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wonderfulworldofmichaelford · 4 years

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Michael in the Mainstream: Artemis Fowl

Since the early 2000s, Artemis Fowl has been languishing in development hell, and it really is a mystery as to why. The series has everything you could possibly want for a blockbuster young adult franchise: it’s a charming blend of science and fantasy with rich worldbuilding and mythology, it has enjoyable and even complex characters who go through great character arcs over the course of the series, it has an enjoyable major antagonist, an insufferable smug villain protagonist who goes through a stellar redemption arc over the course of the series, and tons of crazy heists that combine scheming and fairy magic. There was no reason this couldn’t have existed as a competitor to the Harry Potter series, but alas, it was not to be. The young adult fantasy franchise languished for decades in development hell, until finally Disney pulled it out and put Kenneth Branagh at the helm. Finally, we were going to get the Artemis Fowl adaptation we deserved!

Except we didn’t.

Artemis Fowl is legitimately one of the worst adaptations of any work of fiction ever. It has been held up alongside The Last Airbender and The Lightning Thief as part of the Unholy Trinity of terrible adaptations, and I’m not even going to try and pretend that this “Honor” isn’t well and truly earned. This film is an utterly abominable bastardization of the beloved franchise, to the point where this feels like an entirely different story that had familiar names slapped on it at the last second. If you want to know what horrific extents this film has butchered the story and characters, read onward, but there’s no way I’m going to pretend this film isn’t awful right off the bat.

There is literally nothing in this film that works. Nothing at all. Starting from the opening scene, the establishing shots, you can tell things are wrong – there are news people around Fowl Manor? Mulch is being interrogated? What is going on? The film from the word go is simply making one thing absolutely and abundantly clear: this is not the Artemis Fowl you know. The film goes out of its way to do the opposite of the franchise, merely using names and vague concepts in an attempt to sucker fans into watching it. Butler’s first name, an emotional reveal from the third book, is common knowledge; Opal Koboi, a cunning and threatening major villain who was the antagonist for almost every novel starting with the second, is here reduced to basically a personification of the voice on the phone from Scream; Root, once a short-tempered man who was hard on Holly as a method of tough love to push her to be the very best LEP had to offer to prove women belonged on the force, is here a woman who, while just as angry as ever, robs Holly of a major part of her arc and reduces her to plucky female sidekick. And even outside of that, as its own thing, the movie is just utterly incomprehensible. The story is rushed and confusing, with lots of exposition and action but with no context or cohesion. Things happen and things go from scene to scene, but none of it makes any sort of sense. A character will switch allegiances within a few minutes, characters will somehow find a way to survive deadly attacks offscreen… the worst offender is a character death they try to push off as emotional, despite there being no reason to care for this character, and when all hope seems lost, a deus ex machina saves the day! My wife, who is unfamiliar with the series, and I, a huge fan, both struggled to figure out what was going on at any given point; the movie is really that bad at communicating what is happening, which is even more baffling because the film is a pathetic hour and a half in length, a distressingly short amount of time to establish a new science-fantasy franchise of this scale.

The characters are almost all terrible. Artemis is the standout with how awful he is; no longer the cunning criminal masterminds of the book, Artemis here is more of a somewhat smug little brat who is overly emotional and, worst of all, NICE. He’s so nice in fact that by the end of the film he has managed to speedrun his character development and arcs with Mulch and Holly, who consider him their close friend and ally. Butler is pretty bad here as well, mostly because he is given almost nothing to do and is seemingly only there because he was in the book. In fact, his crowning moment – when he took on the troll – is instead given to Artemis and even Holly, with Butler ending up severely injured. It’s a bit nasty that they changed Butler to be black and then had his (white) master steal his greatest moment; it’s giving me flashbacks to Kazaam. Opal is hit pretty bad as well; being made the big bad of this loose adaptation of the first book’s plot – which is amusingly one of the few books she had absolutely no role in – wouldn’t be so rough if she was more of a presence and not just some vague, hooded figure who threatens Artemis over the phone and generally does nothing to warrant being an adaptation of the baddest bitch in the series. She’s rather ineffectual and they even try and give her a sort of sympathetic motivation, one where she resents humans for pushing her kind underground. It really is a disgusting waste of a character who could easily rival heavy hitters like Voldemort in the awesome and theatrically evil department.

