Well, what a 24 hours. Finally the non-story became a story. The clamour for a TV screen across newsrooms in the UK Monday was unlike any before as the cauldron of anticipation spilt over surrounding the near endless secrecy of THAT injunction.

The cautious sought legal advise after the parliamentary ‘slip up’ whilst some just thought ‘sod it, let’s go’, like kids who couldn’t wait for their candy.

The initial gorging on the story was slowly retracted by the evening, back pedalling after the gross peddling of the footballer’s name.

Then to this morning, as journalists and MPs alike joined news anchors on the sofa to discuss the ‘amazing complexity’ they had faced the day before deciding what to report.

And there in lies the problem; caucuses of journalists across the country were forced to justify reporting what is clearly still an non-repeatable legal matter, when the only conclusion they want is that they should, and after the lifting of the injunction being nothing more than opportune verbal vomit from an ill-informed MP.

There are many fingers to be pointed for blame. Of course there are the tweeters, then of course there is the player himself but surely the foam finger sized blame should be toward the Shakespearean clown of this Comedy of Errors.

John Hemming has had a chequered past. The self confessed love rat, who once voted for himself in a News of the World poll to find the worst extra-marital man of the year, also had a run in with the expenses scandal over property mortgages. His one man mission to bring down the injunction proprietors is clearly a reaction based on his love affair with airing his riddled laundry in public.

His execution of parliamentary privilege is one of the grossest abuses of power in UK history and should be deemed so by the Standards Committee. Its genesis comes from a post civil war necessity to empower Parliament and equalise its individuals, not as a tool to extinguish the vital balance of power between judiciary and legislature.

Absolute privilege similarly came from the basis of Parliament being a closed chamber, a court, where restrictions on reporting still apply. This is no longer a viable situation with live streaming of both chambers, and akin with the Big Brother style voyeurism of live rolling news, gossip columnist Hemming may have put an end or at least a restricted use to this very important aspect of MP privilege.

Sadly, it is a naivety shared by many others. Giles Coren, may know a bit about 16th century dining and the best foie gras this side of the channel, but he clearly also felt empowered and knowledgeable enough on the complexities of privacy and tort law to air his rumours on Twitter.

The question has to be asked, why?

If it wasn’t just stupid drunken ignorance emboldened by the gay abandon ever-present on the website then what was it? Does Giles think it’s his right to speak out? Is he questioning the ins and outs of each individual case? Or is his grasp of journalistic responsibility as bad as his gross lip smacking table manners us and Sue Perkins endure? The latter, me thinks.

And so it seems a fair conclusion to say that if journalists who should be aware of their obligations to uphold the law can not do so, then the millions of people on twitter shouldn’t be expected to either. The fact is that every tweet is a publication, every tweet is an individual dissemination and under the rules of reporting they are under the same scrutiny as all pieces of journalism. None of the people who made assertions or leaked names on the site have the legitimacy or knowledge to do so, and so when people condemn the attempts to sue these thousands of individuals they are missing the point entirely. Just because everyone does it, doesn’t make it right.

The details of the injunctions, including the reasons behind them being invoked are still very much a secret, as they should be, yet the ignorant revelations of yesterday have left the victim in a position that is certainly unfair. Now they are bound themselves by the injunction rather than protected. The name has been leaked, the loss of reputation, the connotations and conclusions that come with injunctions have been made but the player themselves now has no opportunity to defend their actions because they are constrained by revealing the very facts included under the injunction.

That is a farce, yet it does not make injunctions to blame. That ‘honour’ rests upon the laps of everyone involved in leaking this name, be it looking to make a quick buck, raise their profile and dare I say even up their twitter follower count. It is a plebeian mass who have little regard for the rule of law in their excessive appetite for sleaze and blame gaming.

Of course the conclusion was that the player should be named by the responsible media, the players who have public broadcast responsibilities, or mandates to provide 24-hour news, but their decision was I know exhaustive, difficult and at times at odds with judgment. If the leaders of the media run these checks and balances then that should mean those who declare themselves ‘citizen journalists’ should themselves.

