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Archive for the ‘TV’ Category

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Posted in Literature, TV, tagged , , , , on October 7, 2008 | No Comments »

Geoff of Monmouth? Loudmouth. Chretien de Troyes? Cretin. Malory? Meh.
For years I have quested through the misty verbal thickets of our eminent Arthurian authorities, but amongst all the legend’s comely ladies and puissant knights, they collectively fail to mention the fairest of them all. Yep, apparently, Merlin was hot. A puppy-eyed, crooked-grinned, bone-fide geek-chic, Benedict [...]

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Posted in Fashion, Film, Literature, TV, Theatre, tagged , , , , , , , , , , on April 16, 2008 | No Comments »

The line is Play it once, Sam, not Play it again, and now I know why. If the iPlayer had been around in 1940s filmworld Casablanca, Rick would be watching reruns of Sam on Later with Jools in his riad whilst Ilsa shunned gin joints to binge on out-of-season Desperate Housewives.
Introducing the ‘watch again’ concept [...]

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Posted in Fashion, Film, TV, Theatre, tagged , , , , , , , , on February 15, 2008 | 2 Comments »

This year’s bland vanilla brule of a Baftas was so impeccably tasteful in word, deed and outfit that it disappeared down it’s own self-satsifed throat and came out the other end as a few meaningless fart bubbles smelling of champagne and tuberose. The sole memorable moment centred around Tilda Swinton, who staggered onto the stage [...]

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Posted in Fashion, Music, TV, tagged , , , , , on January 9, 2008 | No Comments »

‘Modern?’ the assembled company of consumptive Byronic poets, cynical, rakish fencing-masters, good-hearted, massive-armed shepherds, and secretly aristocratic highwaymen chime as one. ‘What do you mean, modern?’
The Blonde, standing abandoned in the winter rain, s/s 08 Cavalli petticoat slicked to the skin, invisible orchestra keening Michael Nyman-via-Jeff Buckley stylings through the mist, is well aware of [...]

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Posted in Film, Music, TV, tagged , , on October 11, 2007 | 1 Comment »

Sam Neill has an extraordinary face. His Wolsey in The Tudors looks like the Machiavellian lovechild of a world-weary pug and an old woman sucking a sherbert lemon. He’s definitely channelling Tim Curry’s Cardinal Richelieu, which makes sense when Henry VIII and his posse (Jonathan Rhys-Meyers, Henry Cavill, Kris Holden-Reid) seem to think they [...]

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Posted in Fashion, Film, Literature, TV, tagged , , , on September 21, 2007 | No Comments »

Forget the corset, the crinoline and the camisole (and once you’re thinking about them, that can be a difficult thing to do); surely the most feminine of all oestrogel objets is the pale, proletarian pop sock. For a harlot of hosiery, these cast-off calf-condoms are ever to be found curling in unexpected crevices like sad [...]

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Posted in Film, TV, Theatre, tagged , , , , , on September 10, 2007 | No Comments »

In the long, quiet evenings, when the Bombay Sapphire fumes mingle with the sweet opiate scent of dead dreams, I am apt to have an intimation of my future self as a white-haired, chiffon-draped, Soho gin-hag who rises at three to dine on Turkish delight and the memories of her one big success at [...]

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Posted in Literature, TV, tagged , , , on September 5, 2007 | No Comments »

There is a wintery moue of discontent on the Hitchcock Blonde’s alabaster brow.
As I tend to spend my evenings thumbing through Rousseau with a thimble of Renaissance Domaine Rotier Gaillac Doux 2002, my Televisual Box ain’t got yer nobby BBC4. Which means that I shall spend tonight out in the cold with frost-laden muff, [...]

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Posted in Film, Literature, TV, tagged , , , on August 21, 2007 | 1 Comment »

So much unctuous idiocy is written about perfume that I hesitate to add to it, but then unctious idiocy is my speciality.
Choosing a signature scent is a masterclass in blending the sweet essences of idealised self-projection (I am really a hardbodied rock bitch whose M&S elasticated skirt suit masks a dark sexual pioneer) and quivering [...]

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Posted in TV, Theatre, tagged , , on August 13, 2007 | No Comments »

After spending the weekend drinking tepid whisky before fountains in eveningwear, I decided it was finally time to accept that Brideshead is over, and have moved on to Poldark.
Wonderfully, hammily, lip-quiveringly bad, it looks like it’s filmed in a theatre, and from their emotionally and syllabically resounding delivery, it seems the actors [...]

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