Thursday, August 03, 2006

Maybe It's Because I Was Bad In A Previous Life

The otherwise howling emptiness of my life aside, I do sometimes struggle to understand why I persist in watching EastEnders. I think it's a mixture of a few things, which may or may not include gin. Firstly, begrudging admiration for the writers who seem to be able to write themselves out of any plot difficulty with absolutely no finesse whatsoever, but all the while hoodwinking us into believing that it's all nice, natural character development that's perfectly all right and nothing to worry about. There are surely hundreds of examples, but I'm tired and no-one cares.

Second: acting. Oh, there are those that will carp and moan and niggle and turn their noses up and say good god, how can you watch that, no-one can act? To which I cry, pish posh and nonsense! There is a certain skill you have to have to be able to carry off acting in a programme which is so exposition-heavy that 28 minutes of every thirty are dedicated to the characters telling each other what they have experienced in the last week so that viewers who've been in Marbella for a fortnight can sit down with a cup of tea and get right back in it without recourse to Sky+ or any other such devilry. This ain't about subtle nuance, it's about intensive plot action, hardcore, throbbing, plot ACTION.

Just look at that Vicky bird what was in it a few years ago, you know, the one with the terrible American accent that suddenly disappeared overnight with a just-acceptable explanation (ah-ha! Knew I'd find an example!) Nice girl, obviously fresh out of RADA or some such, used to staring out of windows whining about the ducks going to Moscow, and clearly she was a good actor, but her "look at my naturalistic performance Christ I could be in a sodding Mike Leigh film" stuck out like a sore thumb among the frenzied mugging and eyebrows. I sincerely hope she's having a thriving career in theatre now. Actually, no, her voice was too damn annoying.

Nah, give me Babs Windsor screeching and confidence-is-a-preference-for-the-habitual-voyeur-of-what-is-known-as-phil-daniels and his action man hand acting any day. God, that fills my soul with snowflakes.

Anyway, I'm just writing about this cos I'm in shock. Now don't get me wrong, I'm no prude, in fact I am right now having live-streamed snorkel sex with a Belgian waffle iron, but on Tuesday Jake and Carly seemed to have real actual penetrative intercourse all over my spaghetti bolognese, and tonight there were not one but two ACTUAL penis jokes. I mean...! Not that the kids were watching, fuck'em, they surely see far worse on myspace of a Thursday afternoon, but it was just...distasteful. It's like seeing Diane-Louise Jordan languidly stroking a Cornetto and then saying "flange". Not bad, but not good.

So in conclusion - Stenders rools! Apparently.

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