Hello again, my dear friends. Some points of order. Miss Robin said:

Trying to work out if Alasdair is a comedy genius, or just plain bonkers..

Unfortunately I think everyone knows the answer to that one, Robin. I read in the paper yesterday that Yusuf Islam, TAFKA Cat Stevens has joined the fight against the repeal of Section 28. Seems not everyone is allowed on his fucking Peace Train, eh? Once again we receive a reminder of the fact that Geoff Sheridan does ABSOLUTELY NOTHING at work, except design nice flyers in a Milkybar Kid stylee. I like. Went to see Being John Malkovich last night, which everyone should go and see now as it is completely insane. The first 15 minutes alone are worth the price of admission, and if it doesn't win the Oscar for best original screenplay then Tom Cruise is a monkey. Oh, hang on... Also bears out the only rule of cinema; go and see EVERYTHING with John Cusack in it. Even 16 Candles. Anyway, on to much less good things: 'And ever, as the story drained The wells of fancy dry. And faintly strove that weary one To put the subject by. "The rest next time" - "It IS next time!" The happy voices cry.' I doubt the happy part, but anyway, here it is. Get you notebook out, Nick. Highlights of the year so far. Part Deux. 6. Mexico! at the Mark Mcmanus Memorial Theatre. Recreating the 1970 World Cup as a play was never going to be an easy task, and thus it proved. The script underwent 137 separate re-writes by 56 different authors, and tragedy struck when Eric Colonial (who was due to play 40-fags-a-day Brazilian midfielder Gerson) died of lung cancer after taking the art of method acting to it's pinnacle. Despite these setbacks, director Paul Pot's vision is extraordinary in it's scope, recreating all 32 matches in their entirety with the use of 203 actors all plying their noble art on a stage 12ft long by 10ft wide. The highlight of the night was undoubtedly the first round match between England and Brazil, which flowed like a divine river of football, perfect in almost every detail. In a wonderful homage to Beckett, Roberto Fluggle (who plays Jairzinho) emerges from a trashcan to score the only goal. Arthur Maelstrom, who plays Gordon Banks, is clinically blind and has a false leg after sustaining a fatal Second World war injury in 1958, which makes his save from Hamish McCalpine's Pele all the more remarkable, although the goals are of course less than full size. McCalpine himself is he star of the night, immersing himself in the role to such an extent that he could almost BE the great man, were it not for the fact that he is white. Pot has described his leading man's performance as "almost like a cross between Sidney Poitier and Sylvester Stallone, though a better goalkeper than either man." McCalpine injects exactly the right amount of wisdom and joy into his performance, though tinged with sadness at having missed much of the previous 2 tournaments through injury. This is certainly no one-man show, however, with Gregor Pet and John Fingly superb as Cubillas and Riva respectively, playing their parts and taking their goals with flair and aplomb. The only let-down is the abscence of Bobby Moore's court case, which could have injected a dose of broad comedy into a production which at times borders on the pretentious. It thankfully nevr reaches that stage, however, thanks to the wonderful flourishes of Pot, whose surrealistic dream sequences are a particular treat (witness Gerd Muller being chased through the streets of Cairo by an enraged camel, perfectly illustrating his country's failure to by-pass Italy in the semi-final, the camel of course representing Franz Beckenbauer's shoulder injury), and whose talent is the equal of his ambition in almost every scene. Except scene 34. 7. Reinventing The Meal by Darian Daur. This wonderful new art collection demonstrates all of Daur's current vibrancy and originality, and is a treat from first exhibit to last. In it he creates portraits of famous figures using only food, and the results are moving, thought-provoking and often amusing. The best pieces (though the choice is a hard one) are "Sole", a portrait of Marvin Gaye made entirely of fish; "Dirty Bitch", a profile of Marilyn Monroe made of cheesecake, picking up on her outward sweetness allied to her biscuity personality underneath and ; "Nice Hat", where the famous image of Che Guevara is recreated using red and green chillis. Duar's work is currently touring the country. See it if you can. 8. Breadbin by Angus Blackfoot This new collection of stories cements Angus Blackfoot's reputation as one of the finest exponents of the short form (or indeed any form) currently writing. The stories here are by turns wildly funny, coldly manipulative, angrily shoddy and lazily good. His prose is easily readable, yet go back and you'll pick up new depths of meaning every time. "What we talk about when we talk about gloves" is a hilarious faux-history of hand garments; "The burglars of Morgan Street" is a disturbing story about a man whose house is ransacked by a gang of chipmunks while "A beery story" tells the surreal tale of a man who gets hideously drunk, forgets the world is round and falls off. The best of the lot, however, is "Bing!", in which Blackfoot's staccatto train of thought style is both highly original and highly effective. A passage follows: "All never ears red memory maybe. Always red sorry? Bing invisible radiation. Her body shining squelching image ears red. Edges angles light reflects what? Bing ears spark spaniel bark fading red. One square sausage climate change invisible brown new black. Ears shiny almost nothing. Bing memory returns never here almost there bing ears bing red bing at last bing it's over." Breadbin is the kind of book which reinforces your belief in the art of storytelling, and Angus Blackfoot is a master of the art whose voice remains unique. 9. Whose Afraid Of Virginia Plains? I'm not usually a fan of TV drama, too much Robson Green for my liking, but this was a rare exception. As both a meditation on the process of ageing and the tale of a marriage on the rocks, this was compelling stuff. Lead actors Tracy Crum and Peter Gunn play Sandra and George Formby respectively, two fifty-something Londoners tied together by two children and the bonds of marriage, though growing increasingly far apart as Stacy refuses to accept her decscent into middle age and George becomes increasingly infatuated with their neighbour Jill. A scene follows: George: (As Stacy enters, drunk). And just where have you been? Sandra: Out fucking the night again! As if you care. G: Of course I care! It's 4 in the fucking morning, I didn't know.. S: Well I'm here now, aren't I? G: Stacy, why can't you just grow old gracefully? It's not Roxy Music in '72 anymore. S: You're as old as you feel, you can cut me open and count the rings if you want. You know George, you're just bitter, like a lemon. G: I'd rather be a lemon than a dried up old passion fruit like you. S: George, you're the only one who's old. I still want to eat life. G: Yeah well I want to eat a chicken sandwich, but we're out of chicken. Sometimes you just have to accept spam. S: What, as a substitute for life? G: No, as a substitute for chicken. S: Your candle's all burned out, George. G: You think? Well, maybe I just need a new wick. S: Is that a threat? G: So what if it is. As if you give a shit. S: Yeah George, go on. Go and fuck that bitch next door. You're nothing without me George, and you know it! G: And you're nothing without me, so I suppose we're stuck with each other. You know your problem, Stacy? You think you're immortal. I mean, who wants to live forever anyway? S: I do, George. I do. The drama won a well deserved Bafta award for best swearing, though should have won more given it's raw power and energy, as Crum and Gunn almost leap through the screen to get their points across. Both actors are nothing short of brilliant, as is the entire production. 10. Glasgow Rangers' inevitable march towards another Scottish Premier League triumph. Just to show I'm not a complete arty poof. So there you have it. How many have you seen/listened to/read? Chalk it up. A new Chris Morris series tonight! I'm almost quite literally shaking. Until next time. Alasdair xx "You want to do mankind a real service? Write funnier jokes." - Og, Stardust memories +----------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the undead Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list mail sinister@missprint.org. To unsubscribe send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to majordomo@missprint.org. 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