GSGC is thinking tonight about nerds, and now so are you. From the earliest cave painting of a weedy caveman who's rubbish at mammoth catching through to the Milhouse and Mosses of the modern televisual hoo-hah, these intellectual-yet-puny cornerstones of our society have been found in entertainment media since time began.
Yet they've only recently become the stars in their own right, instead of having to loan technical support and trivia hoo-hah to some handsome jerk instead (1980s frat-comedy Revenge of the Nerds aside). Channel 4's the IT Crowd plants a pair of socially inept computer dorks in the limelight, centering its plots on their cunning outwitting of their less-technically minded bosses and perplexion at the operation of normal social activity. Meanwhile, e4 import The Big Bang Theory cranks up the social inability even further, smattering its cast of science dorks with every cliché out of the big book of nerdish stereotypes. While they're still undeniably the heroes, in both shows the character we're meant to cheer along the most is the one with the biggest inkling of how everyone else operates. The one closest to normdom, the least offensive one to their fully functional, twenty-twenty, non-coke bottle-glasses eyes.
On first viewing of The Big Bang Theory, I was so disappointed as to be offended. The show's portrayal of nerdkind was seen through the eyes of norms, and it was a cruel one. We were clowns to them, nothing more than bumbling idiots with glasses, comic books and an inability to talk to girls, sweeping generalizations which are only mostly true. While I've come round to the show's charms since that day, the fact remains that its portrayals of nerds are no better than those of the fat kids who got sat on and flushed down the toilet all the time in Grange Hill, or even worse, that one that was in The Breakfast Club*.
Nerd power as a social movement has grown hugely since the days of Ro-land, though. Nerds are the richest men in the world now, there's a nerd in the White House, and thanks to the Internet a million bored office workers owe nerds a debt they can never repay. And yet. Mainstream media hangs on to the lazy image of the nerd, frozen in the 70s, and by watching it in droves, the nerd masses implicitly capitulate. Vote with your remotes, fellow dorks. End nerdsplotation today.
* He should have got the girl - why did that stupid jock get the girl? What a cop out. He was the most decent human being among them, and yet all he got out of the thing is an important lesson about himself. This is two years post-WarGames, which proved that nerds could do awesome stuff like save the world, and yet nobody's willing to give a high school nerd a punt at getting the girl if he's not going to save the world. I'm not bitter, honest.
Friday 1 October 2010
Thursday 30 September 2010
Eleven of One, Only One of T'other
It's a retroventure this evening, as GSGC turns its snobbishly loquacious eye on BBC4 this 7.30pm and a repeat of Richard Something-or-other (I'll be hereby saying 'Beckinsale' even though I know that's entirely untrue)'s classic historical jaunt series, War Walks. As a youth, I recall watching this one of an evening, and being excited by the whole notion of wars and walking around them, what with all the fighting and explosions and people dying in brilliant ways. Now I'm a namby leftist peacenik and I'm no longer a fan of fighting and people dying (explosions are still brilliant, though), let's give it a whirl with grown up eyes.
With an epic 'tache, looking like that one what was in Last of the Summer Wine, Richard not-Beckinsale introduces our locale du jour, today Bosworth, where Richard III got deaded by the Tudors, in a big fight he knew he couldn't win. Then, he bobs around some contemporary tapestries and portraits, explaining the political whatnots leading up to the big scrap of the day. It's standard-issue historical stuff, all kings and barons and no poor people unless absolutely necessary, which fits into not-Beckinsale's lovely BBC accent in a way that talking about peasants, pig-farmin' and being poor just never could.
Fifteen minutes of that and there's still been no walking, making me wonder if I could get a bit of my license fee back under Trades Descriptions. Instead, he has a chat with a local Bosworth barmaid and churchwarden who both reckoned, without any possible evidence to back their claims, that Dicky Three was actually one of the goodies, and that they'd've been cheering him on from the sidelines if they could only go back to 1485. If anything, I wish I could get my license fee back even more after that.
Ten minutes left, and at best not-Beckinsale has done a bit of sauntering at best, and no walking to speak of. He also rode a horse a bit. Instead, he's been watching the 'war' bit of the programme, provided by some typically worryingly keen re-enacters. This kind of thing always looks rubbish on the telly, because there's never enough of them for a proper war, and the ones that there are are never dedicated enough to their art to want to get stabbed. Then some bloke in post-production plays some clanging and vague shouting sounds over the top in an effort to help out. Never works.
Five minutes to go till programme's end, and finally Richard not-Beckinsale deigns to do a bit of the promised walking. He does a good job, too, with the classic one-foot-in-front-of-the-other technique we've all come to expect from a walker of this man's standing. Alas, he's just not putting in the effort - a thirty second piece to camera here, a two minute wander up to a stone there, it's really not what the fans have come to expect. Overall, an unbalanced effort from the wandering academic, who seems to have forgotten he's go two mandates to cover in this show. Conclusion: should be called "War and Fighting and Kings and That and a Little Bit of Wandering.”
