, who is the second top scoring English player this season. He's a player who, despite being 30 and in his first season of top-flight football, is enjoying a good spell of form. Gary wonders whether Grant could make the Euros in a few months?
"No" is the empathetic answer. Try to work that one out, though the cynic in me would suggest that if Holt played for Lawrenson's beloved Liverpool - perhaps in place of Andy "Mr £30 million" Carroll - he'd be singing a different song.
But this is the quality of football punditry on the BBC these days. Alan Shearer may well have been one of the best strikers around in his 1990s heyday, but his TV work puts him on par with the guy from the Monty Python sketch who can only answer "I hit the ball, and it was in the back of the net!" to every question. Infamously, at the last World Cup, he admitted before (I think) the Algeria vs Slovenia game that he had no idea about any of the players.
Since then, he hasn't learned much and the most we tend to get from him is "from there, he really should be scoring" when someone - perhaps Andy "Mr £30 million" Carroll - misses a sitter from a yard out. Well, thanks, Alan, I never would have come to that conclusion myself. You're justifying the license fee all by yourself, there.
Now, despite the evils of Sky, you have to give them some due for how they approach things. Sure, they have Jamie "Literally" Redknapp on the books, but at least there's Graeme Souness sitting next to him with a look of total contempt etched across his Begbie-esque features.
Also, since this season, they've brought Gary Neville into the fold. Never the most popular player outside Manchester United fans (and he wasn't all that with a lot of us, either), he's taken to the role like a natural, helping the company after they had to bin those two dinosaurs Grey and Keys. While those two (and Lawrenson and Alan Hansen on BBC) were from a different era of football, Neville is only just retired and brings that insight into his work. Weirdly, even fans who despised the guy as a player have been impressed by his honesty, directness and punditry work.
ITV seem to have taken this cue and brought in Nev's former captain Roy Keane to add a bit of directness to their coverage to counter the personality vortex of Gareth Southgate. Like Neville, he's not scared of putting the boot into United when they deserve it - contrast with Alan Hansen saying he'll back Kenny Dalglish to the hilt, when it's clear to the rest of the world that Liverpool are sinking fast.
The BBC need to sort their football footage out - fast. As an anchor, Gary Lineker has the charisma of a breezeblock and their whole approach is far too cosy. If management were brave, they'd attempt to bring in some new blood before it all descends into the realms of parody last seen with Ron Manager on The Fast Show.
Oh, and for the record, I reckon Grant Holt should go the Euros, but probably only because he's a Cumbrian lad. Get Scott Carson in there too and it'll be a fine summer for the homeland.
What's irked me this time is BBC favourite Mark Lawrenson. On Football Focus on Saturday lunchtime, he states 18-year-old Arsenal player Alex Oxlade-Chamberlain should be in England's squad for this summer's European Championships as you should take the form players. A fair enough stance.
However, fast forward a few hours to that night's Match of the Day and after we watch the Norwich City vs Everton clash, Gary Lineker asks young Mark about Norwich's striker Grant Holt, who is the second top scoring English player this season. He's a player who, despite being 30 and in his first season of top-flight football, is enjoying a good spell of form. Gary wonders whether Grant could make the Euros in a few months?
"No" is the empathetic answer. Try to work that one out, though the cynic in me would suggest that if Holt played for Lawrenson's beloved Liverpool - perhaps in place of Andy "Mr £30 million" Carroll - he'd be singing a different song.
But this is the quality of football punditry on the BBC these days. Alan Shearer may well have been one of the best strikers around in his 1990s heyday, but his TV work puts him on par with the guy from the Monty Python sketch who can only answer "I hit the ball, and it was in the back of the net!" to every question. Infamously, at the last World Cup, he admitted before (I think) the Algeria vs Slovenia game that he had no idea about any of the players.
Since then, he hasn't learned much and the most we tend to get from him is "from there, he really should be scoring" when someone - perhaps Andy "Mr £30 million" Carroll - misses a sitter from a yard out. Well, thanks, Alan, I never would have come to that conclusion myself. You're justifying the license fee all by yourself, there.
Now, despite the evils of Sky, you have to give them some due for how they approach things. Sure, they have Jamie "Literally" Redknapp on the books, but at least there's Graeme Souness sitting next to him with a look of total contempt etched across his Begbie-esque features.
