Sunday 25 January 2009

Edging Towards The Mainstream: Jesse Armstrong, Sam Bain and Simon Blackwell


Scotland on Sunday

They’ve co-written two of the most eagerly anticipated films of 2009, controversial, feature-length comedies about a phoney war and British suicide bombers. As the critically acclaimed writers behind political satire The Thick of It and cult sitcom Peep Show, they’ve pilloried foul-mouthed incompetency in Whitehall and elicited award-winning laughter from a man eating barbecued dog.

Yet chatting over a rather more palatable lunch in the smart, upstairs surroundings of a central London restaurant, Sam Bain, Jesse Armstrong and Simon Blackwell admit that they were “terrified” at the thought of 250 Glaswegians sitting stony-faced through recordings of The Old Guys, their new Friday night sitcom for BBC One. More intimidated even than meeting Sopranos star James Gandolfini.

“I was in awe,” admits Blackwell. “This great hairy man.”

“He’s not someone you meet and think ‘oh my God, you’re so not like your character’” Armstrong concurs.

In The Loop, starring Gandolfini, Tom Hollander and most of The Thick Of It cast premiered at the Sundance Film Festival on Thursday. Directed by Armando Iannucci and scripted by the Glaswegian with Armstrong, Blackwell and Tony Roche, the cinematic spin-off focuses on politicians and bureaucrats in Britain and the US scrabbling around in the build-up to war, with petty rivalries and cynical career manoeuvring overshadowing an almost incidental conflict. Slated for release in the UK this spring, one critic has already announced that “it might even be the best British film of the year”.

As is their habit, the writers were on set throughout the shoot and former Labour researcher and New Statesman columnist Armstrong recalls struggling to focus as Peter Capaldi, playing temperamental spin doctor Malcolm Tucker and fellow Scot Paul Higgins as his psychotic lieutenant, prepared themselves in rooms either side of him.

“As he often does, Peter started singing Sinatra to himself,” he explains. “And Paul was repeating some of Simon’s lines which didn’t make it into the film: ‘I’ve got a puppy fucking machine, puppy fucking, puppy fucking ...’ Slightly distracting when you’re trying to come up with new material.”

Meanwhile, Four Lions, the working title for the jihadist comedy penned by Armstrong and Bain for Chris Morris begins production this summer for a cinematic release later in 2009.

The pair remain tight-lipped about the extent to which Morris – whose Brass Eye paedophile special caused such a tabloid furore in 2001 and who has spent three years interviewing terrorism experts, police, the secret services and imams as well as ordinary Muslims – has adapted their initial script, aside from enthusing that “his level of research was amazing” and “it’s incredibly exciting”. Blackwell though, who has seen a copy, purporting to show “the Dad’s Army side of terrorism”, describes it as “very funny. It hits precisely the right tone.”

So why then are they so concerned about The Old Guys? Especially as it stars sitcom veterans Roger Lloyd Pack (Trigger in Only Fools and Horses) and Clive Swift (Richard in Keeping Up Appearances) as Tom and Roy, growing old disgracefully while lusting after their neighbour Sally, played by Jane Asher. The IT Crowd’s Katherine Parkinson completes the cast as Tom’s daughter Amber.

“Having that citizen’s jury out there is scary,” says Armstrong of the trio’s first self-originated studio sitcom, recorded at BBC Scotland in Glasgow. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t watch it and think, ‘bloody hell. Could this work without a laughter track? Could we be more subtle? But it’s the show we’ve always wanted to write.”

According to Bain, “with Peep Show, a sitcom only watched by a million or so people, we’re protected by a sort of layer of cool and the fact that visually, it’s shot in an interesting [point-of-view] way. With a more conventional show like The Old Guys, the audience have got to invest in the characters immediately. Even though there’s nothing stylistically radical about Frasier or Seinfeld, they feel sophisticated because the characters are interesting. That’s our aspiration too.”

Blackwell expands upon the potential pitfalls. “I’ve done a lot of gag and sketch writing in front of a live audience,” he explains. “But never a narrative. The temptation is to just fill it with as many jokes as possible because you want that constant laughter. The danger then is that it becomes like a stand-up routine and you don’t get a satisfying story.”

The trio first collaborated on a failed pilot for the late über-producer Harry Thompson, whose mantle for overseeing cutting-edge comedy at the BBC has arguably now passed to Iannucci. Blackwell, who was handed his first break on Iannucci’s Radio 4 show Weekending, went on to be a joke writer under Thompson’s tutelage on Have I Got News For You. After he’d worked with Armstrong on The Thick Of It, he and Bain, who met at Manchester University, enlisted Blackwell’s help when their workload became too onerous to complete all six episodes of Peep Show’s last series.