You may notice I haven’t named the player even though I am a qualified journalist, law graduate and have written elsewhere with his name. This is not because I’m scared, it is because neither I nor this publication have the legitimacy to so, it is because I do not know the details, it is because even if I did know the decision on the injunction lies with the courts and it is because, simply, it is right. If the media want to be involved and influential over the powers that be in the UK then they must, on whatever platform, fall in line and read-up on the imperative role of the balance of power and rule of law that is central to the way our country’s cogs spin.

‘McQueen and I’, billed as a candid, revealing documentary revealing the inextricable links between the designer and muse Isabella Blow, succeeded in going some way in showing just how much an effect on modern fashion Lee McQueen had.

Charting the rise, falls, and seemless redemptions through his career, the programme not only told the wonderful story of cab driver son come couture designer, but like a tragic stage play, it unfolded act upon act drawing dramatic resonances with the great literary pieces of history.

As a 1990′s Dorian Gray, McQueen the title character, perrenially able to re-invent himself and do what none of his peers could, remaining forever beautiful, changing with trends to be the most revered of all as those around him struggled to move with the speed of the fashion industry.

Ms Blow, Lord Harry in the piece, devilled with generations of aristocratic grandeur coursing her indulgent hedonistic regime, that is timed, like the underbelly of the victorian 90′s, with the cultural tribal sea-change of the 1990′s. As the hard working, but endlessly ambitious McQueen arrived from his East End home to the neons of Soho, his beauty, through his championed St Martins show, electrified Blow and filled her with belief that she could sponsor the greatest artist of our time.

For many, she succeeded. Over his career Alexander McQueen managed to merge the art of haute couture with the wearability of catwalk collections. No matter how outlandish, garish, or daring any of his works, there was an intrinsic ‘wearability’ about his pieces, a celebration of the female form that is more influential than any other artist, filmmaker and designer in the neo-liberation and empowerment of women over the last 20 years.

But did, like Gray, McQueen have to sell his soul to the devil as a cost? By all accounts in this documentary, the answer is a capital no. Each and every account surrounding him is glossed beyond technical admiration with genuine love. From his brother, angered by Lee taking his life but brimming with pride, to the countless dedications from celebrities, he was adored by the world he lived in.

Jodie Kidd, one of his most prominent early models, appeared re-invigorated at just the thought of those days, brimming with excitement and hinting not only at the example the designer set her, but the inspiration to push every single boundary one can that he conjured.

The devastation of it all is that tragic heroes eventually fall on their sword, drown in their ambition, or perish under the racks of guilt and grief. Showing up to 10 collections a year exhaustion clearly kicked in, whilst it is alluded to that he was consumed with guilt for ignoring the plees from Blow before she took her own life. The loss of his mother days before he kills himself, his constant light through the psychedelia, completes the anarchic finale of the play that has become ‘Alexander McQueen’.

However, what set this documentary apart from those that are destined to come in future years is that it saw the ‘life’ behind the ‘stage’ of McQueen, and showed us that to see his like again we will need someone with the same love, talent, humility, passion and danger. A rarity that keeps the enigmas in art history as exactly that, and a rarity that will forever keep Alexander, Great.

With The King’s Speech picking up 12 nominations, that beat our prediction of 10, it looks set to be their evening. 127 Hours will possibly steal Best Screenplay off them, and it is hard to see that the Coen brothers will not pick up Best Director for True Grit.

However, it is in the biggest category of Best Film that the UK movie will obviously meet its hardest competition. The Social Network will again be a major contender, as will True Grit and The Kids Are Alright but it will be a long shot for 127 Hours, Inception, Winter’s Bone and Black Swan leaving The Fighter as a  popular outside bet.

That leaves one… Toy Story 3. Not since Beauty and the Beast in 1991 has an animated movie courted so much politicking to win the biggest prize in film. It is a situation that has in the past clearly worried the Academy. Many felt in 2003 that Finding Nemo’s omission from the category was out of fear it would win rather than lack of eligibility.

