Le Week-End? Mon dieu, mon dieu, quelle horreur!

Here we go again with another couple of tedious hours about love in later life. Or rather the lack of it. Here comes Lindsay Duncan again, hotfoot from her unconvincing performance as a maternal Goddess in 'About Time,' this time turning in another unconvincing performance as a hot school-mistress from the Midlands, in Paris for the weekend with her redundant husband, Jim Broadbent. As a once-promising academic, Professor Broadbent exudes ageing sensitivity, sadness and frustration. In other words, he comes across as an old, whingeing wimp, for whom the best is over. This does not stop him begging for a reprise and a reprieve - but we know he is doomed. Worse still, he deserves to be.The opening sequences are painfully slow. Thankfully, the pace picks up when they check into a decent hotel, but not a lot. The exterior shots of Paris somehow manage to make this beautiful city totally uninviting. The Eiffel Tower is no better than Blackpool. The famous view from the steps of the Sacre Coeur might just as well have been a wide shot across Manchester on a dull day. Despite what you might read in the Sunday Times Culture, the saving grace for this over-rated film comes from Jeff Goldblum. Here at last is a character we can aspire to - accomplished, amusing, articulate, in a word, successful. And still man enough to enchant a nubile companion, half his age. The best performance in the whole production comes from his dope-smoking son. He comes across as totally authentic. In contrast Lindsay Duncan is Hampstead theatrical rather than the on-screen embodiment of a late middle-aged Midlands mistress. 'Mother' was disturbing. 'Venus' was entertaining. 'Le Week-End' is self-indulgent, embarrassing and ultimately shallow.

NEGATIVE ENERGY

2B?

Shakespeare's choice is: live or die
Anything less? Heaven forfend!
You must decide to laugh - cry
I want to leap but daren't try
My heart might break, my mind might bend
Shakespeare's choice is: live or die
I have my honour to defend
You must decide to laugh - or cry
Why must you peek? Why must you pry?
Perhaps you're foe, perhaps you're friend
Shakespeare's choice is: live or die
The broker's asking: sell or buy?
The market's moved - is it a trend?
You must decide to laugh - or cry
I want to flee, I want to fly
I only want the pain to end
Shakespeare's choice is: live or die
You must decide to laugh - or cry

THIS IS WHAT I CALL PRESS ADVERTISING...

The real world meets the world of fashion...

GLORIA BY NAME, INGLORIOUS BY NATURE

The good news is that the film industry appears to be waking up to the dramatic shift in the demographics throughout the 'western' world: more older folks, fewer younger people.
The bad news is that it has resulted in the funding and making of a multitude of mediocre movies, like the truly dreadful 'Marigold Hotel' where flashes of outstanding acting cannot disguise the absence of a decent script.
'Gloria' is a new 'award-winning' feature film from Chile, which is big on realism but low on entertainment. It features a 50-something divorcee seeking love and happiness in ghastly singles bars in Santiago. The result is a depressing insight into the horrors of ageing, where loss of youth and youthful dreams are replaced by dancing, drinking, gambling and aversion-therapy sex, The bespectacled actress, who plays Gloria, is more than competent. She bares all for her art - but I for one wish she hadn't. Likewise her weak, old, co-dependent lover who has had stomach surgery to go from gross obesity to flabby normality, displays never less than a competent performance in response to the dire part the script has given him. There are a few genuine laughs, very few, and many honest insights into the emotional baggage, unrealistic expectations and endless compromises that inevitably manifest in later life. 'Un homme et une femme' it isn't. 'Brief encounter' in the buff, with explicit sub-titles - that's more like it. The young won't want to watch it but old people learning Spanish might benefit.

the list of martin sorrell

THE LIST OF MARTIN SORRELL

“That money talks,

I won’t deny.

I heard it once.

It said ‘Goodbye.’ “

Richard Armour

 

One day over a liquid lunch my Art Director whose nickname  was ‘Howard Standstill’, said: “I know Martin Sorrell… We worked together at Saatchi’s!”

Howard put down his glass. I ordered another bottle.

 And called his bluff.

“If you know him, call him” I said.

“I will… Soon as we get back!” he said.

And he did.

And he got through.

And he arranged a meeting.

A week later, early evening found us on the North side of Lincoln’s Inn Fields at the basement offices of WPP.

Our preparation for the meeting had been limited to only having one bottle of wine at lunch time.

And I had some figures scribbled on a crib sheet.

A  Napoleonic figure, in a striped shirt, came bustling in.

“Hello Howard – how are you?”

Shaking hands at speed, no time for answers.

“Hello, Reg… Well, tell me, what do you want?”

“We want to start an Agency…” said Howard.

“And we need £280, 000 pounds…” said I.

“No, you don’t!” said Sorrell “You’re creative – you do NOT need money…”

“Honestly, Martin” I said “We do! Look, I’ve got the figures…”

I started to get out my crib-sheet, without success.

“I’m telling you – you’re creative. All you need is a pad, a pentel and a telephone… Anyway, I’m not interested in backing an agency start-up…However  I do know one or two people who might be…”

Martin Sorrell then wrote a short list for us.

Seconds later we were out in the street again, close to Covent Garden.

We found a wine bar and had a glass or two, to get a better perspective on our whirlwind experience.

Next day, I asked Howard, very politely, for THE LIST OF MARTIN SORRELL.

“I haven’t got it” he protested “He gave it to you!”

“Are you sure?” I asked incisively.

“No” he said, to his credit. “But I think he did…”

“Well, if he did, I haven’t got it now…”

“And I haven’t got it either… Oh gawd, it’s all gone cotton-reels again…”

Shortly afterwards, WPP bought J. Walter Thompson. Here was our chance to get the list from Martin Sorrell.

We wrote a letter.

“Dear Martin” it said “Warmest congratulations on your acquisition of JWT! We now realise we might have been a bit small for your re-entry into Advertising!”

Between the lines, we were saying: ‘Please ask us how we got on with the people you so kindly suggested to us’

Shortly after that WPP acquired Ogilvy & Mather.

We sent another crawling congratulatory message, with the same sub-text.: “We took your advice, Martin… Pad, pentel, telephone… And you were RIGHT!  We now have a six figure tax liability to show for it!”

The response was instant. “SEND OVER THE FIGURES.”

So we did.

And we never heard another word.

 

 

 

 

bette davis

When my friend was a young star photographer at Vogue he was asked to take a portrait of the cinema legend Bette Davis. She wanted spotlights. Peter prefers natural light. She thought the set-up was too simple to be any good. She wanted to see not contacts but huge prints. Her assistant thought they were brilliant. She thought they were crap and scrawled her scatological comments in lipstick. Unfortunately Peter did not keep them. But he did keep the negative. See below!