Easily inhabiting the self-absorbed mindset of dysfunctional flatmates Mark and Jeremy, played by David Mitchell and Robert Webb, he remains a useful ally explains Bain, because being Oxford-based, he “doesn’t understand London rates of pay”. Moreover, having introduced a gun and the spectre of male rape into their sitcom too, Armstrong is keen to stress that “Simon takes all the credit for that particular episode”.

Although The Old Guys was conceived without a specific channel in mind and actually pre-dates Peep Show, with Bain and Armstrong coming up with the idea in 1999, they acknowledge that Iannucci and The IT Crowd writer Graham Linehan put a “certain amount of friendly pressure” on them to try writing for a more mainstream audience.

“I genuinely don’t think we’ve made any concessions though,” Armstrong states.

“We took out some swearwords,” Bain interjects, “but that was because it sounded wrong in the actors’ voices.”

“It sounded like we were trying to get a laugh from making your granny say ‘fuck’” Armstrong concedes, before adding: “We never had a cast in mind though. But we did feel ‘wouldn’t it be fun to write for a generation with loads of brilliantly talented comic actors?’We reckoned that if we wrote for that age group, we might be able to punch above our weight, get somebody really amazing. And that’s how it turned out with Roger and Clive.”

Despite both Peep Show and The Old Guys having been provisionally titled All Day Breakfast at different times in their development and focusing upon the domestic setting of two bachelors, he reckons that the pairings “complement and rub up against each in other in different ways.”

“One of the fun things about writing comedy is that you can actually forget about their age to an extent,” Bain agrees, “You shouldn’t think ‘right, what would an old person do?’

“You’ll only end up writing all your jokes about colostomy bags,” Armstrong rejoins.

Nevertheless, despite a greater tendency towards farce than their Channel 4 sitcom, some storylines in The Old Guys, such as Tom contemplating visiting a prostitute or embarking upon a civil partnership of convenience with Roy seem exceptionally edgy for the BBC’s flagship channel. And one episode, involving the death of a supporting character, is remarkably dark.

“We were slightly worried about whether the audience would feel they were allowed to laugh there,” admits Blackwell. “Thankfully, big relief laughs followed those early nervous chuckles. Hopefully, in every episode there are moments where you think ‘I wouldn’t expect this in a BBC studio sitcom’. Not because it’s gratuitously edgy but because it’s emotionally interesting.”

Producing the show is Absolutely alumni Jack Docherty.

“He’s a comedy hero of ours, through we’d never tell him,” grins Blackwell, noting that “there’s an awful lot of exciting comedy coming out of Scotland at the moment, it’s like Naked Video and Absolutely in the 80s.”

Early notices have compared The Old Guys unfavourably to another pair of incorrigible old rascals though.

“It was strange when we started production because there were pictures of Still Game everywhere,” recalls Armstrong. “I hope people can find a place in their heart for both shows because they’re very different. But when we told cab drivers in Glasgow, it was like ‘oh right, you’ve come up here to do Still Game. But we’ve already got Still Game, so fuck off!’”

Such frosty receptions should inspire their next projects. In addition to writing the sixth series of Peep Show this summer, Bain is working on a “relentless” one-act play “because he hates ice cream”, Blackwell has contributed to ITV’s forthcoming call centre comedy Mumbai Calling and Armstrong plans to write a film about Rupert Murdoch for Channel 4, recreating “events that haven’t happened yet at a future Murdoch family gathering. Perhaps I’ll have an idea what it’s like after I’ve not written it and the legal team have not okayed it.”


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Thursday 15 January 2009

Joe Rogan: Ultimate Fighting Comedian



Metro (Ireland)

Hard-hitting US comedian Joe Rogan holds a second black belt in tae kwon do and brown belt in Brazilian jujitsu. The Ultimate Fighting commentator discusses squaring up to Wesley Snipes, isolation tanks and performing during the Apocalypse.

Why do you think you’re perceived as a controversial comedian?

Not many comics are willing to go far out. When you start talking about dark areas like government corruption or the positive effects of psychedelic drugs, you risk offending your audience. And when you’re just starting out, other comedians won’t thank you for getting a crowd riled about abortion and genocide. Telling jokes about farts and getting drunk, you won’t develop a rabid following but you won’t start any fights.

Your new TV show, Game Show In My Head, sounds a bit like Jason Byrne’s Anonymous. How does it work?

It’s a really funny show man. The contestant has an earpiece in and they don’t know what they have to do until I tell them. One time, I sent a guy over to a camera crew and told him he’s a news reporter. Unfortunately, the story he’s reporting on, the witnesses have fled. So he has to find people that weren’t there and convince them to pretend they were part of it. Next, I tell him the event was ‘a UFO flew overhead, you were abducted and they performed tests on you’. He’s laughing and saying ‘how the hell?’ But he pulled it off almost immediately because people are willing to bare-faced lie with a camera in their face.

