Wednesday, April 01, 2015
Dry wititudes
The English actress Gemma Arterton says she will never live in the USA because Americans can’t tell when she’s joking:
“I always struggle when I'm over there because people don't get my sense of humour and they think I'm being serious all the time,” she explained.
I know how she feels. The African jungle is full of animals that don’t know when gorillas are joking. I’ll never forget the time I called a hippopotamus a fat cunt for blocking my path to the mangrove swamp. It opened it jaws so wide you could have put a microwave oven in its mouth. I had to climb up a tree and whistle through my teeth to convince it my remark was meant in jest.
The English sense of humour has been misunderstood by more truculent creatures than hippopotami, of course. Tom Jones has bittersweet memories of his first encounter with John Lennon, which occurred when the Beatles were rehearsing for a TV show. As Lennon walked on stage, he noticed Tom sitting in the studio and felt obliged to pay his respects:
“How are you doing, you Welsh poof!” he cried.
Tom responded to this affable greeting by calling John “a Scouse bastard” and inviting him to continue his enquiries at close quarters. It’s a good thing that Tom’s agent was on hand to explain that the Scouse bastard was trying to be funny rather than casting aspersions or questioning preferences.
The big advantage that Americans have over the English is that no one mistakes their earnest remarks for frivolous ones. A team of American scientists recently proposed that gold worth millions of dollars could be extracted from human dung. Had English scientists advanced the same theory, no one would have taken them seriously – the tabloid press would have mercilessly mocked them and their idea would have been roundly pooh-poohed. This explains why wacky inventions are far more common in the USA than Britain. The nose-hair trimmer and the nipple clamp are both of American origin.
Now, the American scientists are not suggesting that anyone can shit out a goldmine. The amount of gold a single human could produce in an entire lifetime of defecation would not be sufficient to fill a tooth cavity. However, sifting the sewers on an industrial scale could theoretically generate a bar of bullion every week, which would repay the US national debt in 100,000 years. That doesn’t come close to the gold rush of 1849, but it’s nothing to be sniffed at.
Perhaps Gemma Arterton has been hanging out with the wrong kind of American. I recently had a look at the amazingly silly tweets of Shia Lebeouf, and it’s difficult to imagine him taking anything seriously. His Wikipedia biography also reveals that he dated an English actress called Carey Mulligan for over a year, so perhaps he has a taste for haughty and sarcastic women. I don’t make a habit of playing the pander, but in this case it looks like a match made in heaven.
Labels: English humour, Gemma Arterton, hippopotamus, poo-poo gold, Shia Lebeouf
Friday, October 31, 2008
Quantum of tookus
Wonderful to see my friend Danny Craig doing his Action Man stuff in the latest Bond flick. How far he has come from the whiny insecure actor who came to see me after signing on with Madam Broccoli.
“I’ll be another George Lazenby!” he wailed. “The critics will pan me and the actresses I kiss will eat garlic!”
“Don’t talk rot, Danny!” I cried. “The critics will worship you – and if any actress dares to eat garlic before you smooch her, stick a funnel in her mouth and pour in Listerine until she chokes!”
Thus reassured, Danny went on to do marvellous things in Casino Royale, jumping about like a Mexican bean and allowing his gonads to be whipped for Queen and country. Quantum of Solace is destined to be an ever bigger hit, not least because of the greater variety of totty for Bond to exert his loins upon. There’s a love scene in the film which I had a modest role in choreographing. During the shoot, Danny phoned me to say that he’d soon be planting kisses on the naked back of Miss Gemma Arterton, his delectable auburn-haired co-star:
“All the way down from her neck, GB!” he boasted excitedly. “Not bad, eh? It beats running like a hare in the action sequences!”
“All the way down!” I exclaimed in horror. “No, Danny, no! James Bond does not kiss arse, no matter how peachy and succulent! You must put your foot down!”
“But I don’t actually kiss her arse!” he protested. “Obviously they’ll cut before I get there or we’ll never get a 12A rating!”
“It doesn’t matter, Danny,” I replied. “Even implying that James Bond smooches butt is an absolute no-no. You must protect the integrity of the character for yourself and future generations of fans. Please insist on starting at the small of her back and working your way upwards.”
“You could be right,” he mused. “I’ll probably strain my neck going all the way down. Going up will give me a better posture and I’ll finish in shot.”
Those of you who’ve seen the movie will know that Danny acted on my advice. His mouth travels up Miss Arterton's spine while remaining a safe distance from her ravishing rump. Having said that, I have my doubts about Bond nibbling a woman's body like a gigolo – he’s obviously not a man for fannying about when he's got a lady where he wants her. I’m not convinced that any foreplay is actually necessary: the mere prospect of being pumped by 007 should bring a woman to within a single penetrative thrust of orgasm. Female agents of a more belligerent persuasion might feel the earth move if he forced them against a wall and stroked their crotch vigorously with his Walther PPK. Not very true to life, admittedly, but very much part of the fantasy. A man who cheats death fives times a day shouldn’t have to fiddle about with a lady’s bits and pieces to get her in the mood.
Although I love the Bond films, I have to say that my females are not the least bit impressed by 007 and his macho posturing. As well as being insufficiently hairy for their taste, his arms are too short for the kind of games they enjoy. They also assume he must be infertile, having mated with countless women without fathering a single child. This makes him little better than a eunuch to a female gorilla. They are intrigued by his gadgets, though, and were very fond of the late Desmond Llewellyn, who played ‘Q’. Age is no barrier to being a babe magnet in the jungle if your equipment is up to scratch.
Labels: arse-kissing, Daniel Craig, Gemma Arterton, James Bond