Holly is almost okay, but her entire arc and a big chunk of her narrative purpose is robbed by making Commander Root a woman. Root, played by Judi Dench, is honestly one of the better characters since Dench has Root dropping lines like “Top o’ the morning to ya” with gravelly deadpan seriousness which makes the character unintentionally hilarious, but the cheap laughs don’t really make up for butchering the story of one of fiction’s finest ladies. As a side note, they have made Holly 100% white despite her skin being described as nut brown rather frequently in the book, and the now white Holly together with Artemis steal away Butler’s biggest moment. And that’s not even getting into how they neutered Juliet, who has also been race lifted but was turned into a child who barely appeared in the film. I’m not usually one to toss about racism accusations, but there’s a lot of red flags here that Branagh’s usual colorblind casting just doesn’t excuse.

The most consistently enjoyable performance is Josh Gad’s as Mulch. From the moment he was cast, I knew he’d do a good job and capture the spirit of the character, and he does! ...sort of. The decision to have Mulch be a giant dwarf and narrate the story in a crappy Batman impression while also violating literally the most important law of fairy culture (don’t tell the humans anything about us) by spilling the beans to M16 is unbearably stupid, and a lot of his jokes are just relentlessly unfunny. But I think that Gad does leak a bit of that Mulch charm at a few points, and it’s apparent he at least somewhat gets his character, which is not something that can be said for anyone else in this film. Sadly, much like his standout performance as Lefou in the live action Beauty and the Beast, he can’t possibly save the trainwreck of a film he’s in.

I guess I’m not entirely surprised by this film. I mean, a lot of quality young adult literature from the past two decades has been horrifically mangled in the wake of Harry Potter – Inkheart, The Golden Compass, The Lightning Thief, Ender’s Game, and Eragon – so this movie really isn’t an anomaly. But it is the culmination of a horrible trend. This is the zenith of horrible young adult adaptations, or perhaps I should say the nadir of adaptations as a whole? For all the flak I could give those other adaptations, on some fundamental level they still understood something about the source material. Ender’s Game still understood it could not erase the ending where children are revealed to be being conscripted to perform the ethnic cleansing of an alien race. Eragon couldn’t completely ruin Saphira, try as it might. The Lightning Thief… well, I mean, I guess the Medusa scene was mostly faithful. But Artemis Fowl? Artemis Fowl goes out of its way to be the opposite of its literary counterpart that there is no way to justify even saying it is based on the book by Eoin Colfer; it would be like having a movie about kids hanging out at the mall and doing mundane stuff, except they’re all named Jesus and Peter and Paul and then saying it’s based on the Bible. Just using names doesn’t mean anything, you actually have to use the themes and characterizations too, and this movie does none of that.

This movie is most comparable to The Emoji Movie. Neither of these works really deserve to be called a “Film” since they are basically whatever it is they’re trying so desperately to be stripped down to the bare essentials. The Emoji Movie is the most basic, by-the-numbers animated adventure film with a “be yourself” message you could ever hope to see, with a story so absolutely basic that just watching the trailer will allow you to predict the every motion of the plot. Artemis Fowl on the other hand is the most cliche-ridden fantasy epic franchise-starter you could imagine, and that’s if you’re able to penetrate the ridiculously dense and cluttered story and are able to make sense of what’s going on. I can think of absolutely no one this film could ever appeal to. There’s not a single redeeming thing about it. The movie is flashy, trashy junk that should never have been released, and Disney honestly did the right thing by releasing this on their streaming service because it would be outright disgusting to charge movie ticket prices for this tripe. The fact Disney has more faith in the eternally-delayed New Mutants theatrically speaks volumes about the quality of this film.