In 2010, Up was nominated for Best Picture, a very worthy nomination from one of Disney and Pixar’s great emotive masterpieces. As a whole however, the movie did not satisfy in a way that other nominees did that year. This year, Pixar’s presence is from Toy Story 3. Although it was a rather pointless foray into 3D for the movie franchise, the content, heart and message was as ever as strong as it’s two predecessors.

 Toy Story 3 touched upon subjects of loss, rejection, friendship, love and reinvention that turned into as moral a movie as Disney classics such as Snow White and Bambi. The facets that set it far above these movies however are its impecable script, characterisation, animation, complexity of narrative and visuals as well as it’s accessibility and resonance with all ages.

Pixar movies have the ability to stir empathy within every member of its audience. Whether you feel for Andy giving up his toys watching as a child who dreads that day or as an adult who remembers it, it uniformly brings a sheen or tear to the eyes.

No one can doubt the movie’s excellence but does the fact it is an animation mean it should not be considered as a winner? Is animation too far from reality?

Disney and Pixar have always used the fact that animation is in fact fantasy to create such realistic tension that, with this movie in particular, no live action movie could offer.

 The first TS was released in 1995, when I was just 11 myself. It was a symbol of my generation, of advances in technology, optimism and the future of film that would in no time at all have led directly to the visual feast of Avatar.

 This final installment of  Toy Story was a farewell from the flagbearers, from Buzz, Woody and their friends who helped to reinvent Disney, brought us Pixar, and showed that quality did not have to suffer at the expense of technology.

Lord of the Rings swept the board with it’s third film, a decision clearly made by the Academy to reward a trilogy rather than a single picture. This year must surely therefore be Pixar’s time and more importantly, Toy Story’s. The risks taken with that movie, risks ranging from animation to storytelling, have reinvented animated film, family film, and paved the way for even greater risk takers to follow their suit.

Many films are accomplished this year, but none carry the legacy or the influence of Toy Story 3. So let the campaigning begin, the polls are open and it’s time to give this remarkable movie the credibility and awards it deserves.

I remember dancing around to DNA Diner and Boom Shake the Room (for which, I admit, I choreographed a dance to) when I overheard my sister listening to Simon and Garfunkel tapes, followed by a bit of the Housemartins. I labelled it, in my 9-year-old wisdom, ‘hippy music’.

After dalliances with Meatloaf, Bon Jovi and the Scatman, i went through the the glorious epiphany of my teenage years. The cycle finished at 16 when I bought Bridge Over Troubled Water on CD, oh how the sister was jealous, and really discovered a polyphonic merger of rock, folk and vocal mastery that drove me on to my fascination with The Beach Boys, The Zombies, The Kinks and to later use in my song and literary writing.

It was over this time also that I rediscovered the epic quality of the Housemartins and their clear admiration for the artists I revered so much. Vocal harmonies a-plenty, lyrical melancholy and sympathetic but complex instrumentation that made music that I dreamt of making myself.

The HM’s relatively short life reflects their musical temprament, making music for music’s sake not necessarily for commercial gain. The words of their tunes were often laced with marxist and christian comment and their split in 1988 seems apparently more to do with each of their ambitions to develop in different areas rather than simply a clash of growing egos. And how they did develop, with Heaton and Hemingway forming The Beautiful South and Norman Cook going on to become Fatboy Slim.

If you are to get one record of theirs, despite the animosity to such compilations, i would suggest Now That’s What I call Quite Good, their Greatest Hits album, and if you can, buy vinyl.

The reason I say this is that only in this medium can you truly respect the quality behind the construction of the songs, the quality and originality of the vocals and above all the nods rife in their recordings to their own record listening as children.

