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Monday, February 16, 2004

We Got Mentioned On Another Blog!

This site, to be precise. I am, of course, hopelessly excited. In a sad and sickening way.

I have, predictably, been outbid on the Lost in Translation t-shirt. Listen, if there is anyone out there reading this who, say, works for the company who made the promotional t-shirts - you could pull some strings, right? You could get one over to me. I wouldn't tell anyone. You can see the effort I've put into losing several on eBay. I'm no fair-weather fan here, OK? And it's my birthday on Friday. It'll be perfect timing.

Bill Murray won the Bafta last night. I was very chuffed, not least because it was only the second decent result of the night (the first being Scarlett Johansson winning best actress, again for LiT.)

Before that, I'd endured an hour's worth of British Film Praise. Let's face it - we don't make good films. We make films with the same set of actors (Hugh Grant, Judi Dench, Helen Mirren, Richard E Grant) the same writer (Richard Sodding Curtis) and the same director (ah, yeah, that'd be Richard Curtis again) and we always manage to portray ourselves as posh, foppish idiots.

Love Actually is of course the latest on this long production line (the vastly overrated Four Weddings and a Funeral, and Notting Hill being the predecessors.) And, of course, because this was Bafta night, we had to pretend that this sort of crap was better than decently written, witty, clever fare.

We did so by spending the first hour giving awards that ensured British wins. Stuff like the Alfred B Never Heard of Him Award for outstanding achievement in sound editing by a British sound editor, and the Ronald H Letsrewardabrit award for outstanding achievement by a British person who types up credits, and the WH Thisisjustembarrassing award for outstanding achievement by a British person for being British.

And when it went to the proper awards, proper people won. Like Bill Murray. He still managed to give the funniest, most touching speech - and he wasn't even there. Sofia Coppola gave the speech instead. Murray had faxed it (why not e-mail, I wondered.)

Coppola did a nice job, even though she seemed even more shy and nervous than I would have been in that situation (and, remember, I'm a mental patient.) She deserved the Award For Not Getting Annoyed When Someone Manages To Screw Up Your Name. She showed great restraint by not punching Helen Bonham Carter in the face (another one of those British actresses who turns up in every bloody British film) despite the acute mangling of her name. So-fire Cop-aller. You can be forgiven for the screwing up of the surname - on these shores we say "Cop-aller" rather than "Co-paller" but screwing up her first name was unforgiveable.

Murray still didn't thank Scarlett Johansson in his speech. At the Golden Globes, I figured he'd just forgotten, but he'd written this in advance. Hmmm... Maybe he figures he'll mention her if he wins the Oscar (an award which, a Borders cashier and I agreed on Friday night, he should win.)

I spent the weekend playing Mario and Luigi: Superstar Saga. Yes, I am a video game geek. Hadn't you guessed? I've got to that irritating stage in a Nintendo game where you keep thinking you've finished it, only to find - hey - they've added a whole new challenge or, hey, you've just unlocked an impossible set of bonus levels. I hate and like it all at the same time - hate it because it means you can never totally finish the game, like it cos Nintendo do always give you your money's worth.

Anyway, I highly recommend the game. Go and buy it.

OK, must go and write about Huddersfield Royal Infirmary's purchase of the Acre Mill site (exciting stuff, huh?) Catch ya later.


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