Also, since this season, they've brought Gary Neville into the fold. Never the most popular player outside Manchester United fans (and he wasn't all that with a lot of us, either), he's taken to the role like a natural, helping the company after they had to bin those two dinosaurs Grey and Keys. While those two (and Lawrenson and Alan Hansen on BBC) were from a different era of football, Neville is only just retired and brings that insight into his work. Weirdly, even fans who despised the guy as a player have been impressed by his honesty, directness and punditry work.
ITV seem to have taken this cue and brought in Nev's former captain Roy Keane to add a bit of directness to their coverage to counter the personality vortex of Gareth Southgate. Like Neville, he's not scared of putting the boot into United when they deserve it - contrast with Alan Hansen saying he'll back Kenny Dalglish to the hilt, when it's clear to the rest of the world that Liverpool are sinking fast.
The BBC need to sort their football footage out - fast. As an anchor, Gary Lineker has the charisma of a breezeblock and their whole approach is far too cosy. If management were brave, they'd attempt to bring in some new blood before it all descends into the realms of parody last seen with Ron Manager on The Fast Show.
Oh, and for the record, I reckon Grant Holt should go the Euros, but probably only because he's a Cumbrian lad. Get Scott Carson in there too and it'll be a fine summer for the homeland.
Wednesday, 14 March 2012
Press Gang
Stood in a shop the other day, I browsed the row of music magazines and found myself asking the question “who buys these anymore?”
14 years ago or so, I would buy Melody Maker every week and Q and Uncut every month. Back in the late 90s, Uncut used to give away a great free CD every month where you’d have stuff like a Mansun b-side alongside the Go-Betweens. There’d be interesting features on cinema as well. Q, despite it’s current state as a tedious celeb mag, used to be pretty good reading too. Melody Maker was fine too, this being before its ill-advised final throw of the dice in becoming a glossy that brought about the executioner’s axe.
Looking at it with hindsight, I realise that I was basically trying to educate myself about music that I wanted to hear. Living in the back end of nowhere, we had no record stores. The Internet was still a fairly new thing and finding information wasn't that easy. In the sixth form common room, nobody else seemed to know much beyond what was in the charts: by chance, I’d stumbled upon the Smiths, Joy Division and the Jam. From the radio, REM and the Lightning Seeds tickled my fancy but the fag-end of Britpop was truly desperate: wither now, 3 Colours Red? Though I did buy theaudience album, I have suspicion that may have had something to do with my teenage hormones getting excited by Sophie Ellis-Bexter.
Thing is, at the age of 18 I packed myself off to uni at some town close to That London. There were record stores where I pick up LPs by Stevie Wonder, Sam and Dave and just about anything New Order did. There were people I met who knew about music and would lend me stuff. Add to that limited student resources and the music press seemed a tad irrelevant.
Now, a decade on, I’m surprised there’s still so many of them going. Uncut and Mojo seem to go through a routine of having Dylan, Beatles and the Stones on the cover with tags like “shocking new revelations” about Led Zep or suchlike. The NME has long ceased to be seen as a serious magazine, not helped by it’s relentless bandwagon jumping in recent history.
A book once stated that the past was a different country. That may well be so, but in music terms, it feels like one that’s been mapped to the point where we know what colour kex Jagger was wearing at Altamont. Perhaps they've given up on trying to compete with the websites in breaking new bands – I can remember Uncut attempting to create a buzz around Hamell on Trial, which struck me at the time as an odd horse to back.
Regardless, they seem to be recreating the worst aspects of Classic Rock magazine, where nothing of worth was created pre-punk. Their time is surely limited and I'm not sure they'll be missed - not in the way the completely fab Your Sinclair was anyways. Now that was a magazine.
14 years ago or so, I would buy Melody Maker every week and Q and Uncut every month. Back in the late 90s, Uncut used to give away a great free CD every month where you’d have stuff like a Mansun b-side alongside the Go-Betweens. There’d be interesting features on cinema as well. Q, despite it’s current state as a tedious celeb mag, used to be pretty good reading too. Melody Maker was fine too, this being before its ill-advised final throw of the dice in becoming a glossy that brought about the executioner’s axe.