Happy Hour, their big break through hit, has everything you need as a fan. The feint adulation of Morrissey present in the vocal tones but without the depressing gladioli wielding, combined with a less rocky but obvious taste of The Jam. Add the driving dance beat of a simple tom and snare drum set, and the abandon and sun filled style and you have the Housemartins, a band that went on to influence Blur, James, Dodgy and a whole raft of folkier side Brit Poppers.

They’re love for the quality songs of yore are perfectly epitomised in their many covers. You’ve Got a Friend shows the simplicity of all the greatest songs as well as their harmonic excellence for example. He Ain’t Heavy is as good an example of why it is right to cover someone’s song with a unique rendition, a capella, that not only shows the classic tune in a different light, but makes you realise just how good a record it is.

But it is Caravan of Love that will always carry their name in future. Having been released in 85 in the states by Isley-Jasper-Isley, making the top of the RnB Chart, the Housemartins took it on ditching the keyboards and production for a beautiful a capella rendition, famed now for its brilliantly kitsch music video.

The quality of the recording is the unrivalled blend of vocal layers that had not really been since the days of the Four Freshmen, Beach Boys and original RnB masters of the 60′s.

Their influence over current bands can be heard through the growing affinity with vocal harmonising from bands like The Mystery Jets, The Klaxons, The xx and Arcade Fire. Proving the causal link between these bands would be hard, with the Martins only having such a small back catalogue, but at least you could argue that quality comes from good taste, and that is what The Housemartins had in abundance. Whether they influenced similar sounds in music today, who cares, but at least we know that in some areas at least, quality is shining through.

This year it seems even more unclear as the main contenders and their studios start to throw their weight and electioneering techniques around. It would be narrow-minded to think that the BAFTA nominations are an indication of how the Oscar runners will appear, rarely since Chariots of Fire has such an outrageously British film been released and ‘too bloody right’ it should get 14 nods at the UK’s big awards, but it is unlikely to break 10 when the Academy announce their list in just under a week…

True Grit is this year’s late runner and almost certainly The King’s Speech’s biggest rival for the biggest prize in film, but where will the acting awards go from the many cracking films of the last year? These are our top tips…

Best Actor – Colin Firth

It’s an easy one, politics prevails in Hollywood and the lack of notoriety for both his performance and the film itself in 2010′s A Single Manthat saw him trail second, couldn’t be any further from the situation this year. The King’s Speech is quintessentially English starring acting heavyweights in Geoffrey Rush and Bonham Carter yet by all accounts it is Firth that steals the show in a beautiful telling of one of the country’s most defining moments.

His main opposition is probably Jeff Bridges, last year’s winner, another political reason for not awarding him the honour for a consecutive and sending it Firth’s way. Jessie Eisenberg’s performance, although good, will struggle to garner votes as will James Franco’s showing in 127 Hours, a movie that arguably would not have received it’s plaudits had Danny Boyle’s name not been stamped on it.

Best Supporting Actor – Christian Bale

If ever it was a time for someone to get the merits they deserve it must be now for Christian Bale. How he failed to gain a nomination for his screen debut in Empire of the Sun at just 13 still seems a mystery, oh, and the same probably applies for his Patrick Bateman in American Psycho… not to mention his unmatched method acting in The Machinist and his re-invention of the Caped Crusader. You may have guessed, we’re big fans here.

The fact remains with Bale that when he is given the floor to perform in any performance, actor to actor, as a 13-year-old or now, he manipulates the drama to centralise around him. Although The Fighter has gained plaudits, it is him in a supporting role that dominates the picture, a credit in itself that should be rewarded, closely followed by Matt Damon for his turn in True Grit, fingers-crossed, with an Oscar.

As for Andrew Garfield, who is expected to be nominated, he should be happy to be considered amongst names such as those above and deservedly so. There is no doubt that he is highly considered in the States and we can expect him to be leading British youngsters in Hollywood in the next ten years.

Best Actress – Natalie Portman

2011 is going to be the year of Natalie Portman, not only is Black Swan the highlight of her career, No Strings Attached with Ashton Kutcher will be the rom-com of the year, all-star comedy Your Highness could be crap but still garner box-office mega bucks whilst Thor is undoubtedly the most long-awaited movie of the upcoming summer.

