No Hangover for Bridemaids

The producers of Bridesmaids have openly invited comparisons with 2009 hit The Hangover and they've appeared keen to promote the idea that Bridesmaids is a more worthy successor to The Hangover's legacy than The Hangover 2 which is also in the cinemas at the moment. What's less clear is whether Bridesmaids was originally conceived as an attempt to demonstrate that women are as capable as men when it comes to this form of comedy or whether this is an entirely market-driven conceit.

In practice, the comparison doesn't really apply. It's highly misleading to bracket this film with its anarchic forbear because the differences between The Hangover and Bridesmaids are far more significant than the similarities. The biggest distinction lies in the level of plausibility. Films don't have to be plausible but they do have to establish a level of plausibility and remain true to it. The Hangover wasn't at all plausible but it didn't really ask the audience to believe that it was. No matter how wild your night in Vegas, the idea of waking to find Mike Tyson's tiger in your bathroom is inherently absurd and The Hangover set out its stall with this gambit very early on. Its comic momentum is sustained by keeping its events at this level and none of its significant events were believable.

Bridesmaids, on the other hand, shifts wildly between a poignant study of a woman's panic as she realises her life has drifted off course and the broad comedy that's come to be known as 'gross-out'. These two elements sit as uneasily alongside one another as a plump lamb and a hungry lion.

The main protagonist is Annie (Kristen Wiig) who is on the brink of a premature mid-life crisis brought on by failure in every area of her life. Only her friendship with old school-friend Lillian (Maya Rudolph) offers any solace from her shitty life and when Lillian accepts a proposal of marriage, all of Annie's dissatisfactions are suddenly brought into focus as never before.

The extent of these dark revelations is magnified by Lillian's decision to ask Annie to be her maid of honour. Anyone who's seen the trailer for this film knows this much. They also know that various mishaps of the kind seen in The Hangover unfold as Annie proves uncommonly ill-equipped for the role she's assigned. Based on the trailer, you might suppose that this sequence initiates a momentum that lasts until the end of the film but that really doesn't happen. Instead the outrageous episodes of Bridesmaids punctuate the film like the lapses of a high-functioning alcoholic who hasn't quite conquered his addiction to binge drinking.

The underlying story is a pretty conventional romantic comedy (or romcom to use the revealingly dismissive abbreviation) concerning the unbelievable amount of time it takes for a dim woman to realise that the nice guy who treats her decently is a better relationship bet than the dickhead who's messing her about.

Despite the best efforts of Chris O'Dowd as Nathan Rhodes – the policeman who takes a shine to Annie and tries to show her the meaning of love – this turns out to be a remarkable thin premise. The playboy character has been drawn with such broad strokes that he should have been represented by an animated stick man. Instead he's played by Mad Men's Jon Hamm who imbues the character with such shallowness that he's entirely one-dimensional.

Adding to these competing demands on the audience's attention is a sub-plot involving Lillian's new best friend Helen. Immediately jealous of one another for no good reason, Annie and Helen's attempts to outdo each other contribute hugely to the wedding-related disasters that unfold but their overblown feuding is a complete contrivance and only adds to the tonal shifts that undermine the film's coherence.

Helen (Rose Byrne) may be the film's biggest problem. Byrne doesn't really convince as Little Miss Perfect and Annie's jealousy of her would have worked much better if Helen has been genuinely sweet. Instead it's plain for anyone to see that she's manipulative and controlling and it's actually ridiculous that Lillian wouldn't be aware of her true nature. Helen's step-sons are... in a scene that demonstrated that the editorial priority was laughs rather than coherence, one of the two lads tells Helen to “fuck off” when she tries to use them to further her claim to be the perfect wife.

