brian-west-289-887982
A rejoint le févr. 2012
Bienvenue sur nouveau profil
Nos mises à jour sont toujours en cours de développement. Bien que la version précédente de le profil ne soit plus accessible, nous travaillons activement à des améliorations, et certaines fonctionnalités manquantes seront bientôt de retour ! Restez à l'écoute de leur retour. En attendant, l’analyse des évaluations est toujours disponible sur nos applications iOS et Android, qui se trouvent sur la page de profil. Pour consulter la répartition de vos évaluations par année et par genre, veuillez consulter notre nouveau Guide d'aide.
Badges9
Pour savoir comment gagner des badges, rendez-vous sur page d'aide sur les badges.
Évaluations35
Note de brian-west-289-887982
Avis11
Note de brian-west-289-887982
I love Cornwall, I go there all the time, and I have never had any trouble understanding the delightful Cornish accent. So what in God's name is the language they're speaking in BBC1′s new adaptation of Jamaica Inn? I began by turning up the volume, thinking I simply had the TV on too quietly. When I still couldn't catch what most of the cast were trying to say I tried listening on headphones like a language student struggling to revise for a forthcoming aural exam.But however much I concentrated, rewound on TiVo, or adjusted the audio controls I could only manage to pick out about one word in fifty.
Most inaccessible of all was the dialogue uttered by Sean Harris, as violent, drink-soaked smuggler Joss.
Joss produced a baffling array of mumbles, whispers and grunts, delivered through the upper nasal cavity in a West Country accent so thick it might as well have been first generation Klingon.
Even headstrong barmaid Mary – played by Jessica Brown Findlay off Downton Abbey – had trouble understanding the ramblings of her thuggish, inebriated uncle, and pointed out as much on more than one occasion.
"I don't understand," she said at one point, and Britain breathed a huge sigh of relief that not every viewer in the country had simultaneously gone deaf.
Uncle Joss turned out to be a bit of a nineteenth century Basil Fawlty – a reluctant innkeeper who "don't like people staying," and would rather go down to the beach and crush people's heads with his bare hands. He also had a nasty habit of grabbing people around the throat and shoving them up against walls – a style of behaviour that was also reminiscent of Mr Fawlty at his least hospitable.
Matthew McNulty was in it, of course. He's in all the BBC costume dramas and probably hasn't had a day off work in about 7 years. Poor old Matthew must be sick to the back teeth of heavily colour-corrected, windswept moors full of clattering stage coaches and women wading up to their knees in muddy bogs. He looks like he could do with a couple of weeks in the Canaries. Maybe his agent needs to learn how to say "no" from time to time.
Finally giving up on trying to follow the dialogue, I turned my attentions to Mary's heavy, full length velvet dress. This character's fondness for bog wading at a variety of different depths meant that in every scene the dark stain around the hem of this garment moved up and down, up and down, like the rise and fall of the tidal Thames at Teddington. I eventually found myself trying to guess at which level the watermark would appear next, and I have every intention of turning this pastime into a drinking game while I am watching episode 3 of Jamaica Inn (with the subtitles turned on.)
Most inaccessible of all was the dialogue uttered by Sean Harris, as violent, drink-soaked smuggler Joss.
Joss produced a baffling array of mumbles, whispers and grunts, delivered through the upper nasal cavity in a West Country accent so thick it might as well have been first generation Klingon.
Even headstrong barmaid Mary – played by Jessica Brown Findlay off Downton Abbey – had trouble understanding the ramblings of her thuggish, inebriated uncle, and pointed out as much on more than one occasion.
"I don't understand," she said at one point, and Britain breathed a huge sigh of relief that not every viewer in the country had simultaneously gone deaf.
Uncle Joss turned out to be a bit of a nineteenth century Basil Fawlty – a reluctant innkeeper who "don't like people staying," and would rather go down to the beach and crush people's heads with his bare hands. He also had a nasty habit of grabbing people around the throat and shoving them up against walls – a style of behaviour that was also reminiscent of Mr Fawlty at his least hospitable.