She’s even got sprogged up! Talk about getting it all done in a year, but she will hopefullycap it all off by grabbing this award for one of the darkest and most accomplished performance of her career so far. The training, diet and psychological elements of the part of Nina Sayers makes her nomination stand out above the rest of the other potential nominees but her closest runner will probably be Annette Benning for The Kids Are Alright.

Co-star Julianne Moore’s possible inclusion in the category shows just how much a must see The Kids Are Alright is and when you add Mark Ruffalo’s tipped nomination in as well for best supporting actor… well you get it, just go and see it.

Michelle Williams could be one of those late runners though that sneaks up on the inside. Blue Valentine has stunned critics and is gathering force as the awards season progresses. She too has had some close shaves in the past as well as performances that deserved much more notoriety. The definite underdog though.

Best Supporting Actress – Amy Adams

It may just be Amy Adams time and The Fighter may well be the film that will be the catapult into Hollywood’s big earners. With critically acclaimed hits Junebug and Doubt over the last five years this will not be her first time in the category but we predict may well be her first victory.  The Fighter is the critics’ choice this year and after all, these are the people who will be voting…

This is a difficult category, Helena Bonham Carter will feel she deserves another approving look from the Academy and Mila Kunis undoubtedly deserves a nomination for her role in Black Swan making this award the hardest to call. Fingers crossed hor Helena of course, but the initial murmuring would point towards Miss Adams or co-star Melissa Leo, which would make it a great night for The Fighter.

The Fighter is on general release on the 5th February in the UK, do not miss, whilst Black Swan and The King’s Speech are all screening currently across the country.

Coming up this week we have all the top tips for Oscars glory in 2011

A look ahead to who will tickle our musical erogenous zones on the festival stages this summer

And this weeks retro-record of the week…

Since the beginning of 1966 the art of record production had been blown away. Revolver, Pet Sounds, Blonde on Blonde, Sounds of Silence, Forever Changes, The Doors, The Who Sell Out, Piper at the Gates of Dawn, Velvet Underground and Nico, of course Sergeant Peppers and Hendrix’s seminal album Are You Experienced made this the richest period in musical innovation for, arguably, centuries.

A quick gloss over those titles reveals four subsequent decades of adulation and unprecedented, never revisited excellence. Whether it was Pet Sounds delirious distancing from Beach Boys’ Surf vibes or Pink Floyd’s reinvention of rock’n'roll, producers and performers were at creative loggerheads to conjur the ultimate sound.

George Martin, Phil Spector and Brian Wilson had turned the music world upside down by experimenting with new sounds, techniques and innovative methods in the studio. It was something that the guitar wielding genius, Jimi Hendrix watched, revelled in and hungered to progress.

Hendrix had famously discovered himself and found notoriety through his live BBC sessions and wowed the nation with the bleeding vocal sound of his guitars. In a relatively short period he had become the face of the Peace through Rock movement. Are You Experienced put this success on vinyl.

After the success of the record, it was back into the studio to start recording arguably the most experimental and accomplished album ever made.

Axis Bold As Love

Title track Axis gave us the greatest poetic insight into the demons and loves of Hendrix’s life.

Castles Made of Sand a beautiful testimony to Jimi’s belief of here today gone tomorrow, life washed away by the sweeping of a tide, no matter how grand the walls built around you.

Contrast this to the eternal optimism of life living in the clouds of Little Wing and you sum up the hedonistic but spiritual mentality of the great guitarist.

This track in particular shows the intense ability to create the most beautiful ballad, played on drums, bass and lead only. With this, a complex a melody and guitar excellence with a whiff of nonscelence created from his apparent journey into the sound. On closer inspection you can hear the simplicity behind the brilliance, a glockenspiel counter melody that inadvertently holds the whole track together.