As was the case in The Hangover, the most outrageous comedy is provided by an overweight character with a disarming lack of self-awareness. In Bridesmaids this role is taken by Melissa McCarthy who bases her performance completely upon the template established by Zach Galifianakis in The Hangover. Her part hums with so much obviousness that her only hope is to play the role with enough gusto to make the crassness appear ironic. Sadly, this renders her performance into a realm of unfunny self-parody which has the added problem of making it utterly infeasible when her character is charged with the responsibility of shaking Annie out of her funk.

This film is less than the sum of its parts and its parts aren't all that. The roaming nature of the narrative and the gag-oriented editorial policy leaves a lot of loose ends. Not that any discerning film-goer would regret the neglect of these... at two hours and five minutes Bridesmaids is already quite long enough thank-you very much.

One loose end merits a bit more attention though as it appears to illustrate the editorial laxness of this film. It involves a gag that's set-up when Officer Rhodes hands Annie the name and phone number of someone who can fix her tail lights. The name of the mechanic in question is Bill Cozby and when Annie notes the similarity to a certain veteran comedy actor, Rhodes tells her that his friend hates it when people point this out and she's not to say anything about it.

This is so clearly a set-up that more astute members of the audience will find themselves speculating about the pay-off. Perhaps, they might think, 'Bill Cozby' will be played by Bill Cosby and Annie will be unable to refrain from mentioning how much the mechanic looks like the comedian. Or perhaps the writers and producers of Bridesmaids had something else in mind.

Whatever it was, we don't get to find out. When Annie gets her tail lights fixed, no mention is made of the mechanic's near namesake and the set-up is left hanging. What happened? Did they try to get Cosby and fail? Or was some other pay-off abandoned? Was it then too late to re-shoot the scene in which the gag is set-up?

It's a small lapse but a strange one and it's indicative of a lack of follow-through that plagues the film. Mind you, that particular phrase brings to mind the scene that seems set to become the film's most notorious moment... a food-poisoning based mishap that brings a whole new meaning to the phrase 'bridal shower'. There's certainly no lack of 'follow-through' in this sequence even though it's relatively modest in its grossness thanks to the conveniently long dresses.

Is the idea of women performing comedy of this order supposed to be subversive? If Bridesmaids had wanted to be genuinely subversive, why didn't it challenge the idea that women are so in thrall to the prospect of a big wedding that they'll surrender every freedom delivered to them by the feminist movement and reduce themselves to the level of pathetic simpering wretches? That would be far more radical than seeing a woman shit herself in the street... even if she is wearing an expensive bridal gown.

Questionable Time

The BBC's odd habit of putting celebrities on the Question Time panel hit a new low last night when two-fifths of the guests owed their presence to show business rather than politics or journalism.

David Mitchell has appeared on the programme a couple of times in the past and as an occasional satirist isn't entirely out of place but Fern Britton was embarrassingly gauche and her involvement stretched Question Time's credibility to breaking point.

David Mitchell gives the impression that he's not sure why he's there. Anyone who has followed his career will be aware that he has a keen ear for the absurd vocabulary of political rhetoric and, to be fair to him, he has an abundance of common sense when talking about the issues of the day. But Mitchell is a comedian and occasionally he speaks as though he's just remembered that's the real reason that he's there and he begins to offer a little half-hearted jesting.

Fern Britton also didn't appear to know why she was there either. Indeed, it wasn't altogether clear if she actually realised she was there. You could say she was refreshingly candid about the extent of her ignorance or you could say she was woefully ill-prepared for an appearance on the nation's premier political discussion programme.

Britton's answer to the first question was "I don't know"; her answer to the second question was a bit more confident but undermined with the words "I'm not sure" at the end which brought us to the third question which was concerned the advisability of negotiating with the Taleban. Fern Britton's contribution to this vexed question? She told us that it's usually nicer to talk to people than it is to fight with them. As trusisms go, this was especially banal. One of the most difficult questions of our age addressed as though it's a dispute that's arisen between a couple of schoolboys.