I can’t in good conscious say that this is the worst film of all time. F4ntastic is probably a much worse butchering of characters than this film; Disaster Movie is much more horrendously offensive and unfunny than this; hell, Chicken Little is probably a worse Disney movie because as awful as everyone in this film is, at least they aren’t Buck Cluck! But I don’t think there’s a single movie I hate more than this one. Lucy can finally move over and sleep easy knowing that the fact it’s not based on a pre-existing work has finally saved it from the #1 spot on my worst list; Artemis Fowl is now the reigning champ. Kenneth Branagh should be ashamed of himself for making and releasing this (and doubly ashamed for having the gall to unironically compare his slaughtering of Artemis Fowl’s character to Michael Corleone), Disney should be shamed for putting more money into this film than they did into BLM charities, and I hope that Eoin Colfer finds whatever he was paid worth it to see his greatest creation butchered and disrespected like this.

#Michael in the Mainstream #Review #movie review #Artemis Fowl #Kenneth Branagh #Eoin Colfer #fantasy film #fantasy #science-fantasy #Josh Gad #Judi Dench #Disney #Disney+#disney movie

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ferretfyre · 7 years

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Could you tell me what exactly the Disney Star Wars has added to the universe that makes the absolute undoing of years of established lore a good decision when compared to The Force Awakens and Star Wars Rebels?

First off, I thought The Force Awakens was a perfectly fine way to reinvigorate the desperately flagging Star Wars franchise. The Prequels are, objectively, terrible films from both a technical and a storytelling point of view. So the argument that Force Awakens is somehow bad is already betraying a certain degree of bias on your part, but I’ll admit to having a bias in favor of it, mostly because prior to 2015, my interest in Star Wars was, at best, casual. I knew what happened in the movies, I’d seen them before, but I wasn’t keeping obsessive track of every element of lore or canon, and I knew little of the EU beyond the general feeling that it was an incomprehensible trainwreck of conflicting canons and increasingly absurdest levels of over-explaining and contradicting narratives.

Furthermore, Disney helped get Rogue One off the ground, along with several dozen novels, comics, the aforementioned Star Wars Rebels, and various other elements, which are steadily being built.

The reason that torching the EU was a good idea in the long term is because the EU simply was a complete dumpster fire. As the post I reblogged showed, things soon boiled over into a mess of increasingly insane and ludicrous story ideas, while ironically never actually having a concrete sense that, yes, this all is canon with what is presented within the central narrative of the films. Instead, it adopted a notoriously loose “Take It or Leave It” kind of approach to canon, which meant stories were constantly contradicting themselves, or creating brand new plot holes, or making existing plot holes even bigger in the process. For a company attempting to rehabilitate a brand that had become a complete joke within the industry, trying to organize a coherent canon from the EU was simply impossible, as it basically crippled any attempts to expand the universe even further, without running into a story that somehow negated any of those story ideas.

So, Disney, or more accurately, Lucasfilm themselves–remember, they may be owned by Disney, but Lucasfilm is still a company in and of itself, and is pretty much allowed creative freedom within it’s metaphorical sandbox–felt it would be easier to tell new stories with the Star Wars universe by creating a blank slate. That way, a careful canon could be cultivated, which would be as organized and coherent as a franchise of Star Wars’ size could be, while also allowing the creators room to breath and work on ideas, without having to constantly be scratching their heads to wonder if the events of a random comic from the 90s held any barring on the events of a movie in 2017.

Lastly, LucasFilm and Disney have maintained the EU, albeit under the “Star Wars Legends” banner. That way, stories can still be told there, but they function similar to DC Comics’ Elseworlds imprint, and no longer hold bearing on the actual canon (think of them as AUs). Furthermore, the EU can be used as a reference point for the main canon, and a source of inspiration. For instance, Admiral Thrawn recently appeared in Star Wars Rebels, and while it isn’t the same story that made him famous, it’s still Thrawn, and he’s still appearing.

It’s not like Disney/Lucasfilm piled all the EU together and burned it in a bonfire. Calm down.

At the end of the day, the content still exists, and is readily available for your enjoyment. And nobody is stopping you from personally adopting whatever your favorite stories are for your own personal headcanons about the Star Wars universe. If you headcanon that Han Solo had a battle with a giant otter, or that there was gonna be a droid uprising on Death Star 2 that got blown up, then that’s fine by me.

#anonymous #ask #star wars #the star wars eu anon

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bloggerblagger · 7 years

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82) Obession. Futility. Joy. (Late summer notes from home and abroad.)