The album will probably best be known for the intense polyphonic tunes Spanish Castle Magic. With its clangy augmented 9th chords and experimental stereo phasing the tracks are literal feasts to the ears on listening.

It is the standard of modern imaginations and lazy naivety that leads us to think these albums were created thanks to a now impossible heady haze of pot and the brown stuff. Hendrix clearly put a guitar on before he put his pants on, sat doing a shit playing the guitar. Despite being experts in the studio the studio was still a primitive thing, only 4 tracks to record on and laid down on top of over and again, no digitising to cut and paste no voice pitch technology. What you hear on the record is what was played in the studio. Sure they were then played with to trip us out even more, but when these guys got to the studio they were performing to recording standard. Chas Chandler, Jimi’s manager once said ‘If you get to the studio and you can’t do it first take, you’re not good enough’.

6 was 9 used a rehearsal recording as the master, on Castles Made of Sand you can hear the page being turned whilst Hendrix sings the lyrics. Epic, original recordings borne out of nothing other than talent. This was no crazed trip whilst on acid, this was professionalism at its highest order.

40 years this weekend marks the death of Hendrix in his London flat. That flat was underneath the residence of one of the best known musicians of all time, Handel and this period from1966 to 1970 marked possibly the greatest period of creativity in music since the great periods of the ‘man upstairs’ Water Music. Many will argue that Gershwin and Bernstein were as influential as these rock musicians in the 20th century but realistically they simply began a polyphonic renaissance finished by the genius of Wilson, Lennon and McCartney, Dylan, Pink Floyd, Hendrix and his protege David Bowie.

This bubble, expanded by egos all attempting to out do the other, had to burst. We have lived in the musical wake since, with flashes of inspiration and brilliance but a failure to see the bigger picture. It seems that since then musicians have become concerned with laying down their tracks, not discovering them in the studio, reliant on epic lengths of time to create the perfect sound. Why, if some of the greatest songs ever written have been recorded in a day, albums in a fortnight, do we wait three years for the next record from the biggest bands today.

The careers of many of those artists in the 60′s were unbelievably short. The Beatles owned the decade but only recorded for 8 years. Brian Wilson went from American sweetheart chart topper to musical trend setter, proclaimed genius and LSD induced schyzophrenic in even less time, whilst Hendrix and Morrison appeared on the stage, stole the show and left way before their Act had finished.

It’s hard to tell whether the excellence of these artists have crippled the music industry or whether they exhausted it so much that we are still living the hangover. Maybe, more likely, the shortness of their tenure at the top has made the labels reluctant to let their current artists fully emerse themselves in the creativity of creating music to keep them at the top for longer.

However, recently the financial revolution and multimedia age has meant we have entered a new era of prolific recording. EP’s, new tracks and growing pressure from the labels is increasing band productivity and, if it follows the 60′s suit, should create more dynamism and experimentation.

Also, it’s not all Pop doom and gloom. Do not be fooled, there was a lot of shit released in the 60′s, one hit wonders and crooners that kept the great artists of the period out of the top ten. Sure, the labels will release the dross, but maybe, just maybe they’ll be forcing the great artists out there, of which there are many, to keep recording, keep practicing, keep releasing and keep testing their new  sounds and techniques. 

But who gives a fuck if they do or don’t. Look at the list of albums at the top of this article. There’s a playlist that’ll keep me satisfied for the rest of my time.

So, this weekend, put on your Hendrix tunes, get lost in Hey Joe, a Purple Haze, Voodoo Chile.

In memory of greatness.

And how easy it was. Home at five, cuppa tea then Neighbours, bash out the homework in front of The Fresh Prince, put off doing more homework by sitting through Wish You Were Here and Corrie, reluctantly enjoy Eastenders and Birds of a Feather before an epic 9pm drama… or, on a Sunday, Ballykissangel or Heartbeat.

That’s without even touching on a Saturday night of New Adventures, Big Break, The Gen Game and Noel’s House Party. Don’t worry kids, because you have seven hours of cartoons on every morning from Biker Mice from Mars to earthworm Jim!

