Sunday 24 February 2013

What makes you laugh or why did the Chicken cross the road wearing a banana skin with a Hedgehog?

It's an obvious point but occasionally, people, things and ideas make us laugh but why?  Why did the Chicken cross the road?  Was it lost?

Laughter can be viewed in many different ways.  It can be a response to something that we find funny or it can be indicative of mental illness.  It is an extreme response to external and internal stimuli.  However, it is viewed, it is a release.  It can make us feel better or it can cause us to tire.  For example, I remember being at school and whilst attending a 'Life Skills' class (these are a funny conceit too but not a subject for discussion now), one of my class who consistently made people laugh decided to hide in a cupboard at the back of the room.  Bear in mind that I am referring to a floor level cupboard, not a full size one.  Someone prevented his escape from the cupboard by placing a table in front of the cupboard.  The teacher came in and when he called the register, a banging could be heard from the cupboard.  We all laughed as the table was removed and he came out.  Even the teacher laughed.  The punchline being that laughter is tiring and I think this is the point that I realised this essential truth.  I like laughing and humour but you try being in the company of someone who cracks jokes every thirty seconds and see how you feel by the end of the day.  Maybe, that reveals more about me?

Anyway, I slightly digress...  I think that most people would agree that different types of comedy like everything in life appeals to different people.  What has interested me is how types of comedy are very much of their time.  I am thinking of various situation comedies that are now deemed 'politically incorrect' and even stand-up comedians whose material remains sexist and racist.  I generally do not condone censorship.  Indeed, if you look at the cultural trends over the years, the comedy that is created is of the moment and watching certain programmes thirty years on is more revealing of the times in which the programmes were made.  Personally, I do not like 'Rising Damp'.  Something about the programme always got under my skin but that was essentially the point.  Rigsby is an awful character.  A seedy, self-regarding unpleasant landlord with racist views.  Interestingly, it doesn't seem to be repeated that often.  The same is true of 'In Sickness and In Health', although Alf Garnett is a recognisable archetype in most public houses. 

Another programme (and comedian) that wound me up as a kid and still does as an adult was 'The Benny Hill Show'.  Benny Hill essentially took the fun out of slapstick and lacked the originality of 'The Goodies' and the likes of Norman Wisdom plus he chucked in a dose of sexist humour in the form of 'The Hill's Angels'.  Yet, posthumously, he remains popular in America and in various European countries.  His show is also televised in India. 

So what does make me laugh?  Well, I do like some situation comedies.  'Open All Hours' set in a corner shop and starring Ronnie Barker as Arkwright, the shopkeeper and Granville, his young assistant played by David Jason still generates a warm feeling inside.  Something about the setting and an understanding of the time in which it was set.  'Porridge' also still features high on my list of situation comedies that have stood the test of time.  I guess 'Only Fools and Horses' also features somewhere on the list.  Thinking about it, most situation comedies whether they are set in the future, 'Red Dwarf' or in the weird nightmarish setting of Royston Vasey, 'The League of Gentlemen' stand the test of time much more successfully than some stand up routines.  Stand up comedy is at its best representative of the moods, foibles and errors of the moment.  Seeing Seventies' stand-up comedy programmes with their proliferation of patriarchal jokes involving Mother-In-Laws and 'ugly wives' leaves me cold and grim faced. 

Comedy can age very badly as perhaps, it should.  If you get the chance, please read or see the play 'Comedians' by Trevor Griffiths, which is set in a classroom for aspiring working-class comedians and effectively offers an overview of the comedy scene in the Seventies and where it was heading.  One of the aspiring comedians preempts the alternative comedy scene that became popular in the Eighties.

So where is comedy going now?  The answer seems to be nowhere in particular.  Everything seems derivative, retrograde and even stand-ups are losing their connection with the audience by playing ever bigger venues.  This situation should not be seen as terrible as there will always be something to make people laugh but personally, I need to be challenged, so I will continue to seek out new comedians or comedians that believe in the material they deliver.

I conclude this blog entry with a joke, why did the Chicken cross the road wearing a banana skin with a Hedgehog?  The Chicken needed someone to help him change the light bulb and the banana skin ensured that there would be no unfortunate accidents.

                                                                                                    Barry Watt - 24th February 2013

Sunday 17 February 2013

Sand, stones, pink rock and fading glories - Welcome to the Coastal Apocalypse!

Over the years, nothing has captured our minds and hearts quite so much as the good old coastal holiday.  One or two weeks each year spent relaxing in coastal towns scattered around the United Kingdom.  Bad food, lousy weather and over zealous deckchair attendants after every penny they can get from casual holidaymakers desperate to sit somewhere that hasn't been entirely corrupted by the passage of sand.

This blog entry is not about the history of coastal holidays, although it is a fascinating phenomena based upon changing work patterns in the United Kingdom (i.e. we work less hours and so therefore have slightly more time to relax) and the very human need to escape.  I am writing this as an exploration of my own feelings towards coastal holidays and more specifically, the traditional holiday camp holiday.  I will take in the odd cultural representation of British holidays and coastal towns because they have helped to perpetuate a myth and even to tarnish the glory days of 'kiss me quick' hats and promenades down the seafront.