Later on, David Mitchell started riffing about his misgivings about dressage in his answer to a question about the mistreatment of circus animals and won the laughter of the audience in a fashion that appeared to wrong-foot him once again. The whole 'why am I here?' question appeared to flash through his mind again and he curtailed the comedy by reversing clumsily into a cul-de-sac that contained neither comedy or wisdom.

But unsurprisingly, it was Fern Britton who provided the dumbest moment. Asked about the changes to the pension regulations, Britton declared herself among those who are affected. Really? A woman who earns as much as Fern Britton felt troubled by the idea that she has to work for an additional five years before she can get her hands on a state pension? It says much for the politeness of Question Time audiences that she wasn't howled down for this crass attempt to show solidarity with those who will be genuinely affected by the coming changes.

Question Time isn't always as entertaining as it might be but an attempt to fix this by including people on the panel whose views are irrelevant is likely to transform the programme into something else altogether. There are already enough opportunities for David Mitchell and Fern Britton to offer their views without Question Time's producers having to endanger their programme's credibility by offering them a place on the panel.

Ed's No Brainer

One of the least edifying dimensions of Labour's thirteen years of power was watching successive Home Secretaries attempting to prove that they could be as mindlessly macho as any Tory who had held the post.

When forced to choose between a defence of civil liberties and the sacrifice of hard-fought freedoms at the altar of tabloid prejudice, they opted for the latter with unsavoury eagerness. One Home Secretary after another sought to undermine those who opposed their authoritarian measures by suggesting that being guided by long-held principles is naïve. In the real world, they contended, governments have to take grown-up decisions... and grown-up decisions are difficult. Like over-bearing parents convinced of their own infallibility, each of these Home Secretaries told us that they were stripping us of our civil liberties for our own good. If we only knew what they knew then we'd understand but, of course, they couldn't reveal the details without compromising the intelligence services. They constantly used this morally bankrupt formulation to make the argument that it's irresponsible of us to defend our freedom.

Why did they do this? According to the apologists, it's because it's the only way a left-wing government can avoid accusations of weakness. They believe that law and order is an issue 'owned' by the right and a Labour government has to act tough to win the trust of a sceptical public. But the credentials of those who level this argument are seldom questioned. Who gave a coterie of tabloid journalists the right to suggest that their prejudices represent public opinion? Why aren't politicians of the left courageous enough to challenge this orthodoxy? Why are they so convinced they can't win the argument?

Okay, so that's how they behave when they govern but it's different in opposition, isn't it? Opposition provides you with an opportunity to declare your true principles and stand up for them? Not if the wind is blowing in the other direction, it doesn't.

At Prime Minister's Questions today, Ed Miliband challenged David Cameron over a proposal to discard the DNA of men who are arrested for rape but not charged. Miliband claimed that evidence from this database had been used to secure convictions for crimes committed after the arrest and release of some of these suspect. He then quoted Angie Conway from Rape Crisis who has said that deciding whether or not this data should be retained is a “no-brainer”.

Both Miliband and Conway are wrong to describe it as a no-brainer. It's a complicated issue and very much a 'brainer'.

Let's examine what Ed Miliband said today.

The individuals he's talking about haven't even faced a criminal trial because he referred specifically to men who have been accused but not charged (presumably because of a lack of evidence). That should be that. The rule of law cannot be suspended simply because someone has been accused of one of the more serious crimes on the statute book... the presumption of innocence ought to be sacrosanct.

So you'd need a pretty compelling argument to justify a violation of this fundamental right. It sounded as though Ed Miliband's had one when he sternly pointed out that the DNA evidence provided by the database had been used to convict such men for crimes that they committed subsequently. If retaining this DNA leads to the imprisonment of rapists then it still wouldn't be a no-brainer but it would make it good deal harder to suggest the relevant samples should be deleted from the database.

But, in any case, that's not what Ed Miliband said. All he revealed was that some of these men had been convicted of subsequent crimes. He didn't say whether these subsequent crimes were sexual in nature or even whether they were serious. He left fellow MPs and the public to draw their own inferences and deliberately allowed an impression to be formed that these men were subsequently arrested for rape.