Thing is, those halcyon days of TV have disappeared. Sure we have the biggest shows ever like X Factor, but realistically that is a commercial title that doesn’t come close to the 20 million weekly fans of Morecambe and Wise back in the day.

Admittedly we are more rounded now, more open to experiencing the world beyond the television, thanks in a large part to the portal to the world that ‘telly’ showed us.

 However, i have seen a tide change, a creeping back in of the old line that ‘I can’t come out tonight because one of ‘my programmes’ is on.

Forget all the HBO generation of dramas, that’s not Telly, that’s cinema on the couch, what i’m talking about is one off shows that are trailing all week that you just know you have to be in for.

First off this month was Glamour Model – Mum and Me. Without a doubt one of the best celeb obdocs ever, this insight into the world of Alicia Douvall and her daughter Georgia was both sensitive and nauseating at the same time. Can i take a moment to honour their cute ugly backward rat-dog Versace, possibly the most hilarious animal in TV history.

Anyhow, i digress. This brilliant show had a fortunate polemic backbone when Douvall discovers on holiday with Georgia that she needs a 16^th boob job. A journey across America ensues with the mother daughter duo swapping roles in what could be a magical Disney movie with 21^st century sensibilities.

Far from taking the obvious path of damning Douvall, who herself tells Georgia she should hide her mother’s identity as she gets older, the programme shows her as a loving, at times lost, but above all doting mother who, try as she might will never be able to control the destiny of her intelligent and worldly wise daughter, a wisdom that Douvall fails to see is her unintended but most precious legacy to her little girl.

Another fantastic one off this month was Madness in the Fast Lane. For the first time in a long time at work, during my many re-tellings of this remarkable story i had people saying ‘Nooooo!!’ to which i would reply ‘Yes… oh yes, and there’s more’.

Sometimes fortune favours filmmakers and this is definitely one of those moments. With one of the most disturbing yet interesting psychological crimes unfurling before our eyes live in front of TV crews who stumbled across the events and then as the story progressed on CCTV camera.

I would detail the show further, but it is quite simply the most incredible story I have ever seen retold on TV, so please, go and enjoy.

As well as more shows that have triumphed this month, namely The Normans in factual and Mistresses in drama, it was Ultimate Big brother that tipped me over the edge into brilliance last night.

Two years of lamenting the downfall of the iconic format was rescued in one wonderful sweep last night in a trip down memory lane that reminded us just how successful an experiment the idea has been. Memory after memory rushed forward with every reveal of a new ultimate housemate that couldn’t help but make you think ‘fuck me those endemol bastards are clever aren’t they’.

Even if the next two weeks are crap, which they will be with Davina struggling to be at her aspirational best and the circus style house distressingly reminiscent of how they dressed up the gas chambers leading people to their doom, but in it’s microcosmic way the roll call of apparent ‘celebs’ be they past winners or famous faces, shows us just how much this world has become part of our lives the last decade. Celebrity culture, notoriety out of anonymity, Big Brother spawned it all. Without it perhaps there would be no X Factor, and last night i a ctually felt that we should celebrate the show’s brilliance not turn our middle classed new labour noses up at it. They, are sadly permanently out of joint.

So on reflection i raise a glass to the TV world. Maybe it is the recession forcing us to stay in but we are realising the power of the little box in the corner of the room again. Who cares if we get square eyed… where else could you watch Phil Mitchell take Crack, learn about The Wonders of the Solar System and then flick between Jeremy Paxman’s underpants and John McCriricks y-fronts. Sod a night down the pub…

2. Wear rose tinted glasses (or 3D recently)

3. Micro-manage your review, keeping under five words e.g. ‘Must see’ ‘Film of 2010′ ‘A fool to miss it’

Sometimes films come along that pass you by, movies that people say, “Ahhh man, you haven’t seen it, you gotta see it man, it’s changed the genre, turned that shit on it’s head.”