Sitting in a café in a village called Lisle near Perigourd in the Dordogne.

Probably sounds a lot better than it is. The weather has been awful and is still very iffy. As I write I am listening to ‘Talksport’ through my laptop - I am only in this particular café because it has ‘weefee’ as they say ici. I am glued to Jim White on transfer deadline day. Only football victims will understand why. It would be impossible for any sane person to imagine a bigger waste of the diminishing time I have left. (No, nothing to get alarmed about. Just a general observation about the eventually inevitable.)

Apparently the Ox has gone to Liverpool for sixty thousand a week more than he was offered at the Emirates. (Don’t know who the Ox is? Or think that the Emirates are somewhere near the Persian gulf? Count yourself lucky.)

It always make me smile grimly when gaziliionaire footballer salaries are talked about in terms of ‘wages’ of so much a week. I have a vision of one of those cashier’s offices they used to have in offices and factories where, every week, staff queued up to collect their money which was dispensed in small, top-pocket-shaped manilla envelopes through a tiny sliding window. I see hundreds of thousands of pounds stuffed into a suitcase size version of one of those, being squeezed through by some old gorgon who barks out, ‘Mbappe! Sign here.’

Time wasting, continued.

Last week,as keen readers of my Facebook page will know, I was up in Edinburgh for the Fringe. (Not sure that ‘keen’ is really the word. Very bitter that I am not getting the number of likes that I deserve. I’m taking it personally.)

I started off by writing potted reviews of the first few shows I’d seen, and pasting them on Facebook. As I suffer - or masochistically enjoy - take your pick - from a mild but very definite case of OCD, I was then compelled by my inner demons to finish as I’d started. So I reviewed them all - each day’s reviews getting a little less potted than the last.

Regardless of the degree of potting, writing these reviews was a pretty pointless exercise, as it was the last week of the fringe. Even if someone was daft enough to take any notice of what I thought, how much use could they be when all the final curtains were about to come down? (Not content with that, I have now taken pointlessness to whole a new level by reproducing all these reviews a few paragraphs below, a week after the Fringe finished.)

Purpose discovered.

However what would most definitely not be pointless would be going to the Edinburgh fringe next year. This was the second year I have been and I have to report that it is a better mood improver than any amount of Prozac. If you need a swift uptake of serotonin, go north young man/woman/non binary whatever.

Wait. I need to qualify that. It could equally be a terrible downer if you fancied yourself as a comedian, actor, dancer, singer, magician, acrobat or any other kind of performer. For, at the Edinburgh fringe, the bar is set dizzyingly high.

I was told that during the four weeks of the festival there are three thousand - THREE THOUSAND!!! - different shows to see, and if the twenty three that I saw were anything to go by, about 80% are three star good or better, and about 15-20%, five star stunning. The competition must be terrifying.

You will probably never have heard of the vast majority of performers and given how few opportunities there are for them to make it to the big-time - however talented, you’d still need a supersized slice of luck - chances are you never will again. But in that in no way diminishes their genius, just the opportunity to appreciate it.

Best in show.

Of all the many delights that I witnessed, there is just one that I will single out. ‘Butt Kapinski’ is the persona adopted by an American comic called Deanna Fleyscher, and Butt is a Sam Spade-ish private eye with a sort of bendy desk-lamp sticking out of the back of his mac and over his invisible trilby. It is the only light source in the show and the key prop in setting the scene of an impromptu film noir, the cast of which is Butt and everyone in the audience. If that doesn’t sound barmy enough, all the men in the audience are cast as women and the women as men.

Oh and Butt’s voice is another thing; sort of wildly exaggerated Noo Yoyick mixed up with a childish lisp. Why? I haven’t a clue. Why was any of it funny? I really couldn`t say. I am someone who normally likes his comedy to make sense, to be able to trace the path of the gag, and understand the lateral jump that allows two and two to make five. Butt Kapinski is anything but that. Yet I found it as LOL as LOL gets and l was not alone. Pythonesque? Possibly but not quite. Milliganesque? In a way, I suppose. Perhaps more Marty Feldman with shades of Stanley Unwin, You have to be my age to get those references but any age will get Butt Kapinski. I really hope Deanna Fleysher is one of the happy few who does manage to break through.