With an epic 'tache, looking like that one what was in Last of the Summer Wine, Richard not-Beckinsale introduces our locale du jour, today Bosworth, where Richard III got deaded by the Tudors, in a big fight he knew he couldn't win. Then, he bobs around some contemporary tapestries and portraits, explaining the political whatnots leading up to the big scrap of the day. It's standard-issue historical stuff, all kings and barons and no poor people unless absolutely necessary, which fits into not-Beckinsale's lovely BBC accent in a way that talking about peasants, pig-farmin' and being poor just never could.
Fifteen minutes of that and there's still been no walking, making me wonder if I could get a bit of my license fee back under Trades Descriptions. Instead, he has a chat with a local Bosworth barmaid and churchwarden who both reckoned, without any possible evidence to back their claims, that Dicky Three was actually one of the goodies, and that they'd've been cheering him on from the sidelines if they could only go back to 1485. If anything, I wish I could get my license fee back even more after that.
Ten minutes left, and at best not-Beckinsale has done a bit of sauntering at best, and no walking to speak of. He also rode a horse a bit. Instead, he's been watching the 'war' bit of the programme, provided by some typically worryingly keen re-enacters. This kind of thing always looks rubbish on the telly, because there's never enough of them for a proper war, and the ones that there are are never dedicated enough to their art to want to get stabbed. Then some bloke in post-production plays some clanging and vague shouting sounds over the top in an effort to help out. Never works.
Five minutes to go till programme's end, and finally Richard not-Beckinsale deigns to do a bit of the promised walking. He does a good job, too, with the classic one-foot-in-front-of-the-other technique we've all come to expect from a walker of this man's standing. Alas, he's just not putting in the effort - a thirty second piece to camera here, a two minute wander up to a stone there, it's really not what the fans have come to expect. Overall, an unbalanced effort from the wandering academic, who seems to have forgotten he's go two mandates to cover in this show. Conclusion: should be called "War and Fighting and Kings and That and a Little Bit of Wandering.”
Wednesday 29 September 2010
Mighty White
Tuesday - it's the new Thursday, apparently. Which used to be the new Monday, itself being a replacement for the old Friday. Sitcoms, they get about, don't they? Time was you could turn on the telly on a Friday night and there'd be something on to make you feel better about not having any friendss to go to the pub with, but nowadays they throw you a paltry documentary about Concorde and the implication that everyone else is out having fun without you instead.
But I digress. More than usual. My intention was just to point out that BBC Two are showing comedy on a Tuesday night nowadays. Alan "rumour has it he bit a tramp once" Davies gets a 9pm billing in Whites, where he's been asked to grow a Marco Pierre White beard just to rub it in a bit. I was prepared to diss it with vitriol and evil, but then Issy Suttie and Jen out of off'f The IT Crowd appeared within two minutes of each other and delivered cracking performances, so I thought I'd stick it out. Super Hans out of off'f Peep Show gets a look-in later on, too, but the problem with Super Hans out of off'f Peep Show is that no matter which role he's playing, you always hear Super Hans out of off'f Peep Show and assume that whenever he's out of shot he's probably smoking some bloody lovely crack. Which is a shame, because he's actually played all kinds of non-crack related roles, but you just can't see past the crack. It's a kind of mental typecasting; he could play Harold Wilson, and all you'd be thinking was "I bet that's not tobacco in that pipe".
Anyway, long story short, thanks to a particuarly excellent supporting cast I warmed to the whole thing by the end, despite a script which veered from so-so to actually-alright-really-I-suppose; despite Alan Davies, whom I can't generally tolerate for too long without wanting to pull off my ears; even despite the trailer for Jools Holland afterwards which made me want to pull off his ears (he's a horrible little suckup, isn't he?). Which came as a bit of a surprise, but I'll roll with it. At least it's not Harry and Paul, which was on afterwards and did nothing but make me long for the Fast Show. Which itself probably wasn't that great, actually, but at least I was young enough to not know better.
Tomorrow: I might just watch a documentary on BBC4 about paintings or Jesus or something, if you’re lucky.
But I digress. More than usual. My intention was just to point out that BBC Two are showing comedy on a Tuesday night nowadays. Alan "rumour has it he bit a tramp once" Davies gets a 9pm billing in Whites, where he's been asked to grow a Marco Pierre White beard just to rub it in a bit. I was prepared to diss it with vitriol and evil, but then Issy Suttie and Jen out of off'f The IT Crowd appeared within two minutes of each other and delivered cracking performances, so I thought I'd stick it out. Super Hans out of off'f Peep Show gets a look-in later on, too, but the problem with Super Hans out of off'f Peep Show is that no matter which role he's playing, you always hear Super Hans out of off'f Peep Show and assume that whenever he's out of shot he's probably smoking some bloody lovely crack. Which is a shame, because he's actually played all kinds of non-crack related roles, but you just can't see past the crack. It's a kind of mental typecasting; he could play Harold Wilson, and all you'd be thinking was "I bet that's not tobacco in that pipe".