Being the obstructive git that I am, I tend to ignore these ramblings as long as I can, part through annoyance I didn’t discover it myself, part because I don’t want to be disappointed.

Kick Ass has been flagged as a shining light in a dreary line of half-baked comic book adaptations with recent Batman movies being the only exceptions. Mixing comedy with geek chic, aspirational, rags to riches character stories and take your breath away shock tactics, one reviewer told me, “There’s something that jumps out and smacks you every five minutes.”

I sat in the theatre and expected the world of blockbusters that i’d see before me to implode in some tongue in cheek apocalyptic brilliance that you experience every time you read through a graphic novel whilst your sat on the loo doing an agreeable dump.

In many ways it did, brilliant moments of choreographed set pieces were wonderfully executed and some of the performances were great.

The pace struggled however, sometimes frenetic, sometimes laboured, and some of the relationships between characters was so inconsequential or unexplored that they were almost pointless, other than to set the crowd up for a second film. 

Maybe I’m being harsh, maybe I’m looking too critically at what is in fairness an alright to good movie, but i guess my annoyance at it wasn’t the quality of the movie but the praise that was heaped on it.

I don’t believe that anyone involved ever had the consciousness that the movie would have such success, it certainly didn’t seem so when we saw Mr Vaughn at the Empire Awards, happily walking the carpet with an air of smug surprise. ‘The best comic book film ever’, ‘Nicholas Cage is back’, ‘Aaron Johnson continues to prove he is the future of film’. All the sorts of reviews that in hindsight baffle me.

To be the best comic book film ever is an odd title to claim, because in general they are all shit, and even the good ones, well, they don’t exactly dominate film awards. X-Men, IronMan, Dark Knight and the original Superman films, that’s it for the genre. I mean, it’s like releasing a comedy hardcore porno in the cinemas and turning around saying that ‘it’s a genre defying movie that draws on the eccestentialism of Shaving Ryan’s Privates and the passionate everyday resonances of Deep Throat’. It just ain’t brilliant film-making.

Nicholas Cage should fuck-off and never come back, he’s awful, and in this film, he takes the simplest of characters, pretends to be Batman and then gets dominated on screen by a cast aged between 12 and 25. Similarly, Mr Johnson, lets not beat around the bush, this is your worst performance yet, again outshon by a potty-mouthed tweenie and his hot-tub-time-machining chums.

My point is we should be celebrating the film for what it is, a frigging good yarn, a shocking, gratuitous and hilarious homage and piss-take to the comic book nerd rather than the ‘Movie of the Year’. The unique nature of the comic book version’s catalogue, relatively new since it’s marvel production in 2008, and it’s modern and innovative take on the world of graphic literature is wonderfully captured in the movie with references all over the place to classic storylines. In that way it’s brilliant for it’s target audience and a nice little introduction for adults who might previously have mocked their geeky friends for knowing the difference between a superhero and a vigilante. But that’s not what i was told i was going to see, i was told i was going to see ‘a modern day classic’.

I put the blame squarely at the doorstep of fellow journos who lazily join a bandwagon. I have no problem with filmgoers saying they loved the movie, i can see why, my problem is with the movie ‘experts’ who follow the leader and the money to give inane Weinstein-ass-sucking reviews that show no incite to a film in pursuance of a press trip to LA to verbally masterbate in a film-junket hotel room.

I hope there is a second film, and I’m sure I’ll enjoy it, i admit i did laugh out loud at the use of ‘cunt’ and the sheer number of ways deployed to shoot someone in the head, but turning round to the rest of my friends staring at the screen in open-mouthed disbelief showed me that unlike the ‘must-see’ five star ratings, it wasn’t a movie for everyone.

All i’m asking for is that people who get well paid doing a dream job as a movie reviewer actually earn their keep. It’s a tactic that’s come into the music scene as well, following the crowd to sell column space, and that ain’t why we all started writing is it? Maybe i need to learn from their lead…

Benni and Bjorn said it perfectly and sadly it seems the movie review industry is increasingly about one thing… money money money