Roll up, roll up.

I have a suspicion that she may be back next year at Edinburgh, because lots of these artistes travel from one Festival to another. There is a worldwide circuit apparently - Adelaide in Feb/March is another considered to be up there with the best. A little far but a lot warmer than Edinburgh.

Yes, the weather is ordinary at best, and the streets are packed - the population is said to double during the Fringe - but Edinburgh is a magnificent city, and worth a visit in its own right. Not that you will see that much of it, if you go for the Fringe. You’ll be dashing from play to comedian to magician to dancers to improv to musicians to acrobats and back again.

Do yourself a favour. Next year, skip the beach for a week and try a bit of funbathing in Edinburgh instead.

Five point three days at the Fringe 2017. Twenty four reviews of shows it’s too late for you to see. Plus a thrilling personal highpoint midway through Thursday that had nothing to do with anything I saw. (Skip the rest by all means but do not miss that bit.)

Tuesday.

Arrived in Edinburgh about 6pm on Monday night to see stuff from last week at the Fringe. So far seen 5 shows. If you too are up in Edinburgh, here, for what they are worth, are my potted crits. (Just my opinions - I claim nothing more.)

TWO shows get 5 stars from me and are very highly recommended. ‘Woke’ a one woman drama with the magnetic, totally convincing Apphia Campell. And the astonishing ‘Butt Kapinski’, comedy as you have never, ever seen it. (At least I hadn’t.) Completely crackers but captivating. I give 4 stars to Kai Humphreys a charming Geordie comedian with a refreshing angle on the world. And a measly 2.5 stars to Tiff Stevenson, who has been well reviewed and had some good material but she took aim at what I thought were some pretty easy targets and her relenless de-ermination to ge down with the people by omi-ing every T really eed me off. Finally a black hole to 'Would You Adam and Eve It.’ Enough said.

Four more to see tomorrow.

Wednesday.

Today saw 4 more shows.

1. 'Tutu’ - see photo - all male French comedy ballet troupe. By turns breathtakingly brilliant (the dancing) and completely incomprehensible (the comedy). But I have been to enough Club Med shows to know that what passes for humour en France est très bloody étrange. 4 stars.

2. Gavin Webster, my second Geordie comic of the week. Playing in a tiny space which wasn’t full which was a great pity because this guy deserves an audience. Great delivery and lots of good stuff with one really clever running gag that alone made it money well spent. Very nearly 5 stars and certainly 4 and a bit.

3. 'The Joni Mitchell Story’. A young woman with a beautiful voice and a dowdy dress and lank hair and no make-up and bunions on her bare feet sings Joni Mitchell songs whilst a male voice-over whining in best Estuary tells us the strange story of Joni’s early life as accompanying slides are shown above the stage. Great songs well sung, interesting tidbits, effortless - as in no effort made - presentation. I feel a bit guilty saying this because she seemed very pleasant, but honestly, music apart, it was so half arsed. Average audience age about 170. 2.5 stars.

4. 'We are Ian’. Using dance and mime and a video backdrop (and a lot of neo-gurning) three twenty something girls tell the true life tale of a Mancunian dj called Ian living through the halcyon (apparently) House Music days of 1989. (Ancient history to them and much too late for me to relate to the story.) It was as odd as it sounds and I started off wanting to hate it as I was three time as old (literally) as 95% of the audience. But in the end I was forced to admit they had something and the audience absolutely loved it, just about all bar one - me - finishing up dancing manically on stage. 4 stars.

Thursday.

Seven - SEVEN - shows today!

1. A man sits on stage completely naked playing with his dick which he refers to as his pussy. No idea what he was on about, nor when he started prancing about giving incomprehensible little monologues as a bitter Glaswegian husband and wife (both parts) and a prancing old queen, in between further sessions of dick handling. The audience nervously tittered occasionally though I doubt they had any idea what they were laughing about. Was it art? Or was it pretentious shit?I went for the latter and left after 20 minutes. Show was called ‘This is Not Culturally Significant’ - and the title was the one thing you couldn’t argue with. No stars but another Black Hole. (Of the astronomical metaphorical variety. Happily I didn’t to stay long enough to see if the audience were ever exposed to the literally anatomical kind.)