In fact, the example he cites actually highlights one of the dangers of allowing DNA evidence to be retained in this fashion. It has to do with what the military calls 'mission creep'. We hand the police a specific power under the proviso that it's only to be used in very specific circumstances... legislators might even give the law that provides these powers a name that hints at its theoretical limits, such as the Terrorism Act 2000. But the police are under enormous pressure to control potentially volatile situations and they are rather canny at exploiting the tools at their disposal. Environmental protesters at Heathrow Airport in 2007 were threatened with powers deriving from the Terrorism Act even though it was obvious that they were not terrorists. And participants at many other peaceful protests have found themselves faced with the possibility of arrest under the terms of this versatile legislation.

It's fair to assume that a universal DNA database would be similarly abused by the police. Professor Alec Jeffreys who is widely regarded as the father of genetic fingerprinting is among those who oppose the use of DNA to identify a suspect. He points out that DNA evidence is excellent if you already have other evidence because the odds of the perpetrator's DNA matching that of the suspect are extremely long. But the same evidence used as part of 'a fishing expedition' dramatically changes the maths and the chances of a miscarriage of justice increases massively. That's why Jeffreys believes that only the DNA of convicted criminals should be retained.

These arguments are complicated and require a proper understanding of genetic fingerprinting; statistical analysis and the rule of law. Anyone who thinks this issue is a 'no brainer' is offering a woefully simplistic consideration of what's at stake.

It's hard to avoid the conclusion that Miliband's decision to attack the Government on this issue was based on the embarrassment provoked by Ken Clarke's mishandling of a live interview on a proposed change to sentencing. The media generated outrage provided an opportunity for Miliband to suggest that cost-cutting measures were a greater priority than the safety of the public and there was a great deal of sanctimony on display because Clarke was wrongly thought to have been flippant about rape.

Clearly, the Labour leader has warmed to this theme. Today's attack was a transparent attempt to open a new front to draw further attention to the idea that the current Government is soft on rapists. It was as cynical a piece of political opportunism as you're ever likely to see. It submerged a complex debate beneath a pile of exploitative and misleading nonsense and demonstrated that we're further than ever from having a principled party of the left who liberals can support at election time.

Tell Them Alice Sent You

I think I'm allowed to feel quite pleased that there's been such a positive response to the piece I wrote last week about donating blood for the first time. I did this after witnessing the phenomenal reaction on Twitter to a blog written by Alice Pyne, a fifteen year old girl in England who has terminal cancer.

But it's a double-edged sword. Each time I read the latest additions to Alice's blog, I'm overwhelmed by her joie de vivre. The zest with which she's responded to the opportunity to fulfil her dreams is truly uplifting but I cannot tell whether it's this wonderfully positive spirit or the sadness of her plight that always brings tears to my eyes when I read her words.

In one of her postings, Alice displayed an extraordinary generosity in acknowledging that she is luckier than other children in her position because of the attention her blog has gained. She's right, of course, but it's clear to me that this focus couldn't have found anyone worthier than Alice.

Proof of that is provided by the item at the very top of her wish list - "to make everyone sign up to be a bone marrow donor". Alice has made this her highest priority even though it's too late for her. She's thinking of other children... some of whom are ill now and others who will face an illness like hers in the future.

This was what inspired me to find out how I could get myself on to the bone marrow register. I'm not there yet but I will be and the more I find out about it, the more I realise that it may be the most worthwhile thing I've ever done.

The maths is simple. On average, the odds of one individual's bone marrow tissue matching another's is around 50,000/1. Not good. The best way of improving the chances of those whose lives could be saved by a transplant is to massively increase the pool of potential donors. If enough people made their bone marrow available, it could become possible to find a match for every patient who requires this treatment to help them recover from a life-threatening condition.

That's what makes the bone marrow register so vital... the more people who are one it, the better it is.

