Yes, I was in Mississippi last week. No, I was in no way involved in Morgan Freeman’s car accident. Let’s get that out of the way up front.
Got back on Friday morning after a fantastic, hugely hectic few days. The somewhat muddied last-minute organisation of the trip by the PR company working for the NFL meant that I arrived at Heathrow on the Sunday morning with just a printed off flight schedule and no ticket. I was convinced the Continental Airlines people would turn me away and tell me it was all a wind up. But no, my e-ticket number worked and I was shocked to find myself on a flight to Houston. The sense of this all being something of a “You’ve Been Framed” experience only grew when the pilot came over the intercom while we were taxying and said: “Morning folks, this is Captain Kirk.” Cue me violently storming the cockpit and demanding to know where the secret cameras were hidden. Not really. Turns out he really was called Captain Kirk. Weird world sometimes.
Continental, it turns out, have APPALLING taste in movies. I genuinely couldn’t sit through any of them for more than ten minutes, which is a problem on a nine hour flight. (That Ashton Kutcher and Cameron Diaz Vegas film made my pee dry up and come out blue it was so contrived and covered in wrong, and what’s going on with that Narnia, Prince Caspian monstrosity? And the blonde posh bloke? Gah! Who the hell hired him? In the words of the great acting arbiter Calculon from Futurama: “That was so bad I think you gave me cancer!”). So, I ended up sitting through three episodes of House MD back to back.
Never seen it before. I really couldn’t be arsed to invest my time in yet another hospital drama. But this was great. Smart, smart West Wing-style dialogue, some nice, if overtly obvious character work on House himself and Hugh Laurie, it turns out, is fairly mesmerising in it. OK, it’s very formulaic and House has a big old Columbo revelation to save the day every episode but it’s amazingly watchable.
Now, for anyone who grew up in the UK in the ’80s and was used to Laurie playing the gormless idiot, self-depricating toff in countless shows (he was very good at it, and was obviously a very talented comic actor), this is completely amazing. Off he goes to America to become this simmering ball of tortured intensity and gargantuan self-confidence and you can’t take your eyes off him on screen. The Brits don’t really do this type of Olympian star vehicle inner belief, and the Americans don’t really do foppish “oops, I really am an idiot, excuse me for accidentally setting fire to your husband’s moustache Mrs Montague” personal embarassment, yet Mr Laurie seems to be an absolute genius on both. I know I’m so late to this particular party that the building where it took place has been demolished and a pretty park has been built on the ground where it took place but, still. I watched three more episodes on the way home even though the screen was faulty and I could only see half of what was going on (Yes, Continental’s movies are THAT bad. Damn you, Ashton Kutcher and your evil, carcinogenic lowest-common-denominator witless drivel) and ordered the season 1 box-set immediately on my return. Another US TV series to lose my life in. Bugger.
I also read Winter’s Bone by Daniel Woodrell on the flight. Again, hugely recommended. The guy can write as well as Ashton Kutcher sucks arse. And I listened to the new album by The Hold Steady – Stay Positive. It’s not quite up to the standard of Boys & Girls In America, but it’s great nonetheless. See, good things can be read/watched/listened to when you’re trying to fight off deep vein thrombosis at 40,000 feet. Take note Continental Airlines. Just because we’re in economy doesn’t mean we’re idiots. Maybe.
Then we landed. God, this blog hasn’t even reached Mississippi yet. More to follow (if anyone’s still reading). For now, here’s a picture of America’s brooding sex symbol, Hugh Laurie:
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