Apparently you’re planning an End of the World Show with the comic Doug Stanhope leading up to the arrival of December 21, 2012. How come?

It’s when the Mayan calendar ends and when many believe our human age will change. All the crazy events in our world, the Iraq War, the Internet and all our technological innovation, we’re moving towards some kind of huge event, perhaps a catastrophe, maybe the next level of evolution. Also, Terrence McKenna – a brilliant man, everything I know about psychedelic drugs I learned from him – developed a mathematical algorithm, the Timewave Zero-Novelty Theory, which holds that all human innovation is building towards ‘ultimate novelty’. Through this programme he independently predicted it would occur on the same date. So who knows? We plan to commemorate just in case.

Why do you enjoy Ultimate Fighting so much?

It’s the most visceral sport in the world, one that stretches back to ancient times. The human drama of a guy fighting for his life, fully committed in mind, flesh and will is hugely exciting to me.

What happened to your proposed fight with Wesley Snipes?

He changed his mind. It was ridiculous but I thought it would be fun. ‘What? Snipes wants a fight?’ If you’re sparring in a gym and punches are pulled because you’re a famous actor you have a distorted perception of your abilities. I’ve fought hundreds of karate and tae kwon do tournaments. I’ve kickboxed and I do jujitsu. I’m pretty good. If I didn’t do jujitsu for two years and let him train constantly, I’d still choke the hell out of him. His ego was writing cheques his body couldn’t cash.

Why do you own an isolation tank?

For self-analysis. It was designed by John Lilly, a pioneer in inter-species communication who developed it to communicate with dolphins. He figured it out while on acid. The water is heated to the same temperature as your skin and you’re in total silence and darkness. It feels like your brain is untethered from your body and you begin looking at life more objectively. There’s some pretty deep places I reach, which, if they were in pill form, the government would try to ban.

You're known for confronting comedians who steal jokes. How big a problem is gag-theft?

It’s a real problem. Club owners let these vampires suck from other artists because they just want the money. This one famous actor-comic, the reason he can become his characters in movies so easily is because he’s an emotional mess, he needs constant attention. He even steals from people who are his best friends! He was the first comic I ever heard of, where, if he was in the room, other comedians wouldn’t perform. Here’s a guy who was super-famous, but because there was no Internet back in the 80s to expose him, if he did your joke on TV, it became his joke. I’m sure he lives in hell though, like anybody on ego drugs like cocaine. If he ever got in my isolation tank he would lose his mind and jump out screaming.



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Wednesday 14 January 2009

Armando Iannucci: Skin Deep


The Herald


In a high-security Californian laboratory, men and women of disconcertingly uniform appearance sing beneath a giant pink vat, the looming vessel filled to the brim with surgically removed body parts. This is “man’s highest creation” maintains Armando Iannucci.“The coming together of music, theatre, design, people and coughing.” This is opera.

The Glaswegian writer and producer of such acclaimed comedy creations as Alan Partridge, The Day Today and The Thick Of It, is at Leeds Grand Theatre to see final rehearsals of Skin Deep, a satirical operetta on cosmetic surgery for which he has penned his first libretto. Composed by David Sawer and directed by Richard Jones, the Opera North production opens this Friday, six days before Iannucci’s In The Loop, his debut feature film and cinematic “cousin” to The Thick Of It premieres at the Sundance Festival.

“Putting right what nature got wrong”, Skin Deep has been painstakingly pieced together over five years. Chatting in a rehearsal space adjacent to the theatre, Iannucci can’t disguise his pleasure at finally seeing his work unveiled.

“It’s only now I’m seeing it assembled,” the still-impish 44-year-old enthuses. “I’ve been used to hearing it played on the piano and with everyone singing sitting around on plastic chairs. Only now I’m seeing the costumes and set designs, so I’m beginning to get even more excited.”

Featuring the Dance of the Seven Bandages and the Ballet of Transplant Organs, Skin Deep is the tale of Dr Needlemeier, whose anti-aging elixir, composed of his patients’ boiled off-cuts, requires one more vital ingredient: essence of Hollywood star. After the world’s most famous actor, Luke Pollock, leaves Needlemeier’s alpine clinic “only half the man he was”, scandal breaks and the Swiss doctor flees to America.

Traditionally, opera runneth over with passionate tributes to captivating youth and beauty, though demands for vocal power and range have invariably led to the casting of older, bulkier singers than the plots might seem to suggest. Iannucci has exploited this incongruity before, in a sketch for the 2001 Channel 4 series The Armando Iannucci Shows, in which he imagined attending Ibiza Uncovered: The Opera.