So far, around thirty people have tweeted me to say they have booked an appointment to give blood for the first time and many of these are endeavouring to get themselves on to the bone marrow register.

I'm immensely proud of the small part I've played in their decision but I'm well aware that it's Alice who really deserves the credit. That's why I'm urging each person who feels sufficiently moved by her courage to take these steps to make sure that they 'Tell Them Alice Sent You'.

Very Nearly An Armful

A few days ago, Twitter made the national news when it started paying attention to an extraordinary BLOG written by a 15 year old girl with terminal cancer called Alice Pyne.

In the mistaken belief that one of the wishes on Alice's 'bucket list' was to trend on Twitter, thousands of users began adding the hashtag 'AliceBucketList' to their messages and she began trending worldwide on a wave of goodwill.

A proper reading of Alice's BLOG revealed a much more laudable ambition than the fleeting fame afforded by Twitter. Alice wants people to join the bone marrow register because it could save the lives of existing and future cancer patients.

In recognition of this, I tweeted: "This is all just flim-flam if we don't get ourselves on to the bone marrow register. Everyone promise to do it if they can?"

Though this message barely registered on Twitter, I knew that I had to follow through even if no-one else did.

I made enquiries and discovered that I had to be a blood donor to get on to the bone marrow register.

I've never given blood before. I've always recognised that it's a good thing to do but I've never been sufficiently motivated to do it. I don't like needles... but then who does? Never before had I felt so confronted by the cowardice and inertia which had prevented me from taking this simple step.

I looked it up on the internet and I made an appointment. After I'd made the appointment, I discovered that I ought to have registered first so I emailed a registration and received a message telling me that I'd be contacted.

By the time the appointment came around, I hadn't been contacted. But I guessed that I'd created a slot in their system and the last thing I wanted to do was occupy time that could be used by a better-organised donor.

I headed to the Blood Donation Centre in Nelson Mandela Place in Central Glasgow and explained what had happened. It turns out they're an admirably flexible outfit and they told me I could make a donation that very day.

I'm not proud of the fact that I spent the next twenty minutes in a heightened state of anxiety. It's the needle thing. Pathetic, I know. Even as I lay down to have my blood drawn, I was calculating the extent of the embarrassment if I suddenly bolted for the door. Off the scale, I decided. I stayed put.

Why did I worry? The staff could not have been friendlier or more kind. I genuinely feel that I should have been admonished for leaving it until I'm in my forties before donating blood for the first time but instead I was faced with a barrage of gratitude. It was humbling.

Turns out that it's nothing. A piece of cake. I almost enjoyed it. And I'm certainly enjoying the sense that I've done something good for no reward other than the satisfaction of doing it.

It occurred to me that I could write this BLOG to share the experience and encourage others of a similar mind to donate some of their blood. But I was painfully aware that there would be an element of self-aggrandisement in committing these words to the screen... and I hesitated.

Then I realised that it is important. I would never like to think of myself as a typical example of anything but I suspect there must be many others who were sufficiently moved by Alice's Bucket List to consider the steps I've taken. And many of them may have been gripped by the inertia that prevented me from donating blood for so many years. And maybe, just maybe, some of them will read this and it'll be the thing that persuades them to turn a good intention into a good action.

It's a widespread thing this inertia. Did you know that all the blood that's donated in the UK is being provided by just 4% of the population. Just 4%. Do you like the idea of belonging to an exclusive club? Here's your chance.

The next step for me is to register for blood donation in England because at the age of 44 I'm too old to join the Bone Marrow Register in Scotland.

I'm clearly gripped by a strain of masochistic altruism as I feel almost pleased that this isn't proving straight-forward and that I may have to pretend to live in England in order to find out if there's someone out there in need of my bone marrow.

But even if that doesn't work out, I'm very happy to report that I'm now a blood donor. Good for me. Good for Twitter. But, most of all, good for Alice.