Tuesday, January 31, 2006

Sublime Delusions

I was grievously insulted today by an Archiving student, who ridiculously is in the same 'school' as me at UCL despite sharing absolutely no characteristics in common with the relatively normal, sane folk on my course. This student languishes under the sublimely deluded belief that archivists and their ilk are somehow superior to us Electronic Communication and Publishing students because they are doing something 'relevant' and 'exciting'. I was temporarily rendered speechless by the utter, overwhelmingly moronic idiocy of this statement. How exactly is spending eighteen hours a day sitting in a library desperately avoiding all human contact researching the Golden Years of Preston North End 1898-1898 or the History of Dishwasher Powder 1970-1984 'relevant' and 'exciting'? Frankly, I'd rather eat my own pancreas. Raw.

As a consequence of their fear of the outside world, archivists are so dangerously pale that I strongly suspect them of dissolving upon contact with sunlight. Unfortunately I have thus far been entirely unable to test this theory as this would involve physically removing one from the library, which is about as easy as swimming blindfolded across a crocodile infested lake in a meat-flavoured straitjacket.

The other principal object of my ire today is the dismal excuse for a sketch comedy that is Little Britain. The rise of this mind-numbingly predictable uselessness is a sad indictment of a frantically impatient society that requires instant comic gratification, however weakly delivered. Whatever happened to the intricate, subtle and cleverly executed humour of a 'Coupling' or a 'Scrubs'? The pathetic cow's backside of a programme that is Little Britain is characterised by a hideous cacophony of atrociously uninspired set-pieces, painfully telegraphed 'punchlines' and an increasingly desperate third series resort to the standard 'comic' fallback of urea and faeces 'jokes' to achieve even a semblance of humour. Well, it's an old truism, but even unpleasant bodily fluids can't drag this horrendous debacle out of the comedy gutter.

Here, for reference purposes, is the invariable structure of a Little Britain 'joke':

1. Matt Lucas says/does something unfunny
2. Mark Walliams says/does something equally unfunny
3. Unfunny consequences result

Repeat ad infinitum, ad nauseum, ad overpowering homicidal urges.

It never ceases to astonish me just how preposterously popular this comic vacuum is. Particularly as it is one that displays the originality of a sexually deviant Liberal party leader candidate, the uproarious hilarity of accidentally slicing your own head off with a chainsaw and the profundity of a satsuma. The aspect of the programme that infuriates me the most is the fact that it operates under the chillingly complacent belief that if a spectacularly unfunny catchphrase is repeated often enough, it will somehow become amusing. You know what I have to say to that?

Mates.

Ed's Mood: Bemused

Ed's Incessant Auto-Repeat Musical Tip: Radiohead - 2+2=5

2 Comments:

Blogger bob said...

if the History of Dishwasher Powder 1970-1984 was on wikipedia it would be interesting.

or not - doh!

11:27 AM  
Blogger Ed said...

So 'interesting' can be defined as 'has a Wikipedia entry devoted to it' now?

This practically obliterates the word 'uninteresting' from existence.

How depressing.

Ed

11:40 AM  

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