2. Not a show but a game called 'Werewolves’, in which twenty people take part under the aegis of a ringmaster with a silvery beard and a voice so quiet I might almost have thought I was a bit mutton jeff. (I am.) The idea is that the villagers have to kill off the werewolves and vice versa. Lots of fun. 4 stars.

Just been asked for my senior’s ID at the box office! Yesss! GET IN!!!

3. A comic and a chef called George Egg cooks breakfast lunch, and dinner using DIY tools from his shed.You even get to sample the food at the end. Ingenious and jolly. 4 stars and a bit of an extra star because George comes from Brighton.

4. ’Notflix’. Six young women make an impromptu musical out of a non-musical film title that they have picked from a hat filled with suggestions from the audience. The title they got was ‘Wardogs’ which was about big biz and oil and the CIA in the Iraq war. Not promising material but they made a decent if not dazzling fist of it. 3 stars.

5.’Ben Hart’ is a magician who left me seriously impressed. At one point he took rings from three different people in the audience and rubbed them until they interlinked. How on earth was that possible unless they were trick rings that were swapped for the originals - and back again when he separated them - or the audience members were plants? Neither seemed likely but what other explanation could there be? I love a good magic show. Who doesn’t? (Well, I suppose some people don’t.) Four stars comfortably.

6. Sarah Kendall, an Aussie comedian - I presume comedienne is no longer PC - produced a cleverly structured hour which had a bit more depth and tad more polish than your average turn. She touched on some tricky family issues and some quite profound ones and smoothly managed the tonal changes required as she went from outright gag making to being thought provoking. Very nearly 5 stars.

7. Denim is a 5 person drag act. I have never quite understood the appeal of drag - Danny La Rue never did it for me. Quite liked La Cage Aux Folles but that was about it. And, in the era of LGBTQ etc when the closet door is so wide open, I wonder whether the outrageousness of drag is really necessary? Is there that much to be outraged about? Notwithstanding all that, they were brilliant singers and performers and gave rousing renditions of a lot old favourites of the ‘I will survive’ variety. 4 stars.

Friday.

Five more shows.

Should have seen ‘Trashed’ first, a play that had been highly recommended to me but for which I contrived to be 6 minutes late, and was consequently refused admission. They kept me out but kept my money. Fuck them.

1. 'Not for Prophet’ a stand-up routine by half Pakistani, half Bangladeshi, ex-banker and lapsed Muslim, Eshaan Akbaar, who had a winning, easy charm but too few really good jokes to be worth more than 3 of my hard to earned stars

2. ‘These Trees the Autumn Leaves Alone’. First of two shows with blokes with long curly red hair and beards. This one was a 'story telling’, or so Curly Ginge no.1 explained. This seems to be some sort of new (or really, I suppose, a revival of a very old) niche art form in which someone reads and semi-acts out a story they have written. A sort of prose version of performance poetry. I started off wanting to hate it, not least because his occasional and rather pointless musical accompanists, a smug male guitarist and a simpering woman singer, were each, at the outset, the subjects of a declaration of love from Curly Ginge no.1, delivered without any noticeable irony. On top of that he was barefoot. However, I have to say that in the end my entirely understandable prejudices - not against red hair by the way, I am absolutely not gingerist - were overcome by the charm of his story. Three and a bit stars.

3. 'Double Feature’. Two comedians or possibly actors called Andy Gray and Grant Stott, who are apparently well known in Scotland but not to me, perform a rather stagey show in which they are supposed to be tradesmen of some sort - they wear overalls, that’s the clue - working in an old cinema being converted into flats. Having often come to this cinema when they were childhood friends they reminisce about the old days and act out passages from famous films they once saw. No, it doesn’t sound like a very good idea and it wasn’t. Not even two stars.