As a kid, I used to go to the seaside quite regularly.  Initially, as a family, we would go at least once or twice a year to various holiday camps and also to a hotel.  These included Ladbrokes in Middleton, Butlins in Bognor Regis and the Camber Sands Leisure Park.  Eventually, my Mum and Dad purchased a chalet on the Camber Sands Leisure Park, so we went a few times a year.  The aforementioned hotel was the Hotel Burstin in Folkestone.  As an adult, I have only returned to a holiday camp once with some friends in 1996, Butlins in Bognor Regis.

My family coastal holidays are responsible for some of my most enduring memories, some of them long since repressed and others really positive such as the first time I bought an American comic from the local holiday camp shop in 1985, which led to my love of comics growing and an out of control collection!  Holiday camps are a truly weird idea.  You pay money to attend a working environment that is not unlike your daily working life with timed events, structured meals and some of the scariest entertainers outside of a prison camp.  Indeed, when you think about it, the layout of most holiday camps resembles a prison.  You have an entrance gate that normally has a security guard checking passes to ensure that you are allowed to enter the kingdom of pleasures, s/he guards. Then a small Reception office, where you 'check-in' and receive your key.  Depending on the holiday camp, the accommodation is either scattered caravans and/or chalets or blocks on two levels.  To all intents and purposes, holiday camps are prison camps.

As a child, I remember being quite excited by Butlins in Bognor Regis.  It truly offered everything and really, there was no reason to leave the site.  It had a cinema, entertainment for all ages including performers such as The Tumbleweeds, three meals a day, a bowling alley, an outdoor pool, a kids' club and oh, so many other delightful things.  Mum and Dad remind me of the dark side of the holiday, the weather was terrible, the accommodation relied on antiquated meters, which required 50p to be regularly inserted to provide heat and light.  I remember on the one semi decent day that week daring to jump in the outside pool with my sister, only to feel every muscle in my body atrophying and were it not for my ingrained survival instinct, I fear I would have become a frozen sculpture adorning the glorious pool.

When I returned as an adult to Butlins, Bognor Regis with a more jaded opinion of UK coastal holidays, I remember observing how the paintwork was peeling, the food in the dining room was less than wonderful yet something quaintly inspiring remained.  I think it was seeing the happy faces of the children as they were led around by camp entertainers in their colourful coats.  It was at this point that I appreciated the notion of an all inclusive holiday.  A temporary, gentle escape from city life.  An organised series of rituals in a quirky environment far removed from the stresses of family life.

Having spoken a bit about holiday camps, I found it interesting to observe how the Hotel Burstin in Folkestone shared many of the characteristics of the holiday camp, the overly formalised days, structured entertainment, particularly in the evening, which always commences with Bingo that lasts for at least an hour before going on to other more interesting stuff such as talent competitions and slightly iffy cover bands.  Really spending time in the Hotel Burstin was exactly the same as spending time at a holiday camp except you didn't have to walk miles to go to the pool or shop.  Also at one point, a free day trip to France was included within the package deal, so that you could go and get your duty free alcohol, ciggies and bottles of perfume.

Before leading this blog entry to a slightly pessimistic conclusion, I feel that it is interesting to explore representations of the holiday camp within popular culture.  The two most pervasive representations of the holiday camp include The Erpingham Camp by Joe Orton and Hi-de-Hi!  by Jimmy Perry and David Croft.  The Erpingham Camp was originally produced on television by Rediffusion on 27th June 1966 and has subsequently been staged occasionally in various theatres.  It is not one of Orton's best known plays but it does highlight how scarily over-organised holiday camps are Mr Erpingham runs the camp with an iron fist. He knows how best to satisfy the needs of the holidaymakers.  He is ambitious and has no qualms about building:

'Rows of Entertainment Centres down lovely, unspoiled bits of the coast, across deserted
moorland and barren mountainside.  The Earthly Paradise.  Ah...'
                                                                                                             (Orton Page 281)

Upon the unfortunate demise of the former Entertainments Organiser, Chief Redcoat Riley is drafted in to organise the evening's entertainment.  What ensures is an encapsulation of the absurdity of most holiday camp entertainment, dodgy immersive competitions with rubbish prizes.  Riley's entertaining competition has unfortunate repercussions for the life of the camp's staff and residents.  To think all he does is try to get two residents to scream:

'Who's going to scream the loudest?  Loudest scream wins a cash prize.  Just scream.  As loud as you like!  The winner will be given a voucher for the Erpingham Stores.  A voucher that will enable you to buy a week's groceries or, if you prefer, three days' luxuries, free of charge.  Who's going to scream?'

                                                                                                            (Orton Page 295-296)

Riley also gets another resident to strip naked and do the Can-Can when the screaming competition gets out of hand (one of the competitors gets hysterical), he crosses the line and slaps her.