Anyway, long story short, thanks to a particuarly excellent supporting cast I warmed to the whole thing by the end, despite a script which veered from so-so to actually-alright-really-I-suppose; despite Alan Davies, whom I can't generally tolerate for too long without wanting to pull off my ears; even despite the trailer for Jools Holland afterwards which made me want to pull off his ears (he's a horrible little suckup, isn't he?). Which came as a bit of a surprise, but I'll roll with it. At least it's not Harry and Paul, which was on afterwards and did nothing but make me long for the Fast Show. Which itself probably wasn't that great, actually, but at least I was young enough to not know better.
Tomorrow: I might just watch a documentary on BBC4 about paintings or Jesus or something, if you’re lucky.
Tuesday 28 September 2010
Nice Ahse, Darlin'
GSGC returns to our fancy modern flatscreens in an inauspiciously rubbish way, by means of no wifi in my hotel and a bit of fiddling with a USB stick the day after. For lack of anything better, your daring reviewer is watching a possibly-new episode of Grand Designs (More4, 9pm). Tonight's idiots wanting to build an inefficiently-costed house are a Sue Perkins-alike and a confused-looking bloke who are desperate to go live in a hobbit-hole underneath an old crumbling barn in the middle of a field.
Why bother with the barn bit and not just dig a big hole? I don't know either, but someone at the local council planning department thinks it's funny, because they've demanded our idiots leave the barn perfectly intact. What an awesome job that dude must have. It's like he knew they were going to be on Grand Designs and reckoned they could do with a bit more of a challenge. Perhaps he reasoned as I do, that the odds of anyone nowadays building a pretentious super-middle-class house in a field not being on some kind of telly programme are rapidly approaching zero, so he took a punt and is, as I type, sitting in his bedsit chuckling into his pot noodle at an irritating sabotage well done. I salute you, Mr Council Planning Department Man; you've done a narratively important thing. Hope the troubles with your wife blow over and you can move back in soon.
The reason we (and by 'we', I mean 'me'. Well, 'I', grammatically speaking) watch Grand Designs, in determined opposition to the reasons we watch most other telly, is in order to watch people succeed. Nobody cares who wins the Apprentice, we just tune in to watch shitbags be shitbags to each other, in an environment wher there aren't any non-shitbags around to get hit with the crossfire. Nobody likes the people who successfully pitch to Dragon's Den, they're all smug arseholes. But the ones who try to get 200k for a badger eyepatch factory: we'll watch those idiots all day. What awful people we are. By which I mean, what an awful person I am.
Except when I watch Grand Designs, and I have no idea why. By all the standards of the glowing box of judgement, I should be hoping this eco-hobbit hole falls down on the heads of these creatures who dare aspire to live in a nice house. I should be appalled that by the end they've gone and made a quite nice hole with a lovely view of some fields where they can sit and drink ice tea and say 'rah' with their friends. But I'm not. If I may sum up in my best Kevin McCloud impression, that's the real achievement of Grand Designs. Anyone can film some people building a house, but it takes a certain magic, a commitment to making you not hate people, a reminder that nice houses are nice no matter how irritatingly smug and privileged their builders, to make a Grand Design.
Tomorrow: GSGC watches something else, hopefully a bit more writing-worthy.
Why bother with the barn bit and not just dig a big hole? I don't know either, but someone at the local council planning department thinks it's funny, because they've demanded our idiots leave the barn perfectly intact. What an awesome job that dude must have. It's like he knew they were going to be on Grand Designs and reckoned they could do with a bit more of a challenge. Perhaps he reasoned as I do, that the odds of anyone nowadays building a pretentious super-middle-class house in a field not being on some kind of telly programme are rapidly approaching zero, so he took a punt and is, as I type, sitting in his bedsit chuckling into his pot noodle at an irritating sabotage well done. I salute you, Mr Council Planning Department Man; you've done a narratively important thing. Hope the troubles with your wife blow over and you can move back in soon.
The reason we (and by 'we', I mean 'me'. Well, 'I', grammatically speaking) watch Grand Designs, in determined opposition to the reasons we watch most other telly, is in order to watch people succeed. Nobody cares who wins the Apprentice, we just tune in to watch shitbags be shitbags to each other, in an environment wher there aren't any non-shitbags around to get hit with the crossfire. Nobody likes the people who successfully pitch to Dragon's Den, they're all smug arseholes. But the ones who try to get 200k for a badger eyepatch factory: we'll watch those idiots all day. What awful people we are. By which I mean, what an awful person I am.
Except when I watch Grand Designs, and I have no idea why. By all the standards of the glowing box of judgement, I should be hoping this eco-hobbit hole falls down on the heads of these creatures who dare aspire to live in a nice house. I should be appalled that by the end they've gone and made a quite nice hole with a lovely view of some fields where they can sit and drink ice tea and say 'rah' with their friends. But I'm not. If I may sum up in my best Kevin McCloud impression, that's the real achievement of Grand Designs. Anyone can film some people building a house, but it takes a certain magic, a commitment to making you not hate people, a reminder that nice houses are nice no matter how irritatingly smug and privileged their builders, to make a Grand Design.
Tomorrow: GSGC watches something else, hopefully a bit more writing-worthy.
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