Tag Archives: colin firth

Saturday Pot Luck: Even imagining Colin Firth speaking can make me cry

Lovely Colin

It’s no secret that I have slight penchant for all things Mr. Firth, but my love for The King’s Speech extends beyond that, for such a British film it’s hugely uplifting. So when Raindance Film Festival’s Twitter feed offered a copy of the script to anyone with an interest, I jumped at the chance. This is a fairly regular occurrence, I have previously been sent a PDF of the Drive screenplay, which was absorbing on paper as it was in celluloid.

On opening my most recent acquisition, of course I instantly located the grand final scene, in which our hero overcomes every obstacle to inspire the country to rise up against evil. All I had to do was read a few lines and I was already tearing up…pathetic.

Anyway, if you would like to obtain your own copy, or learn more about Raindance, have a gander at the information below.

Email screenplay@raindance.org for an automatic reply containing the pdf

Tweet @Raindance for more info on their training opportunities or general independent film news

http://www.raindance.org

 

[Image via kingspeech.com]

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Fame On A Friday: The Award Shows Don’t Know My Schedule

My Colin proves that he is true gentleman

 

This week’s Fame On A Friday is slightly belated, as the BAFTAs held their ceremony last Sunday with no regard for my blog. How dare they. I was going to try to find some other story to talk about, but the BAFTAs are just too big to ignore, especially when you want to win one some day.

To no one’s surprise, The Artist scooped the majority of the golden faces, leading Peter Straughan, writer/adapter of Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy and my award for Speech of the Night, to remark that he “would like to thank The Artist for not being adapted from a book” when he picked up his award. He went on to pay a touching tribute to his late wife and writing partner Bridget O’Connor, who recently passed away.

Stephen Fry was a delightful host, as always, bringing in just the right amount of risque humour to alleviate the boredom without becoming the pilloried yet hilarious figure of Ricky Gervais. His shameless flirting with Brad Pitt seemed to make the Hollywood star a touch uncomfortable, but then again he should really be used to it by now.

Someone else who never fails to catch my attention is the lovely Colin Firth, who is always referred to as ‘My Colin’, for it will (eventually) be so. He underlined the fact that he is a perfect gentleman when Holy Meryl lost her shoe on her way up to collect the Best Actress award (it’s a wonder that she has any cupboard space left). My Colin was straight in there to save the day and return CinderMeryl’s glass slipper, providing the tabloids with some ‘proper’ news to report on the next day. It’s not like they would mentioned anything else about the ceremony, aside from the red carpet delights and disasters.

And so we look ahead to next weekend’s Oscars, where The Artist is pretty much a shoe in for every single award, even the ones in which they weren’t nominated. And I hope they do. The Artist was such an exciting and new experience, I’ve never been in such a silent cinema before, or had the urge to clap as the credits rolled. It was an utter joy and deserves every single accolade. Particularly Jean Dujardin, who is pretty much Gene Kelly reincarnated it seems. Lovely man. Also, is anyone else giddy with excitement for Melissa McCarthy, Kristen Wiig and Annie Mumolo? It’s so rare to see a comedy nominated that I actually find myself feeling so proud of them for achieving so much, it’s the same feeling that I have whenever I see Martin Freeman in full-hobbit. So proud. Maybe even Andy Serkis will finally get a nomination for The Hobbit one day, it’s about time that he was recognised for such stellar and pioneering work.

However, there is a dark cloud hanging over next weekend’s proceedings, the sad truth is that the Oscars too have decided to ignore my carefully thought out blog schedule, and are holding the long-awaited ceremony on a Saturday. Bastards.

 

[Image via mirror.co.uk]

 

 

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(Slightly Late) Fame On A Friday: When will Madonna just go away?

My Friday post is slightly late, I apologise, I went out for dinner last night and was too busy reliving a particularly amazing chocolate fondant to focus on the blog. So today is a jumbo BOGOF deal! And the honour of my chosen subject for the first ‘Fame On A Friday’ goes to Madonna…I’m sure she’s truly thrilled.

It seems that, after a nice long while in obscurity, this muscly bag of skin and attitude has come back with a vengeance – movie, album, Super Bowl performance – and she’s as difficult to like as ever.

To begin, the much maligned ‘W.E.’ firmly underlines what seemed perfectly obvious to everyone but Madge, she has not and will never be a Brit. For a while there she was wearing tweed, riding horses on her country estate and attempting some sort of accent that has no place anywhere on this world. We were humouring her out of a mixture of pity and embarrassment, but now she really has gone too far. No self-respecting Briton will ever be favourably predisposed towards Wallis Simpson. Yes, I understand that a lot of Americans cling on to the idea that she is their link to the royal family, but they are the same people who call themselves British because one of their ancestors came over on The Mayflower. In which case, according to my grandparents family tree research, someone with my (rather unusual) surname coming over to England with William the Conqueror makes me French. The truth is that Wallis Simpson was a Nazi sympathizer who throughly buggered up our royal family, forcing poor, stuttering Colin Firth to make an uplifting speech on the radio right before WWII. I mean come on, the man had to make us feel uplifted as we were heading for an almighty rumble with the Fuhrer! What a bitch.

But anyway back to Madonna, she has now brought out a new single, a new video and her not-even-released album is currently number 1 on iTunes in every country throughout the world, even isolated Amazonian tribes are getting excited for ‘M.D.N.A.’ it would seem. Good for her. And I suspect that, were she to turn up for her Super Bowl performance wearing a holey cardigan and comfort sandals, people would still be struck by the brightness of her wonder. But the point is that she won’t, she’s going to be wearing something that even Miley Cyrus would call risque. Once again I’m going to have to wash my eyes out with acid to remove the imprint of a middle-aged woman writhing half-naked on a stage in front of her teenage daughter. Ugh.

Now I’m not saying that women in their 50s should have to dress like OAPs, just look at Andi MacDowell. She has lost none of the beauty that captivated us in Four Weddings, but I have yet to see her sporting a lycra leotard. If only Madonna would stop with the freakishly muscly and fatless physique, stop borrowing Lourdes’ clothes (SHE’S 15!), and leave. Her face. ALONE. She and Demi Moore should form some sort of self-help group for women who strive to look younger but really just end up looking like some sort scrotum. Teri Hatcher might want to join as well.

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