Orton's depiction of a typical holiday camp is both very funny and acutely accurate in its attention to detail.  There is something vaguely disturbing about the idea of 'Redcoats' etc.  Lots of control freaks with their own agendas.  Entertainment that was old, sexist and frankly unfunny when holiday camps were first opened yet still a factor in the Sixties, Seventies and Eighties.  Without completely spoiling the plot of the play, a schism occurs between the staff in the camp and the residents.

Another iconic representation of holiday camps was Hi-de-Hi! This was a popular BBC programme in the Eighties and set in 1959 and 1960.  A tannoy message, 'Hi-de-hi Campers' was issued several times throughout the programme advising the residents where the day's activities would be taking place.  Perry and Croft's situation comedy had it all, ambitious staff desperate to become Yellowcoats, failed celebrities trying to relive their glory days in a holiday camp as entertainers and all of those horrible competitions we remember as kids, 'knobbly knees' and 'Little Princess' competitions.  It was very funny and highlighted the essential fact that holiday camps have not changed since the first Pontin's holiday camp opened in 1946 at Brean Sands in Somerset.  They are still catering for the same family market who prefer their relaxation time to be based within a drive or train ride from where they live.  Holidays abroad although cheaper than most holidays in the UK have the added problems of customs, potential long delays at the airports and long transfers at the other end to hotels and resorts.

To sum up, holiday camps are an ambivalent and uniquely English phenomena.  Of course, summer camps are a feature in the USA but they are used primarily to give teenagers and parents a break from each other.  Holiday camps in the UK are like factory lines with rigid routines that allow little room for excursions unless people remember that the coastal towns they occupy are actually full of far more interesting places to visit than the camp amusement arcade or bar.  On the other hand, lots of coastal towns although still beautiful are seemingly crumbling at their roots.  Small shops are gradually being forced to close as yet another supermarket crops up.  The high streets in coastal towns are increasingly beginning to look like any old shopping area with non-stop franchises and even the fish and chip shops tend to be Harry Ramsden.  The notion of authenticity has been corroding.  I remember once walking through Folkestone humming Everyday Is Like Sunday to myself as I stared at the closing shops and saw the rubbish littering the streets.  People come for the beach and leave with very little else.  Sand is a constant even when everything else is ephemeral. 

                                                                                                  Barry Watt - 17th February 2013

Afterword

The quotes from 'The Erpingham Camp' were extracted from 'Orton: The Complete Plays' by Joe Orton (Methuen, 1993).

'Hi-De-Hi!' is available on DVD from the BBC.

'Everyday Is Like Sunday' is a Morrissey song and was originally available on his album, 'Viva Hate' (HMV Records, 1988).

 

Monday 4 February 2013

Silence - The Tree of Perpetual Yearning

Silence is both a blessing and curse.  I define it above in the heading of this blog entry as a tree of perpetual yearning.  Silence is a condition that seeks to be filled or obtained.  Human beings tend to find silence very uncomfortable yet when we are overwhelmed with a culture of noise, it is ironically more desperately sought than even human intimacy.

Curiously, one of the most prevalent innovators and explorers of silence as an ambient tool is the medium of music.  For example, John Cage's 4'33" immediately springs to mind.  This is a three movement composition in which the musicians are instructed not to play their instruments.  It can be any length, although as its title implies, it was originally intended to last for four minutes and thirty three seconds.  Interestingly, if you have the pleasure of seeing the composition performed, you will be confronted with the simple truth that silence does not really exist.  If you watch your fellow audience members, you will see them shuffling around, coughing and discreetly talking to each other.  Silence is not a natural human state.  Please see below a link to a performance of the composition.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hUJagb7hL0E

Another time when silence is sought as a means of remembering the lost and deceased is 'Remembrance Day'.  Two minutes silence is an almost impossible goal.  Attention spans are rapidly exceeded and once images of soldiers running around battlefields and memories of loved ones are explored, the remaining time is spent pondering the people around us.

For me, my experience of silence is equally ambivalent.  I recall being in libraries and finding the pursuit of silence oddly oppressive.  Silence and concentration do not always exist in a harmonious relationship.  I tend to become more easily distracted when I am forced to be quiet.  In fact, it is important to highlight the fact that silence is somewhat more intense than 'being quiet'.  If you consider how silence in relationships can either be comfortable or uncomfortable depending upon the company and the moods of the people involved.  I have witnessed several meals where couples simply can no longer communicate.  They barely look at each other as the menu is scrutinised then handed back to the waiter, brief grunts articulating the required food and drink choices.  The playwright, Harold Pinter was also adept at highlighting this essential truth in human relationships with his use of pauses; momentary breaks in communication that in their frequency and sometimes length are horrifying.  Are human beings really incapable of verbalising their needs?  A comfortable silence in a relationship is almost a state of telepathy, where you don't need the other person to talk the whole time.  Simply being with them is enough.

When you think of silence, you may picture a Monastery and hooded figures in prayer or a foggy day.  Fog seems to shroud the world of sound in a thick blanket.  The disorientation that you experience is as much to do with the absence of sound as opposed to simply not being able to see.

I do not seek silence, I seek peace and that is even harder to achieve.

                                                                                           Barry Watt - 4th February 2013