“Richard was watching it at home and thought ‘God, I’ve done productions like that’” Iannucci chuckles. “So he got in touch. We had similar thoughts about what we wanted to do with the story, so the idea came together quickly.”

Since Skin Deep was conceived, the growing popularity of gastric bands, botox and other cosmetic procedures has seen reality threaten to outstrip satire.

“People no longer hide their work, they flaunt it, because it’s about wanting to live the life of a celebrity,” Iannucci sighs. “Parents give 18-year-old daughters cosmetic enhancements for their birthdays.”

He remembers visiting Beverley Hills for a proposed US remake of The Thick Of It, where his hotel “backed onto a plastic surgery clinic. It had a passageway so that guests could be whisked away for their operation, then whisked back to their room to recuperate.

“It was all done quite surreptitiously. Except I was in the bar at 6pm, meeting someone for a drink, and standing there was a surgeon in his scrubs who’d clearly spent the day cracking people’s skulls open and slicing things off.”

A classical music fan since discovering Holst’s Planets at school, Iannucci gorged himself on the library collections at Hillhead, then Govan and became a passionate Wagnerite in his teens “as a reaction” against the Verdi, Puccini and Rossini beloved by his parents. A columnist for Gramophone magazine, he recently took up the piano and remains stuck at grade one, but can trace the effects of his musical exasperation back to his earliest radio work for BBC Scotland. Through 1998 on youth shows like No’ The Archie Macpherson Show and Bite The Wax, he developed the irreverent sound editing that became a hallmark of On The Hour, the landmark radio precursor to The Day Today responsible for launching his career and those of Chris Morris and Steve Coogan among others.

“That BBC Scotland stuff was a product of my frustration that I can’t play an instrument,” he explains. “I’m obsessed by music even though I can’t articulate it, I can’t demonstrate it audibly. Internally though, I like rhythms and pacing, so messing about with audio is probably the next best thing.

“This has given me the chance to mess about with rhythms again,” he says of Skin Deep’s rhyming verse. “Of course, I didn’t dictate what David was doing musically, but we sought a lot of long, languid lines because he wanted it to be quite a slow production. I wasn’t composing but I was dealing in something other than just the words, pointing towards where the music might be going.”

As arguably the UK’s most successful comedy producer of the last 20 years, Iannucci is accustomed to getting the last word but happily bowed to Sawer’s experience this time around.

“Mine is literally the first word,” he acknowledges. “I’m not precious about it, I told David to just chop away. I’ve been getting emails from him saying ‘we need three more lines, each of four syllables, rhyming with ‘ow!’’

Although a creative departure, fans will immediately recognise Iannucci’s hand in Skin Deep, not least in the character of the American news reporter, “a sort of cousin to Barbara Wintergreen” – the character Rebecca Front played in On The Hour and The Day Today – “with lots of puns and wordplay”.

Somewhat surprisingly, Iannucci, who is currently executive producing the BBC’s forthcoming Comedy Vehicle for Stewart Lee, co-creator of Jerry Springer: The Opera, which he downplays as “more of a musical really”, is only a recent convert to the art form, having remained stoically unmoved until he witnessed a Scottish Opera performance of La Traviata.

“I’d always thought opera was a bit mad,” he admits. “But that night, I just thought ‘ah, I see it now’. Live you get the full impact. It’s not just the music. It’s the staging, the acting, the costume, the words, the scenery, the whole ambition of it really.”

Having announced his ambivalence towards Mozart in a keynote speech to the Royal Philharmonic Society in 2006, he concedes that he and Sawer have sought inspiration in the composer’s comedies.

“Well, I’m sort of coming round to him,” he smiles. “The Magic Flute remains one of the most ridiculous things ever though. We also thought about things like A Midsummer Night’s Dream, where you begin with very distinct sets of characters and then you mix them up, with mistaken identities and people dressing up. The earliest thought that occurred to me when we started talking about plastic surgery was the notion of face-swapping.”

Unlike breast enhancement, opera is still widely perceived as a pastime for the rich, a fact that roundly irritates him.

“Yes, the most expensive seats are expensive,” he states. “But people pay more to see a football match every fortnight or Coldplay at the O2. Companies like Opera North and the Almeida in London put a lot of effort into making sure it’s available for anyone who’s interested.”

Reflecting Scottish Opera’s forthcoming mini-season in Glasgow, which includes Death of a Scientist about government weapons expert Dr David Kelly, he dismisses the notion that opera cannot be topical.

“If you think about Mozart, Verdi, Puccini and Gilbert and Sullivan, they were all taking on contemporary political and social themes. I remember going to see John Adams’ Nixon in China and thinking this is what opera should be doing. We should be singing about the credit crunch.”


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