Looking at it with hindsight, I realise that I was basically trying to educate myself about music that I wanted to hear. Living in the back end of nowhere, we had no record stores. The Internet was still a fairly new thing and finding information wasn't that easy. In the sixth form common room, nobody else seemed to know much beyond what was in the charts: by chance, I’d stumbled upon the Smiths, Joy Division and the Jam. From the radio, REM and the Lightning Seeds tickled my fancy but the fag-end of Britpop was truly desperate: wither now, 3 Colours Red? Though I did buy theaudience album, I have suspicion that may have had something to do with my teenage hormones getting excited by Sophie Ellis-Bexter.
Thing is, at the age of 18 I packed myself off to uni at some town close to That London. There were record stores where I pick up LPs by Stevie Wonder, Sam and Dave and just about anything New Order did. There were people I met who knew about music and would lend me stuff. Add to that limited student resources and the music press seemed a tad irrelevant.
Now, a decade on, I’m surprised there’s still so many of them going. Uncut and Mojo seem to go through a routine of having Dylan, Beatles and the Stones on the cover with tags like “shocking new revelations” about Led Zep or suchlike. The NME has long ceased to be seen as a serious magazine, not helped by it’s relentless bandwagon jumping in recent history.
A book once stated that the past was a different country. That may well be so, but in music terms, it feels like one that’s been mapped to the point where we know what colour kex Jagger was wearing at Altamont. Perhaps they've given up on trying to compete with the websites in breaking new bands – I can remember Uncut attempting to create a buzz around Hamell on Trial, which struck me at the time as an odd horse to back.
Regardless, they seem to be recreating the worst aspects of Classic Rock magazine, where nothing of worth was created pre-punk. Their time is surely limited and I'm not sure they'll be missed - not in the way the completely fab Your Sinclair was anyways. Now that was a magazine.
Monday, 27 February 2012
Hacked Down
When I tell people I used to be a journalist, the first thing they usually say is "But D.C., I thought you knew who your dad is?" and we both have a good laugh. Because let’s face it, being a hack doesn't come with a good reputation these days – images of scruffy losers digging through Hugh Grant’s rubbish bin springing to mind.
The second thing they might say is "so why did you want to be a journalist?". Well, the thing is, as a young shitkicker, I very quickly worked out that I couldn't play football for squat. To be frank, I was as close to useless as could be. Despite being a good foot taller than everyone else, I was useless in the air, and my pace could be measured by watching landscapes erode. Not that any of this stopped John Terry, mind. Obviously my political views must have held me back. Ahem.
In a moment of clarity surprising in one so young, I decided that if I was never going to be good enough to run out at Old Trafford, I’d have to compensate by *knowing* more about the game than my peers, which I soon was able to say. At some point, someone must have suggested a good use of this, um, skill would be being a football journalist. Seemed logical enough at the time, and I set about it with what for me counts as gusto: just doing well enough in my exams to get the absolute minimum required to go study Journalism at uni.
In three years doing just that, the main thing I learnt was that I wasn't cut out to be a journalist. Concepts such as “house style” were repeatedly emphasised and I picked up very quickly that to get ahead in this game, the most important skill is to shut up and do as you’re told. Even in sports reporting, there’s an agenda beyond what seems a simple matter of writing about a football match.
Despite this loss of innocence, I still wound up spending two years of my life as a professional journalist. At the time, I figured that having spent so long being “trained” to do something, I may as well try to get some use out of my degree.
"So what’s it like?"
The first thing to state is that in 99.999% of working for a publishing company, the glamour is around the zero mark. Most hacks do not work in London for national newspapers. Most work for publications like local rags in nowhere towns or, as I did in the main part, those Business-to-Business magazines that Have I Got News For You like to take the piss out of. Bicycle Seat Sniffer Monthly, that kind of thing.
"So why did you quit?"
The best reason anyone should ever need – I was bored.
Well, bored and skint, really. Journalism is not a well paid way to earn money. My starting salary (albeit seven years ago to the day) was £10,500 a year. The weirdest part was that I had been earning the best part of £50 a week more in my previous job doing menial data inputting, a job that also involved a cheaper and shorter commute.
At first, it wasn't so bad. The editorial and design team was made up of good people and we had a positive atmosphere that made getting through the slog of deadline day a bit easier. I also got some assignments that I actually enjoyed working on and took such a great deal of satisfaction from that I still have the cuttings to this day.