4. 'Letters to Morrisey’. Started off wanting to hate this too - default position of card-carrying curmudgeons comme moi - but beardy Curly Ginge no.2 (Gary McNair) gives an electrifying performance in a one man play about a boy with teenage angst and a heavily weighing secret who feels that only Morrisey (lead singer of eighties Indie band, the Smiths, if you didn’t know*) will understand. Four stars and almost five. (*Don’t be too embarrassed if you didn’t. I barely did and certainly couldn’t name a single one of their waxings.)

5.’Siblings’. Had I known more about these two girls (not quite as young as they look in the pic) I would have wanted to hate this too - bloody privileged showbiz kids grrrr - but I have only just discovered on the internet that they are Maddy and Marina Bye, real life sisters, which I would never have guessed as they look nothing like each other, and, more to the point, turn out to be Ruby Wax’s daughters. Not knowing that at the time, and as neither had curly hair and a beard, I was prepared to give them the benefit off the doubt. But even if I had been my usual misanthropic self, I would have been easily won over. They put on a completely barmy sort of sketch show, some of which made sense and was hilarious and some of which made none but which still kept the audience in fits because they radiated such good humour and effervescence. Two stars to each of them. (For the benefit of anyone under forty, get your calculator out and you’ll find that makes four.)

Saturday.

Went to twenty one shows earlier in the week - in four full days and one evening only. (Well, walked out of two, but I walked into twenty one.) Three more today, although one of them is not actually in the fringe. So that’ll be 24 in all!

1.‘Borders’. A harrowing, thought provoking, cleverly worked two handed play about the world of the refugee, unflinchingly and unsentimentally told both from the point of view of the refugee and the people behind the camera lens through which the refugee’s story is brought to us. I thought it was gripping and unsettling and I shower five stars at least upon it. However, i should say that I am possibly biased. Its author, Henry Naylor, a former comedian who, with his comedy partner of the time, once had a BBC radio show, 'Parsons and Naylor’, is someone I have thought of as a friend since he featured in a series of commercials that I *helmed for Direct Line about 200 years ago. (*Never used the word 'helmed’ before but I keep hearing it in film reviews and I rather like thinking of myself as ‘helming’ something. Sounds rather dashing, a bit Jack Aubrey.) Last year, by the way, another of Henry’s plays called ‘Angel’ played to rave reviews - and not just mine - at Edinburgh, and is finally coming to London in the very near future. if you haven’t seen it, look out for it.

2. Cirkopolis. After my conscience had been given a right old prod by ‘Borders’ it was off to the circus. Well almost. Against a dazzling, constantly evolving projected backdrop, French Canadian dance, juggling and acrobatic troupe 'Cirque Éloize’ gave a fantastic demonstration of breathtaking, body bending, gravity defying, ooh-and-aah provoking trickery and dare-devilry in a show loosely themed around Fritz Laing’s legendary silent film,’Metropolis’. All sorts of gravity defying feats but the act that really did my head in was the chap with the diabolo. (See the illustration if you, like me, didn’t know that a diabolo is called a diabolo.) Such whirling, catching, pirouetting, juggling as you have never seen. Unless you’ve seen him of course. Five stars.

3. Finally, the long slow climb to the very top and 32nd row (officially designated row FF. That’s FF as in For Fucks sake, how much further?) Up and up we climbed to the summit of the monster three sided stadium set into the side of the steep granite hill (or whatever it is) that Edinburgh Castle is built upon, there to see - along with 8,799 others - the Edinburgh Tattoo. Easy to be sniffy and cynical about it, and nobody does cynicism with more sniffiness than your reviewer, and yes, there is something faintly comical about military marching bands constantly evolving into new and ever more pointless formations as they play - columns that become circles which become windmills and then back into lines, but why? (A sort of mass group dressage but without horses.) Despite all that, and the Scottish dancing - curiously I am sure there was just one bloke amongst about sixty girls - and the corny voice over (Ken Bruce?) booming through the speakers and the guest dancers from India to mark the 70th anniversary of independence - where were the Pakistanis you might well ask? - and the nippy mid-August chill, I did, in the end, buy into it. It is a staggering feat of organisation and the music - particularly the drumming - is impressive. And when the lone piper stood way up on the castle parapet to play the final piece, I found it really quite moving. If you are going to Edinburgh you have to go. Five stars.

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