Sandbags

RAT: I'm stuck in a rut.

PIGEON: Uh... coo?

RAT: Yeah. Yeah, I suppose so.

PIGEON: Seriously though, mate. You're doing fine. The world's your sewer.

RAT: Thanks. You're right, you're right. I'm not even worried about it really, it's just... I don't know. You get to a certain age, and you think... maybe I'm not going to make it as an actor.

PIGEON: Oh, come on. That's rubbish. That's absolute rubbish. Think of all the actors who didn't make it until they were older. Where was Robert Pattinson ten years ago?

RAT: *snort* I'm not exactly Robert Pattinson, am I?

PIGEON: What do you mean? You could be where he is! It's all just chance and... you know... whatever. Geography.

RAT: I sent my head shots to another agency yesterday.

PIGEON: You see! What if they say yes?

RAT: They're not going to say yes. It'll just be another "Sorry. You're not what we're looking for right now."

PIGEON: What about your stage work?

RAT: Dried up. I'm tired of that, anyway. I'm tired of being typecast.

PIGEON: As a rat?

RAT: Exactly. It's always the same stupid rat role. It's patronising. I'm always the 'token rat'. I want to show something more. I want to stretch my wings.

PIGEON: You can stretch my wings if you want.

RAT puts his hand on PIGEON's knee. (Do pigeons have knees?)

RAT: I appreciate you, you know? Don't ever think that I take you for granted.

PIGEON: Coo.

RAT: *smiles* Yeah. Coo you too.

Has anyone got any contacts at Pixar?

***

Things have slowed down lately.

I need a shot in the arm.

I need a shot in the arm like I need a hole in the head: BADLY.

I could really do with some industry interest.

I'm not sure what industry.

Perhaps some kind of industry that deals with people who whine one sentence at a time.

Still, you never know.

You never know.

You knever no.

That's why you wouldn't be my "phone a friend".

Unless the question was about IGNORANCE.

And even then, you wouldn't answer the phone.

You wouldn't know what it was.

You'd check the tumble drier.

***

This next section will be in longer paragraphs, as I want to demonstrate my versatility to Paul and sundry. The approach will pay off when someone from the industry reads this and sees that I've mastered dialogue, chippy uselessness and extended chippy uselessness. Once I've signed my contract, I'll reveal to them that my branching out was just a sham. And just a shame.

Let's include something useful here. I don't want to be wasting your time. Not all of it.

This is funny.

I haven't posted a video from The Armando Iannucci Shows for a long time. Here is one:

The Armando Iannucci Shows would be in my top four favourite comedies of all time.

I don't know what the other three are.

***

It's too late to add anything worthwhile to this post.

I have a long story about poisoned gas in the bathroom, but I don't want to go into it now.

The story, I mean.

Or the bathroom.

Man & Wife

We went to see Iron Man 2 last night. I think I'm on record as saying that I loved the first film more than my own iron child.

The sequel is really good too (though maybe not quite as good). Once again, the film rises above with great performances; particularly Mickey Rourke and Sam Rockwell, both of whom stole every scene they were in. Even when they were both in the same scene. They just kept stealing it back and forth. It was quite disorientating.

Scarlet Johansson as the Black Widow has a small, but awesome role, that will leave fanboys salivating for a number of reasons.

I felt that it could have used a bit more action (and there were a couple of bits I didn't really buy), but the final battle was sweet.

It was good.

Though it could have used some Unicorn.

***

Before the film, we saw a selection of terrible trailers.

The new Robin Hood film looks EXACTLY how you'd expect it to (Gladiator in the woods). I mean, come on Ridley! Give me something unexpected! I have no desire to watch gruff Russell Crowe brooding in a loincloth.

The poster was similarly bad - seeming to rely on the attractiveness of Crowe's horse. I mean, it was a pretty good-looking horse, but that's not enough for me to buy a ticket.

But the dullness of that trailer was eclipsed by the one for Sex in the City 2, a film so obnoxious it makes me retrospectively enjoy September 11. If that's western capitalism, then I'm selling all my jewels and becoming a tetchy monk.

***

Before the film, before the trailers, before the cinema, we walked past the Oxford Playhouse. There was a big billboard advertising a play. Which is fair enough. The plays are the most important element of the Playhouse. You don't want to be advertising an overrated Hugh Laurie medical drama (har har har).

I'd seen an advert for this particular play before.

It's called Wife After Death.

Wife After Death.

Wife.

After Death.
 

Wife After Death.

Wife After Death.

Wife After Death.

...

I dreamed about Tom Conti last night.

He's made quite an impression.

Wife After Death.

The question is: what is it about?

I don't know what it's about. The plot is a mystery. I could look it up, but I don't want to.

I tried to avoid the short tag-line at the bottom of the poster, but didn't manage it. Luckily it's not too specific, so I can continue to speculate.

Wife. After. Death.

The first thing is the poster. They haven't gone for anything sophisticated. They haven't tried to indicate content, or themes. It's a picture of Tom Conti.

And just a picture of Tom Conti.

Obviously, they're banking on potential audience members seeing the poster and thinking:

"That's Tom Conti."

...which sums up their marketing plan.

"That's Tom Conti"

Wife After Death.

Does Tom Conti have that much of a fanbase? I suppose he must do. I don't really know who he is. I'm heard his name before. I've seen his face.

But without his name being emblazoned on the poster, my reaction would probably not have been: "That's Tom Conti". It would have been:

"That's... that guy. Who's that guy? Why is he looking at me?"

But I'm obviously not the target audience. Tom Conti's fans will be all over that shit. Friends, Romans, Conti-men: lend me your ears (he might have said once, drunk at a party).

But I'm being too hasty. Conti isn't the only draw. There's the title. That title. Remember it? I wrote it down a while ago.

Wife After Death.

"A hilarious new comedy"

Wife. After Death.

So, ladies and gentleman. What do we think is the plot of Wife After Death?

There are several plausible possibilities.

1) A widower (played beautifully by Tom Conti) struggles to find a new wife. That's the most likely.

2) A widow comes to term with the death of her husband (played beautifully by Tom Conti). Also plausible.

3) A widow comes to term with the death of, and subsequent haunting by, her husband (played spookily by Tom Conti)

3) Tom Conti (played beautifully by a Tom Conti lookalike) fights off a legion of zombie ex-wives.

4) The Grim Reaper (played by the ghost of an Ian McKellan lookalike) goes about his business, but is pursued at every turn by his wife (played by Tom Conti)

5) [my favourite] Tom Conti is about to marry a wealthy heiress for the money. She dies on the way to the church, so he has to animate her corpse in a Weekend at Bernie's-style laughfest. "A hilarious new comedy" remember. Conti can also play the dead bride. Beautifully.

Wife After Death.

I'd probably go and see options 3, 4 or 5.

I'm not going to look up the real plot. But I can't ignore that poster tag-line.

Harvey Barrett has just lost his best friend... It's time to cash in.

Apart from number 5, I don't think that fits any of my suggestions. Or maybe it fits all of them, if there are appropriate sub-plots.

So, it's an odd title for a play. And an odd marketing campaign. Imagine them thinking that would attract attention! As if!

Of course, I have written an over-long blog examining it in detail; essentially a free advert for the production.

And it has penetrated my dreamscape.

Wife After Death.

Wife After Death.


...


Wife After Death.

Hah. Conti, you magnificent bastard!

You win again.