Yet as is such in the industry, turnover is high, not helped by readership appearing to be getting lower. By the time I handed my cards in, I may have seen my salary to rise to £13,000, but I was doing the work of just about two people to earn it. One particular deadline day saw me leave at 2.30am. All part of the job, I know, but when I found myself back at the bus queue some four hours after getting home, I came to the conclusion my life needed to take a sharp turn in a different direction.
The final thing I get asked is “would you ever go back to it?”
To which I reply “no”, for two reasons. One is that I've been out of the game far too long now. As with a lot of jobs, the key is always contacts and experience, of which there are countless others out there with much better supplies of both.
Secondly, as I've stated on here before and is known by anyone with half a brain, print media is dying so fast that the priest is hovering outside waiting to give the last rites. Hence, the industry is still desperately trying to work out ways to make their online services work. Ian Hislop may sneer at the fine work that a lot of blogs do, but he is doubtless worried that the work Private Eye used to deal almost exclusively in is now also done by writers such as those on Tabloid Watch and Zelo Street – both with the advantage of instant publication and costing nothing to the reader.
Of course, I’m also more than aware I may not have had the talent and/or attitude to get ahead in the industry.
I’m quite happy writing this lil’ol blog and the odd thing for No Ripcord – the best thing of all about this medium is that there’s no editorialising. If someone on No Ripcord wants to say the new album by whatever landfill indie band is flavour of the month with the NME is a bucket of shite, then he’ll have the backing of his editor to do just so, not being at the mercy of advertising revenue to toe a certain line. Freedom to write whatever you like (within legal boundaries, of course y'honour) - it's bloody fantastic.
The second thing they might say is "so why did you want to be a journalist?". Well, the thing is, as a young shitkicker, I very quickly worked out that I couldn't play football for squat. To be frank, I was as close to useless as could be. Despite being a good foot taller than everyone else, I was useless in the air, and my pace could be measured by watching landscapes erode. Not that any of this stopped John Terry, mind. Obviously my political views must have held me back. Ahem.
In a moment of clarity surprising in one so young, I decided that if I was never going to be good enough to run out at Old Trafford, I’d have to compensate by *knowing* more about the game than my peers, which I soon was able to say. At some point, someone must have suggested a good use of this, um, skill would be being a football journalist. Seemed logical enough at the time, and I set about it with what for me counts as gusto: just doing well enough in my exams to get the absolute minimum required to go study Journalism at uni.
In three years doing just that, the main thing I learnt was that I wasn't cut out to be a journalist. Concepts such as “house style” were repeatedly emphasised and I picked up very quickly that to get ahead in this game, the most important skill is to shut up and do as you’re told. Even in sports reporting, there’s an agenda beyond what seems a simple matter of writing about a football match.
Despite this loss of innocence, I still wound up spending two years of my life as a professional journalist. At the time, I figured that having spent so long being “trained” to do something, I may as well try to get some use out of my degree.
"So what’s it like?"
The first thing to state is that in 99.999% of working for a publishing company, the glamour is around the zero mark. Most hacks do not work in London for national newspapers. Most work for publications like local rags in nowhere towns or, as I did in the main part, those Business-to-Business magazines that Have I Got News For You like to take the piss out of. Bicycle Seat Sniffer Monthly, that kind of thing.
"So why did you quit?"
The best reason anyone should ever need – I was bored.
Well, bored and skint, really. Journalism is not a well paid way to earn money. My starting salary (albeit seven years ago to the day) was £10,500 a year. The weirdest part was that I had been earning the best part of £50 a week more in my previous job doing menial data inputting, a job that also involved a cheaper and shorter commute.
At first, it wasn't so bad. The editorial and design team was made up of good people and we had a positive atmosphere that made getting through the slog of deadline day a bit easier. I also got some assignments that I actually enjoyed working on and took such a great deal of satisfaction from that I still have the cuttings to this day.
Yet as is such in the industry, turnover is high, not helped by readership appearing to be getting lower. By the time I handed my cards in, I may have seen my salary to rise to £13,000, but I was doing the work of just about two people to earn it. One particular deadline day saw me leave at 2.30am. All part of the job, I know, but when I found myself back at the bus queue some four hours after getting home, I came to the conclusion my life needed to take a sharp turn in a different direction.
The final thing I get asked is “would you ever go back to it?”