Matthew McNulty was in it, of course. He's in all the BBC costume dramas and probably hasn't had a day off work in about 7 years. Poor old Matthew must be sick to the back teeth of heavily colour-corrected, windswept moors full of clattering stage coaches and women wading up to their knees in muddy bogs. He looks like he could do with a couple of weeks in the Canaries. Maybe his agent needs to learn how to say "no" from time to time.
Finally giving up on trying to follow the dialogue, I turned my attentions to Mary's heavy, full length velvet dress. This character's fondness for bog wading at a variety of different depths meant that in every scene the dark stain around the hem of this garment moved up and down, up and down, like the rise and fall of the tidal Thames at Teddington. I eventually found myself trying to guess at which level the watermark would appear next, and I have every intention of turning this pastime into a drinking game while I am watching episode 3 of Jamaica Inn (with the subtitles turned on.)
A few years ago a friend of mine worked on the very first series of Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle (BBC2) so I went along to see a few episodes being recorded. This turned out to be a rather unique experience as the gigs are taped in a real working man's club in Stoke Newington and the faded, retro charm of the room is not created by a BBC designer, its the real thing.
Brutally honest, fiercely self critical and so comfortable in front of an audience he can get a laugh by doing nothing, Stewart Lee is also the real thing. Lee's skill with comic repetition and deconstruction are a masterclass and his throwaway asides to the television viewers – while rudely excluding the live audience – are often the best observations you're ever likely to hear about the diverse tastes and social structure in Britain.
In this third series Lee once again takes comedy apart, kicks it around a bit, then puts it back together again. His vocabulary is exquisite, his delivery sublime. Nobody does it better. And yet his style is not to everyone's taste and many people simply don't get it. Yes, its comedy about comedy, yes it might be a little inaccessible for some, but if you take Lee's advice and work a little harder than usual while watching his act, you will surely be rewarded.
Quotes like, "this is the sound of the middle class applauding their own guilt," set this series apart from every other comedy show currently on TV. Lee's abrasive style and deeply bitter persona have been honed over many years performing in thousands of gigs around the UK. This is a man who makes an art form that is almost infinitely hard look laughingly easy.
Chris Morris takes the role of Grand Inquisitor in series three, pumping our hero with uncompromising, Paxman-like questions while both performers do their best to keep a straight face and pretend that these savage interludes are for real. Morris is also Lee's script editor, so its not surprising that the series maintains such a consistent level of quality and pace.
If I had any criticism at all it would be that Lee's stand-up is so good the format doesn't really need cutaways, and I'd personally rather see more stage time, without the interviews and film inserts. As a long-standing fan I personally don't think either of these bolted-on elements really adds anything to the series or shows off his talents as well as when he's simply standing alone on stage in ill-fitting jacket and rubbish haircut.
Brutally honest, fiercely self critical and so comfortable in front of an audience he can get a laugh by doing nothing, Stewart Lee is also the real thing. Lee's skill with comic repetition and deconstruction are a masterclass and his throwaway asides to the television viewers – while rudely excluding the live audience – are often the best observations you're ever likely to hear about the diverse tastes and social structure in Britain.
In this third series Lee once again takes comedy apart, kicks it around a bit, then puts it back together again. His vocabulary is exquisite, his delivery sublime. Nobody does it better. And yet his style is not to everyone's taste and many people simply don't get it. Yes, its comedy about comedy, yes it might be a little inaccessible for some, but if you take Lee's advice and work a little harder than usual while watching his act, you will surely be rewarded.
Quotes like, "this is the sound of the middle class applauding their own guilt," set this series apart from every other comedy show currently on TV. Lee's abrasive style and deeply bitter persona have been honed over many years performing in thousands of gigs around the UK. This is a man who makes an art form that is almost infinitely hard look laughingly easy.
Chris Morris takes the role of Grand Inquisitor in series three, pumping our hero with uncompromising, Paxman-like questions while both performers do their best to keep a straight face and pretend that these savage interludes are for real. Morris is also Lee's script editor, so its not surprising that the series maintains such a consistent level of quality and pace.
If I had any criticism at all it would be that Lee's stand-up is so good the format doesn't really need cutaways, and I'd personally rather see more stage time, without the interviews and film inserts. As a long-standing fan I personally don't think either of these bolted-on elements really adds anything to the series or shows off his talents as well as when he's simply standing alone on stage in ill-fitting jacket and rubbish haircut.