To which I reply “no”, for two reasons. One is that I've been out of the game far too long now. As with a lot of jobs, the key is always contacts and experience, of which there are countless others out there with much better supplies of both.
Secondly, as I've stated on here before and is known by anyone with half a brain, print media is dying so fast that the priest is hovering outside waiting to give the last rites. Hence, the industry is still desperately trying to work out ways to make their online services work. Ian Hislop may sneer at the fine work that a lot of blogs do, but he is doubtless worried that the work Private Eye used to deal almost exclusively in is now also done by writers such as those on Tabloid Watch and Zelo Street – both with the advantage of instant publication and costing nothing to the reader.
Of course, I’m also more than aware I may not have had the talent and/or attitude to get ahead in the industry.
I’m quite happy writing this lil’ol blog and the odd thing for No Ripcord – the best thing of all about this medium is that there’s no editorialising. If someone on No Ripcord wants to say the new album by whatever landfill indie band is flavour of the month with the NME is a bucket of shite, then he’ll have the backing of his editor to do just so, not being at the mercy of advertising revenue to toe a certain line. Freedom to write whatever you like (within legal boundaries, of course y'honour) - it's bloody fantastic.
Friday, 9 December 2011
Open All Hours
You know we're in the festive season when the tabloids begin their “Christmas Outrage!” stories. In previous years, we've had numerous recycles of the “Winterval” non-event, until it was (hopefully) finally put to bed recently as the complete load of bollocks it was.
Instead, 2011 sees the first shot as “Church Fury” as a branch of McDonald’s drafts in some Muslim bod to manage the place on Christmas Day. I had to think this one over for a good while when I first read it. But no matter how many different ways I thought of it, the only conclusion I could come to was: So. Fucking. What.
As it turns out, the purveyors of fine foods are opening about 60 stores across the nation on Crimble Day. Also as it turns out, the story is a classic example of that tabloid trick of headline over content. The “fury” turns out to be from some local Reverend nobody has ever heard of, and I’m sure he’ll be overjoyed to find out he’s been promoted by the Daily Mail into a “church leader”. Nevermind that an actual leader of the church, the Dean of Derby, has been quoted in the same story as saying he has no objections whatsoever.
Finally, let’s consider that there are people who have to work on Christmas Day – such as those in the emergency services – who might be feeling a bit Hank Marvin at some point. That they would want to eat at McDonald’s could be seen by some as a sign that they’re not mentally fit to work such jobs, but hey, it’s nice to have the choice.
Still, any excuse for readers to have a right good moan about the decline of Christian values and all that guff. As long as they forget that when they need some milk on December 25th and pop down to the local 7-11 which is open thanks to those nice people who don’t mind working that day. As for the Rockin’ Rev? Maybe he should chain himself to some railings outside the McDonald’s in question. Careful now.
(As an aside, it’s not even that much of a new thing. When I was a wee laddie in Whitehaven, the local petrol station was open 24/7, including Christmas Day. And my pop worked that day himself on several occasions, being on shifts. It was bloody frustrating having to wait till he got home around 3pm to open your presents, I can tell you.)
Instead, 2011 sees the first shot as “Church Fury” as a branch of McDonald’s drafts in some Muslim bod to manage the place on Christmas Day. I had to think this one over for a good while when I first read it. But no matter how many different ways I thought of it, the only conclusion I could come to was: So. Fucking. What.
As it turns out, the purveyors of fine foods are opening about 60 stores across the nation on Crimble Day. Also as it turns out, the story is a classic example of that tabloid trick of headline over content. The “fury” turns out to be from some local Reverend nobody has ever heard of, and I’m sure he’ll be overjoyed to find out he’s been promoted by the Daily Mail into a “church leader”. Nevermind that an actual leader of the church, the Dean of Derby, has been quoted in the same story as saying he has no objections whatsoever.
Finally, let’s consider that there are people who have to work on Christmas Day – such as those in the emergency services – who might be feeling a bit Hank Marvin at some point. That they would want to eat at McDonald’s could be seen by some as a sign that they’re not mentally fit to work such jobs, but hey, it’s nice to have the choice.
Still, any excuse for readers to have a right good moan about the decline of Christian values and all that guff. As long as they forget that when they need some milk on December 25th and pop down to the local 7-11 which is open thanks to those nice people who don’t mind working that day. As for the Rockin’ Rev? Maybe he should chain himself to some railings outside the McDonald’s in question. Careful now.
(As an aside, it’s not even that much of a new thing. When I was a wee laddie in Whitehaven, the local petrol station was open 24/7, including Christmas Day. And my pop worked that day himself on several occasions, being on shifts. It was bloody frustrating having to wait till he got home around 3pm to open your presents, I can tell you.)
Thursday, 7 July 2011
News Breakdown
Despite all the revelations about phone tapping and the like, I was as surprised as anyone when the news came through today that the News of the World would cease to be. After all, this is a publication that has being going for 168 years.
Naturally, it'll be a source of celebration for a lot of people. Normally, I would be one of them. After all, the NOTW has, at least in my lifetime, being more of a comic than a newspaper with the current scandal putting on a more sinister edge. But people thinking this is the first blow in a series to topple the Murdoch empire are doubtlessly deluded.
For one, I'll be extremely surprised if Murdoch's BSkyB deal is knocked back. After all, this is a man who has politicians of all persuasions in his pocket. Secondly, expect either the Sun to go seven days a week or a new News International Sunday rag to be launched in a couple of months.
Sure, there may be a sacrificial lamb or two thrown to the lions. But the main point will be that the money will start flowing again and life will go on as before in Medialand. I'm hoping I'm wrong here, of course, and I'm hoping the British public take News International to task - shame my cynicism thinks otherwise. On the other side of the coin, full marks to the Guardian for some top notch investigative journalism.
Naturally, it'll be a source of celebration for a lot of people. Normally, I would be one of them. After all, the NOTW has, at least in my lifetime, being more of a comic than a newspaper with the current scandal putting on a more sinister edge. But people thinking this is the first blow in a series to topple the Murdoch empire are doubtlessly deluded.
For one, I'll be extremely surprised if Murdoch's BSkyB deal is knocked back. After all, this is a man who has politicians of all persuasions in his pocket. Secondly, expect either the Sun to go seven days a week or a new News International Sunday rag to be launched in a couple of months.
Sure, there may be a sacrificial lamb or two thrown to the lions. But the main point will be that the money will start flowing again and life will go on as before in Medialand. I'm hoping I'm wrong here, of course, and I'm hoping the British public take News International to task - shame my cynicism thinks otherwise. On the other side of the coin, full marks to the Guardian for some top notch investigative journalism.
Tuesday, 28 June 2011
Eye on the Ball
I've got a lot of time for Private Eye magazine. Despite the tone at times verging into an air of Public School smugness, it can often produce some excellent examples of journalism. The recent articles about the horrific conditions at some care homes for the elderly and about the appalling treatment of Hillingdon council towards Mark Neary and his autistic son Steven reassured me that the art of investigative journalism isn't completely dead.
However, they at times fall on their faces when they dabble with pop culture. In the most recent edition, mention is made of William H. Macy being interviewed on Radio 4 regarding his role in the US version of Shameless. Talking of the differences of UK/US contracts (in the States, actors tend to sign up for huge long-term deals), Macy says "You've got to sign the actors up... You can't have them falling in love with each other and leaving the show."
The Eye responds with "If Macy has any evidence that such things happen in British television, he should produce it forthwith."
Now, perhaps I'm missing some in-joke here, but one example that springs to mind is of James McAvoy and Anne-Marie Duff. Meeting on the set of a Brit TV show, they subsequently fell in love, got it together and moved on from the programme to pastures new. Very successful ones too, especially in Slim Jim Xavier's case. The show they met on? Shameless. Strange, that.
However, they at times fall on their faces when they dabble with pop culture. In the most recent edition, mention is made of William H. Macy being interviewed on Radio 4 regarding his role in the US version of Shameless. Talking of the differences of UK/US contracts (in the States, actors tend to sign up for huge long-term deals), Macy says "You've got to sign the actors up... You can't have them falling in love with each other and leaving the show."
The Eye responds with "If Macy has any evidence that such things happen in British television, he should produce it forthwith."
Now, perhaps I'm missing some in-joke here, but one example that springs to mind is of James McAvoy and Anne-Marie Duff. Meeting on the set of a Brit TV show, they subsequently fell in love, got it together and moved on from the programme to pastures new. Very successful ones too, especially in Slim Jim Xavier's case. The show they met on? Shameless. Strange, that.
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